{"text": "Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with\nUncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's\nwife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be\ncarried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a\nroof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking\ncookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four\nchairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one\ncorner, and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no\ngarret at all, and no cellar—except a small hole dug in the ground,\ncalled a cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of\nthose great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building\nin its path. It was reached by a trap door in the middle of the\nfloor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole.\nWhen Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could\nsee nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree\nnor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to\nthe edge of the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed\nland into a gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even\nthe grass was not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the\nlong blades until they were the same gray color to be seen\neverywhere. Once the house had been painted, but the sun blistered\nthe paint and the rains washed it away, and now the house was as\ndull and gray as everything else.\nWhen Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife.\nThe sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle\nfrom her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red\nfrom her cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and\ngaunt, and never smiled now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first\ncame to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's laughter\nthat she would scream and press her hand upon her heart whenever\nDorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at theDorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at the\nlittle girl with wonder that she could find anything to laugh\nat.\nUncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till\nnight and did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his\nlong beard to his rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and\nrarely spoke.\nIt was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing\nas gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a\nlittle black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that\ntwinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played\nall day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him\ndearly.\nToday, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the\ndoorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer\nthan usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and\nlooked at the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the dishes.\nFrom the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle\nHenry and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves\nbefore the coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the\nair from the south, and as they turned their eyes that way they saw\nripples in the grass coming from that direction also.\nSuddenly Uncle Henry stood up.\n\"There's a cyclone coming, Em,\" he called to his wife. \"I'll go\nlook after the stock.\" Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows\nand horses were kept.\nAunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told\nher of the danger close at hand.\n\"Quick, Dorothy!\" she screamed. \"Run for the cellar!\"\nToto jumped out of Dorothy's arms and hid under the bed, and the\ngirl started to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open the\ntrap door in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small,\ndark hole. Dorothy caught Toto at last and started to follow her\naunt. When she was halfway across the room there came a great\nshriek from the wind, and the house shook so hard that she lost her\nfooting and sat down suddenly upon the floor.\nThen a strange thing happened.footing and sat down suddenly upon the floor.\nThen a strange thing happened.\nThe house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly\nthrough the air. Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a\nballoon.\nThe north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it\nthe exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air\nis generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every\nside of the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at\nthe very top of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried\nmiles and miles away as easily as you could carry a feather.\nIt was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but\nDorothy found she was riding quite easily. After the first few\nwhirls around, and one other time when the house tipped badly, she\nfelt as if she were being rocked gently, like a baby in a\ncradle.\nToto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now\nthere, barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and\nwaited to see what would happen.\nOnce Toto got too near the open trap door, and fell in; and at\nfirst the little girl thought she had lost him. But soon she saw\none of his ears sticking up through the hole, for the strong\npressure of the air was keeping him up so that he could not fall.\nShe crept to the hole, caught Toto by the ear, and dragged him into\nthe room again, afterward closing the trap door so that no more\naccidents could happen.\nHour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her\nfright; but she felt quite lonely, and the wind shrieked so loudly\nall about her that she nearly became deaf. At first she had\nwondered if she would be dashed to pieces when the house fell\nagain; but as the hours passed and nothing terrible happened, she\nstopped worrying and resolved to wait calmly and see what the\nfuture would bring. At last she crawled over the swaying floor to\nher bed, and lay down upon it; and Toto followed and lay down\nbeside her.\nIn spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of thebeside her.\nIn spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the\nwind, Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep."}
{"text": "She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if\nDorothy had not been lying on the soft bed she might have been\nhurt. As it was, the jar made her catch her breath and wonder what\nhad happened; and Toto put his cold little nose into her face and\nwhined dismally. Dorothy sat up and noticed that the house was not\nmoving; nor was it dark, for the bright sunshine came in at the\nwindow, flooding the little room. She sprang from her bed and with\nToto at her heels ran and opened the door.\nThe little girl gave a cry of amazement and looked about her,\nher eyes growing bigger and bigger at the wonderful sights she\nsaw.\nThe cyclone had set the house down very gently—for a cyclone—in\nthe midst of a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely\npatches of greensward all about, with stately trees bearing rich\nand luscious fruits. Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand,\nand birds with rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the\ntrees and bushes. A little way off was a small brook, rushing and\nsparkling along between green banks, and murmuring in a voice very\ngrateful to a little girl who had lived so long on the dry, gray\nprairies.\nWhile she stood looking eagerly at the strange and beautiful\nsights, she noticed coming toward her a group of the queerest\npeople she had ever seen. They were not as big as the grown folk\nshe had always been used to; but neither were they very small. In\nfact, they seemed about as tall as Dorothy, who was a well-grown\nchild for her age, although they were, so far as looks go, many\nyears older.\nThree were men and one a woman, and all were oddly dressed. They\nwore round hats that rose to a small point a foot above their\nheads, with little bells around the brims that tinkled sweetly as\nthey moved. The hats of the men were blue; the little woman's hat\nwas white, and she wore a white gown that hung in pleats from her\nshoulders. Over it were sprinkled little stars that glistened in\nthe sun like diamonds. The men were dressed in blue, of the samethe sun like diamonds. The men were dressed in blue, of the same\nshade as their hats, and wore well-polished boots with a deep roll\nof blue at the tops. The men, Dorothy thought, were about as old as\nUncle Henry, for two of them had beards. But the little woman was\ndoubtless much older. Her face was covered with wrinkles, her hair\nwas nearly white, and she walked rather stiffly.\nWhen these people drew near the house where Dorothy was standing\nin the doorway, they paused and whispered among themselves, as if\nafraid to come farther. But the little old woman walked up to\nDorothy, made a low bow and said, in a sweet voice:\n\"You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the\nMunchkins. We are so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked\nWitch of the East, and for setting our people free from\nbondage.\"\nDorothy listened to this speech with wonder. What could the\nlittle woman possibly mean by calling her a sorceress, and saying\nshe had killed the Wicked Witch of the East? Dorothy was an\ninnocent, harmless little girl, who had been carried by a cyclone\nmany miles from home; and she had never killed anything in all her\nlife.\nBut the little woman evidently expected her to answer; so\nDorothy said, with hesitation, \"You are very kind, but there must\nbe some mistake. I have not killed anything.\"\n\"Your house did, anyway,\" replied the little old woman, with a\nlaugh, \"and that is the same thing. See!\" she continued, pointing\nto the corner of the house. \"There are her two feet, still sticking\nout from under a block of wood.\"\nDorothy looked, and gave a little cry of fright. There, indeed,\njust under the corner of the great beam the house rested on, two\nfeet were sticking out, shod in silver shoes with pointed toes.\n\"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!\" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands together\nin dismay. \"The house must have fallen on her. Whatever shall we\ndo?\"\n\"There is nothing to be done,\" said the little woman calmly.\n\"But who was she?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"She was the Wicked Witch of the East, as I said,\" answered the\"But who was she?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"She was the Wicked Witch of the East, as I said,\" answered the\nlittle woman. \"She has held all the Munchkins in bondage for many\nyears, making them slave for her night and day. Now they are all\nset free, and are grateful to you for the favor.\"\n\"Who are the Munchkins?\" inquired Dorothy.\n\"They are the people who live in this land of the East where the\nWicked Witch ruled.\"\n\"Are you a Munchkin?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"No, but I am their friend, although I live in the land of the\nNorth. When they saw the Witch of the East was dead the Munchkins\nsent a swift messenger to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of\nthe North.\"\n\"Oh, gracious!\" cried Dorothy. \"Are you a real witch?\"\n\"Yes, indeed,\" answered the little woman. \"But I am a good\nwitch, and the people love me. I am not as powerful as the Wicked\nWitch was who ruled here, or I should have set the people free\nmyself.\"\n\"But I thought all witches were wicked,\" said the girl, who was\nhalf frightened at facing a real witch. \"Oh, no, that is a great\nmistake. There were only four witches in all the Land of Oz, and\ntwo of them, those who live in the North and the South, are good\nwitches. I know this is true, for I am one of them myself, and\ncannot be mistaken. Those who dwelt in the East and the West were,\nindeed, wicked witches; but now that you have killed one of them,\nthere is but one Wicked Witch in all the Land of Oz—the one who\nlives in the West.\"\n\"But,\" said Dorothy, after a moment's thought, \"Aunt Em has told\nme that the witches were all dead—years and years ago.\"\n\"Who is Aunt Em?\" inquired the little old woman.\n\"She is my aunt who lives in Kansas, where I came from.\"\nThe Witch of the North seemed to think for a time, with her head\nbowed and her eyes upon the ground. Then she looked up and said, \"I\ndo not know where Kansas is, for I have never heard that country\nmentioned before. But tell me, is it a civilized country?\"\n\"Oh, yes,\" replied Dorothy.\n\"Then that accounts for it. In the civilized countries I believe"}
{"text": "\"Oh, yes,\" replied Dorothy.\n\"Then that accounts for it. In the civilized countries I believe\nthere are no witches left, nor wizards, nor sorceresses, nor\nmagicians. But, you see, the Land of Oz has never been civilized,\nfor we are cut off from all the rest of the world. Therefore we\nstill have witches and wizards amongst us.\"\n\"Who are the wizards?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"Oz himself is the Great Wizard,\" answered the Witch, sinking\nher voice to a whisper. \"He is more powerful than all the rest of\nus together. He lives in the City of Emeralds.\"\nDorothy was going to ask another question, but just then the\nMunchkins, who had been standing silently by, gave a loud shout and\npointed to the corner of the house where the Wicked Witch had been\nlying.\n\"What is it?\" asked the little old woman, and looked, and began\nto laugh. The feet of the dead Witch had disappeared entirely, and\nnothing was left but the silver shoes.\n\"She was so old,\" explained the Witch of the North, \"that she\ndried up quickly in the sun. That is the end of her. But the silver\nshoes are yours, and you shall have them to wear.\" She reached down\nand picked up the shoes, and after shaking the dust out of them\nhanded them to Dorothy.\n\"The Witch of the East was proud of those silver shoes,\" said\none of the Munchkins, \"and there is some charm connected with them;\nbut what it is we never knew.\"\nDorothy carried the shoes into the house and placed them on the\ntable. Then she came out again to the Munchkins and said:\n\"I am anxious to get back to my aunt and uncle, for I am sure\nthey will worry about me. Can you help me find my way?\"\nThe Munchkins and the Witch first looked at one another, and\nthen at Dorothy, and then shook their heads.\n\"At the East, not far from here,\" said one, \"there is a great\ndesert, and none could live to cross it.\"\n\"It is the same at the South,\" said another, \"for I have been\nthere and seen it. The South is the country of the Quadlings.\"\n\"I am told,\" said the third man, \"that it is the same at the\"I am told,\" said the third man, \"that it is the same at the\nWest. And that country, where the Winkies live, is ruled by the\nWicked Witch of the West, who would make you her slave if you\npassed her way.\"\n\"The North is my home,\" said the old lady, \"and at its edge is\nthe same great desert that surrounds this Land of Oz. I'm afraid,\nmy dear, you will have to live with us.\"\nDorothy began to sob at this, for she felt lonely among all\nthese strange people. Her tears seemed to grieve the kind-hearted\nMunchkins, for they immediately took out their handkerchiefs and\nbegan to weep also. As for the little old woman, she took off her\ncap and balanced the point on the end of her nose, while she\ncounted \"One, two, three\" in a solemn voice. At once the cap\nchanged to a slate, on which was written in big, white chalk\nmarks:\n\"LET DOROTHY GO TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS\"\nThe little old woman took the slate from her nose, and having\nread the words on it, asked, \"Is your name Dorothy, my dear?\"\n\"Yes,\" answered the child, looking up and drying her tears.\n\"Then you must go to the City of Emeralds. Perhaps Oz will help\nyou.\"\n\"Where is this city?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"It is exactly in the center of the country, and is ruled by Oz,\nthe Great Wizard I told you of.\"\n\"Is he a good man?\" inquired the girl anxiously.\n\"He is a good Wizard. Whether he is a man or not I cannot tell,\nfor I have never seen him.\"\n\"How can I get there?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"You must walk. It is a long journey, through a country that is\nsometimes pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible. However, I will\nuse all the magic arts I know of to keep you from harm.\"\n\"Won't you go with me?\" pleaded the girl, who had begun to look\nupon the little old woman as her only friend.\n\"No, I cannot do that,\" she replied, \"but I will give you my\nkiss, and no one will dare injure a person who has been kissed by\nthe Witch of the North.\"\nShe came close to Dorothy and kissed her gently on the forehead.\nWhere her lips touched the girl they left a round, shining mark, as\nDorothy found out soon after.Where her lips touched the girl they left a round, shining mark, as\nDorothy found out soon after.\n\"The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick,\"\nsaid the Witch, \"so you cannot miss it. When you get to Oz do not\nbe afraid of him, but tell your story and ask him to help you.\nGood-bye, my dear.\"\nThe three Munchkins bowed low to her and wished her a pleasant\njourney, after which they walked away through the trees. The Witch\ngave Dorothy a friendly little nod, whirled around on her left heel\nthree times, and straightway disappeared, much to the surprise of\nlittle Toto, who barked after her loudly enough when she had gone,\nbecause he had been afraid even to growl while she stood by.\nBut Dorothy, knowing her to be a witch, had expected her to\ndisappear in just that way, and was not surprised in the least.When Dorothy was left alone she began to feel hungry. So she\nwent to the cupboard and cut herself some bread, which she spread\nwith butter. She gave some to Toto, and taking a pail from the\nshelf she carried it down to the little brook and filled it with\nclear, sparkling water. Toto ran over to the trees and began to\nbark at the birds sitting there. Dorothy went to get him, and saw\nsuch delicious fruit hanging from the branches that she gathered\nsome of it, finding it just what she wanted to help out her\nbreakfast.\nThen she went back to the house, and having helped herself and\nToto to a good drink of the cool, clear water, she set about making\nready for the journey to the City of Emeralds.\nDorothy had only one other dress, but that happened to be clean\nand was hanging on a peg beside her bed. It was gingham, with\nchecks of white and blue; and although the blue was somewhat faded\nwith many washings, it was still a pretty frock. The girl washed\nherself carefully, dressed herself in the clean gingham, and tied\nher pink sunbonnet on her head. She took a little basket and filled\nit with bread from the cupboard, laying a white cloth over the top.\nThen she looked down at her feet and noticed how old and worn her\nshoes were.\n\"They surely will never do for a long journey, Toto,\" she said.\nAnd Toto looked up into her face with his little black eyes and\nwagged his tail to show he knew what she meant.\nAt that moment Dorothy saw lying on the table the silver shoes\nthat had belonged to the Witch of the East.\n\"I wonder if they will fit me,\" she said to Toto. \"They would be\njust the thing to take a long walk in, for they could not wear\nout.\"\nShe took off her old leather shoes and tried on the silver ones,\nwhich fitted her as well as if they had been made for her.\nFinally she picked up her basket.\n\"Come along, Toto,\" she said. \"We will go to the Emerald City\nand ask the Great Oz how to get back to Kansas again.\"\nShe closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the"}
{"text": "She closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the\npocket of her dress. And so, with Toto trotting along soberly\nbehind her, she started on her journey.\nThere were several roads near by, but it did not take her long\nto find the one paved with yellow bricks. Within a short time she\nwas walking briskly toward the Emerald City, her silver shoes\ntinkling merrily on the hard, yellow road-bed. The sun shone bright\nand the birds sang sweetly, and Dorothy did not feel nearly so bad\nas you might think a little girl would who had been suddenly\nwhisked away from her own country and set down in the midst of a\nstrange land.\nShe was surprised, as she walked along, to see how pretty the\ncountry was about her. There were neat fences at the sides of the\nroad, painted a dainty blue color, and beyond them were fields of\ngrain and vegetables in abundance. Evidently the Munchkins were\ngood farmers and able to raise large crops. Once in a while she\nwould pass a house, and the people came out to look at her and bow\nlow as she went by; for everyone knew she had been the means of\ndestroying the Wicked Witch and setting them free from bondage. The\nhouses of the Munchkins were odd-looking dwellings, for each was\nround, with a big dome for a roof. All were painted blue, for in\nthis country of the East blue was the favorite color.\nToward evening, when Dorothy was tired with her long walk and\nbegan to wonder where she should pass the night, she came to a\nhouse rather larger than the rest. On the green lawn before it many\nmen and women were dancing. Five little fiddlers played as loudly\nas possible, and the people were laughing and singing, while a big\ntable near by was loaded with delicious fruits and nuts, pies and\ncakes, and many other good things to eat.\nThe people greeted Dorothy kindly, and invited her to supper and\nto pass the night with them; for this was the home of one of the\nrichest Munchkins in the land, and his friends were gathered with\nhim to celebrate their freedom from the bondage of the Wicked\nWitch.him to celebrate their freedom from the bondage of the Wicked\nWitch.\nDorothy ate a hearty supper and was waited upon by the rich\nMunchkin himself, whose name was Boq. Then she sat upon a settee\nand watched the people dance.\nWhen Boq saw her silver shoes he said, \"You must be a great\nsorceress.\"\n\"Why?\" asked the girl.\n\"Because you wear silver shoes and have killed the Wicked Witch.\nBesides, you have white in your frock, and only witches and\nsorceresses wear white.\"\n\"My dress is blue and white checked,\" said Dorothy, smoothing\nout the wrinkles in it.\n\"It is kind of you to wear that,\" said Boq. \"Blue is the color\nof the Munchkins, and white is the witch color. So we know you are\na friendly witch.\"\nDorothy did not know what to say to this, for all the people\nseemed to think her a witch, and she knew very well she was only an\nordinary little girl who had come by the chance of a cyclone into a\nstrange land.\nWhen she had tired watching the dancing, Boq led her into the\nhouse, where he gave her a room with a pretty bed in it. The sheets\nwere made of blue cloth, and Dorothy slept soundly in them till\nmorning, with Toto curled up on the blue rug beside her.\nShe ate a hearty breakfast, and watched a wee Munchkin baby, who\nplayed with Toto and pulled his tail and crowed and laughed in a\nway that greatly amused Dorothy. Toto was a fine curiosity to all\nthe people, for they had never seen a dog before.\n\"How far is it to the Emerald City?\" the girl asked.\n\"I do not know,\" answered Boq gravely, \"for I have never been\nthere. It is better for people to keep away from Oz, unless they\nhave business with him. But it is a long way to the Emerald City,\nand it will take you many days. The country here is rich and\npleasant, but you must pass through rough and dangerous places\nbefore you reach the end of your journey.\"\nThis worried Dorothy a little, but she knew that only the Great\nOz could help her get to Kansas again, so she bravely resolved not\nto turn back.\nShe bade her friends good-bye, and again started along the roadto turn back.\nShe bade her friends good-bye, and again started along the road\nof yellow brick. When she had gone several miles she thought she\nwould stop to rest, and so climbed to the top of the fence beside\nthe road and sat down. There was a great cornfield beyond the\nfence, and not far away she saw a Scarecrow, placed high on a pole\nto keep the birds from the ripe corn.\nDorothy leaned her chin upon her hand and gazed thoughtfully at\nthe Scarecrow. Its head was a small sack stuffed with straw, with\neyes, nose, and mouth painted on it to represent a face. An old,\npointed blue hat, that had belonged to some Munchkin, was perched\non his head, and the rest of the figure was a blue suit of clothes,\nworn and faded, which had also been stuffed with straw. On the feet\nwere some old boots with blue tops, such as every man wore in this\ncountry, and the figure was raised above the stalks of corn by\nmeans of the pole stuck up its back.\nWhile Dorothy was looking earnestly into the queer, painted face\nof the Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly\nwink at her. She thought she must have been mistaken at first, for\nnone of the scarecrows in Kansas ever wink; but presently the\nfigure nodded its head to her in a friendly way. Then she climbed\ndown from the fence and walked up to it, while Toto ran around the\npole and barked.\n\"Good day,\" said the Scarecrow, in a rather husky voice.\n\"Did you speak?\" asked the girl, in wonder.\n\"Certainly,\" answered the Scarecrow. \"How do you do?\"\n\"I'm pretty well, thank you,\" replied Dorothy politely. \"How do\nyou do?\"\n\"I'm not feeling well,\" said the Scarecrow, with a smile, \"for\nit is very tedious being perched up here night and day to scare\naway crows.\"\n\"Can't you get down?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"No, for this pole is stuck up my back. If you will please take\naway the pole I shall be greatly obliged to you.\"\nDorothy reached up both arms and lifted the figure off the pole,\nfor, being stuffed with straw, it was quite light."}
{"text": "for, being stuffed with straw, it was quite light.\n\"Thank you very much,\" said the Scarecrow, when he had been set\ndown on the ground. \"I feel like a new man.\"\nDorothy was puzzled at this, for it sounded queer to hear a\nstuffed man speak, and to see him bow and walk along beside\nher.\n\"Who are you?\" asked the Scarecrow when he had stretched himself\nand yawned. \"And where are you going?\"\n\"My name is Dorothy,\" said the girl, \"and I am going to the\nEmerald City, to ask the Great Oz to send me back to Kansas.\"\n\"Where is the Emerald City?\" he inquired. \"And who is Oz?\"\n\"Why, don't you know?\" she returned, in surprise.\n\"No, indeed. I don't know anything. You see, I am stuffed, so I\nhave no brains at all,\" he answered sadly.\n\"Oh,\" said Dorothy, \"I'm awfully sorry for you.\"\n\"Do you think,\" he asked, \"if I go to the Emerald City with you,\nthat Oz would give me some brains?\"\n\"I cannot tell,\" she returned, \"but you may come with me, if you\nlike. If Oz will not give you any brains you will be no worse off\nthan you are now.\"\n\"That is true,\" said the Scarecrow. \"You see,\" he continued\nconfidentially, \"I don't mind my legs and arms and body being\nstuffed, because I cannot get hurt. If anyone treads on my toes or\nsticks a pin into me, it doesn't matter, for I can't feel it. But I\ndo not want people to call me a fool, and if my head stays stuffed\nwith straw instead of with brains, as yours is, how am I ever to\nknow anything?\"\n\"I understand how you feel,\" said the little girl, who was truly\nsorry for him. \"If you will come with me I'll ask Oz to do all he\ncan for you.\"\n\"Thank you,\" he answered gratefully.\nThey walked back to the road. Dorothy helped him over the fence,\nand they started along the path of yellow brick for the Emerald\nCity.\nToto did not like this addition to the party at first. He\nsmelled around the stuffed man as if he suspected there might be a\nnest of rats in the straw, and he often growled in an unfriendly\nway at the Scarecrow.\n\"Don't mind Toto,\" said Dorothy to her new friend. \"He never\nbites.\"way at the Scarecrow.\n\"Don't mind Toto,\" said Dorothy to her new friend. \"He never\nbites.\"\n\"Oh, I'm not afraid,\" replied the Scarecrow. \"He can't hurt the\nstraw. Do let me carry that basket for you. I shall not mind it,\nfor I can't get tired. I'll tell you a secret,\" he continued, as he\nwalked along. \"There is only one thing in the world I am afraid\nof.\"\n\"What is that?\" asked Dorothy; \"the Munchkin farmer who made\nyou?\"\n\"No,\" answered the Scarecrow; \"it's a lighted match.\"After a few hours the road began to be rough, and the walking\ngrew so difficult that the Scarecrow often stumbled over the yellow\nbricks, which were here very uneven. Sometimes, indeed, they were\nbroken or missing altogether, leaving holes that Toto jumped across\nand Dorothy walked around. As for the Scarecrow, having no brains,\nhe walked straight ahead, and so stepped into the holes and fell at\nfull length on the hard bricks. It never hurt him, however, and\nDorothy would pick him up and set him upon his feet again, while he\njoined her in laughing merrily at his own mishap.\nThe farms were not nearly so well cared for here as they were\nfarther back. There were fewer houses and fewer fruit trees, and\nthe farther they went the more dismal and lonesome the country\nbecame.\nAt noon they sat down by the roadside, near a little brook, and\nDorothy opened her basket and got out some bread. She offered a\npiece to the Scarecrow, but he refused.\n\"I am never hungry,\" he said, \"and it is a lucky thing I am not,\nfor my mouth is only painted, and if I should cut a hole in it so I\ncould eat, the straw I am stuffed with would come out, and that\nwould spoil the shape of my head.\"\nDorothy saw at once that this was true, so she only nodded and\nwent on eating her bread.\n\"Tell me something about yourself and the country you came\nfrom,\" said the Scarecrow, when she had finished her dinner. So she\ntold him all about Kansas, and how gray everything was there, and\nhow the cyclone had carried her to this queer Land of Oz.\nThe Scarecrow listened carefully, and said, \"I cannot understand\nwhy you should wish to leave this beautiful country and go back to\nthe dry, gray place you call Kansas.\"\n\"That is because you have no brains\" answered the girl. \"No\nmatter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and\nblood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever\nso beautiful. There is no place like home.\"\nThe Scarecrow sighed.\n\"Of course I cannot understand it,\" he said. \"If your heads wereThe Scarecrow sighed.\n\"Of course I cannot understand it,\" he said. \"If your heads were\nstuffed with straw, like mine, you would probably all live in the\nbeautiful places, and then Kansas would have no people at all. It\nis fortunate for Kansas that you have brains.\"\n\"Won't you tell me a story, while we are resting?\" asked the\nchild.\nThe Scarecrow looked at her reproachfully, and answered:\n\"My life has been so short that I really know nothing whatever.\nI was only made day before yesterday. What happened in the world\nbefore that time is all unknown to me. Luckily, when the farmer\nmade my head, one of the first things he did was to paint my ears,\nso that I heard what was going on. There was another Munchkin with\nhim, and the first thing I heard was the farmer saying, `How do you\nlike those ears?'\n\"`They aren't straight,'\" answered the other.\n\"`Never mind,'\" said the farmer. \"`They are ears just the\nsame,'\" which was true enough.\n\"`Now I'll make the eyes,'\" said the farmer. So he painted my\nright eye, and as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at\nhim and at everything around me with a great deal of curiosity, for\nthis was my first glimpse of the world.\n\"`That's a rather pretty eye,'\" remarked the Munchkin who was\nwatching the farmer. \"`Blue paint is just the color for eyes.'\n\"`I think I'll make the other a little bigger,'\" said the\nfarmer. And when the second eye was done I could see much better\nthan before. Then he made my nose and my mouth. But I did not\nspeak, because at that time I didn't know what a mouth was for. I\nhad the fun of watching them make my body and my arms and legs; and\nwhen they fastened on my head, at last, I felt very proud, for I\nthought I was just as good a man as anyone.\n\"`This fellow will scare the crows fast enough,' said the\nfarmer. `He looks just like a man.'\n\"`Why, he is a man,' said the other, and I quite agreed with\nhim. The farmer carried me under his arm to the cornfield, and set\nme up on a tall stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon"}
{"text": "me up on a tall stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon\nafter walked away and left me alone.\n\"I did not like to be deserted this way. So I tried to walk\nafter them. But my feet would not touch the ground, and I was\nforced to stay on that pole. It was a lonely life to lead, for I\nhad nothing to think of, having been made such a little while\nbefore. Many crows and other birds flew into the cornfield, but as\nsoon as they saw me they flew away again, thinking I was a\nMunchkin; and this pleased me and made me feel that I was quite an\nimportant person. By and by an old crow flew near me, and after\nlooking at me carefully he perched upon my shoulder and said:\n\"`I wonder if that farmer thought to fool me in this clumsy\nmanner. Any crow of sense could see that you are only stuffed with\nstraw.' Then he hopped down at my feet and ate all the corn he\nwanted. The other birds, seeing he was not harmed by me, came to\neat the corn too, so in a short time there was a great flock of\nthem about me.\n\"I felt sad at this, for it showed I was not such a good\nScarecrow after all; but the old crow comforted me, saying, `If you\nonly had brains in your head you would be as good a man as any of\nthem, and a better man than some of them. Brains are the only\nthings worth having in this world, no matter whether one is a crow\nor a man.'\n\"After the crows had gone I thought this over, and decided I\nwould try hard to get some brains. By good luck you came along and\npulled me off the stake, and from what you say I am sure the Great\nOz will give me brains as soon as we get to the Emerald City.\"\n\"I hope so,\" said Dorothy earnestly, \"since you seem anxious to\nhave them.\"\n\"Oh, yes; I am anxious,\" returned the Scarecrow. \"It is such an\nuncomfortable feeling to know one is a fool.\"\n\"Well,\" said the girl, \"let us go.\" And she handed the basket to\nthe Scarecrow.\nThere were no fences at all by the roadside now, and the land\nwas rough and untilled. Toward evening they came to a great forest,was rough and untilled. Toward evening they came to a great forest,\nwhere the trees grew so big and close together that their branches\nmet over the road of yellow brick. It was almost dark under the\ntrees, for the branches shut out the daylight; but the travelers\ndid not stop, and went on into the forest.\n\"If this road goes in, it must come out,\" said the Scarecrow,\n\"and as the Emerald City is at the other end of the road, we must\ngo wherever it leads us.\"\n\"Anyone would know that,\" said Dorothy.\n\"Certainly; that is why I know it,\" returned the Scarecrow. \"If\nit required brains to figure it out, I never should have said\nit.\"\nAfter an hour or so the light faded away, and they found\nthemselves stumbling along in the darkness. Dorothy could not see\nat all, but Toto could, for some dogs see very well in the dark;\nand the Scarecrow declared he could see as well as by day. So she\ntook hold of his arm and managed to get along fairly well.\n\"If you see any house, or any place where we can pass the\nnight,\" she said, \"you must tell me; for it is very uncomfortable\nwalking in the dark.\"\nSoon after the Scarecrow stopped.\n\"I see a little cottage at the right of us,\" he said, \"built of\nlogs and branches. Shall we go there?\"\n\"Yes, indeed,\" answered the child. \"I am all tired out.\"\nSo the Scarecrow led her through the trees until they reached\nthe cottage, and Dorothy entered and found a bed of dried leaves in\none corner. She lay down at once, and with Toto beside her soon\nfell into a sound sleep. The Scarecrow, who was never tired, stood\nup in another corner and waited patiently until morning came.When Dorothy awoke the sun was shining through the trees and\nToto had long been out chasing birds around him and squirrels. She\nsat up and looked around her. Scarecrow, still standing patiently\nin his corner, waiting for her.\n\"We must go and search for water,\" she said to him.\n\"Why do you want water?\" he asked.\n\"To wash my face clean after the dust of the road, and to drink,\nso the dry bread will not stick in my throat.\"\n\"It must be inconvenient to be made of flesh,\" said the\nScarecrow thoughtfully, \"for you must sleep, and eat and drink.\nHowever, you have brains, and it is worth a lot of bother to be\nable to think properly.\"\nThey left the cottage and walked through the trees until they\nfound a little spring of clear water, where Dorothy drank and\nbathed and ate her breakfast. She saw there was not much bread left\nin the basket, and the girl was thankful the Scarecrow did not have\nto eat anything, for there was scarcely enough for herself and Toto\nfor the day.\nWhen she had finished her meal, and was about to go back to the\nroad of yellow brick, she was startled to hear a deep groan near\nby.\n\"What was that?\" she asked timidly.\n\"I cannot imagine,\" replied the Scarecrow; \"but we can go and\nsee.\"\nJust then another groan reached their ears, and the sound seemed\nto come from behind them. They turned and walked through the forest\na few steps, when Dorothy discovered something shining in a ray of\nsunshine that fell between the trees. She ran to the place and then\nstopped short, with a little cry of surprise.\nOne of the big trees had been partly chopped through, and\nstanding beside it, with an uplifted axe in his hands, was a man\nmade entirely of tin. His head and arms and legs were jointed upon\nhis body, but he stood perfectly motionless, as if he could not\nstir at all.\nDorothy looked at him in amazement, and so did the Scarecrow,\nwhile Toto barked sharply and made a snap at the tin legs, which\nhurt his teeth.\n\"Did you groan?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"Yes,\" answered the tin man, \"I did. I've been groaning for more"}
{"text": "\"Did you groan?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"Yes,\" answered the tin man, \"I did. I've been groaning for more\nthan a year, and no one has ever heard me before or come to help\nme.\"\n\"What can I do for you?\" she inquired softly, for she was moved\nby the sad voice in which the man spoke.\n\"Get an oil-can and oil my joints,\" he answered. \"They are\nrusted so badly that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled\nI shall soon be all right again. You will find an oil-can on a\nshelf in my cottage.\"\nDorothy at once ran back to the cottage and found the oil-can,\nand then she returned and asked anxiously, \"Where are your\njoints?\"\n\"Oil my neck, first,\" replied the Tin Woodman. So she oiled it,\nand as it was quite badly rusted the Scarecrow took hold of the tin\nhead and moved it gently from side to side until it worked freely,\nand then the man could turn it himself.\n\"Now oil the joints in my arms,\" he said. And Dorothy oiled them\nand the Scarecrow bent them carefully until they were quite free\nfrom rust and as good as new.\nThe Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe,\nwhich he leaned against the tree.\n\"This is a great comfort,\" he said. \"I have been holding that\naxe in the air ever since I rusted, and I'm glad to be able to put\nit down at last. Now, if you will oil the joints of my legs, I\nshall be all right once more.\"\nSo they oiled his legs until he could move them freely; and he\nthanked them again and again for his release, for he seemed a very\npolite creature, and very grateful.\n\"I might have stood there always if you had not come along,\" he\nsaid; \"so you have certainly saved my life. How did you happen to\nbe here?\"\n\"We are on our way to the Emerald City to see the Great Oz,\" she\nanswered, \"and we stopped at your cottage to pass the night.\"\n\"Why do you wish to see Oz?\" he asked.\n\"I want him to send me back to Kansas, and the Scarecrow wants\nhim to put a few brains into his head,\" she replied.\nThe Tin Woodman appeared to think deeply for a moment. Then he\nsaid:\n\"Do you suppose Oz could give me a heart?\"said:\n\"Do you suppose Oz could give me a heart?\"\n\"Why, I guess so,\" Dorothy answered. \"It would be as easy as to\ngive the Scarecrow brains.\"\n\"True,\" the Tin Woodman returned. \"So, if you will allow me to\njoin your party, I will also go to the Emerald City and ask Oz to\nhelp me.\"\n\"Come along,\" said the Scarecrow heartily, and Dorothy added\nthat she would be pleased to have his company. So the Tin Woodman\nshouldered his axe and they all passed through the forest until\nthey came to the road that was paved with yellow brick.\nThe Tin Woodman had asked Dorothy to put the oil-can in her\nbasket. \"For,\" he said, \"if I should get caught in the rain, and\nrust again, I would need the oil-can badly.\"\nIt was a bit of good luck to have their new comrade join the\nparty, for soon after they had begun their journey again they came\nto a place where the trees and branches grew so thick over the road\nthat the travelers could not pass. But the Tin Woodman set to work\nwith his axe and chopped so well that soon he cleared a passage for\nthe entire party.\nDorothy was thinking so earnestly as they walked along that she\ndid not notice when the Scarecrow stumbled into a hole and rolled\nover to the side of the road. Indeed he was obliged to call to her\nto help him up again.\n\"Why didn't you walk around the hole?\" asked the Tin\nWoodman.\n\"I don't know enough,\" replied the Scarecrow cheerfully. \"My\nhead is stuffed with straw, you know, and that is why I am going to\nOz to ask him for some brains.\"\n\"Oh, I see,\" said the Tin Woodman. \"But, after all, brains are\nnot the best things in the world.\"\n\"Have you any?\" inquired the Scarecrow.\n\"No, my head is quite empty,\" answered the Woodman. \"But once I\nhad brains, and a heart also; so, having tried them both, I should\nmuch rather have a heart.\"\n\"And why is that?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\"I will tell you my story, and then you will know.\"\nSo, while they were walking through the forest, the Tin Woodman\ntold the following story:\n\"I was born the son of a woodman who chopped down trees in thetold the following story:\n\"I was born the son of a woodman who chopped down trees in the\nforest and sold the wood for a living. When I grew up, I too became\na woodchopper, and after my father died I took care of my old\nmother as long as she lived. Then I made up my mind that instead of\nliving alone I would marry, so that I might not become lonely.\n\"There was one of the Munchkin girls who was so beautiful that I\nsoon grew to love her with all my heart. She, on her part, promised\nto marry me as soon as I could earn enough money to build a better\nhouse for her; so I set to work harder than ever. But the girl\nlived with an old woman who did not want her to marry anyone, for\nshe was so lazy she wished the girl to remain with her and do the\ncooking and the housework. So the old woman went to the Wicked\nWitch of the East, and promised her two sheep and a cow if she\nwould prevent the marriage. Thereupon the Wicked Witch enchanted my\naxe, and when I was chopping away at my best one day, for I was\nanxious to get the new house and my wife as soon as possible, the\naxe slipped all at once and cut off my left leg.\n\"This at first seemed a great misfortune, for I knew a\none-legged man could not do very well as a wood-chopper. So I went\nto a tinsmith and had him make me a new leg out of tin. The leg\nworked very well, once I was used to it. But my action angered the\nWicked Witch of the East, for she had promised the old woman I\nshould not marry the pretty Munchkin girl. When I began chopping\nagain, my axe slipped and cut off my right leg. Again I went to the\ntinsmith, and again he made me a leg out of tin. After this the\nenchanted axe cut off my arms, one after the other; but, nothing\ndaunted, I had them replaced with tin ones. The Wicked Witch then\nmade the axe slip and cut off my head, and at first I thought that\nwas the end of me. But the tinsmith happened to come along, and he\nmade me a new head out of tin.\n\"I thought I had beaten the Wicked Witch then, and I worked"}
{"text": "made me a new head out of tin.\n\"I thought I had beaten the Wicked Witch then, and I worked\nharder than ever; but I little knew how cruel my enemy could be.\nShe thought of a new way to kill my love for the beautiful Munchkin\nmaiden, and made my axe slip again, so that it cut right through my\nbody, splitting me into two halves. Once more the tinsmith came to\nmy help and made me a body of tin, fastening my tin arms and legs\nand head to it, by means of joints, so that I could move around as\nwell as ever. But, alas! I had now no heart, so that I lost all my\nlove for the Munchkin girl, and did not care whether I married her\nor not. I suppose she is still living with the old woman, waiting\nfor me to come after her.\n\"My body shone so brightly in the sun that I felt very proud of\nit and it did not matter now if my axe slipped, for it could not\ncut me. There was only one danger—that my joints would rust; but I\nkept an oil-can in my cottage and took care to oil myself whenever\nI needed it. However, there came a day when I forgot to do this,\nand, being caught in a rainstorm, before I thought of the danger my\njoints had rusted, and I was left to stand in the woods until you\ncame to help me. It was a terrible thing to undergo, but during the\nyear I stood there I had time to think that the greatest loss I had\nknown was the loss of my heart. While I was in love I was the\nhappiest man on earth; but no one can love who has not a heart, and\nso I am resolved to ask Oz to give me one. If he does, I will go\nback to the Munchkin maiden and marry her.\"\nBoth Dorothy and the Scarecrow had been greatly interested in\nthe story of the Tin Woodman, and now they knew why he was so\nanxious to get a new heart.\n\"All the same,\" said the Scarecrow, \"I shall ask for brains\ninstead of a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a\nheart if he had one.\"\n\"I shall take the heart,\" returned the Tin Woodman; \"for brains\ndo not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the\nworld.\"do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the\nworld.\"\nDorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which\nof her two friends was right, and she decided if she could only get\nback to Kansas and Aunt Em, it did not matter so much whether the\nWoodman had no brains and the Scarecrow no heart, or each got what\nhe wanted.\nWhat worried her most was that the bread was nearly gone, and\nanother meal for herself and Toto would empty the basket. To be\nsure neither the Woodman nor the Scarecrow ever ate anything, but\nshe was not made of tin nor straw, and could not live unless she\nwas fed.All this time Dorothy and her companions had been walking\nthrough the thick woods. The road was still paved with yellow\nbrick, but these were much covered by dried branches and dead\nleaves from the trees, and the walking was not at all good.\nThere were few birds in this part of the forest, for birds love\nthe open country where there is plenty of sunshine. But now and\nthen there came a deep growl from some wild animal hidden among the\ntrees. These sounds made the little girl's heart beat fast, for she\ndid not know what made them; but Toto knew, and he walked close to\nDorothy's side, and did not even bark in return.\n\"How long will it be,\" the child asked of the Tin Woodman,\n\"before we are out of the forest?\"\n\"I cannot tell,\" was the answer, \"for I have never been to the\nEmerald City. But my father went there once, when I was a boy, and\nhe said it was a long journey through a dangerous country, although\nnearer to the city where Oz dwells the country is beautiful. But I\nam not afraid so long as I have my oil-can, and nothing can hurt\nthe Scarecrow, while you bear upon your forehead the mark of the\nGood Witch's kiss, and that will protect you from harm.\"\n\"But Toto!\" said the girl anxiously. \"What will protect\nhim?\"\n\"We must protect him ourselves if he is in danger,\" replied the\nTin Woodman.\nJust as he spoke there came from the forest a terrible roar, and\nthe next moment a great Lion bounded into the road. With one blow\nof his paw he sent the Scarecrow spinning over and over to the edge\nof the road, and then he struck at the Tin Woodman with his sharp\nclaws. But, to the Lion's surprise, he could make no impression on\nthe tin, although the Woodman fell over in the road and lay\nstill.\nLittle Toto, now that he had an enemy to face, ran barking\ntoward the Lion, and the great beast had opened his mouth to bite\nthe dog, when Dorothy, fearing Toto would be killed, and heedless\nof danger, rushed forward and slapped the Lion upon his nose as\nhard as she could, while she cried out:hard as she could, while she cried out:\n\"Don't you dare to bite Toto! You ought to be ashamed of\nyourself, a big beast like you, to bite a poor little dog!\"\n\"I didn't bite him,\" said the Lion, as he rubbed his nose with\nhis paw where Dorothy had hit it.\n\"No, but you tried to,\" she retorted. \"You are nothing but a big\ncoward.\"\n\"I know it,\" said the Lion, hanging his head in shame. \"I've\nalways known it. But how can I help it?\"\n\"I don't know, I'm sure. To think of your striking a stuffed\nman, like the poor Scarecrow!\"\n\"Is he stuffed?\" asked the Lion in surprise, as he watched her\npick up the Scarecrow and set him upon his feet, while she patted\nhim into shape again.\n\"Of course he's stuffed,\" replied Dorothy, who was still\nangry.\n\"That's why he went over so easily,\" remarked the Lion. \"It\nastonished me to see him whirl around so. Is the other one stuffed\nalso?\"\n\"No,\" said Dorothy, \"he's made of tin.\" And she helped the\nWoodman up again.\n\"That's why he nearly blunted my claws,\" said the Lion. \"When\nthey scratched against the tin it made a cold shiver run down my\nback. What is that little animal you are so tender of?\"\n\"He is my dog, Toto,\" answered Dorothy.\n\"Is he made of tin, or stuffed?\" asked the Lion.\n\"Neither. He's a—a—a meat dog,\" said the girl.\n\"Oh! He's a curious animal and seems remarkably small, now that\nI look at him. No one would think of biting such a little thing,\nexcept a coward like me,\" continued the Lion sadly.\n\"What makes you a coward?\" asked Dorothy, looking at the great\nbeast in wonder, for he was as big as a small horse.\n\"It's a mystery,\" replied the Lion. \"I suppose I was born that\nway. All the other animals in the forest naturally expect me to be\nbrave, for the Lion is everywhere thought to be the King of Beasts.\nI learned that if I roared very loudly every living thing was\nfrightened and got out of my way. Whenever I've met a man I've been\nawfully scared; but I just roared at him, and he has always run\naway as fast as he could go. If the elephants and the tigers and"}
{"text": "away as fast as he could go. If the elephants and the tigers and\nthe bears had ever tried to fight me, I should have run myself—I'm\nsuch a coward; but just as soon as they hear me roar they all try\nto get away from me, and of course I let them go.\"\n\"But that isn't right. The King of Beasts shouldn't be a\ncoward,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"I know it,\" returned the Lion, wiping a tear from his eye with\nthe tip of his tail. \"It is my great sorrow, and makes my life very\nunhappy. But whenever there is danger, my heart begins to beat\nfast.\"\n\"Perhaps you have heart disease,\" said the Tin Woodman.\n\"It may be,\" said the Lion.\n\"If you have,\" continued the Tin Woodman, \"you ought to be glad,\nfor it proves you have a heart. For my part, I have no heart; so I\ncannot have heart disease.\"\n\"Perhaps,\" said the Lion thoughtfully, \"if I had no heart I\nshould not be a coward.\"\n\"Have you brains?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\"I suppose so. I've never looked to see,\" replied the Lion.\n\"I am going to the Great Oz to ask him to give me some,\"\nremarked the Scarecrow, \"for my head is stuffed with straw.\"\n\"And I am going to ask him to give me a heart,\" said the\nWoodman.\n\"And I am going to ask him to send Toto and me back to Kansas,\"\nadded Dorothy.\n\"Do you think Oz could give me courage?\" asked the Cowardly\nLion.\n\"Just as easily as he could give me brains,\" said the\nScarecrow.\n\"Or give me a heart,\" said the Tin Woodman.\n\"Or send me back to Kansas,\" said Dorothy.\n\"Then, if you don't mind, I'll go with you,\" said the Lion, \"for\nmy life is simply unbearable without a bit of courage.\"\n\"You will be very welcome,\" answered Dorothy, \"for you will help\nto keep away the other wild beasts. It seems to me they must be\nmore cowardly than you are if they allow you to scare them so\neasily.\"\n\"They really are,\" said the Lion, \"but that doesn't make me any\nbraver, and as long as I know myself to be a coward I shall be\nunhappy.\"\nSo once more the little company set off upon the journey, the\nLion walking with stately strides at Dorothy's side. Toto did notLion walking with stately strides at Dorothy's side. Toto did not\napprove this new comrade at first, for he could not forget how\nnearly he had been crushed between the Lion's great jaws. But after\na time he became more at ease, and presently Toto and the Cowardly\nLion had grown to be good friends.\nDuring the rest of that day there was no other adventure to mar\nthe peace of their journey. Once, indeed, the Tin Woodman stepped\nupon a beetle that was crawling along the road, and killed the poor\nlittle thing. This made the Tin Woodman very unhappy, for he was\nalways careful not to hurt any living creature; and as he walked\nalong he wept several tears of sorrow and regret. These tears ran\nslowly down his face and over the hinges of his jaw, and there they\nrusted. When Dorothy presently asked him a question the Tin Woodman\ncould not open his mouth, for his jaws were tightly rusted\ntogether. He became greatly frightened at this and made many\nmotions to Dorothy to relieve him, but she could not understand.\nThe Lion was also puzzled to know what was wrong. But the Scarecrow\nseized the oil-can from Dorothy's basket and oiled the Woodman's\njaws, so that after a few moments he could talk as well as\nbefore.\n\"This will serve me a lesson,\" said he, \"to look where I step.\nFor if I should kill another bug or beetle I should surely cry\nagain, and crying rusts my jaws so that I cannot speak.\"\nThereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road,\nand when he saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as\nnot to harm it. The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and\ntherefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to\nanything.\n\"You people with hearts,\" he said, \"have something to guide you,\nand need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very\ncareful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn't mind so\nmuch.\"They were obliged to camp out that night under a large tree in\nthe forest, for there were no houses near. The tree made a good,\nthick covering to protect them from the dew, and the Tin Woodman\nchopped a great pile of wood with his axe and Dorothy built a\nsplendid fire that warmed her and made her feel less lonely. She\nand Toto ate the last of their bread, and now she did not know what\nthey would do for breakfast.\n\"If you wish,\" said the Lion, \"I will go into the forest and\nkill a deer for you. You can roast it by the fire, since your\ntastes are so peculiar that you prefer cooked food, and then you\nwill have a very good breakfast.\"\n\"Don't! Please don't,\" begged the Tin Woodman. \"I should\ncertainly weep if you killed a poor deer, and then my jaws would\nrust again.\"\nBut the Lion went away into the forest and found his own supper,\nand no one ever knew what it was, for he didn't mention it. And the\nScarecrow found a tree full of nuts and filled Dorothy's basket\nwith them, so that she would not be hungry for a long time. She\nthought this was very kind and thoughtful of the Scarecrow, but she\nlaughed heartily at the awkward way in which the poor creature\npicked up the nuts. His padded hands were so clumsy and the nuts\nwere so small that he dropped almost as many as he put in the\nbasket. But the Scarecrow did not mind how long it took him to fill\nthe basket, for it enabled him to keep away from the fire, as he\nfeared a spark might get into his straw and burn him up. So he kept\na good distance away from the flames, and only came near to cover\nDorothy with dry leaves when she lay down to sleep. These kept her\nvery snug and warm, and she slept soundly until morning.\nWhen it was daylight, the girl bathed her face in a little\nrippling brook, and soon after they all started toward the Emerald\nCity.\nThis was to be an eventful day for the travelers. They had\nhardly been walking an hour when they saw before them a great ditch\nthat crossed the road and divided the forest as far as they could"}
{"text": "that crossed the road and divided the forest as far as they could\nsee on either side. It was a very wide ditch, and when they crept\nup to the edge and looked into it they could see it was also very\ndeep, and there were many big, jagged rocks at the bottom. The\nsides were so steep that none of them could climb down, and for a\nmoment it seemed that their journey must end.\n\"What shall we do?\" asked Dorothy despairingly.\n\"I haven't the faintest idea,\" said the Tin Woodman, and the\nLion shook his shaggy mane and looked thoughtful.\nBut the Scarecrow said, \"We cannot fly, that is certain. Neither\ncan we climb down into this great ditch. Therefore, if we cannot\njump over it, we must stop where we are.\"\n\"I think I could jump over it,\" said the Cowardly Lion, after\nmeasuring the distance carefully in his mind.\n\"Then we are all right,\" answered the Scarecrow, \"for you can\ncarry us all over on your back, one at a time.\"\n\"Well, I'll try it,\" said the Lion. \"Who will go first?\"\n\"I will,\" declared the Scarecrow, \"for, if you found that you\ncould not jump over the gulf, Dorothy would be killed, or the Tin\nWoodman badly dented on the rocks below. But if I am on your back\nit will not matter so much, for the fall would not hurt me at\nall.\"\n\"I am terribly afraid of falling, myself,\" said the Cowardly\nLion, \"but I suppose there is nothing to do but try it. So get on\nmy back and we will make the attempt.\"\nThe Scarecrow sat upon the Lion's back, and the big beast walked\nto the edge of the gulf and crouched down.\n\"Why don't you run and jump?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\"Because that isn't the way we Lions do these things,\" he\nreplied. Then giving a great spring, he shot through the air and\nlanded safely on the other side. They were all greatly pleased to\nsee how easily he did it, and after the Scarecrow had got down from\nhis back the Lion sprang across the ditch again.\nDorothy thought she would go next; so she took Toto in her arms\nand climbed on the Lion's back, holding tightly to his mane withand climbed on the Lion's back, holding tightly to his mane with\none hand. The next moment it seemed as if she were flying through\nthe air; and then, before she had time to think about it, she was\nsafe on the other side. The Lion went back a third time and got the\nTin Woodman, and then they all sat down for a few moments to give\nthe beast a chance to rest, for his great leaps had made his breath\nshort, and he panted like a big dog that has been running too\nlong.\nThey found the forest very thick on this side, and it looked\ndark and gloomy. After the Lion had rested they started along the\nroad of yellow brick, silently wondering, each in his own mind, if\never they would come to the end of the woods and reach the bright\nsunshine again. To add to their discomfort, they soon heard strange\nnoises in the depths of the forest, and the Lion whispered to them\nthat it was in this part of the country that the Kalidahs\nlived.\n\"What are the Kalidahs?\" asked the girl.\n\"They are monstrous beasts with bodies like bears and heads like\ntigers,\" replied the Lion, \"and with claws so long and sharp that\nthey could tear me in two as easily as I could kill Toto. I'm\nterribly afraid of the Kalidahs.\"\n\"I'm not surprised that you are,\" returned Dorothy. \"They must\nbe dreadful beasts.\"\nThe Lion was about to reply when suddenly they came to another\ngulf across the road. But this one was so broad and deep that the\nLion knew at once he could not leap across it.\nSo they sat down to consider what they should do, and after\nserious thought the Scarecrow said:\n\"Here is a great tree, standing close to the ditch. If the Tin\nWoodman can chop it down, so that it will fall to the other side,\nwe can walk across it easily.\"\n\"That is a first-rate idea,\" said the Lion. \"One would almost\nsuspect you had brains in your head, instead of straw.\"\nThe Woodman set to work at once, and so sharp was his axe that\nthe tree was soon chopped nearly through. Then the Lion put his\nstrong front legs against the tree and pushed with all his might,strong front legs against the tree and pushed with all his might,\nand slowly the big tree tipped and fell with a crash across the\nditch, with its top branches on the other side.\nThey had just started to cross this queer bridge when a sharp\ngrowl made them all look up, and to their horror they saw running\ntoward them two great beasts with bodies like bears and heads like\ntigers.\n\"They are the Kalidahs!\" said the Cowardly Lion, beginning to\ntremble.\n\"Quick!\" cried the Scarecrow. \"Let us cross over.\"\nSo Dorothy went first, holding Toto in her arms, the Tin Woodman\nfollowed, and the Scarecrow came next. The Lion, although he was\ncertainly afraid, turned to face the Kalidahs, and then he gave so\nloud and terrible a roar that Dorothy screamed and the Scarecrow\nfell over backward, while even the fierce beasts stopped short and\nlooked at him in surprise.\nBut, seeing they were bigger than the Lion, and remembering that\nthere were two of them and only one of him, the Kalidahs again\nrushed forward, and the Lion crossed over the tree and turned to\nsee what they would do next. Without stopping an instant the fierce\nbeasts also began to cross the tree. And the Lion said to\nDorothy:\n\"We are lost, for they will surely tear us to pieces with their\nsharp claws. But stand close behind me, and I will fight them as\nlong as I am alive.\"\n\"Wait a minute!\" called the Scarecrow. He had been thinking what\nwas best to be done, and now he asked the Woodman to chop away the\nend of the tree that rested on their side of the ditch. The Tin\nWoodman began to use his axe at once, and, just as the two Kalidahs\nwere nearly across, the tree fell with a crash into the gulf,\ncarrying the ugly, snarling brutes with it, and both were dashed to\npieces on the sharp rocks at the bottom.\n\"Well,\" said the Cowardly Lion, drawing a long breath of relief,\n\"I see we are going to live a little while longer, and I am glad of\nit, for it must be a very uncomfortable thing not to be alive.\nThose creatures frightened me so badly that my heart is beating\nyet.\""}
{"text": "Those creatures frightened me so badly that my heart is beating\nyet.\"\n\"Ah,\" said the Tin Woodman sadly, \"I wish I had a heart to\nbeat.\"\nThis adventure made the travelers more anxious than ever to get\nout of the forest, and they walked so fast that Dorothy became\ntired, and had to ride on the Lion's back. To their great joy the\ntrees became thinner the farther they advanced, and in the\nafternoon they suddenly came upon a broad river, flowing swiftly\njust before them. On the other side of the water they could see the\nroad of yellow brick running through a beautiful country, with\ngreen meadows dotted with bright flowers and all the road bordered\nwith trees hanging full of delicious fruits. They were greatly\npleased to see this delightful country before them.\n\"How shall we cross the river?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"That is easily done,\" replied the Scarecrow. \"The Tin Woodman\nmust build us a raft, so we can float to the other side.\"\nSo the Woodman took his axe and began to chop down small trees\nto make a raft, and while he was busy at this the Scarecrow found\non the riverbank a tree full of fine fruit. This pleased Dorothy,\nwho had eaten nothing but nuts all day, and she made a hearty meal\nof the ripe fruit.\nBut it takes time to make a raft, even when one is as\nindustrious and untiring as the Tin Woodman, and when night came\nthe work was not done. So they found a cozy place under the trees\nwhere they slept well until the morning; and Dorothy dreamed of the\nEmerald City, and of the good Wizard Oz, who would soon send her\nback to her own home again.Our little party of travelers awakened the next morning\nrefreshed and full of hope, and Dorothy breakfasted like a princess\noff peaches and plums from the trees beside the river. Behind them\nwas the dark forest they had passed safely through, although they\nhad suffered many discouragements; but before them was a lovely,\nsunny country that seemed to beckon them on to the Emerald\nCity.\nTo be sure, the broad river now cut them off from this beautiful\nland. But the raft was nearly done, and after the Tin Woodman had\ncut a few more logs and fastened them together with wooden pins,\nthey were ready to start. Dorothy sat down in the middle of the\nraft and held Toto in her arms. When the Cowardly Lion stepped upon\nthe raft it tipped badly, for he was big and heavy; but the\nScarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood upon the other end to steady\nit, and they had long poles in their hands to push the raft through\nthe water.\nThey got along quite well at first, but when they reached the\nmiddle of the river the swift current swept the raft downstream,\nfarther and farther away from the road of yellow brick. And the\nwater grew so deep that the long poles would not touch the\nbottom.\n\"This is bad,\" said the Tin Woodman, \"for if we cannot get to\nthe land we shall be carried into the country of the Wicked Witch\nof the West, and she will enchant us and make us her slaves.\"\n\"And then I should get no brains,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"And I should get no courage,\" said the Cowardly Lion.\n\"And I should get no heart,\" said the Tin Woodman.\n\"And I should never get back to Kansas,\" said Dorothy.\n\"We must certainly get to the Emerald City if we can,\" the\nScarecrow continued, and he pushed so hard on his long pole that it\nstuck fast in the mud at the bottom of the river. Then, before he\ncould pull it out again—or let go—the raft was swept away, and the\npoor Scarecrow left clinging to the pole in the middle of the\nriver.\n\"Good-bye!\" he called after them, and they were very sorry to\nleave him. Indeed, the Tin Woodman began to cry, but fortunatelyleave him. Indeed, the Tin Woodman began to cry, but fortunately\nremembered that he might rust, and so dried his tears on Dorothy's\napron.\nOf course this was a bad thing for the Scarecrow.\n\"I am now worse off than when I first met Dorothy,\" he thought.\n\"Then, I was stuck on a pole in a cornfield, where I could\nmake-believe scare the crows, at any rate. But surely there is no\nuse for a Scarecrow stuck on a pole in the middle of a river. I am\nafraid I shall never have any brains, after all!\"\nDown the stream the raft floated, and the poor Scarecrow was\nleft far behind. Then the Lion said:\n\"Something must be done to save us. I think I can swim to the\nshore and pull the raft after me, if you will only hold fast to the\ntip of my tail.\"\nSo he sprang into the water, and the Tin Woodman caught fast\nhold of his tail. Then the Lion began to swim with all his might\ntoward the shore. It was hard work, although he was so big; but by\nand by they were drawn out of the current, and then Dorothy took\nthe Tin Woodman's long pole and helped push the raft to the\nland.\nThey were all tired out when they reached the shore at last and\nstepped off upon the pretty green grass, and they also knew that\nthe stream had carried them a long way past the road of yellow\nbrick that led to the Emerald City.\n\"What shall we do now?\" asked the Tin Woodman, as the Lion lay\ndown on the grass to let the sun dry him.\n\"We must get back to the road, in some way,\" said Dorothy.\n\"The best plan will be to walk along the riverbank until we come\nto the road again,\" remarked the Lion.\nSo, when they were rested, Dorothy picked up her basket and they\nstarted along the grassy bank, to the road from which the river had\ncarried them. It was a lovely country, with plenty of flowers and\nfruit trees and sunshine to cheer them, and had they not felt so\nsorry for the poor Scarecrow, they could have been very happy.\nThey walked along as fast as they could, Dorothy only stopping\nonce to pick a beautiful flower; and after a time the Tin Woodman\ncried out: \"Look!\""}
{"text": "once to pick a beautiful flower; and after a time the Tin Woodman\ncried out: \"Look!\"\nThen they all looked at the river and saw the Scarecrow perched\nupon his pole in the middle of the water, looking very lonely and\nsad.\n\"What can we do to save him?\" asked Dorothy.\nThe Lion and the Woodman both shook their heads, for they did\nnot know. So they sat down upon the bank and gazed wistfully at the\nScarecrow until a Stork flew by, who, upon seeing them, stopped to\nrest at the water's edge.\n\"Who are you and where are you going?\" asked the Stork.\n\"I am Dorothy,\" answered the girl, \"and these are my friends,\nthe Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion; and we are going to the\nEmerald City.\"\n\"This isn't the road,\" said the Stork, as she twisted her long\nneck and looked sharply at the queer party.\n\"I know it,\" returned Dorothy, \"but we have lost the Scarecrow,\nand are wondering how we shall get him again.\"\n\"Where is he?\" asked the Stork.\n\"Over there in the river,\" answered the little girl.\n\"If he wasn't so big and heavy I would get him for you,\"\nremarked the Stork.\n\"He isn't heavy a bit,\" said Dorothy eagerly, \"for he is stuffed\nwith straw; and if you will bring him back to us, we shall thank\nyou ever and ever so much.\"\n\"Well, I'll try,\" said the Stork, \"but if I find he is too heavy\nto carry I shall have to drop him in the river again.\"\nSo the big bird flew into the air and over the water till she\ncame to where the Scarecrow was perched upon his pole. Then the\nStork with her great claws grabbed the Scarecrow by the arm and\ncarried him up into the air and back to the bank, where Dorothy and\nthe Lion and the Tin Woodman and Toto were sitting.\nWhen the Scarecrow found himself among his friends again, he was\nso happy that he hugged them all, even the Lion and Toto; and as\nthey walked along he sang \"Tol-de-ri-de-oh!\" at every step, he felt\nso gay.\n\"I was afraid I should have to stay in the river forever,\" he\nsaid, \"but the kind Stork saved me, and if I ever get any brains Isaid, \"but the kind Stork saved me, and if I ever get any brains I\nshall find the Stork again and do her some kindness in return.\"\n\"That's all right,\" said the Stork, who was flying along beside\nthem. \"I always like to help anyone in trouble. But I must go now,\nfor my babies are waiting in the nest for me. I hope you will find\nthe Emerald City and that Oz will help you.\"\n\"Thank you,\" replied Dorothy, and then the kind Stork flew into\nthe air and was soon out of sight.\nThey walked along listening to the singing of the brightly\ncolored birds and looking at the lovely flowers which now became so\nthick that the ground was carpeted with them. There were big yellow\nand white and blue and purple blossoms, besides great clusters of\nscarlet poppies, which were so brilliant in color they almost\ndazzled Dorothy's eyes.\n\"Aren't they beautiful?\" the girl asked, as she breathed in the\nspicy scent of the bright flowers.\n\"I suppose so,\" answered the Scarecrow. \"When I have brains, I\nshall probably like them better.\"\n\"If I only had a heart, I should love them,\" added the Tin\nWoodman.\n\"I always did like flowers,\" said the Lion. \"They seem so\nhelpless and frail. But there are none in the forest so bright as\nthese.\"\nThey now came upon more and more of the big scarlet poppies, and\nfewer and fewer of the other flowers; and soon they found\nthemselves in the midst of a great meadow of poppies. Now it is\nwell known that when there are many of these flowers together their\nodor is so powerful that anyone who breathes it falls asleep, and\nif the sleeper is not carried away from the scent of the flowers,\nhe sleeps on and on forever. But Dorothy did not know this, nor\ncould she get away from the bright red flowers that were everywhere\nabout; so presently her eyes grew heavy and she felt she must sit\ndown to rest and to sleep.\nBut the Tin Woodman would not let her do this.\n\"We must hurry and get back to the road of yellow brick before\ndark,\" he said; and the Scarecrow agreed with him. So they keptdark,\" he said; and the Scarecrow agreed with him. So they kept\nwalking until Dorothy could stand no longer. Her eyes closed in\nspite of herself and she forgot where she was and fell among the\npoppies, fast asleep.\n\"What shall we do?\" asked the Tin Woodman.\n\"If we leave her here she will die,\" said the Lion. \"The smell\nof the flowers is killing us all. I myself can scarcely keep my\neyes open, and the dog is asleep already.\"\nIt was true; Toto had fallen down beside his little mistress.\nBut the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, not being made of flesh,\nwere not troubled by the scent of the flowers.\n\"Run fast,\" said the Scarecrow to the Lion, \"and get out of this\ndeadly flower bed as soon as you can. We will bring the little girl\nwith us, but if you should fall asleep you are too big to be\ncarried.\"\nSo the Lion aroused himself and bounded forward as fast as he\ncould go. In a moment he was out of sight.\n\"Let us make a chair with our hands and carry her,\" said the\nScarecrow. So they picked up Toto and put the dog in Dorothy's lap,\nand then they made a chair with their hands for the seat and their\narms for the arms and carried the sleeping girl between them\nthrough the flowers.\nOn and on they walked, and it seemed that the great carpet of\ndeadly flowers that surrounded them would never end. They followed\nthe bend of the river, and at last came upon their friend the Lion,\nlying fast asleep among the poppies. The flowers had been too\nstrong for the huge beast and he had given up at last, and fallen\nonly a short distance from the end of the poppy bed, where the\nsweet grass spread in beautiful green fields before them.\n\"We can do nothing for him,\" said the Tin Woodman, sadly; \"for\nhe is much too heavy to lift. We must leave him here to sleep on\nforever, and perhaps he will dream that he has found courage at\nlast.\"\n\"I'm sorry,\" said the Scarecrow. \"The Lion was a very good\ncomrade for one so cowardly. But let us go on.\"\nThey carried the sleeping girl to a pretty spot beside theThey carried the sleeping girl to a pretty spot beside the\nriver, far enough from the poppy field to prevent her breathing any\nmore of the poison of the flowers, and here they laid her gently on\nthe soft grass and waited for the fresh breeze to waken her."}
{"text": "\"We cannot be far from the road of yellow brick, now,\" remarked\nthe Scarecrow, as he stood beside the girl, \"for we have come\nnearly as far as the river carried us away.\"\nThe Tin Woodman was about to reply when he heard a low growl,\nand turning his head (which worked beautifully on hinges) he saw a\nstrange beast come bounding over the grass toward them. It was,\nindeed, a great yellow Wildcat, and the Woodman thought it must be\nchasing something, for its ears were lying close to its head and\nits mouth was wide open, showing two rows of ugly teeth, while its\nred eyes glowed like balls of fire. As it came nearer the Tin\nWoodman saw that running before the beast was a little gray field\nmouse, and although he had no heart he knew it was wrong for the\nWildcat to try to kill such a pretty, harmless creature.\nSo the Woodman raised his axe, and as the Wildcat ran by he gave\nit a quick blow that cut the beast's head clean off from its body,\nand it rolled over at his feet in two pieces.\nThe field mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped\nshort; and coming slowly up to the Woodman it said, in a squeaky\nlittle voice:\n\"Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life.\"\n\"Don't speak of it, I beg of you,\" replied the Woodman. \"I have\nno heart, you know, so I am careful to help all those who may need\na friend, even if it happens to be only a mouse.\"\n\"Only a mouse!\" cried the little animal, indignantly. \"Why, I am\na Queen—the Queen of all the Field Mice!\"\n\"Oh, indeed,\" said the Woodman, making a bow.\n\"Therefore you have done a great deed, as well as a brave one,\nin saving my life,\" added the Queen.\nAt that moment several mice were seen running up as fast as\ntheir little legs could carry them, and when they saw their Queen\nthey exclaimed:\n\"Oh, your Majesty, we thought you would be killed! How did you\nmanage to escape the great Wildcat?\" They all bowed so low to the\nlittle Queen that they almost stood upon their heads.\n\"This funny tin man,\" she answered, \"killed the Wildcat and\"This funny tin man,\" she answered, \"killed the Wildcat and\nsaved my life. So hereafter you must all serve him, and obey his\nslightest wish.\"\n\"We will!\" cried all the mice, in a shrill chorus. And then they\nscampered in all directions, for Toto had awakened from his sleep,\nand seeing all these mice around him he gave one bark of delight\nand jumped right into the middle of the group. Toto had always\nloved to chase mice when he lived in Kansas, and he saw no harm in\nit.\nBut the Tin Woodman caught the dog in his arms and held him\ntight, while he called to the mice, \"Come back! Come back! Toto\nshall not hurt you.\"\nAt this the Queen of the Mice stuck her head out from underneath\na clump of grass and asked, in a timid voice, \"Are you sure he will\nnot bite us?\"\n\"I will not let him,\" said the Woodman; \"so do not be\nafraid.\"\nOne by one the mice came creeping back, and Toto did not bark\nagain, although he tried to get out of the Woodman's arms, and\nwould have bitten him had he not known very well he was made of\ntin. Finally one of the biggest mice spoke.\n\"Is there anything we can do,\" it asked, \"to repay you for\nsaving the life of our Queen?\"\n\"Nothing that I know of,\" answered the Woodman; but the\nScarecrow, who had been trying to think, but could not because his\nhead was stuffed with straw, said, quickly, \"Oh, yes; you can save\nour friend, the Cowardly Lion, who is asleep in the poppy bed.\"\n\"A Lion!\" cried the little Queen. \"Why, he would eat us all\nup.\"\n\"Oh, no,\" declared the Scarecrow; \"this Lion is a coward.\"\n\"Really?\" asked the Mouse.\n\"He says so himself,\" answered the Scarecrow, \"and he would\nnever hurt anyone who is our friend. If you will help us to save\nhim I promise that he shall treat you all with kindness.\"\n\"Very well,\" said the Queen, \"we trust you. But what shall we\ndo?\"\n\"Are there many of these mice which call you Queen and are\nwilling to obey you?\"\n\"Oh, yes; there are thousands,\" she replied.\n\"Then send for them all to come here as soon as possible, and\nlet each one bring a long piece of string.\"let each one bring a long piece of string.\"\nThe Queen turned to the mice that attended her and told them to\ngo at once and get all her people. As soon as they heard her orders\nthey ran away in every direction as fast as possible.\n\"Now,\" said the Scarecrow to the Tin Woodman, \"you must go to\nthose trees by the riverside and make a truck that will carry the\nLion.\"\nSo the Woodman went at once to the trees and began to work; and\nhe soon made a truck out of the limbs of trees, from which he\nchopped away all the leaves and branches. He fastened it together\nwith wooden pegs and made the four wheels out of short pieces of a\nbig tree trunk. So fast and so well did he work that by the time\nthe mice began to arrive the truck was all ready for them.\nThey came from all directions, and there were thousands of them:\nbig mice and little mice and middle-sized mice; and each one\nbrought a piece of string in his mouth. It was about this time that\nDorothy woke from her long sleep and opened her eyes. She was\ngreatly astonished to find herself lying upon the grass, with\nthousands of mice standing around and looking at her timidly. But\nthe Scarecrow told her about everything, and turning to the\ndignified little Mouse, he said:\n\"Permit me to introduce to you her Majesty, the Queen.\"\nDorothy nodded gravely and the Queen made a curtsy, after which\nshe became quite friendly with the little girl.\nThe Scarecrow and the Woodman now began to fasten the mice to\nthe truck, using the strings they had brought. One end of a string\nwas tied around the neck of each mouse and the other end to the\ntruck. Of course the truck was a thousand times bigger than any of\nthe mice who were to draw it; but when all the mice had been\nharnessed, they were able to pull it quite easily. Even the\nScarecrow and the Tin Woodman could sit on it, and were drawn\nswiftly by their queer little horses to the place where the Lion\nlay asleep.\nAfter a great deal of hard work, for the Lion was heavy, they\nmanaged to get him up on the truck. Then the Queen hurriedly gavemanaged to get him up on the truck. Then the Queen hurriedly gave\nher people the order to start, for she feared if the mice stayed\namong the poppies too long they also would fall asleep.\nAt first the little creatures, many though they were, could\nhardly stir the heavily loaded truck; but the Woodman and the\nScarecrow both pushed from behind, and they got along better. Soon\nthey rolled the Lion out of the poppy bed to the green fields,\nwhere he could breathe the sweet, fresh air again, instead of the\npoisonous scent of the flowers.\nDorothy came to meet them and thanked the little mice warmly for\nsaving her companion from death. She had grown so fond of the big\nLion she was glad he had been rescued.\nThen the mice were unharnessed from the truck and scampered away\nthrough the grass to their homes. The Queen of the Mice was the\nlast to leave.\n\"If ever you need us again,\" she said, \"come out into the field\nand call, and we shall hear you and come to your assistance.\nGood-bye!\"\n\"Good-bye!\" they all answered, and away the Queen ran, while\nDorothy held Toto tightly lest he should run after her and frighten\nher.\nAfter this they sat down beside the Lion until he should awaken;\nand the Scarecrow brought Dorothy some fruit from a tree near by,\nwhich she ate for her dinner."}
{"text": "It was some time before the Cowardly Lion awakened, for he had\nlain among the poppies a long while, breathing in their deadly\nfragrance; but when he did open his eyes and roll off the truck he\nwas very glad to find himself still alive.\n\"I ran as fast as I could,\" he said, sitting down and yawning,\n\"but the flowers were too strong for me. How did you get me\nout?\"\nThen they told him of the field mice, and how they had\ngenerously saved him from death; and the Cowardly Lion laughed, and\nsaid:\n\"I have always thought myself very big and terrible; yet such\nlittle things as flowers came near to killing me, and such small\nanimals as mice have saved my life. How strange it all is! But,\ncomrades, what shall we do now?\"\n\"We must journey on until we find the road of yellow brick\nagain,\" said Dorothy, \"and then we can keep on to the Emerald\nCity.\"\nSo, the Lion being fully refreshed, and feeling quite himself\nagain, they all started upon the journey, greatly enjoying the walk\nthrough the soft, fresh grass; and it was not long before they\nreached the road of yellow brick and turned again toward the\nEmerald City where the Great Oz dwelt.\nThe road was smooth and well paved, now, and the country about\nwas beautiful, so that the travelers rejoiced in leaving the forest\nfar behind, and with it the many dangers they had met in its gloomy\nshades. Once more they could see fences built beside the road; but\nthese were painted green, and when they came to a small house, in\nwhich a farmer evidently lived, that also was painted green. They\npassed by several of these houses during the afternoon, and\nsometimes people came to the doors and looked at them as if they\nwould like to ask questions; but no one came near them nor spoke to\nthem because of the great Lion, of which they were very much\nafraid. The people were all dressed in clothing of a lovely\nemerald-green color and wore peaked hats like those of the\nMunchkins.\n\"This must be the Land of Oz,\" said Dorothy, \"and we are surely\ngetting near the Emerald City.\"\"This must be the Land of Oz,\" said Dorothy, \"and we are surely\ngetting near the Emerald City.\"\n\"Yes,\" answered the Scarecrow. \"Everything is green here, while\nin the country of the Munchkins blue was the favorite color. But\nthe people do not seem to be as friendly as the Munchkins, and I'm\nafraid we shall be unable to find a place to pass the night.\"\n\"I should like something to eat besides fruit,\" said the girl,\n\"and I'm sure Toto is nearly starved. Let us stop at the next house\nand talk to the people.\"\nSo, when they came to a good-sized farmhouse, Dorothy walked\nboldly up to the door and knocked.\nA woman opened it just far enough to look out, and said, \"What\ndo you want, child, and why is that great Lion with you?\"\n\"We wish to pass the night with you, if you will allow us,\"\nanswered Dorothy; \"and the Lion is my friend and comrade, and would\nnot hurt you for the world.\"\n\"Is he tame?\" asked the woman, opening the door a little\nwider.\n\"Oh, yes,\" said the girl, \"and he is a great coward, too. He\nwill be more afraid of you than you are of him.\"\n\"Well,\" said the woman, after thinking it over and taking\nanother peep at the Lion, \"if that is the case you may come in, and\nI will give you some supper and a place to sleep.\"\nSo they all entered the house, where there were, besides the\nwoman, two children and a man. The man had hurt his leg, and was\nlying on the couch in a corner. They seemed greatly surprised to\nsee so strange a company, and while the woman was busy laying the\ntable the man asked:\n\"Where are you all going?\"\n\"To the Emerald City,\" said Dorothy, \"to see the Great Oz.\"\n\"Oh, indeed!\" exclaimed the man. \"Are you sure that Oz will see\nyou?\"\n\"Why not?\" she replied.\n\"Why, it is said that he never lets anyone come into his\npresence. I have been to the Emerald City many times, and it is a\nbeautiful and wonderful place; but I have never been permitted to\nsee the Great Oz, nor do I know of any living person who has seen\nhim.\"\n\"Does he never go out?\" asked the Scarecrow.him.\"\n\"Does he never go out?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\"Never. He sits day after day in the great Throne Room of his\nPalace, and even those who wait upon him do not see him face to\nface.\"\n\"What is he like?\" asked the girl.\n\"That is hard to tell,\" said the man thoughtfully. \"You see, Oz\nis a Great Wizard, and can take on any form he wishes. So that some\nsay he looks like a bird; and some say he looks like an elephant;\nand some say he looks like a cat. To others he appears as a\nbeautiful fairy, or a brownie, or in any other form that pleases\nhim. But who the real Oz is, when he is in his own form, no living\nperson can tell.\"\n\"That is very strange,\" said Dorothy, \"but we must try, in some\nway, to see him, or we shall have made our journey for\nnothing.\"\n\"Why do you wish to see the terrible Oz?\" asked the man.\n\"I want him to give me some brains,\" said the Scarecrow\neagerly.\n\"Oh, Oz could do that easily enough,\" declared the man. \"He has\nmore brains than he needs.\"\n\"And I want him to give me a heart,\" said the Tin Woodman.\n\"That will not trouble him,\" continued the man, \"for Oz has a\nlarge collection of hearts, of all sizes and shapes.\"\n\"And I want him to give me courage,\" said the Cowardly Lion.\n\"Oz keeps a great pot of courage in his Throne Room,\" said the\nman, \"which he has covered with a golden plate, to keep it from\nrunning over. He will be glad to give you some.\"\n\"And I want him to send me back to Kansas,\" said Dorothy.\n\"Where is Kansas?\" asked the man, with surprise.\n\"I don't know,\" replied Dorothy sorrowfully, \"but it is my home,\nand I'm sure it's somewhere.\"\n\"Very likely. Well, Oz can do anything; so I suppose he will\nfind Kansas for you. But first you must get to see him, and that\nwill be a hard task; for the Great Wizard does not like to see\nanyone, and he usually has his own way. But what do you want?\" he\ncontinued, speaking to Toto. Toto only wagged his tail; for,\nstrange to say, he could not speak.\nThe woman now called to them that supper was ready, so they"}
{"text": "strange to say, he could not speak.\nThe woman now called to them that supper was ready, so they\ngathered around the table and Dorothy ate some delicious porridge\nand a dish of scrambled eggs and a plate of nice white bread, and\nenjoyed her meal. The Lion ate some of the porridge, but did not\ncare for it, saying it was made from oats and oats were food for\nhorses, not for lions. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman ate\nnothing at all. Toto ate a little of everything, and was glad to\nget a good supper again.\nThe woman now gave Dorothy a bed to sleep in, and Toto lay down\nbeside her, while the Lion guarded the door of her room so she\nmight not be disturbed. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood up\nin a corner and kept quiet all night, although of course they could\nnot sleep.\nThe next morning, as soon as the sun was up, they started on\ntheir way, and soon saw a beautiful green glow in the sky just\nbefore them.\n\"That must be the Emerald City,\" said Dorothy.\nAs they walked on, the green glow became brighter and brighter,\nand it seemed that at last they were nearing the end of their\ntravels. Yet it was afternoon before they came to the great wall\nthat surrounded the City. It was high and thick and of a bright\ngreen color.\nIn front of them, and at the end of the road of yellow brick,\nwas a big gate, all studded with emeralds that glittered so in the\nsun that even the painted eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by\ntheir brilliancy.\nThere was a bell beside the gate, and Dorothy pushed the button\nand heard a silvery tinkle sound within. Then the big gate swung\nslowly open, and they all passed through and found themselves in a\nhigh arched room, the walls of which glistened with countless\nemeralds.\nBefore them stood a little man about the same size as the\nMunchkins. He was clothed all in green, from his head to his feet,\nand even his skin was of a greenish tint. At his side was a large\ngreen box.\nWhen he saw Dorothy and her companions the man asked, \"What do\nyou wish in the Emerald City?\"When he saw Dorothy and her companions the man asked, \"What do\nyou wish in the Emerald City?\"\n\"We came here to see the Great Oz,\" said Dorothy.\nThe man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to\nthink it over.\n\"It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,\" he\nsaid, shaking his head in perplexity. \"He is powerful and terrible,\nand if you come on an idle or foolish errand to bother the wise\nreflections of the Great Wizard, he might be angry and destroy you\nall in an instant.\"\n\"But it is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one,\" replied the\nScarecrow; \"it is important. And we have been told that Oz is a\ngood Wizard.\"\n\"So he is,\" said the green man, \"and he rules the Emerald City\nwisely and well. But to those who are not honest, or who approach\nhim from curiosity, he is most terrible, and few have ever dared\nask to see his face. I am the Guardian of the Gates, and since you\ndemand to see the Great Oz I must take you to his Palace. But first\nyou must put on the spectacles.\"\n\"Why?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"Because if you did not wear spectacles the brightness and glory\nof the Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the\nCity must wear spectacles night and day. They are all locked on,\nfor Oz so ordered it when the City was first built, and I have the\nonly key that will unlock them.\"\nHe opened the big box, and Dorothy saw that it was filled with\nspectacles of every size and shape. All of them had green glasses\nin them. The Guardian of the Gates found a pair that would just fit\nDorothy and put them over her eyes. There were two golden bands\nfastened to them that passed around the back of her head, where\nthey were locked together by a little key that was at the end of a\nchain the Guardian of the Gates wore around his neck. When they\nwere on, Dorothy could not take them off had she wished, but of\ncourse she did not wish to be blinded by the glare of the Emerald\nCity, so she said nothing.\nThen the green man fitted spectacles for the Scarecrow and theCity, so she said nothing.\nThen the green man fitted spectacles for the Scarecrow and the\nTin Woodman and the Lion, and even on little Toto; and all were\nlocked fast with the key.\nThen the Guardian of the Gates put on his own glasses and told\nthem he was ready to show them to the Palace. Taking a big golden\nkey from a peg on the wall, he opened another gate, and they all\nfollowed him through the portal into the streets of the Emerald\nCity.Even with eyes protected by the green spectacles, Dorothy and\nher friends were at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the\nwonderful City. The streets were lined with beautiful houses all\nbuilt of green marble and studded everywhere with sparkling\nemeralds. They walked over a pavement of the same green marble, and\nwhere the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds, set\nclosely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The window\npanes were of green glass; even the sky above the City had a green\ntint, and the rays of the sun were green.\nThere were many people—men, women, and children—walking about,\nand these were all dressed in green clothes and had greenish skins.\nThey looked at Dorothy and her strangely assorted company with\nwondering eyes, and the children all ran away and hid behind their\nmothers when they saw the Lion; but no one spoke to them. Many\nshops stood in the street, and Dorothy saw that everything in them\nwas green. Green candy and green pop corn were offered for sale, as\nwell as green shoes, green hats, and green clothes of all sorts. At\none place a man was selling green lemonade, and when the children\nbought it Dorothy could see that they paid for it with green\npennies.\nThere seemed to be no horses nor animals of any kind; the men\ncarried things around in little green carts, which they pushed\nbefore them. Everyone seemed happy and contented and\nprosperous.\nThe Guardian of the Gates led them through the streets until\nthey came to a big building, exactly in the middle of the City,\nwhich was the Palace of Oz, the Great Wizard. There was a soldier\nbefore the door, dressed in a green uniform and wearing a long\ngreen beard.\n\"Here are strangers,\" said the Guardian of the Gates to him,\n\"and they demand to see the Great Oz.\"\n\"Step inside,\" answered the soldier, \"and I will carry your\nmessage to him.\"\nSo they passed through the Palace Gates and were led into a big\nroom with a green carpet and lovely green furniture set with\nemeralds. The soldier made them all wipe their feet upon a green"}
{"text": "emeralds. The soldier made them all wipe their feet upon a green\nmat before entering this room, and when they were seated he said\npolitely:\n\"Please make yourselves comfortable while I go to the door of\nthe Throne Room and tell Oz you are here.\"\nThey had to wait a long time before the soldier returned. When,\nat last, he came back, Dorothy asked:\n\"Have you seen Oz?\"\n\"Oh, no,\" returned the soldier; \"I have never seen him. But I\nspoke to him as he sat behind his screen and gave him your message.\nHe said he will grant you an audience, if you so desire; but each\none of you must enter his presence alone, and he will admit but one\neach day. Therefore, as you must remain in the Palace for several\ndays, I will have you shown to rooms where you may rest in comfort\nafter your journey.\"\n\"Thank you,\" replied the girl; \"that is very kind of Oz.\"\nThe soldier now blew upon a green whistle, and at once a young\ngirl, dressed in a pretty green silk gown, entered the room. She\nhad lovely green hair and green eyes, and she bowed low before\nDorothy as she said, \"Follow me and I will show you your room.\"\nSo Dorothy said good-bye to all her friends except Toto, and\ntaking the dog in her arms followed the green girl through seven\npassages and up three flights of stairs until they came to a room\nat the front of the Palace. It was the sweetest little room in the\nworld, with a soft comfortable bed that had sheets of green silk\nand a green velvet counterpane. There was a tiny fountain in the\nmiddle of the room, that shot a spray of green perfume into the\nair, to fall back into a beautifully carved green marble basin.\nBeautiful green flowers stood in the windows, and there was a shelf\nwith a row of little green books. When Dorothy had time to open\nthese books she found them full of queer green pictures that made\nher laugh, they were so funny.\nIn a wardrobe were many green dresses, made of silk and satin\nand velvet; and all of them fitted Dorothy exactly.\n\"Make yourself perfectly at home,\" said the green girl, \"and if\"Make yourself perfectly at home,\" said the green girl, \"and if\nyou wish for anything ring the bell. Oz will send for you tomorrow\nmorning.\"\nShe left Dorothy alone and went back to the others. These she\nalso led to rooms, and each one of them found himself lodged in a\nvery pleasant part of the Palace. Of course this politeness was\nwasted on the Scarecrow; for when he found himself alone in his\nroom he stood stupidly in one spot, just within the doorway, to\nwait till morning. It would not rest him to lie down, and he could\nnot close his eyes; so he remained all night staring at a little\nspider which was weaving its web in a corner of the room, just as\nif it were not one of the most wonderful rooms in the world. The\nTin Woodman lay down on his bed from force of habit, for he\nremembered when he was made of flesh; but not being able to sleep,\nhe passed the night moving his joints up and down to make sure they\nkept in good working order. The Lion would have preferred a bed of\ndried leaves in the forest, and did not like being shut up in a\nroom; but he had too much sense to let this worry him, so he sprang\nupon the bed and rolled himself up like a cat and purred himself\nasleep in a minute.\nThe next morning, after breakfast, the green maiden came to\nfetch Dorothy, and she dressed her in one of the prettiest gowns,\nmade of green brocaded satin. Dorothy put on a green silk apron and\ntied a green ribbon around Toto's neck, and they started for the\nThrone Room of the Great Oz.\nFirst they came to a great hall in which were many ladies and\ngentlemen of the court, all dressed in rich costumes. These people\nhad nothing to do but talk to each other, but they always came to\nwait outside the Throne Room every morning, although they were\nnever permitted to see Oz. As Dorothy entered they looked at her\ncuriously, and one of them whispered:\n\"Are you really going to look upon the face of Oz the\nTerrible?\"\n\"Of course,\" answered the girl, \"if he will see me.\"\n\"Oh, he will see you,\" said the soldier who had taken her\"Oh, he will see you,\" said the soldier who had taken her\nmessage to the Wizard, \"although he does not like to have people\nask to see him. Indeed, at first he was angry and said I should\nsend you back where you came from. Then he asked me what you looked\nlike, and when I mentioned your silver shoes he was very much\ninterested. At last I told him about the mark upon your forehead,\nand he decided he would admit you to his presence.\"\nJust then a bell rang, and the green girl said to Dorothy, \"That\nis the signal. You must go into the Throne Room alone.\"\nShe opened a little door and Dorothy walked boldly through and\nfound herself in a wonderful place. It was a big, round room with a\nhigh arched roof, and the walls and ceiling and floor were covered\nwith large emeralds set closely together. In the center of the roof\nwas a great light, as bright as the sun, which made the emeralds\nsparkle in a wonderful manner.\nBut what interested Dorothy most was the big throne of green\nmarble that stood in the middle of the room. It was shaped like a\nchair and sparkled with gems, as did everything else. In the center\nof the chair was an enormous Head, without a body to support it or\nany arms or legs whatever. There was no hair upon this head, but it\nhad eyes and a nose and mouth, and was much bigger than the head of\nthe biggest giant.\nAs Dorothy gazed upon this in wonder and fear, the eyes turned\nslowly and looked at her sharply and steadily. Then the mouth\nmoved, and Dorothy heard a voice say:\n\"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you\nseek me?\"\nIt was not such an awful voice as she had expected to come from\nthe big Head; so she took courage and answered:\n\"I am Dorothy, the Small and Meek. I have come to you for\nhelp.\"\nThe eyes looked at her thoughtfully for a full minute. Then said\nthe voice:\n\"Where did you get the silver shoes?\"\n\"I got them from the Wicked Witch of the East, when my house\nfell on her and killed her,\" she replied.\n\"Where did you get the mark upon your forehead?\" continued the\nvoice."}
{"text": "\"Where did you get the mark upon your forehead?\" continued the\nvoice.\n\"That is where the Good Witch of the North kissed me when she\nbade me good-bye and sent me to you,\" said the girl.\nAgain the eyes looked at her sharply, and they saw she was\ntelling the truth. Then Oz asked, \"What do you wish me to do?\"\n\"Send me back to Kansas, where my Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are,\"\nshe answered earnestly. \"I don't like your country, although it is\nso beautiful. And I am sure Aunt Em will be dreadfully worried over\nmy being away so long.\"\nThe eyes winked three times, and then they turned up to the\nceiling and down to the floor and rolled around so queerly that\nthey seemed to see every part of the room. And at last they looked\nat Dorothy again.\n\"Why should I do this for you?\" asked Oz.\n\"Because you are strong and I am weak; because you are a Great\nWizard and I am only a little girl.\"\n\"But you were strong enough to kill the Wicked Witch of the\nEast,\" said Oz.\n\"That just happened,\" returned Dorothy simply; \"I could not help\nit.\"\n\"Well,\" said the Head, \"I will give you my answer. You have no\nright to expect me to send you back to Kansas unless you do\nsomething for me in return. In this country everyone must pay for\neverything he gets. If you wish me to use my magic power to send\nyou home again you must do something for me first. Help me and I\nwill help you.\"\n\"What must I do?\" asked the girl.\n\"Kill the Wicked Witch of the West,\" answered Oz.\n\"But I cannot!\" exclaimed Dorothy, greatly surprised.\n\"You killed the Witch of the East and you wear the silver shoes,\nwhich bear a powerful charm. There is now but one Wicked Witch left\nin all this land, and when you can tell me she is dead I will send\nyou back to Kansas—but not before.\"\nThe little girl began to weep, she was so much disappointed; and\nthe eyes winked again and looked upon her anxiously, as if the\nGreat Oz felt that she could help him if she would.\n\"I never killed anything, willingly,\" she sobbed. \"Even if I\nwanted to, how could I kill the Wicked Witch? If you, who are Greatwanted to, how could I kill the Wicked Witch? If you, who are Great\nand Terrible, cannot kill her yourself, how do you expect me to do\nit?\"\n\"I do not know,\" said the Head; \"but that is my answer, and\nuntil the Wicked Witch dies you will not see your uncle and aunt\nagain. Remember that the Witch is Wicked—tremendously Wicked -and\nought to be killed. Now go, and do not ask to see me again until\nyou have done your task.\"\nSorrowfully Dorothy left the Throne Room and went back where the\nLion and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were waiting to hear\nwhat Oz had said to her. \"There is no hope for me,\" she said sadly,\n\"for Oz will not send me home until I have killed the Wicked Witch\nof the West; and that I can never do.\"\nHer friends were sorry, but could do nothing to help her; so\nDorothy went to her own room and lay down on the bed and cried\nherself to sleep.\nThe next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to the\nScarecrow and said:\n\"Come with me, for Oz has sent for you.\"\nSo the Scarecrow followed him and was admitted into the great\nThrone Room, where he saw, sitting in the emerald throne, a most\nlovely Lady. She was dressed in green silk gauze and wore upon her\nflowing green locks a crown of jewels. Growing from her shoulders\nwere wings, gorgeous in color and so light that they fluttered if\nthe slightest breath of air reached them.\nWhen the Scarecrow had bowed, as prettily as his straw stuffing\nwould let him, before this beautiful creature, she looked upon him\nsweetly, and said:\n\"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you\nseek me?\"\nNow the Scarecrow, who had expected to see the great Head\nDorothy had told him of, was much astonished; but he answered her\nbravely.\n\"I am only a Scarecrow, stuffed with straw. Therefore I have no\nbrains, and I come to you praying that you will put brains in my\nhead instead of straw, so that I may become as much a man as any\nother in your dominions.\"\n\"Why should I do this for you?\" asked the Lady.\n\"Because you are wise and powerful, and no one else can help\"Because you are wise and powerful, and no one else can help\nme,\" answered the Scarecrow.\n\"I never grant favors without some return,\" said Oz; \"but this\nmuch I will promise. If you will kill for me the Wicked Witch of\nthe West, I will bestow upon you a great many brains, and such good\nbrains that you will be the wisest man in all the Land of Oz.\"\n\"I thought you asked Dorothy to kill the Witch,\" said the\nScarecrow, in surprise.\n\"So I did. I don't care who kills her. But until she is dead I\nwill not grant your wish. Now go, and do not seek me again until\nyou have earned the brains you so greatly desire.\"\nThe Scarecrow went sorrowfully back to his friends and told them\nwhat Oz had said; and Dorothy was surprised to find that the Great\nWizard was not a Head, as she had seen him, but a lovely Lady.\n\"All the same,\" said the Scarecrow, \"she needs a heart as much\nas the Tin Woodman.\"\nOn the next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to\nthe Tin Woodman and said:\n\"Oz has sent for you. Follow me.\"\nSo the Tin Woodman followed him and came to the great Throne\nRoom. He did not know whether he would find Oz a lovely Lady or a\nHead, but he hoped it would be the lovely Lady. \"For,\" he said to\nhimself, \"if it is the head, I am sure I shall not be given a\nheart, since a head has no heart of its own and therefore cannot\nfeel for me. But if it is the lovely Lady I shall beg hard for a\nheart, for all ladies are themselves said to be kindly\nhearted.\"\nBut when the Woodman entered the great Throne Room he saw\nneither the Head nor the Lady, for Oz had taken the shape of a most\nterrible Beast. It was nearly as big as an elephant, and the green\nthrone seemed hardly strong enough to hold its weight. The Beast\nhad a head like that of a rhinoceros, only there were five eyes in\nits face. There were five long arms growing out of its body, and it\nalso had five long, slim legs. Thick, woolly hair covered every\npart of it, and a more dreadful-looking monster could not be\nimagined. It was fortunate the Tin Woodman had no heart at that"}
{"text": "imagined. It was fortunate the Tin Woodman had no heart at that\nmoment, for it would have beat loud and fast from terror. But being\nonly tin, the Woodman was not at all afraid, although he was much\ndisappointed.\n\"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,\" spoke the Beast, in a voice\nthat was one great roar. \"Who are you, and why do you seek me?\"\n\"I am a Woodman, and made of tin. Therefore I have no heart, and\ncannot love. I pray you to give me a heart that I may be as other\nmen are.\"\n\"Why should I do this?\" demanded the Beast.\n\"Because I ask it, and you alone can grant my request,\" answered\nthe Woodman.\nOz gave a low growl at this, but said, gruffly: \"If you indeed\ndesire a heart, you must earn it.\"\n\"How?\" asked the Woodman.\n\"Help Dorothy to kill the Wicked Witch of the West,\" replied the\nBeast. \"When the Witch is dead, come to me, and I will then give\nyou the biggest and kindest and most loving heart in all the Land\nof Oz.\"\nSo the Tin Woodman was forced to return sorrowfully to his\nfriends and tell them of the terrible Beast he had seen. They all\nwondered greatly at the many forms the Great Wizard could take upon\nhimself, and the Lion said:\n\"If he is a Beast when I go to see him, I shall roar my loudest,\nand so frighten him that he will grant all I ask. And if he is the\nlovely Lady, I shall pretend to spring upon her, and so compel her\nto do my bidding. And if he is the great Head, he will be at my\nmercy; for I will roll this head all about the room until he\npromises to give us what we desire. So be of good cheer, my\nfriends, for all will yet be well.\"\nThe next morning the soldier with the green whiskers led the\nLion to the great Throne Room and bade him enter the presence of\nOz.\nThe Lion at once passed through the door, and glancing around\nsaw, to his surprise, that before the throne was a Ball of Fire, so\nfierce and glowing he could scarcely bear to gaze upon it. His\nfirst thought was that Oz had by accident caught on fire and was\nburning up; but when he tried to go nearer, the heat was so intenseburning up; but when he tried to go nearer, the heat was so intense\nthat it singed his whiskers, and he crept back tremblingly to a\nspot nearer the door.\nThen a low, quiet voice came from the Ball of Fire, and these\nwere the words it spoke:\n\"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you\nseek me?\"\nAnd the Lion answered, \"I am a Cowardly Lion, afraid of\neverything. I came to you to beg that you give me courage, so that\nin reality I may become the King of Beasts, as men call me.\"\n\"Why should I give you courage?\" demanded Oz.\n\"Because of all Wizards you are the greatest, and alone have\npower to grant my request,\" answered the Lion.\nThe Ball of Fire burned fiercely for a time, and the voice said,\n\"Bring me proof that the Wicked Witch is dead, and that moment I\nwill give you courage. But as long as the Witch lives, you must\nremain a coward.\"\nThe Lion was angry at this speech, but could say nothing in\nreply, and while he stood silently gazing at the Ball of Fire it\nbecame so furiously hot that he turned tail and rushed from the\nroom. He was glad to find his friends waiting for him, and told\nthem of his terrible interview with the Wizard.\n\"What shall we do now?\" asked Dorothy sadly.\n\"There is only one thing we can do,\" returned the Lion, \"and\nthat is to go to the land of the Winkies, seek out the Wicked\nWitch, and destroy her.\"\n\"But suppose we cannot?\" said the girl.\n\"Then I shall never have courage,\" declared the Lion.\n\"And I shall never have brains,\" added the Scarecrow.\n\"And I shall never have a heart,\" spoke the Tin of Woodman.\n\"And I shall never see Aunt Em and Uncle Henry,\" said Dorothy,\nbeginning to cry.\n\"Be careful!\" cried the green girl. \"The tears will fall on your\ngreen silk gown and spot it.\"\nSo Dorothy dried her eyes and said, \"I suppose we must try it;\nbut I am sure I do not want to kill anybody, even to see Aunt Em\nagain.\"\n\"I will go with you; but I'm too much of a coward to kill the\nWitch,\" said the Lion.\n\"I will go too,\" declared the Scarecrow; \"but I shall not be ofWitch,\" said the Lion.\n\"I will go too,\" declared the Scarecrow; \"but I shall not be of\nmuch help to you, I am such a fool.\"\n\"I haven't the heart to harm even a Witch,\" remarked the Tin\nWoodman; \"but if you go I certainly shall go with you.\"\nTherefore it was decided to start upon their journey the next\nmorning, and the Woodman sharpened his axe on a green grindstone\nand had all his joints properly oiled. The Scarecrow stuffed\nhimself with fresh straw and Dorothy put new paint on his eyes that\nhe might see better. The green girl, who was very kind to them,\nfilled Dorothy's basket with good things to eat, and fastened a\nlittle bell around Toto's neck with a green ribbon.\nThey went to bed quite early and slept soundly until daylight,\nwhen they were awakened by the crowing of a green cock that lived\nin the back yard of the Palace, and the cackling of a hen that had\nlaid a green egg.The soldier with the green whiskers led them through the streets\nof the Emerald City until they reached the room where the Guardian\nof the Gates lived. This officer unlocked their spectacles to put\nthem back in his great box, and then he politely opened the gate\nfor our friends.\n\"Which road leads to the Wicked Witch of the West?\" asked\nDorothy.\n\"There is no road,\" answered the Guardian of the Gates. \"No one\never wishes to go that way.\"\n\"How, then, are we to find her?\" inquired the girl.\n\"That will be easy,\" replied the man, \"for when she knows you\nare in the country of the Winkies she will find you, and make you\nall her slaves.\"\n\"Perhaps not,\" said the Scarecrow, \"for we mean to destroy\nher.\"\n\"Oh, that is different,\" said the Guardian of the Gates. \"No one\nhas ever destroyed her before, so I naturally thought she would\nmake slaves of you, as she has of the rest. But take care; for she\nis wicked and fierce, and may not allow you to destroy her. Keep to\nthe West, where the sun sets, and you cannot fail to find her.\"\nThey thanked him and bade him good-bye, and turned toward the\nWest, walking over fields of soft grass dotted here and there with\ndaisies and buttercups. Dorothy still wore the pretty silk dress\nshe had put on in the palace, but now, to her surprise, she found\nit was no longer green, but pure white. The ribbon around Toto's\nneck had also lost its green color and was as white as Dorothy's\ndress.\nThe Emerald City was soon left far behind. As they advanced the\nground became rougher and hillier, for there were no farms nor\nhouses in this country of the West, and the ground was\nuntilled.\nIn the afternoon the sun shone hot in their faces, for there\nwere no trees to offer them shade; so that before night Dorothy and\nToto and the Lion were tired, and lay down upon the grass and fell\nasleep, with the Woodman and the Scarecrow keeping watch.\nNow the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was\nas powerful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she"}
{"text": "as powerful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she\nsat in the door of her castle, she happened to look around and saw\nDorothy lying asleep, with her friends all about her. They were a\nlong distance off, but the Wicked Witch was angry to find them in\nher country; so she blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her\nneck.\nAt once there came running to her from all directions a pack of\ngreat wolves. They had long legs and fierce eyes and sharp\nteeth.\n\"Go to those people,\" said the Witch, \"and tear them to\npieces.\"\n\"Are you not going to make them your slaves?\" asked the leader\nof the wolves.\n\"No,\" she answered, \"one is of tin, and one of straw; one is a\ngirl and another a Lion. None of them is fit to work, so you may\ntear them into small pieces.\"\n\"Very well,\" said the wolf, and he dashed away at full speed,\nfollowed by the others.\nIt was lucky the Scarecrow and the Woodman were wide awake and\nheard the wolves coming.\n\"This is my fight,\" said the Woodman, \"so get behind me and I\nwill meet them as they come.\"\nHe seized his axe, which he had made very sharp, and as the\nleader of the wolves came on the Tin Woodman swung his arm and\nchopped the wolf's head from its body, so that it immediately died.\nAs soon as he could raise his axe another wolf came up, and he also\nfell under the sharp edge of the Tin Woodman's weapon. There were\nforty wolves, and forty times a wolf was killed, so that at last\nthey all lay dead in a heap before the Woodman.\nThen he put down his axe and sat beside the Scarecrow, who said,\n\"It was a good fight, friend.\"\nThey waited until Dorothy awoke the next morning. The little\ngirl was quite frightened when she saw the great pile of shaggy\nwolves, but the Tin Woodman told her all. She thanked him for\nsaving them and sat down to breakfast, after which they started\nagain upon their journey.\nNow this same morning the Wicked Witch came to the door of her\ncastle and looked out with her one eye that could see far off. She\nsaw all her wolves lying dead, and the strangers still travelingsaw all her wolves lying dead, and the strangers still traveling\nthrough her country. This made her angrier than before, and she\nblew her silver whistle twice.\nStraightway a great flock of wild crows came flying toward her,\nenough to darken the sky.\nAnd the Wicked Witch said to the King Crow, \"Fly at once to the\nstrangers; peck out their eyes and tear them to pieces.\"\nThe wild crows flew in one great flock toward Dorothy and her\ncompanions. When the little girl saw them coming she was\nafraid.\nBut the Scarecrow said, \"This is my battle, so lie down beside\nme and you will not be harmed.\"\nSo they all lay upon the ground except the Scarecrow, and he\nstood up and stretched out his arms. And when the crows saw him\nthey were frightened, as these birds always are by scarecrows, and\ndid not dare to come any nearer. But the King Crow said:\n\"It is only a stuffed man. I will peck his eyes out.\"\nThe King Crow flew at the Scarecrow, who caught it by the head\nand twisted its neck until it died. And then another crow flew at\nhim, and the Scarecrow twisted its neck also. There were forty\ncrows, and forty times the Scarecrow twisted a neck, until at last\nall were lying dead beside him. Then he called to his companions to\nrise, and again they went upon their journey.\nWhen the Wicked Witch looked out again and saw all her crows\nlying in a heap, she got into a terrible rage, and blew three times\nupon her silver whistle.\nForthwith there was heard a great buzzing in the air, and a\nswarm of black bees came flying toward her.\n\"Go to the strangers and sting them to death!\" commanded the\nWitch, and the bees turned and flew rapidly until they came to\nwhere Dorothy and her friends were walking. But the Woodman had\nseen them coming, and the Scarecrow had decided what to do.\n\"Take out my straw and scatter it over the little girl and the\ndog and the Lion,\" he said to the Woodman, \"and the bees cannot\nsting them.\" This the Woodman did, and as Dorothy lay close beside\nthe Lion and held Toto in her arms, the straw covered them\nentirely.the Lion and held Toto in her arms, the straw covered them\nentirely.\nThe bees came and found no one but the Woodman to sting, so they\nflew at him and broke off all their stings against the tin, without\nhurting the Woodman at all. And as bees cannot live when their\nstings are broken that was the end of the black bees, and they lay\nscattered thick about the Woodman, like little heaps of fine\ncoal.\nThen Dorothy and the Lion got up, and the girl helped the Tin\nWoodman put the straw back into the Scarecrow again, until he was\nas good as ever. So they started upon their journey once more.\nThe Wicked Witch was so angry when she saw her black bees in\nlittle heaps like fine coal that she stamped her foot and tore her\nhair and gnashed her teeth. And then she called a dozen of her\nslaves, who were the Winkies, and gave them sharp spears, telling\nthem to go to the strangers and destroy them.\nThe Winkies were not a brave people, but they had to do as they\nwere told. So they marched away until they came near to Dorothy.\nThen the Lion gave a great roar and sprang towards them, and the\npoor Winkies were so frightened that they ran back as fast as they\ncould.\nWhen they returned to the castle the Wicked Witch beat them well\nwith a strap, and sent them back to their work, after which she sat\ndown to think what she should do next. She could not understand how\nall her plans to destroy these strangers had failed; but she was a\npowerful Witch, as well as a wicked one, and she soon made up her\nmind how to act.\nThere was, in her cupboard, a Golden Cap, with a circle of\ndiamonds and rubies running round it. This Golden Cap had a charm.\nWhoever owned it could call three times upon the Winged Monkeys,\nwho would obey any order they were given. But no person could\ncommand these strange creatures more than three times. Twice\nalready the Wicked Witch had used the charm of the Cap. Once was\nwhen she had made the Winkies her slaves, and set herself to rule\nover their country. The Winged Monkeys had helped her do this. The"}
{"text": "over their country. The Winged Monkeys had helped her do this. The\nsecond time was when she had fought against the Great Oz himself,\nand driven him out of the land of the West. The Winged Monkeys had\nalso helped her in doing this. Only once more could she use this\nGolden Cap, for which reason she did not like to do so until all\nher other powers were exhausted. But now that her fierce wolves and\nher wild crows and her stinging bees were gone, and her slaves had\nbeen scared away by the Cowardly Lion, she saw there was only one\nway left to destroy Dorothy and her friends.\nSo the Wicked Witch took the Golden Cap from her cupboard and\nplaced it upon her head. Then she stood upon her left foot and said\nslowly:\n\"Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!\"\nNext she stood upon her right foot and said:\n\"Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!\"\nAfter this she stood upon both feet and cried in a loud\nvoice:\n\"Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!\"\nNow the charm began to work. The sky was darkened, and a low\nrumbling sound was heard in the air. There was a rushing of many\nwings, a great chattering and laughing, and the sun came out of the\ndark sky to show the Wicked Witch surrounded by a crowd of monkeys,\neach with a pair of immense and powerful wings on his\nshoulders.\nOne, much bigger than the others, seemed to be their leader. He\nflew close to the Witch and said, \"You have called us for the third\nand last time. What do you command?\"\n\"Go to the strangers who are within my land and destroy them all\nexcept the Lion,\" said the Wicked Witch. \"Bring that beast to me,\nfor I have a mind to harness him like a horse, and make him\nwork.\"\n\"Your commands shall be obeyed,\" said the leader. Then, with a\ngreat deal of chattering and noise, the Winged Monkeys flew away to\nthe place where Dorothy and her friends were walking.\nSome of the Monkeys seized the Tin Woodman and carried him\nthrough the air until they were over a country thickly covered with\nsharp rocks. Here they dropped the poor Woodman, who fell a great\ndistance to the rocks, where he lay so battered and dented that hedistance to the rocks, where he lay so battered and dented that he\ncould neither move nor groan.\nOthers of the Monkeys caught the Scarecrow, and with their long\nfingers pulled all of the straw out of his clothes and head. They\nmade his hat and boots and clothes into a small bundle and threw it\ninto the top branches of a tall tree.\nThe remaining Monkeys threw pieces of stout rope around the Lion\nand wound many coils about his body and head and legs, until he was\nunable to bite or scratch or struggle in any way. Then they lifted\nhim up and flew away with him to the Witch's castle, where he was\nplaced in a small yard with a high iron fence around it, so that he\ncould not escape.\nBut Dorothy they did not harm at all. She stood, with Toto in\nher arms, watching the sad fate of her comrades and thinking it\nwould soon be her turn. The leader of the Winged Monkeys flew up to\nher, his long, hairy arms stretched out and his ugly face grinning\nterribly; but he saw the mark of the Good Witch's kiss upon her\nforehead and stopped short, motioning the others not to touch\nher.\n\"We dare not harm this little girl,\" he said to them, \"for she\nis protected by the Power of Good, and that is greater than the\nPower of Evil. All we can do is to carry her to the castle of the\nWicked Witch and leave her there.\"\nSo, carefully and gently, they lifted Dorothy in their arms and\ncarried her swiftly through the air until they came to the castle,\nwhere they set her down upon the front doorstep. Then the leader\nsaid to the Witch:\n\"We have obeyed you as far as we were able. The Tin Woodman and\nthe Scarecrow are destroyed, and the Lion is tied up in your yard.\nThe little girl we dare not harm, nor the dog she carries in her\narms. Your power over our band is now ended, and you will never see\nus again.\"\nThen all the Winged Monkeys, with much laughing and chattering\nand noise, flew into the air and were soon out of sight.\nThe Wicked Witch was both surprised and worried when she saw the\nmark on Dorothy's forehead, for she knew well that neither themark on Dorothy's forehead, for she knew well that neither the\nWinged Monkeys nor she, herself, dare hurt the girl in any way. She\nlooked down at Dorothy's feet, and seeing the Silver Shoes, began\nto tremble with fear, for she knew what a powerful charm belonged\nto them. At first the Witch was tempted to run away from Dorothy;\nbut she happened to look into the child's eyes and saw how simple\nthe soul behind them was, and that the little girl did not know of\nthe wonderful power the Silver Shoes gave her. So the Wicked Witch\nlaughed to herself, and thought, \"I can still make her my slave,\nfor she does not know how to use her power.\" Then she said to\nDorothy, harshly and severely:\n\"Come with me; and see that you mind everything I tell you, for\nif you do not I will make an end of you, as I did of the Tin\nWoodman and the Scarecrow.\"\nDorothy followed her through many of the beautiful rooms in her\ncastle until they came to the kitchen, where the Witch bade her\nclean the pots and kettles and sweep the floor and keep the fire\nfed with wood.\nDorothy went to work meekly, with her mind made up to work as\nhard as she could; for she was glad the Wicked Witch had decided\nnot to kill her.\nWith Dorothy hard at work, the Witch thought she would go into\nthe courtyard and harness the Cowardly Lion like a horse; it would\namuse her, she was sure, to make him draw her chariot whenever she\nwished to go to drive. But as she opened the gate the Lion gave a\nloud roar and bounded at her so fiercely that the Witch was afraid,\nand ran out and shut the gate again.\n\"If I cannot harness you,\" said the Witch to the Lion, speaking\nthrough the bars of the gate, \"I can starve you. You shall have\nnothing to eat until you do as I wish.\"\nSo after that she took no food to the imprisoned Lion; but every\nday she came to the gate at noon and asked, \"Are you ready to be\nharnessed like a horse?\"\nAnd the Lion would answer, \"No. If you come in this yard, I will\nbite you.\"\nThe reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was"}
{"text": "bite you.\"\nThe reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was\nthat every night, while the woman was asleep, Dorothy carried him\nfood from the cupboard. After he had eaten he would lie down on his\nbed of straw, and Dorothy would lie beside him and put her head on\nhis soft, shaggy mane, while they talked of their troubles and\ntried to plan some way to escape. But they could find no way to get\nout of the castle, for it was constantly guarded by the yellow\nWinkies, who were the slaves of the Wicked Witch and too afraid of\nher not to do as she told them.\nThe girl had to work hard during the day, and often the Witch\nthreatened to beat her with the same old umbrella she always\ncarried in her hand. But, in truth, she did not dare to strike\nDorothy, because of the mark upon her forehead. The child did not\nknow this, and was full of fear for herself and Toto. Once the\nWitch struck Toto a blow with her umbrella and the brave little dog\nflew at her and bit her leg in return. The Witch did not bleed\nwhere she was bitten, for she was so wicked that the blood in her\nhad dried up many years before.\nDorothy's life became very sad as she grew to understand that it\nwould be harder than ever to get back to Kansas and Aunt Em again.\nSometimes she would cry bitterly for hours, with Toto sitting at\nher feet and looking into her face, whining dismally to show how\nsorry he was for his little mistress. Toto did not really care\nwhether he was in Kansas or the Land of Oz so long as Dorothy was\nwith him; but he knew the little girl was unhappy, and that made\nhim unhappy too.\nNow the Wicked Witch had a great longing to have for her own the\nSilver Shoes which the girl always wore. Her bees and her crows and\nher wolves were lying in heaps and drying up, and she had used up\nall the power of the Golden Cap; but if she could only get hold of\nthe Silver Shoes, they would give her more power than all the other\nthings she had lost. She watched Dorothy carefully, to see if shethings she had lost. She watched Dorothy carefully, to see if she\never took off her shoes, thinking she might steal them. But the\nchild was so proud of her pretty shoes that she never took them off\nexcept at night and when she took her bath. The Witch was too much\nafraid of the dark to dare go in Dorothy's room at night to take\nthe shoes, and her dread of water was greater than her fear of the\ndark, so she never came near when Dorothy was bathing. Indeed, the\nold Witch never touched water, nor ever let water touch her in any\nway.\nBut the wicked creature was very cunning, and she finally\nthought of a trick that would give her what she wanted. She placed\na bar of iron in the middle of the kitchen floor, and then by her\nmagic arts made the iron invisible to human eyes. So that when\nDorothy walked across the floor she stumbled over the bar, not\nbeing able to see it, and fell at full length. She was not much\nhurt, but in her fall one of the Silver Shoes came off; and before\nshe could reach it, the Witch had snatched it away and put it on\nher own skinny foot.\nThe wicked woman was greatly pleased with the success of her\ntrick, for as long as she had one of the shoes she owned half the\npower of their charm, and Dorothy could not use it against her,\neven had she known how to do so.\nThe little girl, seeing she had lost one of her pretty shoes,\ngrew angry, and said to the Witch, \"Give me back my shoe!\"\n\"I will not,\" retorted the Witch, \"for it is now my shoe, and\nnot yours.\"\n\"You are a wicked creature!\" cried Dorothy. \"You have no right\nto take my shoe from me.\"\n\"I shall keep it, just the same,\" said the Witch, laughing at\nher, \"and someday I shall get the other one from you, too.\"\nThis made Dorothy so very angry that she picked up the bucket of\nwater that stood near and dashed it over the Witch, wetting her\nfrom head to foot.\nInstantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and then, as\nDorothy looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to shrink and fall\naway.\n\"See what you have done!\" she screamed. \"In a minute I shallaway.\n\"See what you have done!\" she screamed. \"In a minute I shall\nmelt away.\"\n\"I'm very sorry, indeed,\" said Dorothy, who was truly frightened\nto see the Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her\nvery eyes.\n\"Didn't you know water would be the end of me?\" asked the Witch,\nin a wailing, despairing voice.\n\"Of course not,\" answered Dorothy. \"How should I?\"\n\"Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted, and you will have\nthe castle to yourself. I have been wicked in my day, but I never\nthought a little girl like you would ever be able to melt me and\nend my wicked deeds. Look out—here I go!\"\nWith these words the Witch fell down in a brown, melted,\nshapeless mass and began to spread over the clean boards of the\nkitchen floor. Seeing that she had really melted away to nothing,\nDorothy drew another bucket of water and threw it over the mess.\nShe then swept it all out the door. After picking out the silver\nshoe, which was all that was left of the old woman, she cleaned and\ndried it with a cloth, and put it on her foot again. Then, being at\nlast free to do as she chose, she ran out to the courtyard to tell\nthe Lion that the Wicked Witch of the West had come to an end, and\nthat they were no longer prisoners in a strange land.The Cowardly Lion was much pleased to hear that the Wicked Witch\nhad been melted by a bucket of water, and Dorothy at once unlocked\nthe gate of his prison and set him free. They went in together to\nthe castle, where Dorothy's first act was to call all the Winkies\ntogether and tell them that they were no longer slaves.\nThere was great rejoicing among the yellow Winkies, for they had\nbeen made to work hard during many years for the Wicked Witch, who\nhad always treated them with great cruelty. They kept this day as a\nholiday, then and ever after, and spent the time in feasting and\ndancing.\n\"If our friends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, were only\nwith us,\" said the Lion, \"I should be quite happy.\"\n\"Don't you suppose we could rescue them?\" asked the girl\nanxiously.\n\"We can try,\" answered the Lion.\nSo they called the yellow Winkies and asked them if they would\nhelp to rescue their friends, and the Winkies said that they would\nbe delighted to do all in their power for Dorothy, who had set them\nfree from bondage. So she chose a number of the Winkies who looked\nas if they knew the most, and they all started away. They traveled\nthat day and part of the next until they came to the rocky plain\nwhere the Tin Woodman lay, all battered and bent. His axe was near\nhim, but the blade was rusted and the handle broken off short.\nThe Winkies lifted him tenderly in their arms, and carried him\nback to the Yellow Castle again, Dorothy shedding a few tears by\nthe way at the sad plight of her old friend, and the Lion looking\nsober and sorry. When they reached the castle Dorothy said to the\nWinkies:\n\"Are any of your people tinsmiths?\"\n\"Oh, yes. Some of us are very good tinsmiths,\" they told\nher.\n\"Then bring them to me,\" she said. And when the tinsmiths came,\nbringing with them all their tools in baskets, she inquired, \"Can\nyou straighten out those dents in the Tin Woodman, and bend him\nback into shape again, and solder him together where he is\nbroken?\"\nThe tinsmiths looked the Woodman over carefully and then"}
{"text": "broken?\"\nThe tinsmiths looked the Woodman over carefully and then\nanswered that they thought they could mend him so he would be as\ngood as ever. So they set to work in one of the big yellow rooms of\nthe castle and worked for three days and four nights, hammering and\ntwisting and bending and soldering and polishing and pounding at\nthe legs and body and head of the Tin Woodman, until at last he was\nstraightened out into his old form, and his joints worked as well\nas ever. To be sure, there were several patches on him, but the\ntinsmiths did a good job, and as the Woodman was not a vain man he\ndid not mind the patches at all.\nWhen, at last, he walked into Dorothy's room and thanked her for\nrescuing him, he was so pleased that he wept tears of joy, and\nDorothy had to wipe every tear carefully from his face with her\napron, so his joints would not be rusted. At the same time her own\ntears fell thick and fast at the joy of meeting her old friend\nagain, and these tears did not need to be wiped away. As for the\nLion, he wiped his eyes so often with the tip of his tail that it\nbecame quite wet, and he was obliged to go out into the courtyard\nand hold it in the sun till it dried.\n\"If we only had the Scarecrow with us again,\" said the Tin\nWoodman, when Dorothy had finished telling him everything that had\nhappened, \"I should be quite happy.\"\n\"We must try to find him,\" said the girl.\nSo she called the Winkies to help her, and they walked all that\nday and part of the next until they came to the tall tree in the\nbranches of which the Winged Monkeys had tossed the Scarecrow's\nclothes.\nIt was a very tall tree, and the trunk was so smooth that no one\ncould climb it; but the Woodman said at once, \"I'll chop it down,\nand then we can get the Scarecrow's clothes.\"\nNow while the tinsmiths had been at work mending the Woodman\nhimself, another of the Winkies, who was a goldsmith, had made an\naxe-handle of solid gold and fitted it to the Woodman's axe,\ninstead of the old broken handle. Others polished the blade untilinstead of the old broken handle. Others polished the blade until\nall the rust was removed and it glistened like burnished\nsilver.\nAs soon as he had spoken, the Tin Woodman began to chop, and in\na short time the tree fell over with a crash, whereupon the\nScarecrow's clothes fell out of the branches and rolled off on the\nground.\nDorothy picked them up and had the Winkies carry them back to\nthe castle, where they were stuffed with nice, clean straw; and\nbehold! here was the Scarecrow, as good as ever, thanking them over\nand over again for saving him.\nNow that they were reunited, Dorothy and her friends spent a few\nhappy days at the Yellow Castle, where they found everything they\nneeded to make them comfortable.\nBut one day the girl thought of Aunt Em, and said, \"We must go\nback to Oz, and claim his promise.\"\n\"Yes,\" said the Woodman, \"at last I shall get my heart.\"\n\"And I shall get my brains,\" added the Scarecrow joyfully.\n\"And I shall get my courage,\" said the Lion thoughtfully.\n\"And I shall get back to Kansas,\" cried Dorothy, clapping her\nhands. \"Oh, let us start for the Emerald City tomorrow!\"\nThis they decided to do. The next day they called the Winkies\ntogether and bade them good-bye. The Winkies were sorry to have\nthem go, and they had grown so fond of the Tin Woodman that they\nbegged him to stay and rule over them and the Yellow Land of the\nWest. Finding they were determined to go, the Winkies gave Toto and\nthe Lion each a golden collar; and to Dorothy they presented a\nbeautiful bracelet studded with diamonds; and to the Scarecrow they\ngave a gold-headed walking stick, to keep him from stumbling; and\nto the Tin Woodman they offered a silver oil-can, inlaid with gold\nand set with precious jewels.\nEvery one of the travelers made the Winkies a pretty speech in\nreturn, and all shook hands with them until their arms ached.\nDorothy went to the Witch's cupboard to fill her basket with\nfood for the journey, and there she saw the Golden Cap. She tried\nit on her own head and found that it fitted her exactly. She didit on her own head and found that it fitted her exactly. She did\nnot know anything about the charm of the Golden Cap, but she saw\nthat it was pretty, so she made up her mind to wear it and carry\nher sunbonnet in the basket.\nThen, being prepared for the journey, they all started for the\nEmerald City; and the Winkies gave them three cheers and many good\nwishes to carry with them.You will remember there was no road—not even a pathway—between\nthe castle of the Wicked Witch and the Emerald City. When the four\ntravelers went in search of the Witch she had seen them coming, and\nso sent the Winged Monkeys to bring them to her. It was much harder\nto find their way back through the big fields of buttercups and\nyellow daisies than it was being carried. They knew, of course,\nthey must go straight east, toward the rising sun; and they started\noff in the right way. But at noon, when the sun was over their\nheads, they did not know which was east and which was west, and\nthat was the reason they were lost in the great fields. They kept\non walking, however, and at night the moon came out and shone\nbrightly. So they lay down among the sweet smelling yellow flowers\nand slept soundly until morning—all but the Scarecrow and the Tin\nWoodman.\nThe next morning the sun was behind a cloud, but they started\non, as if they were quite sure which way they were going.\n\"If we walk far enough,\" said Dorothy, \"I am sure we shall\nsometime come to some place.\"\nBut day by day passed away, and they still saw nothing before\nthem but the scarlet fields. The Scarecrow began to grumble a\nbit.\n\"We have surely lost our way,\" he said, \"and unless we find it\nagain in time to reach the Emerald City, I shall never get my\nbrains.\"\n\"Nor I my heart,\" declared the Tin Woodman. \"It seems to me I\ncan scarcely wait till I get to Oz, and you must admit this is a\nvery long journey.\"\n\"You see,\" said the Cowardly Lion, with a whimper, \"I haven't\nthe courage to keep tramping forever, without getting anywhere at\nall.\"\nThen Dorothy lost heart. She sat down on the grass and looked at\nher companions, and they sat down and looked at her, and Toto found\nthat for the first time in his life he was too tired to chase a\nbutterfly that flew past his head. So he put out his tongue and\npanted and looked at Dorothy as if to ask what they should do\nnext.\n\"Suppose we call the field mice,\" she suggested. \"They could"}
{"text": "next.\n\"Suppose we call the field mice,\" she suggested. \"They could\nprobably tell us the way to the Emerald City.\"\n\"To be sure they could,\" cried the Scarecrow. \"Why didn't we\nthink of that before?\"\nDorothy blew the little whistle she had always carried about her\nneck since the Queen of the Mice had given it to her. In a few\nminutes they heard the pattering of tiny feet, and many of the\nsmall gray mice came running up to her. Among them was the Queen\nherself, who asked, in her squeaky little voice:\n\"What can I do for my friends?\"\n\"We have lost our way,\" said Dorothy. \"Can you tell us where the\nEmerald City is?\"\n\"Certainly,\" answered the Queen; \"but it is a great way off, for\nyou have had it at your backs all this time.\" Then she noticed\nDorothy's Golden Cap, and said, \"Why don't you use the charm of the\nCap, and call the Winged Monkeys to you? They will carry you to the\nCity of Oz in less than an hour.\"\n\"I didn't know there was a charm,\" answered Dorothy, in\nsurprise. \"What is it?\"\n\"It is written inside the Golden Cap,\" replied the Queen of the\nMice. \"But if you are going to call the Winged Monkeys we must run\naway, for they are full of mischief and think it great fun to\nplague us.\"\n\"Won't they hurt me?\" asked the girl anxiously.\n\"Oh, no. They must obey the wearer of the Cap. Good-bye!\" And\nshe scampered out of sight, with all the mice hurrying after\nher.\nDorothy looked inside the Golden Cap and saw some words written\nupon the lining. These, she thought, must be the charm, so she read\nthe directions carefully and put the Cap upon her head.\n\"Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!\" she said, standing on her left\nfoot.\n\"What did you say?\" asked the Scarecrow, who did not know what\nshe was doing.\n\"Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!\" Dorothy went on, standing this time on\nher right foot.\n\"Hello!\" replied the Tin Woodman calmly.\n\"Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!\" said Dorothy, who was now standing on\nboth feet. This ended the saying of the charm, and they heard a\ngreat chattering and flapping of wings, as the band of Winged\nMonkeys flew up to them.great chattering and flapping of wings, as the band of Winged\nMonkeys flew up to them.\nThe King bowed low before Dorothy, and asked, \"What is your\ncommand?\"\n\"We wish to go to the Emerald City,\" said the child, \"and we\nhave lost our way.\"\n\"We will carry you,\" replied the King, and no sooner had he\nspoken than two of the Monkeys caught Dorothy in their arms and\nflew away with her. Others took the Scarecrow and the Woodman and\nthe Lion, and one little Monkey seized Toto and flew after them,\nalthough the dog tried hard to bite him.\nThe Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were rather frightened at\nfirst, for they remembered how badly the Winged Monkeys had treated\nthem before; but they saw that no harm was intended, so they rode\nthrough the air quite cheerfully, and had a fine time looking at\nthe pretty gardens and woods far below them.\nDorothy found herself riding easily between two of the biggest\nMonkeys, one of them the King himself. They had made a chair of\ntheir hands and were careful not to hurt her.\n\"Why do you have to obey the charm of the Golden Cap?\" she\nasked.\n\"That is a long story,\" answered the King, with a Winged laugh;\n\"but as we have a long journey before us, I will pass the time by\ntelling you about it, if you wish.\"\n\"I shall be glad to hear it,\" she replied.\n\"Once,\" began the leader, \"we were a free people, living happily\nin the great forest, flying from tree to tree, eating nuts and\nfruit, and doing just as we pleased without calling anybody master.\nPerhaps some of us were rather too full of mischief at times,\nflying down to pull the tails of the animals that had no wings,\nchasing birds, and throwing nuts at the people who walked in the\nforest. But we were careless and happy and full of fun, and enjoyed\nevery minute of the day. This was many years ago, long before Oz\ncame out of the clouds to rule over this land.\n\"There lived here then, away at the North, a beautiful princess,\nwho was also a powerful sorceress. All her magic was used to helpwho was also a powerful sorceress. All her magic was used to help\nthe people, and she was never known to hurt anyone who was good.\nHer name was Gayelette, and she lived in a handsome palace built\nfrom great blocks of ruby. Everyone loved her, but her greatest\nsorrow was that she could find no one to love in return, since all\nthe men were much too stupid and ugly to mate with one so beautiful\nand wise. At last, however, she found a boy who was handsome and\nmanly and wise beyond his years. Gayelette made up her mind that\nwhen he grew to be a man she would make him her husband, so she\ntook him to her ruby palace and used all her magic powers to make\nhim as strong and good and lovely as any woman could wish. When he\ngrew to manhood, Quelala, as he was called, was said to be the best\nand wisest man in all the land, while his manly beauty was so great\nthat Gayelette loved him dearly, and hastened to make everything\nready for the wedding.\n\"My grandfather was at that time the King of the Winged Monkeys\nwhich lived in the forest near Gayelette's palace, and the old\nfellow loved a joke better than a good dinner. One day, just before\nthe wedding, my grandfather was flying out with his band when he\nsaw Quelala walking beside the river. He was dressed in a rich\ncostume of pink silk and purple velvet, and my grandfather thought\nhe would see what he could do. At his word the band flew down and\nseized Quelala, carried him in their arms until they were over the\nmiddle of the river, and then dropped him into the water.\n\"`Swim out, my fine fellow,' cried my grandfather, `and see if\nthe water has spotted your clothes.' Quelala was much too wise not\nto swim, and he was not in the least spoiled by all his good\nfortune. He laughed, when he came to the top of the water, and swam\nin to shore. But when Gayelette came running out to him she found\nhis silks and velvet all ruined by the river.\n\"The princess was angry, and she knew, of course, who did it.\nShe had all the Winged Monkeys brought before her, and she said at"}
{"text": "She had all the Winged Monkeys brought before her, and she said at\nfirst that their wings should be tied and they should be treated as\nthey had treated Quelala, and dropped in the river. But my\ngrandfather pleaded hard, for he knew the Monkeys would drown in\nthe river with their wings tied, and Quelala said a kind word for\nthem also; so that Gayelette finally spared them, on condition that\nthe Winged Monkeys should ever after do three times the bidding of\nthe owner of the Golden Cap. This Cap had been made for a wedding\npresent to Quelala, and it is said to have cost the princess half\nher kingdom. Of course my grandfather and all the other Monkeys at\nonce agreed to the condition, and that is how it happens that we\nare three times the slaves of the owner of the Golden Cap,\nwhosoever he may be.\"\n\"And what became of them?\" asked Dorothy, who had been greatly\ninterested in the story.\n\"Quelala being the first owner of the Golden Cap,\" replied the\nMonkey, \"he was the first to lay his wishes upon us. As his bride\ncould not bear the sight of us, he called us all to him in the\nforest after he had married her and ordered us always to keep where\nshe could never again set eyes on a Winged Monkey, which we were\nglad to do, for we were all afraid of her.\n\"This was all we ever had to do until the Golden Cap fell into\nthe hands of the Wicked Witch of the West, who made us enslave the\nWinkies, and afterward drive Oz himself out of the Land of the\nWest. Now the Golden Cap is yours, and three times you have the\nright to lay your wishes upon us.\"\nAs the Monkey King finished his story Dorothy looked down and\nsaw the green, shining walls of the Emerald City before them. She\nwondered at the rapid flight of the Monkeys, but was glad the\njourney was over. The strange creatures set the travelers down\ncarefully before the gate of the City, the King bowed low to\nDorothy, and then flew swiftly away, followed by all his band.\n\"That was a good ride,\" said the little girl.\n\"Yes, and a quick way out of our troubles,\" replied the Lion.\"Yes, and a quick way out of our troubles,\" replied the Lion.\n\"How lucky it was you brought away that wonderful Cap!\"The four travelers walked up to the great gate of Emerald City\nand rang the bell. After ringing several times, it was opened by\nthe same Guardian of the Gates they had met before.\n\"What! are you back again?\" he asked, in surprise.\n\"Do you not see us?\" answered the Scarecrow.\n\"But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the\nWest.\"\n\"We did visit her,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"And she let you go again?\" asked the man, in wonder.\n\"She could not help it, for she is melted,\" explained the\nScarecrow.\n\"Melted! Well, that is good news, indeed,\" said the man. \"Who\nmelted her?\"\n\"It was Dorothy,\" said the Lion gravely.\n\"Good gracious!\" exclaimed the man, and he bowed very low indeed\nbefore her.\nThen he led them into his little room and locked the spectacles\nfrom the great box on all their eyes, just as he had done before.\nAfterward they passed on through the gate into the Emerald City.\nWhen the people heard from the Guardian of the Gates that Dorothy\nhad melted the Wicked Witch of the West, they all gathered around\nthe travelers and followed them in a great crowd to the Palace of\nOz.\nThe soldier with the green whiskers was still on guard before\nthe door, but he let them in at once, and they were again met by\nthe beautiful green girl, who showed each of them to their old\nrooms at once, so they might rest until the Great Oz was ready to\nreceive them.\nThe soldier had the news carried straight to Oz that Dorothy and\nthe other travelers had come back again, after destroying the\nWicked Witch; but Oz made no reply. They thought the Great Wizard\nwould send for them at once, but he did not. They had no word from\nhim the next day, nor the next, nor the next. The waiting was\ntiresome and wearing, and at last they grew vexed that Oz should\ntreat them in so poor a fashion, after sending them to undergo\nhardships and slavery. So the Scarecrow at last asked the green\ngirl to take another message to Oz, saying if he did not let them\nin to see him at once they would call the Winged Monkeys to helpin to see him at once they would call the Winged Monkeys to help\nthem, and find out whether he kept his promises or not. When the\nWizard was given this message he was so frightened that he sent\nword for them to come to the Throne Room at four minutes after nine\no'clock the next morning. He had once met the Winged Monkeys in the\nLand of the West, and he did not wish to meet them again.\nThe four travelers passed a sleepless night, each thinking of\nthe gift Oz had promised to bestow on him. Dorothy fell asleep only\nonce, and then she dreamed she was in Kansas, where Aunt Em was\ntelling her how glad she was to have her little girl at home\nagain.\nPromptly at nine o'clock the next morning the green-whiskered\nsoldier came to them, and four minutes later they all went into the\nThrone Room of the Great Oz.\nOf course each one of them expected to see the Wizard in the\nshape he had taken before, and all were greatly surprised when they\nlooked about and saw no one at all in the room. They kept close to\nthe door and closer to one another, for the stillness of the empty\nroom was more dreadful than any of the forms they had seen Oz\ntake.\nPresently they heard a solemn Voice, that seemed to come from\nsomewhere near the top of the great dome, and it said:\n\"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Why do you seek me?\"\nThey looked again in every part of the room, and then, seeing no\none, Dorothy asked, \"Where are you?\"\n\"I am everywhere,\" answered the Voice, \"but to the eyes of\ncommon mortals I am invisible. I will now seat myself upon my\nthrone, that you may converse with me.\" Indeed, the Voice seemed\njust then to come straight from the throne itself; so they walked\ntoward it and stood in a row while Dorothy said:\n\"We have come to claim our promise, O Oz.\"\n\"What promise?\" asked Oz.\n\"You promised to send me back to Kansas when the Wicked Witch\nwas destroyed,\" said the girl.\n\"And you promised to give me brains,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"And you promised to give me a heart,\" said the Tin Woodman."}
{"text": "\"And you promised to give me a heart,\" said the Tin Woodman.\n\"And you promised to give me courage,\" said the Cowardly\nLion.\n\"Is the Wicked Witch really destroyed?\" asked the Voice, and\nDorothy thought it trembled a little.\n\"Yes,\" she answered, \"I melted her with a bucket of water.\"\n\"Dear me,\" said the Voice, \"how sudden! Well, come to me\ntomorrow, for I must have time to think it over.\"\n\"You've had plenty of time already,\" said the Tin Woodman\nangrily.\n\"We shan't wait a day longer,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"You must keep your promises to us!\" exclaimed Dorothy.\nThe Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard, so\nhe gave a large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful that\nToto jumped away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen that\nstood in a corner. As it fell with a crash they looked that way,\nand the next moment all of them were filled with wonder. For they\nsaw, standing in just the spot the screen had hidden, a little old\nman, with a bald head and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much\nsurprised as they were. The Tin Woodman, raising his axe, rushed\ntoward the little man and cried out, \"Who are you?\"\n\"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,\" said the little man, in a\ntrembling voice. \"But don't strike me—please don't—and I'll do\nanything you want me to.\"\nOur friends looked at him in surprise and dismay.\n\"I thought Oz was a great Head,\" said Dorothy.\n\"And I thought Oz was a lovely Lady,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"And I thought Oz was a terrible Beast,\" said the Tin\nWoodman.\n\"And I thought Oz was a Ball of Fire,\" exclaimed the Lion.\n\"No, you are all wrong,\" said the little man meekly. \"I have\nbeen making believe.\"\n\"Making believe!\" cried Dorothy. \"Are you not a Great\nWizard?\"\n\"Hush, my dear,\" he said. \"Don't speak so loud, or you will be\noverheard—and I should be ruined. I'm supposed to be a Great\nWizard.\"\n\"And aren't you?\" she asked.\n\"Not a bit of it, my dear; I'm just a common man.\"\n\"You're more than that,\" said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone;\n\"you're a humbug.\"\"You're more than that,\" said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone;\n\"you're a humbug.\"\n\"Exactly so!\" declared the little man, rubbing his hands\ntogether as if it pleased him. \"I am a humbug.\"\n\"But this is terrible,\" said the Tin Woodman. \"How shall I ever\nget my heart?\"\n\"Or I my courage?\" asked the Lion.\n\"Or I my brains?\" wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from\nhis eyes with his coat sleeve.\n\"My dear friends,\" said Oz, \"I pray you not to speak of these\nlittle things. Think of me, and the terrible trouble I'm in at\nbeing found out.\"\n\"Doesn't anyone else know you're a humbug?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"No one knows it but you four—and myself,\" replied Oz. \"I have\nfooled everyone so long that I thought I should never be found out.\nIt was a great mistake my ever letting you into the Throne Room.\nUsually I will not see even my subjects, and so they believe I am\nsomething terrible.\"\n\"But, I don't understand,\" said Dorothy, in bewilderment. \"How\nwas it that you appeared to me as a great Head?\"\n\"That was one of my tricks,\" answered Oz. \"Step this way,\nplease, and I will tell you all about it.\"\nHe led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne\nRoom, and they all followed him. He pointed to one corner, in which\nlay the great Head, made out of many thicknesses of paper, and with\na carefully painted face.\n\"This I hung from the ceiling by a wire,\" said Oz. \"I stood\nbehind the screen and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and\nthe mouth open.\"\n\"But how about the voice?\" she inquired.\n\"Oh, I am a ventriloquist,\" said the little man. \"I can throw\nthe sound of my voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was\ncoming out of the Head. Here are the other things I used to deceive\nyou.\" He showed the Scarecrow the dress and the mask he had worn\nwhen he seemed to be the lovely Lady. And the Tin Woodman saw that\nhis terrible Beast was nothing but a lot of skins, sewn together,\nwith slats to keep their sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the\nfalse Wizard had hung that also from the ceiling. It was really afalse Wizard had hung that also from the ceiling. It was really a\nball of cotton, but when oil was poured upon it the ball burned\nfiercely.\n\"Really,\" said the Scarecrow, \"you ought to be ashamed of\nyourself for being such a humbug.\"\n\"I am—I certainly am,\" answered the little man sorrowfully; \"but\nit was the only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there are\nplenty of chairs; and I will tell you my story.\"\nSo they sat down and listened while he told the following\ntale.\n\"I was born in Omaha—\"\n\"Why, that isn't very far from Kansas!\" cried Dorothy.\n\"No, but it's farther from here,\" he said, shaking his head at\nher sadly. \"When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that I\nwas very well trained by a great master. I can imitate any kind of\na bird or beast.\" Here he mewed so like a kitten that Toto pricked\nup his ears and looked everywhere to see where she was. \"After a\ntime,\" continued Oz, \"I tired of that, and became a\nballoonist.\"\n\"What is that?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a\ncrowd of people together and get them to pay to see the circus,\" he\nexplained.\n\"Oh,\" she said, \"I know.\"\n\"Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted,\nso that I couldn't come down again. It went way up above the\nclouds, so far that a current of air struck it and carried it many,\nmany miles away. For a day and a night I traveled through the air,\nand on the morning of the second day I awoke and found the balloon\nfloating over a strange and beautiful country.\n\"It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I found\nmyself in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from\nthe clouds, thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them\nthink so, because they were afraid of me, and promised to do\nanything I wished them to.\n\"Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered\nthem to build this City, and my Palace; and they did it all\nwillingly and well. Then I thought, as the country was so green and"}
{"text": "willingly and well. Then I thought, as the country was so green and\nbeautiful, I would call it the Emerald City; and to make the name\nfit better I put green spectacles on all the people, so that\neverything they saw was green.\"\n\"But isn't everything here green?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"No more than in any other city,\" replied Oz; \"but when you wear\ngreen spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to\nyou. The Emerald City was built a great many years ago, for I was a\nyoung man when the balloon brought me here, and I am a very old man\nnow. But my people have worn green glasses on their eyes so long\nthat most of them think it really is an Emerald City, and it\ncertainly is a beautiful place, abounding in jewels and precious\nmetals, and every good thing that is needed to make one happy. I\nhave been good to the people, and they like me; but ever since this\nPalace was built, I have shut myself up and would not see any of\nthem.\n\"One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no\nmagical powers at all I soon found out that the Witches were really\nable to do wonderful things. There were four of them in this\ncountry, and they ruled the people who live in the North and South\nand East and West. Fortunately, the Witches of the North and South\nwere good, and I knew they would do me no harm; but the Witches of\nthe East and West were terribly wicked, and had they not thought I\nwas more powerful than they themselves, they would surely have\ndestroyed me. As it was, I lived in deadly fear of them for many\nyears; so you can imagine how pleased I was when I heard your house\nhad fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East. When you came to me, I\nwas willing to promise anything if you would only do away with the\nother Witch; but, now that you have melted her, I am ashamed to say\nthat I cannot keep my promises.\"\n\"I think you are a very bad man,\" said Dorothy.\n\"Oh, no, my dear; I'm really a very good man, but I'm a very bad\nWizard, I must admit.\"\n\"Can't you give me brains?\" asked the Scarecrow.Wizard, I must admit.\"\n\"Can't you give me brains?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\"You don't need them. You are learning something every day. A\nbaby has brains, but it doesn't know much. Experience is the only\nthing that brings knowledge, and the longer you are on earth the\nmore experience you are sure to get.\"\n\"That may all be true,\" said the Scarecrow, \"but I shall be very\nunhappy unless you give me brains.\"\nThe false Wizard looked at him carefully.\n\"Well,\" he said with a sigh, \"I'm not much of a magician, as I\nsaid; but if you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will stuff\nyour head with brains. I cannot tell you how to use them, however;\nyou must find that out for yourself.\"\n\"Oh, thank you—thank you!\" cried the Scarecrow. \"I'll find a way\nto use them, never fear!\"\n\"But how about my courage?\" asked the Lion anxiously.\n\"You have plenty of courage, I am sure,\" answered Oz. \"All you\nneed is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is\nnot afraid when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing\ndanger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in\nplenty.\"\n\"Perhaps I have, but I'm scared just the same,\" said the Lion.\n\"I shall really be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of\ncourage that makes one forget he is afraid.\"\n\"Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,\"\nreplied Oz.\n\"How about my heart?\" asked the Tin Woodman.\n\"Why, as for that,\" answered Oz, \"I think you are wrong to want\na heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are\nin luck not to have a heart.\"\n\"That must be a matter of opinion,\" said the Tin Woodman. \"For\nmy part, I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you\nwill give me the heart.\"\n\"Very well,\" answered Oz meekly. \"Come to me tomorrow and you\nshall have a heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I\nmay as well continue the part a little longer.\"\n\"And now,\" said Dorothy, \"how am I to get back to Kansas?\"\n\"We shall have to think about that,\" replied the little man.\"We shall have to think about that,\" replied the little man.\n\"Give me two or three days to consider the matter and I'll try to\nfind a way to carry you over the desert. In the meantime you shall\nall be treated as my guests, and while you live in the Palace my\npeople will wait upon you and obey your slightest wish. There is\nonly one thing I ask in return for my help—such as it is. You must\nkeep my secret and tell no one I am a humbug.\"\nThey agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went\nback to their rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that\n\"The Great and Terrible Humbug,\" as she called him, would find a\nway to send her back to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to\nforgive him everything.For three days Dorothy heard nothing from Oz. These were sad\ndays for the little girl, although her friends were all quite happy\nand contented. The Scarecrow told them there were wonderful\nthoughts in his head; but he would not say what they were because\nhe knew no one could understand them but himself. When the Tin\nWoodman walked about he felt his heart rattling around in his\nbreast; and he told Dorothy he had discovered it to be a kinder and\nmore tender heart than the one he had owned when he was made of\nflesh. The Lion declared he was afraid of nothing on earth, and\nwould gladly face an army or a dozen of the fierce Kalidahs.\nThus each of the little party was satisfied except Dorothy, who\nlonged more than ever to get back to Kansas.\nOn the fourth day, to her great joy, Oz sent for her, and when\nshe entered the Throne Room he greeted her pleasantly:\n\"Sit down, my dear; I think I have found the way to get you out\nof this country.\"\n\"And back to Kansas?\" she asked eagerly.\n\"Well, I'm not sure about Kansas,\" said Oz, \"for I haven't the\nfaintest notion which way it lies. But the first thing to do is to\ncross the desert, and then it should be easy to find your way\nhome.\"\n\"How can I cross the desert?\" she inquired.\n\"Well, I'll tell you what I think,\" said the little man. \"You\nsee, when I came to this country it was in a balloon. You also came\nthrough the air, being carried by a cyclone. So I believe the best\nway to get across the desert will be through the air. Now, it is\nquite beyond my powers to make a cyclone; but I've been thinking\nthe matter over, and I believe I can make a balloon.\"\n\"How?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"A balloon,\" said Oz, \"is made of silk, which is coated with\nglue to keep the gas in it. I have plenty of silk in the Palace, so\nit will be no trouble to make the balloon. But in all this country\nthere is no gas to fill the balloon with, to make it float.\"\n\"If it won't float,\" remarked Dorothy, \"it will be of no use to\nus.\"\n\"True,\" answered Oz. \"But there is another way to make it float,"}
{"text": "us.\"\n\"True,\" answered Oz. \"But there is another way to make it float,\nwhich is to fill it with hot air. Hot air isn't as good as gas, for\nif the air should get cold the balloon would come down in the\ndesert, and we should be lost.\"\n\"We!\" exclaimed the girl. \"Are you going with me?\"\n\"Yes, of course,\" replied Oz. \"I am tired of being such a\nhumbug. If I should go out of this Palace my people would soon\ndiscover I am not a Wizard, and then they would be vexed with me\nfor having deceived them. So I have to stay shut up in these rooms\nall day, and it gets tiresome. I'd much rather go back to Kansas\nwith you and be in a circus again.\"\n\"I shall be glad to have your company,\" said Dorothy.\n\"Thank you,\" he answered. \"Now, if you will help me sew the silk\ntogether, we will begin to work on our balloon.\"\nSo Dorothy took a needle and thread, and as fast as Oz cut the\nstrips of silk into proper shape the girl sewed them neatly\ntogether. First there was a strip of light green silk, then a strip\nof dark green and then a strip of emerald green; for Oz had a fancy\nto make the balloon in different shades of the color about them. It\ntook three days to sew all the strips together, but when it was\nfinished they had a big bag of green silk more than twenty feet\nlong.\nThen Oz painted it on the inside with a coat of thin glue, to\nmake it airtight, after which he announced that the balloon was\nready.\n\"But we must have a basket to ride in,\" he said. So he sent the\nsoldier with the green whiskers for a big clothes basket, which he\nfastened with many ropes to the bottom of the balloon.\nWhen it was all ready, Oz sent word to his people that he was\ngoing to make a visit to a great brother Wizard who lived in the\nclouds. The news spread rapidly throughout the city and everyone\ncame to see the wonderful sight.\nOz ordered the balloon carried out in front of the Palace, and\nthe people gazed upon it with much curiosity. The Tin Woodman had\nchopped a big pile of wood, and now he made a fire of it, and Ozchopped a big pile of wood, and now he made a fire of it, and Oz\nheld the bottom of the balloon over the fire so that the hot air\nthat arose from it would be caught in the silken bag. Gradually the\nballoon swelled out and rose into the air, until finally the basket\njust touched the ground.\nThen Oz got into the basket and said to all the people in a loud\nvoice:\n\"I am now going away to make a visit. While I am gone the\nScarecrow will rule over you. I command you to obey him as you\nwould me.\"\nThe balloon was by this time tugging hard at the rope that held\nit to the ground, for the air within it was hot, and this made it\nso much lighter in weight than the air without that it pulled hard\nto rise into the sky.\n\"Come, Dorothy!\" cried the Wizard. \"Hurry up, or the balloon\nwill fly away.\"\n\"I can't find Toto anywhere,\" replied Dorothy, who did not wish\nto leave her little dog behind. Toto had run into the crowd to bark\nat a kitten, and Dorothy at last found him. She picked him up and\nran towards the balloon.\nShe was within a few steps of it, and Oz was holding out his\nhands to help her into the basket, when, crack! went the ropes, and\nthe balloon rose into the air without her.\n\"Come back!\" she screamed. \"I want to go, too!\"\n\"I can't come back, my dear,\" called Oz from the basket.\n\"Good-bye!\"\n\"Good-bye!\" shouted everyone, and all eyes were turned upward to\nwhere the Wizard was riding in the basket, rising every moment\nfarther and farther into the sky.\nAnd that was the last any of them ever saw of Oz, the Wonderful\nWizard, though he may have reached Omaha safely, and be there now,\nfor all we know. But the people remembered him lovingly, and said\nto one another:\n\"Oz was always our friend. When he was here he built for us this\nbeautiful Emerald City, and now he is gone he has left the Wise\nScarecrow to rule over us.\"\nStill, for many days they grieved over the loss of the Wonderful\nWizard, and would not be comforted.Dorothy wept bitterly at the passing of her hope to get home to\nKansas again; but when she thought it all over she was glad she had\nnot gone up in a balloon. And she also felt sorry at losing Oz, and\nso did her companions.\nThe Tin Woodman came to her and said:\n\"Truly I should be ungrateful if I failed to mourn for the man\nwho gave me my lovely heart. I should like to cry a little because\nOz is gone, if you will kindly wipe away my tears, so that I shall\nnot rust.\"\n\"With pleasure,\" she answered, and brought a towel at once. Then\nthe Tin Woodman wept for several minutes, and she watched the tears\ncarefully and wiped them away with the towel. When he had finished,\nhe thanked her kindly and oiled himself thoroughly with his jeweled\noil-can, to guard against mishap.\nThe Scarecrow was now the ruler of the Emerald City, and\nalthough he was not a Wizard the people were proud of him. \"For,\"\nthey said, \"there is not another city in all the world that is\nruled by a stuffed man.\" And, so far as they knew, they were quite\nright.\nThe morning after the balloon had gone up with Oz, the four\ntravelers met in the Throne Room and talked matters over. The\nScarecrow sat in the big throne and the others stood respectfully\nbefore him.\n\"We are not so unlucky,\" said the new ruler, \"for this Palace\nand the Emerald City belong to us, and we can do just as we please.\nWhen I remember that a short time ago I was up on a pole in a\nfarmer's cornfield, and that now I am the ruler of this beautiful\nCity, I am quite satisfied with my lot.\"\n\"I also,\" said the Tin Woodman, \"am well-pleased with my new\nheart; and, really, that was the only thing I wished in all the\nworld.\"\n\"For my part, I am content in knowing I am as brave as any beast\nthat ever lived, if not braver,\" said the Lion modestly.\n\"If Dorothy would only be contented to live in the Emerald\nCity,\" continued the Scarecrow, \"we might all be happy\ntogether.\"\n\"But I don't want to live here,\" cried Dorothy. \"I want to go to\nKansas, and live with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.\""}
{"text": "Kansas, and live with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.\"\n\"Well, then, what can be done?\" inquired the Woodman.\nThe Scarecrow decided to think, and he thought so hard that the\npins and needles began to stick out of his brains. Finally he\nsaid:\n\"Why not call the Winged Monkeys, and ask them to carry you over\nthe desert?\"\n\"I never thought of that!\" said Dorothy joyfully. \"It's just the\nthing. I'll go at once for the Golden Cap.\"\nWhen she brought it into the Throne Room she spoke the magic\nwords, and soon the band of Winged Monkeys flew in through the open\nwindow and stood beside her.\n\"This is the second time you have called us,\" said the Monkey\nKing, bowing before the little girl. \"What do you wish?\"\n\"I want you to fly with me to Kansas,\" said Dorothy.\nBut the Monkey King shook his head.\n\"That cannot be done,\" he said. \"We belong to this country\nalone, and cannot leave it. There has never been a Winged Monkey in\nKansas yet, and I suppose there never will be, for they don't\nbelong there. We shall be glad to serve you in any way in our\npower, but we cannot cross the desert. Good-bye.\"\nAnd with another bow, the Monkey King spread his wings and flew\naway through the window, followed by all his band.\nDorothy was ready to cry with disappointment. \"I have wasted the\ncharm of the Golden Cap to no purpose,\" she said, \"for the Winged\nMonkeys cannot help me.\"\n\"It is certainly too bad!\" said the tender-hearted Woodman.\nThe Scarecrow was thinking again, and his head bulged out so\nhorribly that Dorothy feared it would burst.\n\"Let us call in the soldier with the green whiskers,\" he said,\n\"and ask his advice.\"\nSo the soldier was summoned and entered the Throne Room timidly,\nfor while Oz was alive he never was allowed to come farther than\nthe door.\n\"This little girl,\" said the Scarecrow to the soldier, \"wishes\nto cross the desert. How can she do so?\"\n\"I cannot tell,\" answered the soldier, \"for nobody has ever\ncrossed the desert, unless it is Oz himself.\"\n\"Is there no one who can help me?\" asked Dorothy earnestly.\"Is there no one who can help me?\" asked Dorothy earnestly.\n\"Glinda might,\" he suggested.\n\"Who is Glinda?\" inquired the Scarecrow.\n\"The Witch of the South. She is the most powerful of all the\nWitches, and rules over the Quadlings. Besides, her castle stands\non the edge of the desert, so she may know a way to cross it.\"\n\"Glinda is a Good Witch, isn't she?\" asked the child.\n\"The Quadlings think she is good,\" said the soldier, \"and she is\nkind to everyone. I have heard that Glinda is a beautiful woman,\nwho knows how to keep young in spite of the many years she has\nlived.\"\n\"How can I get to her castle?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"The road is straight to the South,\" he answered, \"but it is\nsaid to be full of dangers to travelers. There are wild beasts in\nthe woods, and a race of queer men who do not like strangers to\ncross their country. For this reason none of the Quadlings ever\ncome to the Emerald City.\"\nThe soldier then left them and the Scarecrow said:\n\"It seems, in spite of dangers, that the best thing Dorothy can\ndo is to travel to the Land of the South and ask Glinda to help\nher. For, of course, if Dorothy stays here she will never get back\nto Kansas.\"\n\"You must have been thinking again,\" remarked the Tin\nWoodman.\n\"I have,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"I shall go with Dorothy,\" declared the Lion, \"for I am tired of\nyour city and long for the woods and the country again. I am really\na wild beast, you know. Besides, Dorothy will need someone to\nprotect her.\"\n\"That is true,\" agreed the Woodman. \"My axe may be of service to\nher; so I also will go with her to the Land of the South.\"\n\"When shall we start?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\"Are you going?\" they asked, in surprise.\n\"Certainly. If it wasn't for Dorothy I should never have had\nbrains. She lifted me from the pole in the cornfield and brought me\nto the Emerald City. So my good luck is all due to her, and I shall\nnever leave her until she starts back to Kansas for good and\nall.\"\n\"Thank you,\" said Dorothy gratefully. \"You are all very kind toall.\"\n\"Thank you,\" said Dorothy gratefully. \"You are all very kind to\nme. But I should like to start as soon as possible.\"\n\"We shall go tomorrow morning,\" returned the Scarecrow. \"So now\nlet us all get ready, for it will be a long journey.\"The next morning Dorothy kissed the pretty green girl good-bye,\nand they all shook hands with the soldier with the green whiskers,\nwho had walked with them as far as the gate. When the Guardian of\nthe Gate saw them again he wondered greatly that they could leave\nthe beautiful City to get into new trouble. But he at once unlocked\ntheir spectacles, which he put back into the green box, and gave\nthem many good wishes to carry with them.\n\"You are now our ruler,\" he said to the Scarecrow; \"so you must\ncome back to us as soon as possible.\"\n\"I certainly shall if I am able,\" the Scarecrow replied; \"but I\nmust help Dorothy to get home, first.\"\nAs Dorothy bade the good-natured Guardian a last farewell she\nsaid:\n\"I have been very kindly treated in your lovely City, and\neveryone has been good to me. I cannot tell you how grateful I\nam.\"\n\"Don't try, my dear,\" he answered. \"We should like to keep you\nwith us, but if it is your wish to return to Kansas, I hope you\nwill find a way.\" He then opened the gate of the outer wall, and\nthey walked forth and started upon their journey.\nThe sun shone brightly as our friends turned their faces toward\nthe Land of the South. They were all in the best of spirits, and\nlaughed and chatted together. Dorothy was once more filled with the\nhope of getting home, and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were\nglad to be of use to her. As for the Lion, he sniffed the fresh air\nwith delight and whisked his tail from side to side in pure joy at\nbeing in the country again, while Toto ran around them and chased\nthe moths and butterflies, barking merrily all the time.\n\"City life does not agree with me at all,\" remarked the Lion, as\nthey walked along at a brisk pace. \"I have lost much flesh since I\nlived there, and now I am anxious for a chance to show the other\nbeasts how courageous I have grown.\"\nThey now turned and took a last look at the Emerald City. All\nthey could see was a mass of towers and steeples behind the green\nwalls, and high up above everything the spires and dome of the\nPalace of Oz."}
{"text": "walls, and high up above everything the spires and dome of the\nPalace of Oz.\n\"Oz was not such a bad Wizard, after all,\" said the Tin Woodman,\nas he felt his heart rattling around in his breast.\n\"He knew how to give me brains, and very good brains, too,\" said\nthe Scarecrow.\n\"If Oz had taken a dose of the same courage he gave me,\" added\nthe Lion, \"he would have been a brave man.\"\nDorothy said nothing. Oz had not kept the promise he made her,\nbut he had done his best, so she forgave him. As he said, he was a\ngood man, even if he was a bad Wizard.\nThe first day's journey was through the green fields and bright\nflowers that stretched about the Emerald City on every side. They\nslept that night on the grass, with nothing but the stars over\nthem; and they rested very well indeed.\nIn the morning they traveled on until they came to a thick wood.\nThere was no way of going around it, for it seemed to extend to the\nright and left as far as they could see; and, besides, they did not\ndare change the direction of their journey for fear of getting\nlost. So they looked for the place where it would be easiest to get\ninto the forest.\nThe Scarecrow, who was in the lead, finally discovered a big\ntree with such wide-spreading branches that there was room for the\nparty to pass underneath. So he walked forward to the tree, but\njust as he came under the first branches they bent down and twined\naround him, and the next minute he was raised from the ground and\nflung headlong among his fellow travelers.\nThis did not hurt the Scarecrow, but it surprised him, and he\nlooked rather dizzy when Dorothy picked him up.\n\"Here is another space between the trees,\" called the Lion.\n\"Let me try it first,\" said the Scarecrow, \"for it doesn't hurt\nme to get thrown about.\" He walked up to another tree, as he spoke,\nbut its branches immediately seized him and tossed him back\nagain.\n\"This is strange,\" exclaimed Dorothy. \"What shall we do?\"\n\"The trees seem to have made up their minds to fight us, and\nstop our journey,\" remarked the Lion.\"The trees seem to have made up their minds to fight us, and\nstop our journey,\" remarked the Lion.\n\"I believe I will try it myself,\" said the Woodman, and\nshouldering his axe, he marched up to the first tree that had\nhandled the Scarecrow so roughly. When a big branch bent down to\nseize him the Woodman chopped at it so fiercely that he cut it in\ntwo. At once the tree began shaking all its branches as if in pain,\nand the Tin Woodman passed safely under it.\n\"Come on!\" he shouted to the others. \"Be quick!\" They all ran\nforward and passed under the tree without injury, except Toto, who\nwas caught by a small branch and shaken until he howled. But the\nWoodman promptly chopped off the branch and set the little dog\nfree.\nThe other trees of the forest did nothing to keep them back, so\nthey made up their minds that only the first row of trees could\nbend down their branches, and that probably these were the\npolicemen of the forest, and given this wonderful power in order to\nkeep strangers out of it.\nThe four travelers walked with ease through the trees until they\ncame to the farther edge of the wood. Then, to their surprise, they\nfound before them a high wall which seemed to be made of white\nchina. It was smooth, like the surface of a dish, and higher than\ntheir heads.\n\"What shall we do now?\" asked Dorothy.\n\"I will make a ladder,\" said the Tin Woodman, \"for we certainly\nmust climb over the wall.\"After climbing down from the china wall the travelers found\nthemselves in a disagreeable country, full of bogs and marshes and\ncovered with tall, rank grass. It was difficult to walk without\nfalling into muddy holes, for the grass was so thick that it hid\nthem from sight. However, by carefully picking their way, they got\nsafely along until they reached solid ground. But here the country\nseemed wilder than ever, and after a long and tiresome walk through\nthe underbrush they entered another forest, where the trees were\nbigger and older than any they had ever seen.\n\"This forest is perfectly delightful,\" declared the Lion,\nlooking around him with joy. \"Never have I seen a more beautiful\nplace.\"\n\"It seems gloomy,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\"Not a bit of it,\" answered the Lion. \"I should like to live\nhere all my life. See how soft the dried leaves are under your feet\nand how rich and green the moss is that clings to these old trees.\nSurely no wild beast could wish a pleasanter home.\"\n\"Perhaps there are wild beasts in the forest now,\" said\nDorothy.\n\"I suppose there are,\" returned the Lion, \"but I do not see any\nof them about.\"\nThey walked through the forest until it became too dark to go\nany farther. Dorothy and Toto and the Lion lay down to sleep, while\nthe Woodman and the Scarecrow kept watch over them as usual.\nWhen morning came, they started again. Before they had gone far\nthey heard a low rumble, as of the growling of many wild animals.\nToto whimpered a little, but none of the others was frightened, and\nthey kept along the well-trodden path until they came to an opening\nin the wood, in which were gathered hundreds of beasts of every\nvariety. There were tigers and elephants and bears and wolves and\nfoxes and all the others in the natural history, and for a moment\nDorothy was afraid. But the Lion explained that the animals were\nholding a meeting, and he judged by their snarling and growling\nthat they were in great trouble.\nAs he spoke several of the beasts caught sight of him, and atthat they were in great trouble.\nAs he spoke several of the beasts caught sight of him, and at\nonce the great assemblage hushed as if by magic. The biggest of the\ntigers came up to the Lion and bowed, saying:\n\"Welcome, O King of Beasts! You have come in good time to fight\nour enemy and bring peace to all the animals of the forest once\nmore.\"\n\"What is your trouble?\" asked the Lion quietly.\n\"We are all threatened,\" answered the tiger, \"by a fierce enemy\nwhich has lately come into this forest. It is a most tremendous\nmonster, like a great spider, with a body as big as an elephant and\nlegs as long as a tree trunk. It has eight of these long legs, and\nas the monster crawls through the forest he seizes an animal with a\nleg and drags it to his mouth, where he eats it as a spider does a\nfly. Not one of us is safe while this fierce creature is alive, and\nwe had called a meeting to decide how to take care of ourselves\nwhen you came among us.\"\nThe Lion thought for a moment.\n\"Are there any other lions in this forest?\" he asked.\n\"No; there were some, but the monster has eaten them all. And,\nbesides, there were none of them nearly so large and brave as\nyou.\"\n\"If I put an end to your enemy, will you bow down to me and obey\nme as King of the Forest?\" inquired the Lion.\n\"We will do that gladly,\" returned the tiger; and all the other\nbeasts roared with a mighty roar: \"We will!\"\n\"Where is this great spider of yours now?\" asked the Lion.\n\"Yonder, among the oak trees,\" said the tiger, pointing with his\nforefoot.\n\"Take good care of these friends of mine,\" said the Lion, \"and I\nwill go at once to fight the monster.\"\nHe bade his comrades good-bye and marched proudly away to do\nbattle with the enemy.\nThe great spider was lying asleep when the Lion found him, and\nit looked so ugly that its foe turned up his nose in disgust. Its\nlegs were quite as long as the tiger had said, and its body covered\nwith coarse black hair. It had a great mouth, with a row of sharp\nteeth a foot long; but its head was joined to the pudgy body by a"}
{"text": "teeth a foot long; but its head was joined to the pudgy body by a\nneck as slender as a wasp's waist. This gave the Lion a hint of the\nbest way to attack the creature, and as he knew it was easier to\nfight it asleep than awake, he gave a great spring and landed\ndirectly upon the monster's back. Then, with one blow of his heavy\npaw, all armed with sharp claws, he knocked the spider's head from\nits body. Jumping down, he watched it until the long legs stopped\nwiggling, when he knew it was quite dead.\nThe Lion went back to the opening where the beasts of the forest\nwere waiting for him and said proudly:\n\"You need fear your enemy no longer.\"\nThen the beasts bowed down to the Lion as their King, and he\npromised to come back and rule over them as soon as Dorothy was\nsafely on her way to Kansas.The four travelers passed through the rest of the forest in\nsafety, and when they came out from its gloom saw before them a\nsteep hill, covered from top to bottom with great pieces of\nrock.\n\"That will be a hard climb,\" said the Scarecrow, \"but we must\nget over the hill, nevertheless.\"\nSo he led the way and the others followed. They had nearly\nreached the first rock when they heard a rough voice cry out, \"Keep\nback!\"\n\"Who are you?\" asked the Scarecrow.\nThen a head showed itself over the rock and the same voice said,\n\"This hill belongs to us, and we don't allow anyone to cross\nit.\"\n\"But we must cross it,\" said the Scarecrow. \"We're going to the\ncountry of the Quadlings.\"\n\"But you shall not!\" replied the voice, and there stepped from\nbehind the rock the strangest man the travelers had ever seen.\nHe was quite short and stout and had a big head, which was flat\nat the top and supported by a thick neck full of wrinkles. But he\nhad no arms at all, and, seeing this, the Scarecrow did not fear\nthat so helpless a creature could prevent them from climbing the\nhill. So he said, \"I'm sorry not to do as you wish, but we must\npass over your hill whether you like it or not,\" and he walked\nboldly forward.\nAs quick as lightning the man's head shot forward and his neck\nstretched out until the top of the head, where it was flat, struck\nthe Scarecrow in the middle and sent him tumbling, over and over,\ndown the hill. Almost as quickly as it came the head went back to\nthe body, and the man laughed harshly as he said, \"It isn't as easy\nas you think!\"\nA chorus of boisterous laughter came from the other rocks, and\nDorothy saw hundreds of the armless Hammer-Heads upon the hillside,\none behind every rock.\nThe Lion became quite angry at the laughter caused by the\nScarecrow's mishap, and giving a loud roar that echoed like\nthunder, he dashed up the hill.\nAgain a head shot swiftly out, and the great Lion went rolling\ndown the hill as if he had been struck by a cannon ball.\nDorothy ran down and helped the Scarecrow to his feet, and theDorothy ran down and helped the Scarecrow to his feet, and the\nLion came up to her, feeling rather bruised and sore, and said, \"It\nis useless to fight people with shooting heads; no one can\nwithstand them.\"\n\"What can we do, then?\" she asked.\n\"Call the Winged Monkeys,\" suggested the Tin Woodman. \"You have\nstill the right to command them once more.\"\n\"Very well,\" she answered, and putting on the Golden Cap she\nuttered the magic words. The Monkeys were as prompt as ever, and in\na few moments the entire band stood before her.\n\"What are your commands?\" inquired the King of the Monkeys,\nbowing low.\n\"Carry us over the hill to the country of the Quadlings,\"\nanswered the girl.\n\"It shall be done,\" said the King, and at once the Winged\nMonkeys caught the four travelers and Toto up in their arms and\nflew away with them. As they passed over the hill the Hammer-Heads\nyelled with vexation, and shot their heads high in the air, but\nthey could not reach the Winged Monkeys, which carried Dorothy and\nher comrades safely over the hill and set them down in the\nbeautiful country of the Quadlings.\n\"This is the last time you can summon us,\" said the leader to\nDorothy; \"so good-bye and good luck to you.\"\n\"Good-bye, and thank you very much,\" returned the girl; and the\nMonkeys rose into the air and were out of sight in a twinkling.\nThe country of the Quadlings seemed rich and happy. There was\nfield upon field of ripening grain, with well-paved roads running\nbetween, and pretty rippling brooks with strong bridges across\nthem. The fences and houses and bridges were all painted bright\nred, just as they had been painted yellow in the country of the\nWinkies and blue in the country of the Munchkins. The Quadlings\nthemselves, who were short and fat and looked chubby and\ngood-natured, were dressed all in red, which showed bright against\nthe green grass and the yellowing grain.\nThe Monkeys had set them down near a farmhouse, and the four\ntravelers walked up to it and knocked at the door. It was opened bytravelers walked up to it and knocked at the door. It was opened by\nthe farmer's wife, and when Dorothy asked for something to eat the\nwoman gave them all a good dinner, with three kinds of cake and\nfour kinds of cookies, and a bowl of milk for Toto.\n\"How far is it to the Castle of Glinda?\" asked the child.\n\"It is not a great way,\" answered the farmer's wife. \"Take the\nroad to the South and you will soon reach it.\"\nThanking the good woman, they started afresh and walked by the\nfields and across the pretty bridges until they saw before them a\nvery beautiful Castle. Before the gates were three young girls,\ndressed in handsome red uniforms trimmed with gold braid; and as\nDorothy approached, one of them said to her:\n\"Why have you come to the South Country?\"\n\"To see the Good Witch who rules here,\" she answered. \"Will you\ntake me to her?\"\n\"Let me have your name, and I will ask Glinda if she will\nreceive you.\" They told who they were, and the girl soldier went\ninto the Castle. After a few moments she came back to say that\nDorothy and the others were to be admitted at once."}
{"text": "Before they went to see Glinda, however, they were taken to a\nroom of the Castle, where Dorothy washed her face and combed her\nhair, and the Lion shook the dust out of his mane, and the\nScarecrow patted himself into his best shape, and the Woodman\npolished his tin and oiled his joints.\nWhen they were all quite presentable they followed the soldier\ngirl into a big room where the Witch Glinda sat upon a throne of\nrubies.\nShe was both beautiful and young to their eyes. Her hair was a\nrich red in color and fell in flowing ringlets over her shoulders.\nHer dress was pure white but her eyes were blue, and they looked\nkindly upon the little girl.\n\"What can I do for you, my child?\" she asked.\nDorothy told the Witch all her story: how the cyclone had\nbrought her to the Land of Oz, how she had found her companions,\nand of the wonderful adventures they had met with.\n\"My greatest wish now,\" she added, \"is to get back to Kansas,\nfor Aunt Em will surely think something dreadful has happened to\nme, and that will make her put on mourning; and unless the crops\nare better this year than they were last, I am sure Uncle Henry\ncannot afford it.\"\nGlinda leaned forward and kissed the sweet, upturned face of the\nloving little girl.\n\"Bless your dear heart,\" she said, \"I am sure I can tell you of\na way to get back to Kansas.\" Then she added, \"But, if I do, you\nmust give me the Golden Cap.\"\n\"Willingly!\" exclaimed Dorothy; \"indeed, it is of no use to me\nnow, and when you have it you can command the Winged Monkeys three\ntimes.\"\n\"And I think I shall need their service just those three times,\"\nanswered Glinda, smiling.\nDorothy then gave her the Golden Cap, and the Witch said to the\nScarecrow, \"What will you do when Dorothy has left us?\"\n\"I will return to the Emerald City,\" he replied, \"for Oz has\nmade me its ruler and the people like me. The only thing that\nworries me is how to cross the hill of the Hammer-Heads.\"\n\"By means of the Golden Cap I shall command the Winged Monkeys\nto carry you to the gates of the Emerald City,\" said Glinda, \"forto carry you to the gates of the Emerald City,\" said Glinda, \"for\nit would be a shame to deprive the people of so wonderful a\nruler.\"\n\"Am I really wonderful?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\"You are unusual,\" replied Glinda.\nTurning to the Tin Woodman, she asked, \"What will become of you\nwhen Dorothy leaves this country?\"\nHe leaned on his axe and thought a moment. Then he said, \"The\nWinkies were very kind to me, and wanted me to rule over them after\nthe Wicked Witch died. I am fond of the Winkies, and if I could get\nback again to the Country of the West, I should like nothing better\nthan to rule over them forever.\"\n\"My second command to the Winged Monkeys,\" said Glinda \"will be\nthat they carry you safely to the land of the Winkies. Your brain\nmay not be so large to look at as those of the Scarecrow, but you\nare really brighter than he is—when you are well polished—and I am\nsure you will rule the Winkies wisely and well.\"\nThen the Witch looked at the big, shaggy Lion and asked, \"When\nDorothy has returned to her own home, what will become of you?\"\n\"Over the hill of the Hammer-Heads,\" he answered, \"lies a grand\nold forest, and all the beasts that live there have made me their\nKing. If I could only get back to this forest, I would pass my life\nvery happily there.\"\n\"My third command to the Winged Monkeys,\" said Glinda, \"shall be\nto carry you to your forest. Then, having used up the powers of the\nGolden Cap, I shall give it to the King of the Monkeys, that he and\nhis band may thereafter be free for evermore.\"\nThe Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion now thanked the\nGood Witch earnestly for her kindness; and Dorothy exclaimed:\n\"You are certainly as good as you are beautiful! But you have\nnot yet told me how to get back to Kansas.\"\n\"Your Silver Shoes will carry you over the desert,\" replied\nGlinda. \"If you had known their power you could have gone back to\nyour Aunt Em the very first day you came to this country.\"\n\"But then I should not have had my wonderful brains!\" cried the\"But then I should not have had my wonderful brains!\" cried the\nScarecrow. \"I might have passed my whole life in the farmer's\ncornfield.\"\n\"And I should not have had my lovely heart,\" said the Tin\nWoodman. \"I might have stood and rusted in the forest till the end\nof the world.\"\n\"And I should have lived a coward forever,\" declared the Lion,\n\"and no beast in all the forest would have had a good word to say\nto me.\"\n\"This is all true,\" said Dorothy, \"and I am glad I was of use to\nthese good friends. But now that each of them has had what he most\ndesired, and each is happy in having a kingdom to rule besides, I\nthink I should like to go back to Kansas.\"\n\"The Silver Shoes,\" said the Good Witch, \"have wonderful powers.\nAnd one of the most curious things about them is that they can\ncarry you to any place in the world in three steps, and each step\nwill be made in the wink of an eye. All you have to do is to knock\nthe heels together three times and command the shoes to carry you\nwherever you wish to go.\"\n\"If that is so,\" said the child joyfully, \"I will ask them to\ncarry me back to Kansas at once.\"\nShe threw her arms around the Lion's neck and kissed him,\npatting his big head tenderly. Then she kissed the Tin Woodman, who\nwas weeping in a way most dangerous to his joints. But she hugged\nthe soft, stuffed body of the Scarecrow in her arms instead of\nkissing his painted face, and found she was crying herself at this\nsorrowful parting from her loving comrades.\nGlinda the Good stepped down from her ruby throne to give the\nlittle girl a good-bye kiss, and Dorothy thanked her for all the\nkindness she had shown to her friends and herself.\nDorothy now took Toto up solemnly in her arms, and having said\none last good-bye she clapped the heels of her shoes together three\ntimes, saying:\n\"Take me home to Aunt Em!\"\nInstantly she was whirling through the air, so swiftly that all\nshe could see or feel was the wind whistling past her ears.\nThe Silver Shoes took but three steps, and then she stopped soThe Silver Shoes took but three steps, and then she stopped so\nsuddenly that she rolled over upon the grass several times before\nshe knew where she was.\nAt length, however, she sat up and looked about her.\n\"Good gracious!\" she cried.\nFor she was sitting on the broad Kansas prairie, and just before\nher was the new farmhouse Uncle Henry built after the cyclone had\ncarried away the old one. Uncle Henry was milking the cows in the\nbarnyard, and Toto had jumped out of her arms and was running\ntoward the barn, barking furiously.\nDorothy stood up and found she was in her stocking-feet. For the\nSilver Shoes had fallen off in her flight through the air, and were\nlost forever in the desert."}
{"text": "Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister\non the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had\npeeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures\nor conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought\nAlice, “without pictures or conversation?”\nSo she was considering, in her own mind (as well as she could,\nfor the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the\npleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of\ngetting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit\nwith pink eyes ran close by her.\nThere was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice\nthink it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to\nitself “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!” (when she thought\nit over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have\nwondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but\nwhen the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket,\nand looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet,\nfor it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a\nrabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of\nit, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it,\nand was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under\nthe hedge.\nIn another moment down went Alice after it, never once\nconsidering how in the world she was to get out again.\nThe rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and\nthen dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment\nto think about stopping herself before she found herself falling\ndown what seemed to be a very deep well.\nEither the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she\nhad plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to\nwonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down\nand make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see\nanything: then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticedanything: then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed\nthat they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves: here and\nthere she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar\nfrom one of the shelves as she passed: it was labelled “ORANGE\nMARMALADE,” but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did\nnot like to drop the jar, for fear of killing somebody underneath,\nso managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past\nit.\n“Well!” thought Alice to herself. “After such a fall as this, I\nshall think nothing of tumbling down-stairs! How brave they’ll all\nthink me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I\nfell off the top of the house!” (Which was very likely true.)\nDown, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end? “I wonder\nhow many miles I’ve fallen by this time?” she said aloud. “I must\nbe getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that\nwould be four thousand miles down, I think—” (for, you see, Alice\nhad learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the\nschool-room, and though this was not a very good opportunity for\nshowing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her,\nstill it was good practice to say it over) “—yes, that’s about the\nright distance—but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve\ngot to?” (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either,\nbut thought they were nice grand words to say.)\nPresently she began again. “I wonder if I shall fall right\nthrough the earth! How funny it’ll seem to come out among the\npeople that walk with their heads downwards! The antipathies, I\nthink—” (she was rather glad there was no one listening, this time,\nas it didn’t sound at all the right word) “—but I shall have to ask\nthem what the name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma’am, is\nthis New Zealand? Or Australia?” (and she tried to curtsey as she\nspoke—fancy, curtseying as you’re falling through the air! Do you\nthink you could manage it?) “And what an ignorant little girlthink you could manage it?) “And what an ignorant little girl\nshe’ll think me for asking! No, it’ll never do to ask: perhaps I\nshall see it written up somewhere.”\nDown, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon\nbegan talking again. “Dinah’ll miss me very much to-night, I should\nthink!” (Dinah was the cat.) “I hope they’ll remember her saucer of\nmilk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear! I wish you were down here with\nme! There are no mice in the air, I’m afraid, but you might catch a\nbat, and that’s very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats,\nI wonder?” And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on\nsaying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, “Do cats eat bats? Do\ncats eat bats?” and sometimes “Do bats eat cats?”, for, you see, as\nshe couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which\nway she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just\nbegun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and\nwas saying to her, very earnestly, “Now, Dinah, tell me the truth:\ndid you ever eat a bat?” when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came\nupon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.\nAlice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a\nmoment: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead: before her was\nanother long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight,\nhurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went\nAlice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it\nturned a corner, “Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!”\nShe was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit\nwas no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall,\nwhich was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.\nThere were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked;\nand when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other,\ntrying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how\nshe was ever to get out again.\nSuddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of"}
{"text": "she was ever to get out again.\nSuddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of\nsolid glass: there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and\nAlice’s first thought was that this might belong to one of the\ndoors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or\nthe key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of\nthem. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low\ncurtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door\nabout fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the\nlock, and to her great delight it fitted!\nAlice opened the door and found that it led into a small\npassage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked\nalong the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she\nlonged to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those\nbeds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not\neven get her head though the doorway; “and even if my head would go\nthrough,” thought poor Alice, “it would be of very little use\nwithout my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a\ntelescope! I think I could, if I only know how to begin.” For, you\nsee, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice\nhad begun to think that very few things indeed were really\nimpossible.\nThere seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she\nwent back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on\nit, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like\ntelescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it (“which\ncertainly was not here before,” said Alice), and tied round the\nneck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words “DRINK ME”\nbeautifully printed on it in large letters.\nIt was all very well to say “Drink me,” but the wise little\nAlice was not going to do that in a hurry. “No, I’ll look first,”\nshe said, “and see whether it’s marked ‘poison’ or not”; for she\nhad read several nice little stories about children who had gothad read several nice little stories about children who had got\nburnt, and eaten up by wild beasts, and other unpleasant things,\nall because they would not remember the simple rules their friends\nhad taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if\nyour hold it too long; and that, if you cut your finger very deeply\nwith a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that,\nif you drink much from a bottle marked “poison,” it is almost\ncertain to disagree with you, sooner or later.\nHowever, this bottle was not marked “poison,” so Alice ventured\nto taste it, and, finding it very nice (it had, in fact, a sort of\nmixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey,\ntoffy, and hot buttered toast), she very soon finished it off.\n* * * * * * *\n* * * * * *\n* * * * * * *\n“What a curious feeling!” said Alice. “I must be shutting up\nlike a telescope!”\nAnd so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her\nface brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size\nfor going though the little door into that lovely garden. First,\nhowever, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to\nshrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this; “for it\nmight end, you know,” said Alice to herself, “in my going out\naltogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?”\nAnd she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle looks like after\nthe candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having\nseen such a thing.\nAfter a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided\non going into the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice! when\nshe got to the door, she found she had forgotten the little golden\nkey, and when she went back to the table for it, she found she\ncould not possibly reach it: she could see it quite plainly through\nthe glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs of\nthe table, but it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself\nout with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.\n“Come, there’s no use in crying like that!” said Alice to\nherself rather sharply. “I advise you to leave off this minute!”\nShe generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom\nfollowed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to\nbring tears into her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box\nher own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she\nwas playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond\nof pretending to be two people. “But it’s no use now,” thought poor\nAlice, “to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of\nme left to make one respectable person!”\nSoon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the\ntable: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which\nthe words “EAT ME” were beautifully marked in currants. “Well, I’ll\neat it,” said Alice, “and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach\nthe key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the\ndoor: so either way I’ll get into the garden, and I don’t care\nwhich happens!”\nShe ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself “Which way?\nWhich way?”, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which\nway it was growing; and she was quite surprised to find that she\nremained the same size. To be sure, this is what generally happens\nwhen one eats cake; but Alice had got so much into the way of\nexpecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it\nseemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common\nway.\nSo she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.\n* * * * * * *\n* * * * * *\n* * * * * * *"}
{"text": "“Curiouser and curiouser!” cried Alice (she was so much\nsurprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good\nEnglish). “Now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever\nwas! Good-bye, feet!” (for when she looked down at her feet, they\nseemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off).\n“Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and\nstockings for you now, dears? I’m sure I sha’n’t be able! I shall\nbe a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must\nmanage the best way you can—but I must be kind to them,” thought\nAlice, “or perhaps they wo’n’t walk the way I want to go! Let me\nsee. I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.”\nAnd she went on planning to herself how she would manage it.\n“They must go by the carrier,” she thought; “and how funny it’ll\nseem, sending presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the\ndirections will look!\nAlice’s Right Foot, Esq.\n ? Hearthrug,\n ? near the Fender,\n ? (with Alice’s love).\nOh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!”\nJust then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact\nshe was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the\nlittle golden key and hurried off to the garden door.\nPoor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one\nside, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get\nthrough was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry\nagain.\n“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Alice, “a great girl\nlike you,” (she might well say this), “to go on crying in this way!\nStop this moment, I tell you!” But she went on all the same,\nshedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all around\nher, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.\nAfter a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the\ndistance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It\nwas the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of\nwhite kid-gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he camewhite kid-gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came\ntrotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself, as he came,\n“Oh! The Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! Wo’n’t she be savage if I’ve\nkept her waiting!” Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to\nask help of any one: so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began,\nin a low, timid voice, “If you please, Sir——” The Rabbit started\nviolently, dropped the white kid-gloves and the fan, and skurried\naway into the darkness as hard as he could go.\nAlice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot,\nshe kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking. “Dear,\ndear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on\njust as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me\nthink: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I\ncan remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same,\nthe next question is, ‘Who in the world am I?’ Ah, that’s the great\npuzzle!” And she began thinking over all the children she knew that\nwere of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been\nchanged for any of them.\n“I'm sure I’m not Ada,” she said, “for her hair goes in such\nlong ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure\nI ca’n’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh, she\nknows such a very little! Besides, she’s she, and I’m I, and—oh\ndear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I\nused to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times\nsix is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get\nto twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication-Table doesn’t\nsignify: let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and\nParis is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no, that’s all wrong, I’m\ncertain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say ‘How\ndoth the little—’,” and she crossed her hands on her lap, as if she\nwere saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice soundedwere saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded\nhoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they\nused to do:—\n“How doth the little crocodile\n ? Improve his shining tail,\nAnd pour the waters of the Nile\n ? On every golden scale!\n“How cheerfully he seems to grin,\n ? How neatly spreads his claws,\nAnd welcome little fishes in,\n ? With gently smiling jaws!”\n“I’m sure those are not the right words,” said poor Alice, and\nher eyes filled with tears again as she went on, “I must be Mabel\nafter all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little\nhouse, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh, ever so many\nlessons to learn! No, I’ve made up my mind about it: if I’m Mabel,\nI’ll stay down here! It’ll be no use their putting their heads down\nand saying ‘Come up again, dear!’ I shall only look up and say ‘Who\nam I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that\nperson, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody\nelse’—but, oh dear!” cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, “I\ndo wish they would put their heads down! I am so very tired of\nbeing all alone here!”\nAs she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised\nto see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white\nkid-gloves while she was talking. “How can I have done that?” she\nthought. “I must be growing small again.” She got up and went to\nthe table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as\nshe could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on\nshrinking rapidly: she soon found out that the cause of this was\nthe fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time\nto save herself from shrinking away altogether.\n“That was a narrow escape!” said Alice, a good deal frightened\nat the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in\nexistence. “And now for the garden!” And she ran with all speed\nback to the little door; but, alas! the little door was shut again,\nand the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before,"}
{"text": "and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before,\n“and things are worse than ever,” thought the poor child, “for I\nnever was so small as this before, never! And I declare it’s too\nbad, that it is!”\nAs she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment,\nsplash! she was up to her chin in salt-water. Her first idea was\nthat she had somehow fallen into the sea, “and in that case I can\ngo back by railway,” she said to herself. (Alice had been to the\nseaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion\nthat, wherever you go to on the English coast, you find a number of\nbathing-machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with\nwooden spades, then a row of lodging-houses, and behind them a\nrailway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the\npool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.\n“I wish I hadn’t cried so much!” said Alice, as she swam about,\ntrying to find her way out. “I shall be punished for it now, I\nsuppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer\nthing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.”\nJust then she heard something splashing about in the pool a\nlittle way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at\nfirst she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she\nremembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was\nonly a mouse, that had slipped in like herself.\n“Would it be of any use, now,” thought Alice, “to speak to this\nmouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should\nthink very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in\ntrying.” So she began: “O Mouse, do you know the way out of this\npool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!” (Alice\nthought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had\nnever done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen, in\nher brother’s Latin Grammar, “A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a\nmouse—O mouse!” The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, andmouse—O mouse!” The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and\nseemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said\nnothing.\n“Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,” thought Alice. “I\ndaresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.”\n(For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear\nnotion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: “Où\nest ma chatte?”, which was the first sentence in her French\nlesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and\nseemed to quiver all over with fright. “Oh, I beg your pardon!”\ncried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal’s\nfeelings. “I quite forgot you didn't like cats.”\n“Not like cats!” cried the Mouse in a shrill, passionate voice.\n“Would you like cats, if you were me?”\n“Well, perhaps not,” said Alice in a soothing tone: “don’t be\nangry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah. I\nthink you’d take a fancy to cats, if you could only see her. She is\nsuch a dear quiet thing,” Alice went on, half to herself, as she\nswam lazily about in the pool, “and she sits purring so nicely by\nthe fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a\nnice soft thing to nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching\nmice——oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice again, for this time the\nMouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be\nreally offended. “We wo’n’t talk about her any more if you’d rather\nnot.”\n“We indeed!” cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end\nof his tail. “As if I would talk on such a subject! Our family\nalways hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the\nname again!”\n“I wo’n’t indeed!” said Alice, in a great hurry to change the\nsubject of conversation. “Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?” The\nMouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: “There is such a\nnice little dog, near our house, I should like to show you! A\nlittle bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curlylittle bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly\nbrown hair! And it’ll fetch things when you throw them, and it’ll\nsit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I ca’n’t\nremember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he\nsays it's so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills\nall the rats and—oh dear!” cried Alice in a sorrowful tone. “I’m\nafraid I’ve offended it again!” For the Mouse was swimming away\nfrom her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in\nthe pool as it went.\nSo she called softly after it, “Mouse dear! Do come back again,\nand we wo’n’t talk about cats, or dogs either, if you don’t like\nthem!” When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly\nback to her: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought),\nand it said, in a low trembling voice, “Let us get to the shore,\nand then I’ll tell you my history, and you’ll understand why it is\nI hate cats and dogs.”\nIt was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded\nwith the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a\nDuck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious\ncreatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the\nshore."}
{"text": "They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the\nbank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur\nclinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and\nuncomfortable.\nThe first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had\na consultation about this, and after a few minutes it seemed quite\nnatural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as\nif she had known them all her life. Indeed, she had quite a long\nargument with the Lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only\nsay, “I’m older than you, and must know better.” And this Alice\nwould not allow, without knowing how old it was, and, as the Lory\npositively refused to tell its age, there was no more to be\nsaid.\nAt last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among\nthem, called out, “Sit down, all of you, and listen to me! I’ll\nsoon make you dry enough!” They all sat down at once, in a large\nring, with the Mouse in the middle. Alice kept her eyes anxiously\nfixed on it, for she felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she\ndid not get dry very soon.\n“Ahem!” said the Mouse with an important air. “Are you all\nready? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you\nplease! ‘William the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the\npope, was soon submitted to by the English, who wanted leaders, and\nhad been of late much accustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin\nand Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria——’”\n“Ugh!” said the Lory, with a shiver.\n“I beg your pardon!” said the Mouse, frowning, but very\npolitely. “Did you speak?”\n“Not I!” said the Lory, hastily.\n“I thought you did,” said the Mouse. “I proceed. ‘Edwin and\nMorcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him; and\neven Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it\nadvisable——’”\n“Found what?” said the Duck.\n“Found it,” the Mouse replied rather crossly: “of course you\nknow what ‘it’ means.”\n“I know what ‘it’ means well enough, when I find a thing,” saidknow what ‘it’ means.”\n“I know what ‘it’ means well enough, when I find a thing,” said\nthe Duck: “it’s generally a frog, or a worm. The question is, what\ndid the archbishop find?”\nThe Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on,\n“‘—found it advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and\noffer him the crown. William's conduct at first was moderate. But\nthe insolence of his Normans——’ How are you getting on now, my\ndear?” it continued, turning to Alice as it spoke.\n“As wet as ever,” said Alice in a melancholy tone: “it doesn’t\nseem to dry me at all.”\n“In that case,” said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, “I\nmove that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more\nenergetic remedies——”\n“Speak English!” said the Eaglet. “I don't know the meaning of\nhalf those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t believe you do\neither!” And the Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of\nthe other birds tittered audibly.\n“What I was going to say,” said the Dodo in an offended tone,\n“was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a\nCaucus-race.”\n“What is a Caucus-race?” said Alice; not that she much wanted to\nknow, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that somebody ought\nto speak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything.\n“Why,” said the Dodo, “the best way to explain it is to do it.”\n(And, as you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter-day,\nI will tell you how the Dodo managed it.)\nFirst it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (“the\nexact shape doesn’t matter,” it said,) and then all the party were\nplaced along the course, here and there. There was no “One, two,\nthree, and away!”, but they began running when they liked, and left\noff when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race\nwas over. However, when they had been running half an hour or so,\nand were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out “The race is\nover!”, and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, “But\nwho has won?”over!”, and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, “But\nwho has won?”\nThis question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of\nthought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon\nits forehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in\nthe pictures of him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the\nDodo said, “Everybody has won, and all must have prizes.”\n“But who is to give the prizes?” quite a chorus of voices\nasked.\n“Why, she, of course,” said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one\nfinger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out,\nin a confused way, “Prizes! Prizes!”\nAlice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in\nher pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits (luckily the salt water\nhad not got into it), and handed them round as prizes. There was\nexactly one a-piece, all round.\n“But she must have a prize herself, you know,” said the\nMouse.\n“Of course,” the Dodo replied very gravely. “What else have you\ngot in your pocket?” he went on, turning to Alice.\n“Only a thimble,” said Alice sadly.\n“Hand it over here,” said the Dodo.\nThen they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo\nsolemnly presented the thimble, saying “We beg your acceptance of\nthis elegant thimble”; and, when it had finished this short speech,\nthey all cheered.\nAlice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked\nso grave that she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not\nthink of anything to say, she simply bowed, and took the thimble,\nlooking as solemn as she could.\nThe next thing was to eat the comfits: this caused some noise\nand confusion, as the large birds complained that they could not\ntaste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the\nback. However, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a\nring, and begged the Mouse to tell them something more.\n“You promised to tell me your history, you know,” said Alice,\n“and why it is you hate—C and D,” she added in a whisper, half\nafraid that it would be offended again."}
{"text": "afraid that it would be offended again.\n“Mine is a long and a sad tale!” said the Mouse, turning to\nAlice, and sighing.\n“It is a long tail, certainly,” said Alice, looking down with\nwonder at the Mouse’s tail; “but why do you call it sad?” And she\nkept on puzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her\nidea of the tale was something like this:—\n“Fury said to a\nmouse, That he\nmet in the\nhouse,\n‘Let us\nboth go to\nlaw: I will\nprosecute\nyou.—Come,\nI’ll take no\ndenial: We\nmust have a\ntrial; For\nreally this\nmorning I’ve\nnothing\nto do.’\nSaid the\nmouse to the\ncur, ‘Such\na trial,\ndear sir,\nWith\nno jury\nor judge,\nwould be\nwasting\nour\nbreath.’\n‘I’ll be\njudge, I’ll\nbe jury,’\nSaid\ncunning\nold Fury:\n‘I’ll\ntry the\nwhole\ncause,\nand\ncondemn\nyou\nto\ndeath’.”\n“You are not attending!” said the Mouse to Alice, severely.\n“What are you thinking of?”\n“I beg your pardon,” said Alice very humbly: “you had got to the\nfifth bend, I think?”\n“I had not!” cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.\n“A knot!” said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and\nlooking anxiously about her. “Oh, do let me help to undo it!”\n“I shall do nothing of the sort,” said the Mouse, getting up and\nwalking away. “You insult me by talking such nonsense!”\n“I didn’t mean it!” pleaded poor Alice. “But you’re so easily\noffended, you know!”\nThe Mouse only growled in reply.\n“Please come back, and finish your story!” Alice called after\nit. And the others all joined in chorus “Yes, please do!” But the\nMouse only shook its head impatiently, and walked a little\nquicker.\n“What a pity it wouldn’t stay!” sighed the Lory, as soon as it\nwas quite out of sight. And an old Crab took the opportunity of\nsaying to her daughter “Ah, my dear! Let this be a lesson to you\nnever to lose your temper!” “Hold your tongue, Ma!” said the young\nCrab, a little snappishly. “You’re enough to try the patience of an\noyster!”\n“I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!” said Alice aloud,\naddressing nobody in particular. “She’d soon fetch it back!”addressing nobody in particular. “She’d soon fetch it back!”\n“And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?” said\nthe Lory.\nAlice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about\nher pet: “Dinah’s our cat. And she’s such a capital one for\ncatching mice, you ca’n’t think! And oh, I wish you could see her\nafter the birds! Why, she’ll eat a little bird as soon as look at\nit!”\nThis speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some\nof the birds hurried off at once: one old Magpie began wrapping\nitself up very carefully, remarking “I really must be getting home:\nthe night-air doesn’t suit my throat!” And a Canary called out in a\ntrembling voice, to its children, “Come away, my dears! It’s high\ntime you were all in bed!” On various pretexts they all moved off,\nand Alice was soon left alone.\n“I wish I hadn’t mentioned Dinah!” she said to herself in a\nmelancholy tone. “Nobody seems to like her, down here, and I’m sure\nshe's the best cat in the world! Oh, my dear Dinah! I wonder if I\nshall ever see you any more!” And here poor Alice began to cry\nagain, for she felt very lonely and low-spirited. In a little\nwhile, however, she again heard a little pattering of footsteps in\nthe distance, and she looked up eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse\nhad changed his mind, and was coming back to finish his story.It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking\nanxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she\nheard it muttering to itself, “The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear\npaws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She’ll get me executed, as sure as\nferrets are ferrets! Where can I have dropped them, I wonder?”\nAlice guessed in a moment that it was looking for the fan and the\npair of white kid-gloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting\nabout for them, but they were nowhere to be seen—everything seemed\nto have changed since her swim in the pool; and the great hall,\nwith the glass table and the little door, had vanished\ncompletely.\nVery soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about,\nand called out to her, in an angry tone, “Why, Mary Ann, what are\nyou doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of\ngloves and a fan! Quick, now!” And Alice was so much frightened\nthat she ran off at once in the direction it pointed to, without\ntrying to explain the mistake it had made.\n“He took me for his housemaid,” she said to herself as she ran.\n“How surprised he’ll be when he finds out who I am! But I'd better\ntake him his fan and gloves—that is, if I can find them.” As she\nsaid this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which\nwas a bright brass plate with the name “W. RABBIT” engraved upon\nit. She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great\nfear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be turned out of\nthe house before she had found the fan and gloves.\n“How queer it seems,” Alice said to herself, “to be going\nmessages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah’ll be sending me on messages\nnext!” And she began fancying the sort of thing that would happen:\n“‘Miss Alice! Come here directly, and get ready for your walk!’\n‘Coming in a minute, nurse! But I've got to watch this mouse-hole\ntill Dinah comes back, and see that the mouse doesn’t get out.’\nOnly I don’t think,” Alice went on, “that they’d let Dinah stop in\nthe house if it began ordering people about like that!”"}
{"text": "the house if it began ordering people about like that!”\nBy this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with\na table in the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two\nor three pairs of tiny white kid-gloves: she took up the fan and a\npair of the gloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her\neye fell upon a little bottle that stood near the looking-glass.\nThere was no label this time with the words “DRINK ME,” but\nnevertheless she uncorked it and put it to her lips. “I know\nsomething interesting is sure to happen,” she said to herself,\n“whenever I eat or drink anything: so I’ll just see what this\nbottle does. I do hope it’ll make me grow large again, for really\nI’m quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!”\nIt did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before\nshe had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against\nthe ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken.\nShe hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself “That’s quite\nenough—I hope I shan't grow any more—As it is, I can't get out at\nthe door—I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!”\nAlas! It was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and\ngrowing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another\nminute there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect\nof lying down with one elbow against the door, and the other arm\ncurled round her head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last\nresource, she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the\nchimney, and said to herself “Now I can do no more, whatever\nhappens. What will become of me?”\nLuckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full\neffect, and she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable,\nand, as there seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting\nout of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.\n“It was much pleasanter at home,” thought poor Alice, “when one\nwasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about\nby mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down thatby mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down that\nrabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—it’s rather curious, you know, this\nsort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used\nto read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened,\nand now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book\nwritten about me, that there ought! And when I grow up, I’ll write\none—but I’m grown up now,” she added in a sorrowful tone: “at least\nthere’s no room to grow up any more here.”\n“But then,” thought Alice, “shall I never get any older than I\nam now? That’ll be a comfort, one way—never to be an old woman—but\nthen—always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like\nthat!”\n“Oh, you foolish Alice!” she answered herself. “How can you\nlearn lessons in here? Why, there’s hardly room for you, and no\nroom at all for any lesson-books!”\nAnd so she went on, taking first one side and then the other,\nand making quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few\nminutes she heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.\n“Mary Ann! Mary Ann!” said the voice. “Fetch me my gloves this\nmoment!” Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice\nknew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled\ntill she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a\nthousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be\nafraid of it.\nPresently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it;\nbut, as the door opened inwards, and Alice’s elbow was pressed hard\nagainst it, that attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to\nitself “Then I’ll go round and get in at the window.”\n“That you wo’n’t!” thought Alice, and, after waiting till she\nfancied she heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly\nspread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get\nhold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a\ncrash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just\npossible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the\nsort.possible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the\nsort.\nNext came an angry voice—the Rabbit’s—“Pat! Pat! Where are you?”\nAnd then a voice she had never heard before, “Sure then I’m here!\nDigging for apples, yer honour!”\n“Digging for apples, indeed!” said the Rabbit angrily. “Here!\nCome and help me out of this!” (Sounds of more broken glass.)\n“Now tell me, Pat, what’s that in the window?”\n“Sure, it’s an arm, yer honour!” (He pronounced it “arrum.”)\n“An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills\nthe whole window!”\n“Sure, it does, yer honour: but it’s an arm for all that.”\n“Well, it’s got no business there, at any rate: go and take it\naway!”\nThere was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear\nwhispers now and then; such as, “Sure, I don’t like it, yer honour,\nat all, at all!” “Do as I tell you, you coward!”, and at last she\nspread out her hand again, and made another snatch in the air. This\ntime there were two little shrieks, and more sounds of broken\nglass. “What a number of cucumber-frames there must be!” thought\nAlice. “I wonder what they’ll do next! As for pulling me out of the\nwindow, I only wish they could! I’m sure I don't want to stay in\nhere any longer!”\nShe waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last\ncame a rumbling of little cart-wheels, and the sound of a good many\nvoices all talking together: she made out the words: “Where’s the\nother ladder?—Why, I hadn’t to bring but one. Bill's got the\nother—Bill! Fetch it here, lad!—Here, put ’em up at this corner—No,\ntie ’em together first—they don't reach half high enough yet—Oh!\nthey’ll do well enough. Don’t be particular—Here, Bill! catch hold\nof this rope—Will the roof bear?—Mind that loose slate—Oh, it’s\ncoming down! Heads below!” (a loud crash)—“Now, who did that?—It\nwas Bill, I fancy—Who’s to go down the chimney?—Nay, I shan’t! You\ndo it!—That I wo’n’t, then!—Bill’s got to go down—Here, Bill! The\nmaster says you’ve got to go down the chimney!”"}
{"text": "master says you’ve got to go down the chimney!”\n“Oh! So Bill’s got to come down the chimney, has he?' said Alice\nto herself. “Why, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn't\nbe in Bill’s place for a good deal: this fireplace is narrow, to be\nsure; but I think I can kick a little!”\nShe drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and\nwaited till she heard a little animal (she couldn’t guess of what\nsort it was) scratching and scrambling about in the chimney close\nabove her: then, saying to herself “This is Bill”, she gave one\nsharp kick, and waited to see what would happen next.\nThe first thing she heard was a general chorus of “There goes\nBill!” then the Rabbit’s voice alone—“Catch him, you by the hedge!”\nthen silence, and then another confusion of voices—“Hold up his\nhead—Brandy now—Don’t choke him—How was it, old fellow? What\nhappened to you? Tell us all about it!”\nLast came a little feeble, squeaking voice (“That's Bill,”\nthought Alice), “Well, I hardly know—No more, thank ye; I’m better\nnow—but I’m a deal too flustered to tell you—all I know is,\nsomething comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a\nsky-rocket!”\n“So you did, old fellow!” said the others.\n“We must burn the house down!” said the Rabbit’s voice; and\nAlice called out as loud as she could, “If you do. I’ll set Dinah\nat you!”\nThere was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to\nherself, “I wonder what they will do next! If they had any sense,\nthey’d take the roof off.” After a minute or two, they began moving\nabout again, and Alice heard the Rabbit say, “A barrowful will do,\nto begin with.”\n“A barrowful of what?” thought Alice. But she had not long to\ndoubt, for the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling\nin at the window, and some of them hit her in the face. “I’ll put a\nstop to this,” she said to herself, and shouted out, “You'd better\nnot do that again!” which produced another dead silence.\nAlice noticed, with some surprise, that the pebbles were allAlice noticed, with some surprise, that the pebbles were all\nturning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright\nidea came into her head. “If I eat one of these cakes,” she\nthought, “it’s sure to make some change in my size; and, as it\nca’n’t possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller, I\nsuppose.”\nSo she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find\nthat she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough\nto get through the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite\na crowd of little animals and birds waiting outside. The poor\nlittle Lizard, Bill, was in the middle, being held up by two\nguinea-pigs, who were giving it something out of a bottle. They all\nmade a rush at Alice the moment she appeared; but she ran off as\nhard as she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.\n“The first thing I’ve got to do,” said Alice to herself, as she\nwandered about in the wood, “is to grow to my right size again; and\nthe second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think\nthat will be the best plan.”\nIt sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and\nsimply arranged: the only difficulty was, that she had not the\nsmallest idea how to set about it; and, while she was peering about\nanxiously among the trees, a little sharp bark just over her head\nmade her look up in a great hurry.\nAn enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes,\nand feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. “Poor\nlittle thing!” said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to\nwhistle to it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the\nthought that it might be hungry, in which case it would be very\nlikely to eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.\nHardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of\nstick, and held it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped\ninto the air off all its feet at once, with a yelp of delight, and\nrushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it; then Alicerushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it; then Alice\ndodged behind a great thistle, to keep herself from being run over;\nand the moment she appeared on the other side, the puppy made\nanother rush at the stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry\nto get hold of it: then Alice, thinking it was very like having a\ngame of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every moment to be\ntrampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again: then the\npuppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very\nlittle way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking\nhoarsely all the while, till at last it sat down a good way off,\npanting, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great\neyes half shut.\nThis seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape:\nso she set off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of\nbreath, and till the puppy’s bark sounded quite faint in the\ndistance.\n“And yet what a dear little puppy it was!” said Alice, as she\nleant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with\none of the leaves. “I should have liked teaching it tricks very\nmuch, if—if I’d only been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I’d\nnearly forgotten that I’ve got to grow up again! Let me see—how is\nit to be managed? I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or\nother; but the great question is, ‘What?’”\nThe great question certainly was “What?”. Alice looked all round\nher at the flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see\nanything that looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the\ncircumstances. There was a large mushroom growing near her, about\nthe same height as herself; and, when she had looked under it, and\non both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she\nmight as well look and see what was on the top of it.\nShe stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of\nthe mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue\ncaterpillar, that was sitting on the top, with its arms folded,caterpillar, that was sitting on the top, with its arms folded,\nquietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice\nof her or of anything else."}
{"text": "The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in\nsilence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth,\nand addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.\n“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.\nThis was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice\nreplied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at\nleast I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I\nmust have been changed several times since then.”\n“What do you mean by that?\" said the Caterpillar, sternly.\n“Explain yourself!”\n“I ca’n’t explain myself, I’m afraid, Sir,” said Alice, “because\nI’m not myself, you see.”\n“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.\n“I’m afraid I ca’n’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied, very\npolitely, “for I ca’n’t understand it myself, to begin with; and\nbeing so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.”\n“It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar.\n“Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,” said Alice; “but\nwhen you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you\nknow—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll\nfeel it a little queer, wo’n’t you?”\n“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar.\n“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice: “all\nI know is, it would feel very queer to me.”\n“You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are you?”\nWhich brought them back again to the beginning of the\nconversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's\nmaking such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said,\nvery gravely, “I think you ought to tell me who you are,\nfirst.”\n“Why?” said the Caterpillar.\nHere was another puzzling question; and, as Alice could not\nthink of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a\nvery unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.\n“Come back!” the Caterpillar called after her. “I’ve something\nimportant to say!”\nThis sounded promising, certainly. Alice turned and came back\nagain.\n“Keep your temper,” said the Caterpillar.\n“Is that all?” said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as\nshe could.“Is that all?” said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as\nshe could.\n“No,” said the Caterpillar.\nAlice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to\ndo, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth\nhearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking; but at\nlast it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again,\nand said, “So you think you’re changed, do you?”\n“I’m afraid I am, sir,” said Alice. “I ca’n’t remember things as\nI used—and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes\ntogether!”\n“Ca’n’t remember what things?” said the Caterpillar.\n“Well, I’ve tried to say ‘How doth the little busy bee,’ but it\nall came different!” Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.\n“Repeat, ‘You are old, Father William,’ ” said the\nCaterpillar.\nAlice folded her hands, and began:—\n“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,\n ? “And your hair has become very white;\nAnd yet you incessantly stand on your head—\n ? Do you think, at your age, it is right?”\n“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,\n ? “I feared it might injure the brain;\nBut, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,\n ? Why, I do it again and again.”\n“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,\n ? And have grown most uncommonly fat;\nYet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—\n ? Pray, what is the reason of that?”\n“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,\n ? “I kept all my limbs very supple\nBy the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—\n ? Allow me to sell you a couple?”\n“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak\n ? For anything tougher than suet;\nYet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—\n ? Pray, how did you manage to do it?”\n“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,\n ? And argued each case with my wife;\nAnd the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw\n ? Has lasted the rest of my life.”\n“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose\n ? That your eye was as steady as ever;\nYet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—? That your eye was as steady as ever;\nYet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—\n ? What made you so awfully clever?”\n“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”\n ? Said his father, “Don’t give yourself airs!\nDo you think I can listen all day to such stuff?\n ? Be off, or I’ll kick you down-stairs!”\n“That is not said right,” said the Caterpillar.\n“Not quite right, I’m afraid,” said Alice, timidly: “some of the\nwords have got altered.”\n“It is wrong from beginning to end,” said the Caterpillar,\ndecidedly; and there was silence for some minutes.\nThe Caterpillar was the first to speak.\n“What size do you want to be?” it asked.\n“Oh, I’m not particular as to size,” Alice hastily replied;\n“only one doesn't like changing so often, you know.”\n“I don’t know,” said the Caterpillar.\nAlice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in\nher life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.\n“Are you content now?” said the Caterpillar.\n“Well, I should like to be a little larger, Sir, if you wouldn't\nmind,” said Alice: “three inches is such a wretched height to\nbe.”\n“It is a very good height indeed!” said the Caterpillar angrily,\nrearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches\nhigh).\n“But I’m not used to it!” pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone.\nAnd she thought to herself “I wish the creatures wouldn’t be so\neasily offended!”\n“You’ll get used to it in time,” said the Caterpillar; and it\nput the hookah into its mouth, and began smoking again.\nThis time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again.\nIn a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its\nmouth, and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down\noff the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking,\nas it went, “One side will make you grow taller, and the other side\nwill make you grow shorter.”\n“One side of what? The other side of what?” thought Alice to\nherself.\n“Of the mushroom,” said the Caterpillar, just as if she had\nasked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight."}
{"text": "asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.\nAlice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a\nminute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and, as\nit was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question.\nHowever, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they\nwould go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.\n“And now which is which?” she said to herself, and nibbled a\nlittle of the right-hand bit to try the effect. The next moment she\nfelt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her\nfoot!\nShe was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but\nshe felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking\nrapidly: so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit.\nHer chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was\nhardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed\nto swallow a morsel of the left-hand bit.\n* * * * * * *\n* * * * * *\n* * * * * * *\n“Come, my head’s free at last!” said Alice in a tone of delight,\nwhich changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her\nshoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she\nlooked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise\nlike a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below\nher.\n“What can all that green stuff be?” said Alice. “And where have\nmy shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I ca’n’t see\nyou?” She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed\nto follow, except a little shaking among the distant green\nleaves.\nAs there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her\nhead, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to\nfind that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a\nserpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful\nzigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found\nto be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been\nwandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a largewandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large\npigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with\nits wings.\n“Serpent!” screamed the Pigeon.\n“I’m not a serpent!” said Alice indignantly. “Let me alone!”\n“Serpent, I say again!” repeated the Pigeon, but in a more\nsubdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, “I’ve tried every way,\nand nothing seems to suit them!”\n“I haven’t the least idea what you're talking about,” said\nAlice.\n“I’ve tried the roots of trees, and I’ve tried banks, and I’ve\ntried hedges,” the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; “but\nthose serpents! There’s no pleasing them!”\nAlice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no\nuse in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.\n“As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,” said the\nPigeon; “but I must be on the look-out for serpents, night and day!\nWhy, I haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!”\n“I’m very sorry you've been annoyed,” said Alice, who was\nbeginning to see its meaning.\n“And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,” continued\nthe Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, “and just as I was\nthinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come\nwriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!”\n“But I’m not a serpent, I tell you!” said Alice. “I’m a——I’m\na——”\n“Well! What are you?” said the Pigeon. “I can see you’re trying\nto invent something!”\n“I—I’m a little girl,” said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she\nremembered the number of changes she had gone through, that\nday.\n“A likely story indeed!” said the Pigeon, in a tone of the\ndeepest contempt. “I've seen a good many little girls in my time,\nbut never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You're a serpent;\nand there's no use denying it. I suppose you'll be telling me next\nthat you never tasted an egg!”\n“I have tasted eggs, certainly,” said Alice, who was a very\ntruthful child; “but little girls eat eggs quite as much as\nserpents do, you know.”\n“I don’t believe it,” said the Pigeon; “but if they do, why thenserpents do, you know.”\n“I don’t believe it,” said the Pigeon; “but if they do, why then\nthey’re a kind of serpent: that’s all I can say.”\nThis was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for\na minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding\n“You’re looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it\nmatter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?”\n“It matters a good deal to me,” said Alice hastily; “but I’m not\nlooking for eggs, as it happens; and, if I was, I shouldn’t want\nyours: I don’t like them raw.”\n“Well, be off, then!” said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it\nsettled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the\ntrees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled\namong the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and\nuntwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the\npieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very\ncarefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing\nsometimes taller, and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in\nbringing herself down to her usual height.\nIt was so long since she had been anything near the right size,\nthat it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a\nfew minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual, “Come, there’s\nhalf my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I’m\nnever sure what I’m going to be, from one minute to another!\nHowever, I’ve got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get\ninto that beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?” As\nshe said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little\nhouse in it about four feet high. “Whoever lives there,” thought\nAlice, “it’ll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should\nfrighten them out of their wits!” So she began nibbling at the\nright-hand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till\nshe had brought herself down to nine inches high."}
{"text": "For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and\nwondering what to do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came\nrunning out of the wood—(she considered him to be a footman because\nhe was in livery: otherwise, judging by his face only, she would\nhave called him a fish)—and rapped loudly at the door with his\nknuckles. It was opened by another footman in livery, with a round\nface, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed,\nhad powdered hair that curled all over their heads. She felt very\ncurious to know what it was all about, and crept a little way out\nof the wood to listen.\nThe Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great\nletter, nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the\nother, saying, in a solemn tone, “For the Duchess. An invitation\nfrom the Queen to play croquet.” The Frog-Footman repeated, in the\nsame solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little,\n“From the Queen. An invitation for the Duchess to play\ncroquet.”\nThen they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled\ntogether.\nAlice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the\nwood for fear of their hearing her; and, when she next peeped out,\nthe Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground\nnear the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.\nAlice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.\n“There’s no sort of use in knocking,” said the Footman, “and\nthat for two reasons. First, because I’m on the same side of the\ndoor as you are: secondly, because they’re making such a noise\ninside, no one could possibly hear you.” And certainly there was a\nmost extraordinary noise going on within—a constant howling and\nsneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish or\nkettle had been broken to pieces.\n“Please, then,” said Alice, “how am I to get in?”\n“There might be some sense in your knocking,” the Footman went\non, without attending to her, “if we had the door between us. For\ninstance, if you were inside, you might knock, and I could let youinstance, if you were inside, you might knock, and I could let you\nout, you know.” He was looking up into the sky all the time he was\nspeaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. “But perhaps he\nca’n’t help it,” she said to herself; “his eyes are so very nearly\nat the top of his head. But at any rate he might answer\nquestions.—How am I to get in?” she repeated, aloud.\n“I shall sit here,” the Footman remarked, “till to-morrow——”\nAt this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate\ncame skimming out, straight at the Footman’s head: it just grazed\nhis nose, and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind\nhim.\n“——or next day, maybe,” the Footman continued in the same tone,\nexactly as if nothing had happened.\n“How am I to get in?” asked Alice again, in a louder tone.\n“Are you to get in at all?” said the Footman. “That’s the first\nquestion, you know.”\nIt was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. “It’s\nreally dreadful,” she muttered to herself, “the way all the\ncreatures argue. It’s enough to drive one crazy!”\nThe Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for\nrepeating his remark, with variations. “I shall sit here,” he said,\n“on and off, for days and days.”\n“But what am I to do?” said Alice.\n“Anything you like,” said the Footman, and began whistling.\n“Oh, there’s no use in talking to him,” said Alice desperately:\n“he’s perfectly idiotic!” And she opened the door and went in.\nThe door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke\nfrom one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a\nthree-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby: the cook was\nleaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be\nfull of soup.\n“There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!” Alice said to\nherself, as well as she could for sneezing.\nThere was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess\nsneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and\nhowling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things inhowling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things in\nthe kitchen that did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat,\nwhich was lying on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.\n“Please would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, for\nshe was not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak\nfirst, “why your cat grins like that?”\n“It’s a Cheshire-Cat,” said the Duchess, “and that’s why.\nPig!”\nShe said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice\nquite jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed\nto the baby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on\nagain:—\n“I didn’t know that Cheshire-Cats always grinned; in fact, I\ndidn’t know that cats could grin.”\n“They all can,” said the Duchess; “and most of ’em do.”\n“I don’t know of any that do,” Alice said very politely, feeling\nquite pleased to have got into a conversation.\n“You don’t know much,” said the Duchess; “and that’s a\nfact.”\nAlice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought\nit would be as well to introduce some other subject of\nconversation. While she was trying to fix on one, the cook took the\ncauldron of soup off the fire, and at once set to work throwing\neverything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby—the\nfire-irons came first; then followed a shower of saucepans, plates,\nand dishes. The Duchess took no notice of them even when they hit\nher; and the baby was howling so much already, that it was quite\nimpossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.\n“Oh, please mind what you’re doing!” cried Alice, jumping up and\ndown in an agony of terror. “Oh, there goes his precious nose!”, as\nan unusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly\ncarried it off.\n“If everybody minded their own business,” the Duchess said, in a\nhoarse growl, “the world would go round a deal faster than it\ndoes.”\n“Which would not be an advantage,” said Alice, who felt very\nglad to get an opportunity of showing off a little of her\nknowledge. “Just think of what work it would make with the day and"}
{"text": "knowledge. “Just think of what work it would make with the day and\nnight! You see the earth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on\nits axis——”\n“Talking of axes,” said the Duchess, “chop off her head!”\nAlice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant\nto take the hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and\nseemed not to be listening, so she went on again: “Twenty-four\nhours, I think; or is it twelve? I——”\n“Oh, don’t bother me!” said the Duchess. “I never could abide\nfigures!” And with that she began nursing her child again, singing\na sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent\nshake at the end of every line:—\n ? “Speak roughly to your little boy,\n ? And beat him when he sneezes:\n ? He only does it to annoy,\n ? Because he knows it teases.”\nCHORUS\n(in which the cook and the baby joined):—\n ? “Wow! Wow! Wow!”\nWhile the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept\ntossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing\nhowled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:—\n ?\n ? “I speak severely to my boy,\n ? I beat him when he sneezes;\n ? For he can thoroughly enjoy\n ? The pepper when he pleases!”\nCHORUS\n ? “Wow! wow! wow!”\n“Here! You may nurse it a bit, if you like!” the Duchess said to\nAlice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. “I must go and get\nready to play croquet with the Queen,” and she hurried out of the\nroom. The cook threw a frying-pan after her as she went, but it\njust missed her.\nAlice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a\nqueer-shaped little creature, and held out its arms and legs in all\ndirections, “just like a star-fish,” thought Alice. The poor little\nthing was snorting like a steam-engine when she caught it, and kept\ndoubling itself up and straightening itself out again, so that\naltogether, for the first minute or two, it was as much as she\ncould do to hold it.\nAs soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it (which\nwas to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold ofwas to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of\nits right ear and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself),\nshe carried it out into the open air. “If I don’t take this child\naway with me,” thought Alice, “they’re sure to kill it in a day or\ntwo. Wouldn’t it be murder to leave it behind?” She said the last\nwords out loud, and the little thing grunted in reply (it had left\noff sneezing by this time). “Don’t grunt,” said Alice; “that’s not\nat all a proper way of expressing yourself.”\nThe baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its\nface to see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt\nthat it had a very turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real\nnose: also its eyes were getting extremely small for a baby:\naltogether Alice did not like the look of the thing at all. “But\nperhaps it was only sobbing,” she thought, and looked into its eyes\nagain, to see if there were any tears.\nNo, there were no tears. “If you’re going to turn into a pig, my\ndear,” said Alice, seriously, “I’ll have nothing more to do with\nyou. Mind now!” The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it\nwas impossible to say which), and they went on for some while in\nsilence.\nAlice was just beginning to think to herself, “Now, what am I to\ndo with this creature, when I get it home?” when it grunted again,\nso violently, that she looked down into its face in some alarm.\nThis time there could be no mistake about it: it was neither more\nnor less than a pig, and she felt that it would be quite absurd for\nher to carry it any further.\nSo she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to\nsee it trot away quietly into the wood. “If it had grown up,” she\nsaid to herself, “it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but\nit makes rather a handsome pig, I think.” And she began thinking\nover other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and\nwas just saying to herself “if one only knew the right way to\nchange them——” when she was a little startled by seeing thechange them——” when she was a little startled by seeing the\nCheshire-Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.\nThe Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured,\nshe thought: still it had very long claws and a great many teeth,\nso she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.\n“Cheshire Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at\nall know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a\nlittle wider. “Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she\nwent on. “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from\nhere?”\n“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the\nCat.\n“I don’t much care where——” said Alice.\n“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.\n“——so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an\nexplanation.\n“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk\nlong enough.”\nAlice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another\nquestion. “What sort of people live about here?”\n“In that direction,” the Cat said, waving its right paw round,\n“lives a Hatter: and in that direction,” waving the other paw,\n“lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.”\n“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.\n“Oh, you ca’n’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here.\nI’m mad. You’re mad.”\n“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.\n“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come\nhere.”\nAlice didn’t think that proved it at all: however, she went on:\n“And how do you know that you’re mad?”\n“To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You grant\nthat?”\n“I suppose so,” said Alice.\n“Well, then,” the Cat went on, “you see, a dog growls when it’s\nangry, and wags its tail when it’s pleased. Now I growl when I’m\npleased, and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.”\n“I call it purring, not growling,” said Alice.\n“Call it what you like,” said the Cat. “Do you play croquet with\nthe Queen to-day?”\n“I should like it very much,” said Alice, “but I haven’t been\ninvited yet.”"}
{"text": "the Queen to-day?”\n“I should like it very much,” said Alice, “but I haven’t been\ninvited yet.”\n“You’ll see me there,” said the Cat, and vanished.\nAlice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to\nqueer things happening. While she was looking at the place where it\nhad been, it suddenly appeared again.\n“By-the-bye, what became of the baby?” said the Cat. “I’d nearly\nforgotten to ask.”\n“It turned into a pig,” Alice quietly said, just as if the Cat\nhad come back in a natural way.\n“I thought it would,” said the Cat, and vanished again.\nAlice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it\ndid not appear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the\ndirection in which the March Hare was said to live. “I’ve seen\nhatters before,” she said to herself: “the March Hare will be much\nthe most interesting, and perhaps, as this is May, it wo’n’t be\nraving mad—at least not so mad as it was in March.” As she said\nthis, she looked up, and there was the Cat again, sitting on a\nbranch of a tree.\n“Did you say ‘pig’, or ‘fig’?” said the Cat.\n“I said ‘pig’,” replied Alice; “and I wish you wouldn’t keep\nappearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.”\n“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite\nslowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the\ngrin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.\n“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice;\n“but a grin without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw\nin all my life!”\nShe had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the\nhouse of the March Hare: she thought it must be the right house,\nbecause the chimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was\nthatched with fur. It was so large a house, that she did not like\nto go nearer till she had nibbled some more of the left-hand bit of\nmushroom, and raised herself to about two feet high: even then she\nwalked up towards it rather timidly, saying to herself “Suppose it\nshould be raving mad after all! I almost wish I’d gone to see theshould be raving mad after all! I almost wish I’d gone to see the\nHatter instead!”There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house,\nand the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse\nwas sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using\nit as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its\nhead. “Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,” thought Alice; “only\nas it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.”\nThe table was a large one, but the three were all crowded\ntogether at one corner of it. “No room! No room!” they cried out\nwhen they saw Alice coming. “There’s plenty of room!” said Alice\nindignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of\nthe table.\n“Have some wine,” the March Hare said in an encouraging\ntone.\nAlice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it\nbut tea. “I don’t see any wine,” she remarked.\n“There isn’t any,” said the March Hare.\n“Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,” said Alice\nangrily.\n“It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,”\nsaid the March Hare.\n“I didn’t know it was your table,” said Alice: “it’s laid for a\ngreat many more than three.”\n“Your hair wants cutting,” said the Hatter. He had been looking\nat Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first\nspeech.\n“You should learn not to make personal remarks,” Alice said with\nsome severity: “it’s very rude.”\nThe Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he\nsaid was “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?”\n“Come, we shall have some fun now!” thought Alice. “I’m glad\nthey’ve begun asking riddles—I believe I can guess that,” she added\naloud.\n“Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?”\nsaid the March Hare.\n“Exactly so,” said Alice.\n“Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare went on.\n“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least—at least I mean what I\nsay—that’s the same thing, you know.”\n“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as\nwell say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I\nsee’!”well say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I\nsee’!”\n“You might just as well say,” added the March Hare, “that ‘I\nlike what I get’ is the same thing as ‘I get what I like’!”\n“You might just as well say,” added the Dormouse, who seemed to\nbe talking in its sleep, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same\nthing as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!”\n“It is the same thing with you,” said the Hatter, and here the\nconversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while\nAlice thought over all she could remember about ravens and\nwriting-desks, which wasn’t much.\nThe Hatter was the first to break the silence. “What day of the\nmonth is it?” he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out\nof his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now\nand then, and holding it to his ear.\nAlice considered a little, and then said “The fourth.”\n“Two days wrong!” sighed the Hatter. “I told you butter wouldn’t\nsuit the works!” he added looking angrily at the March Hare.\n“It was the best butter,” the March Hare meekly replied.\n“Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,” the Hatter\ngrumbled: “you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.”\nThe March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he\ndipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could\nthink of nothing better to say than his first remark, “It was the\nbest butter, you know.”\nAlice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity.\n“What a funny watch!” she remarked. “It tells the day of the month,\nand doesn’t tell what o’clock it is!”\n“Why should it?” muttered the Hatter. “Does your watch tell you\nwhat year it is?”\n“Of course not,” Alice replied very readily: “but that’s because\nit stays the same year for such a long time together.”\n“Which is just the case with mine,” said the Hatter.\nAlice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to her\nto have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English.\n“I don’t quite understand you,” she said, as politely as she\ncould."}
{"text": "“I don’t quite understand you,” she said, as politely as she\ncould.\n“The Dormouse is asleep again,” said the Hatter, and he poured a\nlittle hot tea upon its nose.\nThe Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without\nopening its eyes, “Of course, of course: just what I was going to\nremark myself.”\n“Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to\nAlice again.\n“No, I give it up,” Alice replied: “what’s the answer?”\n“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter.\n“Nor I,” said the March Hare.\nAlice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better\nwith the time,” she said, “than waste it in asking riddles that\nhave no answers.”\n“If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you\nwouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him.”\n“I don’t know what you mean,” said Alice.\n“Of course you don’t!” the Hatter said, tossing his head\ncontemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!”\n“Perhaps not,” Alice cautiously replied; “but I know I have to\nbeat time when I learn music.”\n“Ah! that accounts for it,” said the Hatter. “He wo’n’t stand\nbeating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do\nalmost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it\nwere nine o’clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you’d\nonly have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a\ntwinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!”\n(“I only wish it was,” the March Hare said to itself in a\nwhisper.)\n“That would be grand, certainly,” said Alice thoughtfully: “but\nthen—I shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.”\n“Not at first, perhaps,” said the Hatter: “but you could keep it\nto half-past one as long as you liked.”\n“Is that the way you manage?” Alice asked.\nThe Hatter shook his head mournfully. “Not I!” he replied. “We\nquarreled last March——just before he went mad, you know——”\n(pointing with his teaspoon at the March Hare,) “——it was at the\ngreat concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing\n‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!\nHow I wonder what you’re at!’\nYou know the song, perhaps?”‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!\nHow I wonder what you’re at!’\nYou know the song, perhaps?”\n“I’ve heard something like it,” said Alice.\n“It goes on, you know,” the Hatter continued, “in this way:—\n\"Up above the world you fly,\nLike a tea-tray in the sky.\nTwinkle, twinkle——’”\nHere the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep\n“Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle——” and went on so long that\nthey had to pinch it to make it stop.\n“Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,” said the Hatter,\n“when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, ‘He’s murdering the time!\nOff with his head!’”\n“How dreadfully savage!” exclaimed Alice.\n“And ever since that,” the Hatter went on in a mournful tone,\n“he wo’n’t do a thing I ask! It's always six o’clock now.”\nA bright idea came into Alice’s head. “Is that the reason so\nmany tea-things are put out here?” she asked.\n“Yes, that’s it,” said the Hatter with a sigh: “it’s always\ntea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.”\n“Then you keep moving round, I suppose?” said Alice.\n“Exactly so,” said the Hatter: “as the things get used up.”\n“But what happens when you come to the beginning again?” Alice\nventured to ask.\n“Suppose we change the subject,” the March Hare interrupted,\nyawning. “I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us\na story.”\n“I’m afraid I don’t know one,” said Alice, rather alarmed at the\nproposal.\n“Then the Dormouse shall!” they both cried. “Wake up, Dormouse!”\nAnd they pinched it on both sides at once.\nThe Dormouse slowly opened its eyes. “I wasn’t asleep,” it said\nin a hoarse, feeble voice, “I heard every word you fellows were\nsaying.”\n“Tell us a story!” said the March Hare.\n“Yes, please do!” pleaded Alice.\n“And be quick about it,” added the Hatter, “or you’ll be asleep\nagain before it’s done.”\n“Once upon a time there were three little sisters,” the Dormouse\nbegan in a great hurry; “and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and\nTillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well——”\n“What did they live on?” said Alice, who always took a great“What did they live on?” said Alice, who always took a great\ninterest in questions of eating and drinking.\n“They lived on treacle,” said the Dormouse, after thinking a\nminute or two.\n“They couldn’t have done that, you know,” Alice gently remarked.\n“They’d have been ill.”\n“So they were,” said the Dormouse; “very ill.”\nAlice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary way\nof living would be like, but it puzzled her too much: so she went\non: “But why did they live at the bottom of a well?”\n“Take some more tea,” the March Hare said to Alice, very\nearnestly.\n“I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone: “so I\nca’n’t take more.”\n“You mean you ca’n’t take less,” said the Hatter: “it’s very\neasy to take more than nothing.”\n“Nobody asked your opinion,” said Alice.\n“Who’s making personal remarks now?” the Hatter asked\ntriumphantly.\nAlice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped\nherself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the\nDormouse, and repeated her question. “Why did they live at the\nbottom of a well?”\nThe Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and\nthen said, “It was a treacle-well.”\n“There’s no such thing!” Alice was beginning very angrily, but\nthe Hatter and the March Hare went “Sh! Sh!” and the Dormouse\nsulkily remarked, “If you ca’n’t be civil, you’d better finish the\nstory for yourself.”\n“No, please go on!” Alice said very humbly. “I wo’n’t interrupt\nyou again. I dare say there may be one.”\n“One, indeed!” said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he\nconsented to go on. “And so these three little sisters—they were\nlearning to draw, you know——”\n“What did they draw?” said Alice, quite forgetting her\npromise.\n“Treacle,” said the Dormouse, without considering at all, this\ntime.\n“I want a clean cup,” interrupted the Hatter: “let’s all move\none place on.”\nHe moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the\nMarch Hare moved into the Dormouse’s place, and Alice rather\nunwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the"}
{"text": "unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the\nonly one who got any advantage from the change; and Alice was a\ngood deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset\nthe milk-jug into his plate.\nAlice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began\nvery cautiously: “But I don’t understand. Where did they draw the\ntreacle from?”\n“You can draw water out of a water-well,” said the Hatter; “so I\nshould think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well—eh,\nstupid?”\n“But they were in the well,” Alice said to the Dormouse, not\nchoosing to notice this last remark.\n“Of course they were”, said the Dormouse: “well in.”\nThis answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go\non for some time without interrupting it.\n“They were learning to draw,” the Dormouse went on, yawning and\nrubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; “and they drew\nall manner of things—everything that begins with an M——”\n“Why with an M?” said Alice.\n“Why not?” said the March Hare.\nAlice was silent.\nThe Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off\ninto a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again\nwith a little shriek, and went on: “——that begins with an M, such\nas mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness—you know you\nsay things are ‘much of a muchness’—did you ever see such a thing\nas a drawing of a muchness!”\n“Really, now you ask me,” said Alice, very much confused, “I\ndon’t think——”\n“Then you shouldn’t talk,” said the Hatter.\nThis piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got\nup in great disgust, and walked off: the Dormouse fell asleep\ninstantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her\ngoing, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they\nwould call after her: the last time she saw them, they were trying\nto put the Dormouse into the teapot.\n“At any rate I’ll never go there again!” said Alice, as she\npicked her way through the wood. “It's the stupidest tea-party I\never was at in all my life!”picked her way through the wood. “It's the stupidest tea-party I\never was at in all my life!”\nJust as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a\ndoor leading right into it. “That’s very curious!” she thought.\n“But everything’s curious to-day. I think I may as well go in at\nonce.” And in she went.\nOnce more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the\nlittle glass table. “Now, I’ll manage better this time,” she said\nto herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and\nunlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she went to work\nnibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocket)\ntill she was about a foot high: then she walked down the little\npassage: and then—she found herself at last in the beautiful\ngarden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the\nroses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at\nit, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious\nthing, and she went nearer to watch them, and, just as she came up\nto them, she heard one of them say “Look out now, Five! Don’t go\nsplashing paint over me like that!”\n“I couldn’t help it,” said Five, in a sulky tone. “Seven jogged\nmy elbow.”\nOn which Seven looked up and said “That’s right, Five! Always\nlay the blame on others!”\n“You’d better not talk!” said Five. “I heard the Queen say only\nyesterday you deserved to be beheaded.”\n“What for?” said the one who had spoken first.\n“That’s none of your business, Two!” said Seven.\n“Yes, it is his business!” said Five. “And I’ll tell him—it was\nfor bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.”\nSeven flung down his brush, and had just begun “Well, of all the\nunjust things——” when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, as she\nstood watching them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others\nlooked round also, and all of them bowed low.\n“Would you tell me, please,” said Alice, a little timidly, “why\nyou are painting those roses?”\nFive and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began, in a\nlow voice, “Why, the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to\nhave been a red rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake;\nand if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads\ncut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we’re doing our best, afore\nshe comes, to——” At this moment, Five, who had been anxiously\nlooking across the garden, called out “The Queen! The Queen!”, and\nthe three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat upon their\nfaces. There was a sound of many footsteps, and Alice looked round,\neager to see the Queen.\nFirst came ten soldiers carrying clubs: these were all shaped\nlike the three gardeners, oblong and flat, with their hands and\nfeet at the corners: next the ten courtiers: these were ornamented\nall over with diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiersall over with diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiers\ndid. After these came the royal children: there were ten of them,\nand the little dears came jumping merrily along, hand in hand, in\ncouples: they were all ornamented with hearts. Next came the\nguests, mostly Kings and Queens, and among them Alice recognised\nthe White Rabbit: it was talking in a hurried nervous manner,\nsmiling at everything that was said, and went by without noticing\nher. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King’s crown\non a crimson velvet cushion; and, last of all this grand\nprocession, came THE KING AND THE QUEEN OF HEARTS.\nAlice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on\nher face like the three gardeners, but she could not remember ever\nhaving heard of such a rule at processions; “and besides, what\nwould be the use of a procession,” thought she, “if people had all\nto lie down upon their faces, so that they couldn’t see it?” So she\nstood where she was, and waited.\nWhen the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and\nlooked at her, and the Queen said, severely, “Who is this?”. She\nsaid it to the Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in\nreply.\n“Idiot!” said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently; and,\nturning to Alice, she went on: “What’s your name, child?”\n“My name is Alice, so please your Majesty,” said Alice very\npolitely; but she added, to herself, “Why, they’re only a pack of\ncards, after all. I needn’t be afraid of them!”\n“And who are these?” said the Queen, pointing to the three\ngardeners who were lying round the rose-tree; for, you see, as they\nwere lying on their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the\nsame as the rest of the pack, she could not tell whether they were\ngardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own\nchildren.\n“How should I know?” said Alice, surprised at her own courage.\n“It’s no business of mine.”\nThe Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her\nfor a moment like a wild beast, began screaming “Off with her head!\nOff with——”"}
{"text": "for a moment like a wild beast, began screaming “Off with her head!\nOff with——”\n“Nonsense!” said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen\nwas silent.\nThe King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said “Consider,\nmy dear: she is only a child!”\nThe Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave\n“Turn them over!”\nThe Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.\n“Get up!” said the Queen in a shrill, loud voice, and the three\ngardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the King, the\nQueen, the royal children, and everybody else.\n“Leave off that!” screamed the Queen. “You make me giddy.” And\nthen, turning to the rose-tree, she went on “What have you been\ndoing here?”\n“May it please your Majesty,” said Two, in a very humble tone,\ngoing down on one knee as he spoke, “we were trying—”\n“I see!” said the Queen, who had meanwhile been examining the\nroses. “Off with their heads!” and the procession moved on, three\nof the soldiers remaining behind to execute the unfortunate\ngardeners, who ran to Alice for protection.\n“You sha’n’t be beheaded!” said Alice, and she put them into a\nlarge flower-pot that stood near. The three soldiers wandered about\nfor a minute or two, looking for them, and then quietly marched off\nafter the others.\n“Are their heads off?” shouted the Queen.\n“Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty!” the soldiers\nshouted in reply.\n“That’s right!” shouted the Queen. “Can you play croquet?”\nThe soldiers were silent, and looked at Alice, as the question\nwas evidently meant for her.\n“Yes!” shouted Alice.\n“Come on, then!” roared the Queen, and Alice joined the\nprocession, wondering very much what would happen next.\n“It’s—it’s a very fine day!” said a timid voice at her side. She\nwas walking by the White Rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her\nface.\n“Very,” said Alice. “Where’s the Duchess?”\n“Hush! Hush!” said the Rabbit in a low hurried tone. He looked\nanxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and then raised himselfanxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and then raised himself\nupon tiptoe, put his mouth close to her ear, and whispered “She’s\nunder sentence of execution.”\n“What for?” said Alice.\n“Did you say ‘What a pity!’?” the Rabbit asked.\n“No, I didn’t,” said Alice. “I don’t think it’s at all a pity. I\nsaid ‘What for?’”\n“She boxed the Queen’s ears—” the Rabbit began. Alice gave a\nlittle scream of laughter. “Oh, hush!” the Rabbit whispered in a\nfrightened tone. “The Queen will hear you! You see she came rather\nlate, and the Queen said—”\n“Get to your places!” shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder,\nand people began running about in all directions, tumbling up\nagainst each other: however, they got settled down in a minute or\ntwo, and the game began.\nAlice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground\nin her life: it was all ridges and furrows: the croquet balls were\nlive hedgehogs, and the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers\nhad to double themselves up and stand on their hands and feet, to\nmake the arches.\nThe chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her\nflamingo: she succeeded in getting its body tucked away,\ncomfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but\ngenerally, just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out,\nand was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it would\ntwist itself round and look up in her face, with such a puzzled\nexpression that she could not help bursting out laughing; and when\nshe had got its head down, and was going to begin again, it was\nvery provoking to find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself, and\nwas in the act of crawling away: besides all this, there was\ngenerally a ridge or furrow in the way wherever she wanted to send\nthe hedgehog to, and, as the doubled-up soldiers were always\ngetting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon\ncame to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game\nindeed.\nThe players all played at once, without waiting for turns,indeed.\nThe players all played at once, without waiting for turns,\nquarreling all the while, and fighting for the hedgehogs; and in a\nvery short time the Queen was in a furious passion, and went\nstamping about, and shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with her\nhead!” about once in a minute.\nAlice began to feel very uneasy: to be sure, she had not as yet\nhad any dispute with the Queen, but she knew that it might happen\nany minute, “and then,” thought she, “what would become of me?\nThey’re dreadfully fond of beheading people here: the great wonder\nis, that there’s any one left alive!”\nShe was looking about for some way of escape, and wondering\nwhether she could get away without being seen, when she noticed a\ncurious appearance in the air: it puzzled her very much at first,\nbut after watching it a minute or two she made it out to be a grin,\nand she said to herself “It’s the Cheshire-Cat: now I shall have\nsomebody to talk to.”\n“How are you getting on?” said the Cat, as soon as there was\nmouth enough for it to speak with.\nAlice waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded. “It’s no\nuse speaking to it,” she thought, “till its ears have come, or at\nleast one of them.” In another minute the whole head appeared, and\nthen Alice put down her flamingo, and began an account of the game,\nfeeling very glad she had someone to listen to her. The Cat seemed\nto think that there was enough of it now in sight, and no more of\nit appeared.\n“I don’t think they play at all fairly,” Alice began, in rather\na complaining tone, “and they all quarrel so dreadfully one ca’n’t\nhear oneself speak—and they don’t seem to have any rules in\nparticular: at least, if there are, nobody attends to them—and\nyou’ve no idea how confusing it is all the things being alive: for\ninstance, there’s the arch I’ve got to go through next walking\nabout at the other end of the ground—and I should have croqueted\nthe Queen’s hedgehog just now, only it ran away when it saw mine\ncoming!”\n“How do you like the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice."}
{"text": "coming!”\n“How do you like the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice.\n“Not at all,” said Alice: “she’s so extremely—” Just then she\nnoticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went\non “—likely to win, that it’s hardly worth while finishing the\ngame.”\nThe Queen smiled and passed on.\n“Who are you talking to?” said the King, going up to Alice, and\nlooking at the Cat’s head with great curiosity.\n“It’s a friend of mine—a Cheshire-Cat,” said Alice: “allow me to\nintroduce it.”\n“I don’t like the look of it at all,” said the King: “however,\nit may kiss my hand, if it likes.”\n“I’d rather not,” the Cat remarked.\n“Don’t be impertinent,” said the King, “and don’t look at me\nlike that!” He got behind Alice as he spoke.\n“A cat may look at a king,” said Alice. “I’ve read that in some\nbook, but I don’t remember where.”\n“Well, it must be removed,” said the King very decidedly; and he\ncalled the Queen, who was passing at the moment, “My dear! I wish\nyou would have this cat removed!”\nThe Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great\nor small. “Off with his head!” she said without even looking\nround.\n“I’ll fetch the executioner myself,” said the King eagerly, and\nhe hurried off.\nAlice thought she might as well go back and see how the game was\ngoing on, as she heard the Queen’s voice in the distance, screaming\nwith passion. She had already heard her sentence three of the\nplayers to be executed for having missed their turns, and she did\nnot like the look of things at all, as the game was in such\nconfusion that she never knew whether it was her turn or not. So\nshe went off in search of her hedgehog.\nThe hedgehog was engaged in a fight with another hedgehog, which\nseemed to Alice an excellent opportunity for croqueting one of them\nwith the other: the only difficulty was that her flamingo was gone\nacross the other side of the garden, where Alice could see it\ntrying in a helpless sort of way to fly up into a tree.\nBy the time she had caught the flamingo and brought it back, theBy the time she had caught the flamingo and brought it back, the\nfight was over, and both the hedgehogs were out of sight: “but it\ndoesn’t matter much,” thought Alice, “as all the arches are gone\nfrom this side of the ground.” So she tucked it away under her arm,\nthat it might not escape again, and went back for a little more\nconversation with her friend.\nWhen she got back to the Cheshire-Cat, she was surprised to find\nquite a large crowd collected round it: there was a dispute going\non between the executioner, the King, and the Queen, who were all\ntalking at once, while all the rest were quite silent, and looked\nvery uncomfortable.\nThe moment Alice appeared, she was appealed to by all three to\nsettle the question, and they repeated their arguments to her,\nthough, as they all spoke at once, she found it very hard to make\nout exactly what they said.\nThe executioner’s argument was, that you couldn’t cut off a head\nunless there was a body to cut it off from: that he had never had\nto do such a thing before, and he wasn’t going to begin at his time\nof life.\nThe King’s argument was that anything that had a head could be\nbeheaded, and that you weren’t to talk nonsense.\nThe Queen’s argument was that, if something wasn’t done about it\nin less than no time, she’d have everybody executed, all round. (It\nwas this last remark that had made the whole party look so grave\nand anxious.)\nAlice could think of nothing else to say but “It belongs to the\nDuchess: you’d better ask her about it.”\n“She’s in prison,” the Queen said to the executioner: “fetch her\nhere.” And the executioner went off like an arrow.\nThe Cat’s head began fading away the moment he was gone, and, by\nthe time he had come back with the Duchess, it had entirely\ndisappeared: so the King and the executioner ran wildly up and\ndown, looking for it, while the rest of the party went back to the\ngame.“You ca’n’t think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old\nthing!” said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into\nAlice’s, and they walked off together.\nAlice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and\nthought to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had\nmade her so savage when they met in the kitchen.\n“When I’m a Duchess,” she said to herself (not in a very hopeful\ntone, though), “I wo’n’t have any pepper in my kitchen at all. Soup\ndoes very well without—Maybe it’s always pepper that makes people\nhot-tempered,” she went on, very much pleased at having found out a\nnew kind of rule, “and vinegar that makes them sour—and camomile\nthat makes them bitter—and—and barley-sugar and such things that\nmake children sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew that: then\nthey wouldn’t be so stingy about it, you know——”\nShe had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time, and was a\nlittle startled when she heard her voice close to her ear. “You’re\nthinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to\ntalk. I ca’n’t tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I\nshall remember it in a bit.”\n“Perhaps it hasn’t one,” Alice ventured to remark.\n“Tut, tut, child!” said the Duchess. “Everything’s got a moral,\nif only you can find it.” And she squeezed herself up closer to\nAlice’s side as she spoke.\nAlice did not much like her keeping so close to her: first,\nbecause the Duchess was very ugly; and secondly, because she was\nexactly the right height to rest her chin upon Alice’s shoulder,\nand it was an uncomfortably sharp chin. However, she did not like\nto be rude: so she bore it as well as she could.\n“The game’s going on rather better now,” she said, by way of\nkeeping up the conversation a little.\n“’Tis so,” said the Duchess: “and the moral of that is—‘Oh, ’tis\nlove, ’tis love, that makes the world go round!’”\n“Somebody said,” Alice whispered, “that it’s done by everybody\nminding their own business!”\n“Ah, well! It means much the same thing,” said the Duchess,"}
{"text": "minding their own business!”\n“Ah, well! It means much the same thing,” said the Duchess,\ndigging her sharp little chin into Alice’s shoulder as she added\n“and the moral of that is—‘Take care of the sense, and the sounds\nwill take care of themselves.’”\n“How fond she is of finding morals in things!” Alice thought to\nherself.\n“I dare say you’re wondering why I don’t put my arm round your\nwaist,” the Duchess said, after a pause: “the reason is, that I’m\ndoubtful about the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the\nexperiment?”\n“He might bite,” Alice cautiously replied, not feeling at all\nanxious to have the experiment tried.\n“Very true,” said the Duchess: “flamingoes and mustard both\nbite. And the moral of that is—‘Birds of a feather flock\ntogether.’”\n“Only mustard isn’t a bird,” Alice remarked.\n“Right, as usual,” said the Duchess: “what a clear way you have\nof putting things!”\n“It’s a mineral, I think,” said Alice.\n“Of course it is,” said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree\nto everything that Alice said; “there’s a large mustard-mine near\nhere. And the moral of that is—‘The more there is of mine, the less\nthere is of yours.’”\n“Oh, I know!” exclaimed Alice, who had not attended to this last\nremark. “It’s a vegetable. It doesn’t look like one, but it\nis.”\n“I quite agree with you,” said the Duchess; “and the moral of\nthat is—‘Be what you would seem to be’—or, if you’d like it put\nmore simply—‘Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what\nit might appear to others that what you were or might have been was\nnot otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to\nbe otherwise.’”\n“I think I should understand that better,” Alice said very\npolitely, “if I had it written down: but I ca’n’t quite follow it\nas you say it.”\n“That’s nothing to what I could say if I chose,” the Duchess\nreplied, in a pleased tone.\n“Pray don’t trouble yourself to say it any longer than that,”\nsaid Alice.\n“Oh, don’t talk about trouble!” said the Duchess. “I make you a\npresent of everything I’ve said as yet.”present of everything I’ve said as yet.”\n“A cheap sort of present!” thought Alice. “I’m glad they don’t\ngive birthday-presents like that!” But she did not venture to say\nit out loud.\n“Thinking again?” the Duchess asked, with another dig of her\nsharp little chin.\n“I’ve a right to think,” said Alice sharply, for she was\nbeginning to feel a little worried.\n“Just about as much right,” said the Duchess, “as pigs have to\nfly; and the m——”\nBut here, to Alice’s great surprise, the Duchess’s voice died\naway, even in the middle of her favourite word “moral,” and the arm\nthat was linked into hers began to tremble. Alice looked up, and\nthere stood the Queen in front of them, with her arms folded,\nfrowning like a thunderstorm.\n“A fine day, your Majesty!” the Duchess began in a low, weak\nvoice.\n“Now, I give you fair warning,” shouted the Queen, stamping on\nthe ground as she spoke; “either you or your head must be off, and\nthat in about half no time! Take your choice!”\nThe Duchess took her choice, and was gone in a moment.\n“Let’s go on with the game,” the Queen said to Alice; and Alice\nwas too much frightened to say a word, but slowly followed her back\nto the croquet-ground.\nThe other guests had taken advantage of the Queen’s absence, and\nwere resting in the shade: however, the moment they saw her, they\nhurried back to the game, the Queen merely remarking that a\nmoment’s delay would cost them their lives.\nAll the time they were playing the Queen never left off\nquarrelling with the other players, and shouting “Off with his\nhead!' or “Off with her head!” Those whom she sentenced were taken\ninto custody by the soldiers, who of course had to leave off being\narches to do this, so that, by the end of half an hour or so, there\nwere no arches left, and all the players, except the King, the\nQueen, and Alice, were in custody and under sentence of\nexecution.\nThen the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Alice,\n“Have you seen the Mock Turtle yet?”\n“No,” said Alice. “I don’t even know what a Mock Turtle is.”“Have you seen the Mock Turtle yet?”\n“No,” said Alice. “I don’t even know what a Mock Turtle is.”\n“It’s the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from,” said the\nQueen.\n“I never saw one, or heard of one,” said Alice.\n“Come on, then,” said the Queen, “and he shall tell you his\nhistory,”\nAs they walked off together, Alice heard the King say in a low\nvoice, to the company generally, “You are all pardoned.” “Come,\nthat’s a good thing!” she said to herself, for she had felt quite\nunhappy at the number of executions the Queen had ordered.\nThey very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast asleep in the\nsun. (If you don’t know what a Gryphon is, look at the picture.)\n“Up, lazy thing!” said the Queen, “and take this young lady to see\nthe Mock Turtle, and to hear his history. I must go back and see\nafter some executions I have ordered;” and she walked off, leaving\nAlice alone with the Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look of\nthe creature, but on the whole she thought it would be quite as\nsafe to stay with it as to go after that savage Queen: so she\nwaited.\nThe Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the\nQueen till she was out of sight: then it chuckled. “What fun!” said\nthe Gryphon, half to itself, half to Alice.\n“What is the fun?” said Alice.\n“Why, she,” said the Gryphon. “It’s all her fancy, that: they\nnever executes nobody, you know. Come on!”\n“Everybody says ‘come on!’ here,” thought Alice, as she went\nslowly after it: “I never was so ordered about before, in all my\nlife, never!”\nThey had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the\ndistance, sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as\nthey came nearer, Alice could hear him sighing as if his heart\nwould break. She pitied him deeply. “What is his sorrow?” she asked\nthe Gryphon. And the Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same\nwords as before, “It’s all his fancy, that: he hasn’t got no\nsorrow, you know. Come on!”\nSo they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with\nlarge eyes full of tears, but said nothing."}
{"text": "large eyes full of tears, but said nothing.\n“This here young lady,” said the Gryphon, “she wants for to know\nyour history, she do.”\n“I’ll tell it her,” said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone.\n“Sit down, both of you, and don’t speak a word till I’ve\nfinished.”\nSo they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice\nthought to herself, “I don’t see how he can ever finish, if he\ndoesn’t begin.” But she waited patiently.\n“Once,” said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, “I was a\nreal Turtle.”\nThese words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by\nan occasional exclamation of “Hjckrrh!” from the Gryphon, and the\nconstant heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly\ngetting up and saying, “Thank you, Sir, for your interesting\nstory,” but she could not help thinking there must be more to come,\nso she sat still and said nothing.\n“When we were little,” the Mock Turtle went on at last, more\ncalmly, though still sobbing a little now and then, “we went to\nschool in the sea. The master was an old Turtle—we used to call him\nTortoise——”\n“Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn’t one?” Alice\nasked.\n“We called him Tortoise because he taught us,” said the Mock\nTurtle angrily. “Really you are very dull!”\n“You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple\nquestion,” added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and\nlooked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At\nlast the Gryphon said to the Mock Turtle “Drive on, old fellow!\nDon’t be all day about it!”, and he went on in these words:—\n“Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn’t believe\nit——”\n“I never said I didn’t!” interrupted Alice.\n“You did,” said the Mock Turtle.\n“Hold your tongue!” added the Gryphon, before Alice could speak\nagain. The Mock Turtle went on.\n“We had the best of educations—in fact, we went to school every\nday——”\n“I’ve been to a day-school, too,” said Alice; “you needn’t be so\nproud as all that.”\n“With extras?” asked the Mock Turtle, a little anxiously.proud as all that.”\n“With extras?” asked the Mock Turtle, a little anxiously.\n“Yes,” said Alice, “we learned French and music.”\n“And washing?” said the Mock Turtle.\n“Certainly not!” said Alice indignantly.\n“Ah! then yours wasn’t a really good school,” said the Mock\nTurtle in a tone of great relief. “Now, at ours, they had at the\nend of the bill, ‘French, music, and washing—extra.’”\n“You couldn’t have wanted it much,” said Alice; “living at the\nbottom of the sea.”\n“I couldn’t afford to learn it,” said the Mock Turtle with a\nsigh. “I only took the regular course.”\n“What was that?” inquired Alice.\n“Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,” the Mock\nTurtle replied; “and then the different branches of\nArithmetic—Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.”\n“I never heard of ‘Uglification,’” Alice ventured to say. “What\nis it?”\nThe Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. “What! Never\nheard of uglifying!” it exclaimed. “You know what to beautify is, I\nsuppose?”\n“Yes,” said Alice doubtfully: “it\nmeans—to—make—anything—prettier.”\n“Well, then,” the Gryphon went on, “if you don’t know what to\nuglify is, you are a simpleton.”\nAlice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about\nit: so she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said “What else had you\nto learn?”\n“Well, there was Mystery,” the Mock Turtle replied, counting off\nthe subjects on his flappers,—“Mystery, ancient and modern, with\nSeaography: then Drawling—the Drawling-master was an old\nconger-eel, that used to come once a week: he taught us Drawling,\nStretching, and Fainting in Coils.”\n“What was that like?” said Alice.\n“Well, I ca’n’t show it you myself,” the Mock Turtle said: “I’m\ntoo stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it.”\n“Hadn’t time,” said the Gryphon: “I went to the Classical\nmaster, though. He was an old crab, he was.”\n“I never went to him,” the Mock Turtle said with a sigh. “He\ntaught Laughing and Grief, they used to say.”\n“So he did, so he did,” said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn;\nand both creatures hid their faces in their paws.and both creatures hid their faces in their paws.\n“And how many hours a day did you do lessons?” said Alice, in a\nhurry to change the subject.\n“Ten hours the first day,” said the Mock Turtle: “nine the next,\nand so on.”\n“What a curious plan!” exclaimed Alice.\n“That’s the reason they’re called lessons,” the Gryphon\nremarked: “because they lessen from day to day.”\nThis was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a\nlittle before she made her next remark. “Then the eleventh day must\nhave been a holiday?”\n“Of course it was,” said the Mock Turtle.\n“And how did you manage on the twelfth?” Alice went on\neagerly.\n“That’s enough about lessons,” the Gryphon interrupted in a very\ndecided tone. “Tell her something about the games now.”"}
{"text": "The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of one flapper\nacross his eyes. He looked at Alice and tried to speak, but, for a\nminute or two, sobs choked his voice. “Same as if he had a bone in\nhis throat,” said the Gryphon; and it set to work shaking him and\npunching him in the back. At last the Mock Turtle recovered his\nvoice, and, with tears running down his cheeks, he went on\nagain:—\n“You may not have lived much under the sea—” (“I haven’t,” said\nAlice)—“and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster—”\n(Alice began to say “I once tasted——” but checked herself hastily,\nand said “No, never”) “——so you can have no idea what a delightful\nthing a Lobster-Quadrille is!”\n“No, indeed,” said Alice. “What sort of a dance is it?”\n“Why,” said the Gryphon, “you first form into a line along the\nsea-shore——”\n“Two lines!” cried the Mock Turtle. “Seals, turtles, salmon, and\nso on: then, when you’ve cleared all the jelly-fish out of the\nway——”\n“That generally takes some time,” interrupted the Gryphon.\n“—you advance twice——”\n“Each with a lobster as a partner!” cried the Gryphon.\n“Of course,” the Mock Turtle said: “advance twice, set to\npartners——”\n“—change lobsters, and retire in same order,” continued the\nGryphon.\n“Then, you know,” the Mock Turtle went on, “you throw the——”\n“The lobsters!” shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the\nair.\n“—as far out to sea as you can——”\n“Swim after them!” screamed the Gryphon.\n“Turn a somersault in the sea!” cried the Mock Turtle, capering\nwildly about.\n“Change lobsters again!” yelled the Gryphon at the top of its\nvoice.\n“Back to land again, and—that’s all the first figure,” said the\nMock Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice; and the two creatures,\nwho had been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down\nagain very sadly and quietly, and looked at Alice.\n“It must be a very pretty dance,” said Alice timidly.\n“Would you like to see a little of it?” said the Mock\nTurtle.\n“Very much indeed,” said Alice.\n“Come, let’s try the first figure!” said the Mock Turtle to the“Very much indeed,” said Alice.\n“Come, let’s try the first figure!” said the Mock Turtle to the\nGryphon. “We can do without lobsters, you know. Which shall\nsing?”\n“Oh, you sing,” said the Gryphon. “I’ve forgotten the\nwords.”\nSo they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every now\nand then treading on her toes when they passed too close, and\nwaving their fore-paws to mark the time, while the Mock Turtle sang\nthis, very slowly and sadly:—\n“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail,\n“There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my\ntail.\nSee how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!\nThey are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the\ndance?\nWill you, wo’n’t you, will you, wo’n’t you, will you join the\ndance?\nWill you, wo’n’t you, will you, wo’n’t you, wo’n’t you join the\ndance?\n“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be\nWhen they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to\nsea!”\nBut the snail replied “Too far, too far!”, and gave a look\naskance—\nSaid he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the\ndance.\nWould not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the\ndance.\nWould not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the\ndance.\n“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied.\n“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.\nThe further off from England the nearer is to France—\nThen turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the\ndance.\nWill you, wo’n’t you, will you, wo’n’t you, will you join the\ndance?\nWill you, wo’n’t you, will you, wo’n’t you, wo’n’t you join the\ndance?”\n“Thank you, it’s a very interesting dance to watch,” said Alice,\nfeeling very glad that it was over at last: “and I do so like that\ncurious song about the whiting!”\n“Oh, as to the whiting,” said the Mock Turtle, “they—you’ve seen\nthem, of course?”\n“Yes,” said Alice, “I’ve often seen them at dinn——” she checked\nherself hastily.\n“I don’t know where Dinn may be,” said the Mock Turtle; “but, ifherself hastily.\n“I don’t know where Dinn may be,” said the Mock Turtle; “but, if\nyou’ve seen them so often, of course you know what they’re\nlike?”\n“I believe so,” Alice replied thoughtfully. “They have their\ntails in their mouths—and they’re all over crumbs.”\n“You’re wrong about the crumbs,” said the Mock Turtle: “crumbs\nwould all wash off in the sea. But they have their tails in their\nmouths; and the reason is——” here the Mock Turtle yawned and shut\nhis eyes. “Tell her about the reason and all that,” he said to the\nGryphon.\n“The reason is,” said the Gryphon, “that they would go with the\nlobsters to the dance. So they got thrown out to sea. So they had\nto fall a long way. So they got their tails fast in their mouths.\nSo they couldn’t get them out again. That’s all.”\n“Thank you,” said Alice, “it’s very interesting. I never knew so\nmuch about a whiting before.”\n“I can tell you more than that, if you like,” said the Gryphon.\n“Do you know why it’s called a whiting?”\n“I never thought about it,” said Alice. “Why?”\n“It does the boots and shoes,” the Gryphon replied very\nsolemnly.\nAlice was thoroughly puzzled. “Does the boots and shoes!” she\nrepeated in a wondering tone.\n“Why, what are your shoes done with?” said the Gryphon. “I mean,\nwhat makes them so shiny?”\nAlice looked down at them, and considered a little before she\ngave her answer. “They’re done with blacking, I believe.”\n“Boots and shoes under the sea,” the Gryphon went on in a deep\nvoice, “are done with whiting. Now you know.”\n“And what are they made of?” Alice asked in a tone of great\ncuriosity.\n“Soles and eels, of course,” the Gryphon replied rather\nimpatiently: “any shrimp could have told you that.”\n“If I’d been the whiting,” said Alice, whose thoughts were still\nrunning on the song, “I’d have said to the porpoise, ‘Keep back,\nplease! We don’t want you with us!’”\n“They were obliged to have him with them,” the Mock Turtle said.\n“No wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise.”\n“Wouldn’t it really?” said Alice in a tone of great\nsurprise."}
{"text": "“Wouldn’t it really?” said Alice in a tone of great\nsurprise.\n“Of course not,” said the Mock Turtle. “Why, if a fish came to\nme, and told me he was going a journey, I should say ‘With what\nporpoise?’”\n“Don’t you mean ‘purpose’?” said Alice.\n“I mean what I say,” the Mock Turtle replied in an offended\ntone. And the Gryphon added “Come, let’s hear some of your\nadventures.”\n“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,”\nsaid Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to\nyesterday, because I was a different person then.”\n“Explain all that,” said the Mock Turtle.\n“No, no! The adventures first,” said the Gryphon in an impatient\ntone: “explanations take such a dreadful time.”\nSo Alice began telling them her adventures from the time when\nshe first saw the White Rabbit. She was a little nervous about it,\njust at first, the two creatures got so close to her, one on each\nside, and opened their eyes and mouths so very wide; but she gained\ncourage as she went on. Her listeners were perfectly quiet till she\ngot to the part about her repeating “You are old, Father William,”\nto the Caterpillar, and the words all coming different, and then\nthe Mock Turtle drew a long breath, and said “That’s very\ncurious.”\n“It’s all about as curious as it can be,” said the Gryphon.\n“It all came different!” the Mock Turtle repeated thoughtfully.\n“I should like to hear her try and repeat something now. Tell her\nto begin.” He looked at the Gryphon as if he thought it had some\nkind of authority over Alice.\n“Stand up and repeat ‘’Tis the voice of the sluggard,’” said the\nGryphon.\n“How the creatures order one about, and make one repeat\nlessons!” thought Alice; “I might as well be at school at once.”\nHowever, she got up, and began to repeat it, but her head was so\nfull of the Lobster-Quadrille, that she hardly knew what she was\nsaying, and the words came very queer indeed:—\n“’Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare\n‘You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.’\nAs a duck with its eyelids, so he with his noseAs a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose\nTrims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.\n[later editions continued as follows:\nWhen the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,\nAnd will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:\nBut, when the tide rises and sharks are around,\nHis voice has a timid and tremulous sound.”]\n“That’s different from what I used to say when I was a child,”\nsaid the Gryphon.\n“Well, I never heard it before,” said the Mock Turtle; “but it\nsounds uncommon nonsense.”\nAlice said nothing: she had sat down with her face in her hands,\nwondering if anything would ever happen in a natural way again.\n“I should like to have it explained,” said the Mock Turtle.\n“She ca’n’t explain it,” said the Gryphon hastily. “Go on with\nthe next verse.”\n“But about his toes?” the Mock Turtle persisted. “How could he\nturn them out with his nose, you know?”\n“It’s the first position in dancing.” Alice said; but was\ndreadfully puzzled by the whole thing, and longed to change the\nsubject.\n“Go on with the next verse,” the Gryphon repeated impatiently:\n“it begins ‘I passed by his garden.’”\nAlice did not dare to disobey, though she felt sure it would all\ncome wrong, and she went on in a trembling voice:—\n“I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,\nHow the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie:\n[later editions continued as follows:\nThe Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,\nWhile the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.\nWhen the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,\nWas kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:\nWhile the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,\nAnd concluded the banquet by——”]\n“What is the use of repeating all that stuff,” the Mock Turtle\ninterrupted, “if you don’t explain it as you go on? It’s by far the\nmost confusing thing I ever heard!”\n“Yes, I think you’d better leave off,” said the Gryphon, and\nAlice was only too glad to do so.\n“Shall we try another figure of the Lobster-Quadrille?” the\nGryphon went on. “Or would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you\nanother song?”Gryphon went on. “Or would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you\nanother song?”\n“Oh, a song, please, if the Mock Turtle would be so kind,” Alice\nreplied, so eagerly that the Gryphon said, in a rather offended\ntone, “Hm! No accounting for tastes! Sing her ‘Turtle Soup,’ will\nyou, old fellow?”\nThe Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice choked with\nsobs, to sing this:—\n“Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,\nWaiting in a hot tureen!\nWho for such dainties would not stoop?\nSoup of the evening, beautiful Soup!\nSoup of the evening, beautiful Soup!\nBeau—ootiful Soo—oop!\nBeau—ootiful Soo—oop!\nSoo—oop of the e—e—evening,\nBeautiful, beautiful Soup!\n“Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,\nGame, or any other dish?\nWho would not give all else for two\nPennyworth only of beautiful Soup?\nPennyworth only of beautiful Soup?\nBeau—ootiful Soo—oop!\nBeau—ootiful Soo—oop!\nSoo—oop of the e—e—evening,\nBeautiful, beauti—FUL SOUP!”\n“Chorus again!” cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Turtle had just\nbegun to repeat it, when a cry of “The trial’s beginning!” was\nheard in the distance.\n“Come on!” cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand, it\nhurried off, without waiting for the end of the song.\n“What trial is it?” Alice panted as she ran; but the Gryphon\nonly answered “Come on!” and ran the faster, while more and more\nfaintly came, carried on the breeze that followed them, the\nmelancholy words:—\n“Soo—oop of the e—e—evening,\nBeautiful, beautiful Soup!”"}
{"text": "The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when\nthey arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of\nlittle birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the\nKnave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each\nside to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a\ntrumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the\nvery middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts\nupon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice quite hungry to\nlook at them—“I wish they’d get the trial done,” she thought, “and\nhand round the refreshments!” But there seemed to be no chance of\nthis; so she began looking at everything about her to pass away the\ntime.\nAlice had never been in a court of justice before, but she had\nread about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that\nshe knew the name of nearly everything there. “That’s the judge,”\nshe said to herself, “because of his great wig.”\nThe judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown\nover the wig, (look at the frontispiece if you want to see how he\ndid it), he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly\nnot becoming.\n“And that’s the jury-box,” thought Alice; “and those twelve\ncreatures,” (she was obliged to say “creatures,” you see, because\nsome of them were animals, and some were birds,) “I suppose they\nare the jurors.” She said this last word two or three times over to\nherself, being rather proud of it: for she thought, and rightly\ntoo, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it\nat all. However, “jurymen” would have done just as well.\nThe twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. “What\nare they doing?” Alice whispered to the Gryphon. “They ca’n’t have\nanything to put down yet, before the trial’s begun.”\n“They’re putting down their names,” the Gryphon whispered in\nreply, “for fear they should forget them before the end of the\ntrial.”\n“Stupid things!” Alice began in a loud, indignant voice; but shetrial.”\n“Stupid things!” Alice began in a loud, indignant voice; but she\nstopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out, “Silence in the\ncourt!”, and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously\nround, to make out who was talking.\nAlice could see, as well as if she were looking over their\nshoulders, that all the jurors were writing down “Stupid things!”\non their slates, and she could even make out that one of them\ndidn’t know how to spell “stupid,” and that he had to ask his\nneighbour to tell him. “A nice muddle their slates’ll be in before\nthe trial’s over!” thought Alice.\nOne of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This, of course,\nAlice could not stand, and she went round the court and got behind\nhim, and very soon found an opportunity of taking it away. She did\nit so quickly that the poor little juror (it was Bill, the Lizard)\ncould not make out at all what had become of it; so, after hunting\nall about for it, he was obliged to write with one finger for the\nrest of the day; and this was of very little use, as it left no\nmark on the slate.\n“Herald, read the accusation!” said the King.\nOn this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and\nthen unrolled the parchment-scroll, and read as follows:—\n“The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,\nAll on a summer day:\nThe Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,\nAnd took them quite away!”\n“Consider your verdict,” the King said to the jury.\n“Not yet, not yet!” the Rabbit hastily interrupted. “There’s a\ngreat deal to come before that!”\n“Call the first witness,” said the King; and the White Rabbit\nblew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, “First\nwitness!”\nThe first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in\none hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. “I beg\npardon, your Majesty,” he began, “for bringing these in; but I\nhadn’t quite finished my tea when I was sent for.”\n“You ought to have finished,” said the King. “When did you\nbegin?”\nThe Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him intobegin?”\nThe Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into\nthe court, arm-in-arm with the Dormouse. “Fourteenth of March, I\nthink it was,” he said.\n“Fifteenth,” said the March Hare.\n“Sixteenth,” said the Dormouse.\n“Write that down,” the King said to the jury; and the jury\neagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added\nthem up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence.\n“Take off your hat,” the King said to the Hatter.\n“It isn’t mine,” said the Hatter.\n“Stolen!” the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly\nmade a memorandum of the fact.\n“I keep them to sell,” the Hatter added as an explanation. “I’ve\nnone of my own. I’m a hatter.”\nHere the Queen put on her spectacles, and began staring hard at\nthe Hatter, who turned pale and fidgeted.\n“Give your evidence,” said the King; “and don’t be nervous, or\nI’ll have you executed on the spot.”\nThis did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he kept\nshifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen,\nand in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead\nof the bread-and-butter.\nJust at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation, which\npuzzled her a good deal until she made out what it was: she was\nbeginning to grow larger again, and she thought at first she would\nget up and leave the court; but on second thoughts she decided to\nremain where she was as long as there was room for her.\n“I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so.” said the Dormouse, who was\nsitting next to her. “I can hardly breathe.”\n“I ca’n’t help it,” said Alice very meekly: “I’m growing.”\n“You’ve no right to grow here,” said the Dormouse.\n“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Alice more boldly: “you know you’re\ngrowing too.”\n“Yes, but I grow at a reasonable pace,” said the Dormouse: “not\nin that ridiculous fashion.” And he got up very sulkily and crossed\nover to the other side of the court.\nAll this time the Queen had never left off staring at the\nHatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she said, to"}
{"text": "Hatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she said, to\none of the officers of the court, “Bring me the list of the singers\nin the last concert!” on which the wretched Hatter trembled so,\nthat he shook off both his shoes.\n“Give your evidence,” the King repeated angrily, “or I’ll have\nyou executed, whether you are nervous or not.”\n“I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” the Hatter began, in a trembling\nvoice, “—and I hadn’t begun my tea—not above a week or so—and what\nwith the bread-and-butter getting so thin—and the twinkling of the\ntea——”\n“The twinkling of what?” said the King.\n“It began with the tea,” the Hatter replied.\n“Of course twinkling begins with a T!” said the King sharply.\n“Do you take me for a dunce? Go on!”\n“I’m a poor man,” the Hatter went on, “and most things twinkled\nafter that—only the March Hare said——”\n“I didn’t!” the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.\n“You did!” said the Hatter.\n“I deny it!” said the March Hare.\n“He denies it,” said the King: “leave out that part.”\n“Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said——” the Hatter went on,\nlooking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too; but the\nDormouse denied nothing, being fast asleep.\n“After that,” continued the Hatter, “I cut some more\nbread-and-butter——”\n“But what did the Dormouse say?” one of the jury asked.\n“That I ca’n’t remember,” said the Hatter.\n“You must remember,” remarked the King, “or I’ll have you\nexecuted.”\nThe miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread-and-butter,\nand went down on one knee. “I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” he\nbegan.\n“You’re a very poor speaker,” said the King.\nHere one of the guinea-pigs cheered, and was immediately\nsuppressed by the officers of the court. (As that is rather a hard\nword, I will just explain to you how it was done. They had a large\ncanvas bag, which tied up at the mouth with strings: into this they\nslipped the guinea-pig, head first, and then sat upon it.)\n“I’m glad I’ve seen that done,” thought Alice. “I’ve so often\nread in the newspapers, at the end of trials, ‘There was someread in the newspapers, at the end of trials, ‘There was some\nattempt at applause, which was immediately suppressed by the\nofficers of the court,’ and I never understood what it meant till\nnow.”\n“If that’s all you know about it, you may stand down,” continued\nthe King.\n“I can’t go no lower,” said the Hatter: “I’m on the floor, as it\nis.”\n“Then you may sit down,” the King replied.\nHere the other guinea-pig cheered, and was suppressed.\n“Come, that finishes the guinea-pigs!” thought Alice. “Now we\nshall get on better.”\n“I’d rather finish my tea,” said the Hatter, with an anxious\nlook at the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.\n“You may go,” said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the\ncourt, without even waiting to put his shoes on.\n“——and just take his head off outside,” the Queen added to one\nof the officers; but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer\ncould get to the door.\n“Call the next witness!” said the King.\nThe next witness was the Duchess’s cook. She carried the\npepper-box in her hand, and Alice guessed who it was, even before\nshe got into the court, by the way the people near the door began\nsneezing all at once.\n“Give your evidence,” said the King.\n“Sha’n’t,” said the cook.\nThe King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said, in a\nlow voice, “Your Majesty must cross-examine this witness.”\n“Well, if I must, I must,” the King said with a melancholy air,\nand, after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes\nwere nearly out of sight, he said, in a deep voice, “What are tarts\nmade of?”\n“Pepper, mostly,” said the cook.\n“Treacle,” said a sleepy voice behind her.\n“Collar that Dormouse,” the Queen shrieked out. “Behead that\nDormouse! Turn that Dormouse out of court! Suppress him! Pinch him!\nOff with his whiskers!”\nFor some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the\nDormouse turned out, and, by the time they had settled down again,\nthe cook had disappeared.\n“Never mind!” said the King, with an air of great relief. “Callthe cook had disappeared.\n“Never mind!” said the King, with an air of great relief. “Call\nthe next witness.” And, he added, in an under-tone to the Queen,\n“Really, my dear, you must cross-examine the next witness. It quite\nmakes my forehead ache!”\nAlice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list,\nfeeling very curious to see what the next witness would be like,\n“—for they haven’t got much evidence yet,” she said to herself.\nImagine her surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of\nhis shrill little voice, the name “Alice!”“Here!” cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the\nmoment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she\njumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with\nthe edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of\nthe crowd below, and there they lay sprawling about, reminding her\nvery much of a globe of gold-fish she had accidentally upset the\nweek before.\n“Oh, I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed in a tone of great\ndismay, and began picking them up again as quickly as she could,\nfor the accident of the gold-fish kept running in her head, and she\nhad a vague sort of idea that they must be collected at once and\nput back into the jury-box, or they would die.\n“The trial cannot proceed,” said the King, in a very grave\nvoice, “until all the jurymen are back in their proper places—all,”\nhe repeated with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice as he said\nso.\nAlice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste, she\nhad put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was\nwaving its tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to\nmove. She soon got it out again, and put it right; “not that it\nsignifies much,” she said to herself; “I should think it would be\nquite as much use in the trial one way up as the other.”\nAs soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of\nbeing upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed\nback to them, they set to work very diligently to write out a\nhistory of the accident, all except the Lizard, who seemed too much\novercome to do anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into\nthe roof of the court.\n“What do you know about this business?” the King said to\nAlice.\n“Nothing,” said Alice.\n“Nothing whatever?” persisted the King.\n“Nothing whatever,” said Alice.\n“That’s very important,” the King said, turning to the jury.\nThey were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when\nthe White Rabbit interrupted: “Unimportant, your Majesty means, of"}
{"text": "the White Rabbit interrupted: “Unimportant, your Majesty means, of\ncourse,” he said, in a very respectful tone, but frowning and\nmaking faces at him as he spoke.\n“Unimportant, of course, I meant,” the King hastily said, and\nwent on to himself in an under-tone,\n“important—unimportant—unimportant—important——” as if he were\ntrying which word sounded best.\nSome of the jury wrote it down “important,” and some\n“unimportant.” Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look\nover their slates; “but it doesn’t matter a bit,” she thought to\nherself.\nAt this moment the King, who had been for some time busily\nwriting in his note-book, called out “Silence!”, and read out from\nhis book, “Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to\nleave the court.”\nEverybody looked at Alice.\n“I’m not a mile high,” said Alice.\n“You are,” said the King.\n“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen.\n“Well, I sha’n’t go, at any rate,” said Alice: “besides, that’s\nnot a regular rule: you invented it just now.”\n“It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King.\n“Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice.\nThe King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. “Consider\nyour verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low trembling voice.\n“There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,” said\nthe White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry: “this paper has just\nbeen picked up.”\n“What’s in it?” said the Queen.\n“I haven’t opened it yet,” said the White Rabbit; “but it seems\nto be a letter, written by the prisoner to—to somebody.”\n“It must have been that,” said the King, “unless it was written\nto nobody, which isn’t usual, you know.”\n“Who is it directed to?” said one of the jurymen.\n“It isn’t directed at all,” said the White Rabbit: “in fact,\nthere’s nothing written on the outside.” He unfolded the paper as\nhe spoke, and added “It isn’t a letter, after all: it’s a set of\nverses.”\n“Are they in the prisoner’s handwriting?” asked another of the\njurymen.\n“No, they’re not,” said the White Rabbit, “and that’s thejurymen.\n“No, they’re not,” said the White Rabbit, “and that’s the\nqueerest thing about it.” (The jury all looked puzzled.)\n“He must have imitated somebody else’s hand,” said the King.\n(The jury all brightened up again.)\n“Please your Majesty,” said the Knave, “I didn’t write it, and\nthey ca’n’t prove that I did: there’s no name signed at the\nend.”\n“If you didn’t sign it,” said the King, “that only makes the\nmatter worse. You must have meant some mischief, or else you’d have\nsigned your name like an honest man.”\nThere was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first\nreally clever thing the King had said that day.\n“That proves his guilt, of course,” said the Queen: “so, off\nwith——.”\n“It doesn’t prove anything of the sort!” said Alice. “Why, you\ndon’t even know what they’re about!”\n“Read them,” said the King.\nThe White Rabbit put on his spectacles. “Where shall I begin,\nplease your Majesty?” he asked.\n“Begin at the beginning,” the King said, very gravely, “and go\non till you come to the end: then stop.”\nThere was dead silence in the court, whilst the White Rabbit\nread out these verses:—\n“They told me you had been to her,\nAnd mentioned me to him:\nShe gave me a good character,\nBut said I could not swim.\nHe sent them word I had not gone\n(We know it to be true):\nIf she should push the matter on,\nWhat would become of you?\nI gave her one, they gave him two,\nYou gave us three or more;\nThey all returned from him to you,\nThough they were mine before.\nIf I or she should chance to be\nInvolved in this affair,\nHe trusts to you to set them free,\nExactly as we were.\nMy notion was that you had been\n(Before she had this fit)\nAn obstacle that came between\nHim, and ourselves, and it.\nDon’t let him know she liked them best,\nFor this must ever be\nA secret, kept from all the rest,\nBetween yourself and me.”\n“That’s the most important piece of evidence we’ve heard yet,”\nsaid the King, rubbing his hands; “so now let the jury——”\n“If any one of them can explain it,” said Alice, (she had grown“If any one of them can explain it,” said Alice, (she had grown\nso large in the last few minutes that she wasn't a bit afraid of\ninterrupting him,) “I’ll give him sixpence. I don't believe there’s\nan atom of meaning in it.”\nThe jury all wrote down, on their slates, “She doesn’t believe\nthere’s an atom of meaning in it,” but none of them attempted to\nexplain the paper.\n“If there’s no meaning in it,” said the King, “that saves a\nworld of trouble, you know, as we needn’t try to find any. And yet\nI don’t know,” he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee,\nand looking at them with one eye; “I seem to see some meaning in\nthem, after all. ‘—said I could not swim—’ you ca’n’t swim, can\nyou?” he added, turning to the Knave.\nThe Knave shook his head sadly. “Do I look like it?” he said.\n(Which he certainly did not, being made entirely of cardboard.)\n“All right, so far,” said the King; and he went on muttering\nover the verses to himself: “‘We know it to be true’—that’s the\njury, of course—‘If she should push the matter on’—that must be the\nQueen—‘What would become of you?’—What, indeed!—‘I gave her one,\nthey gave him two’—why, that must be what he did with the tarts,\nyou know——”\n“But it goes on ‘they all returned from him to you,’” said\nAlice.\n“Why, there they are!” said the King triumphantly, pointing to\nthe tarts on the table. “Nothing can be clearer than that. Then\nagain—‘before she had this fit’—you never had fits, my dear, I\nthink?” he said to the Queen.\n“Never!” said the Queen, furiously, throwing an inkstand at the\nLizard as she spoke. (The unfortunate little Bill had left off\nwriting on his slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark;\nbut he now hastily began again, using the ink, that was trickling\ndown his face, as long as it lasted.)\n“Then the words don’t fit you,” said the King, looking round the\ncourt with a smile. There was a dead silence.\n“It’s a pun!” the King added in an angry tone, and everybody\nlaughed. “Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for"}
{"text": "laughed. “Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for\nabout the twentieth time that day.\n“No, no!” said the Queen. “Sentence first—verdict\nafterwards.”\n“Stuff and nonsense!” said Alice loudly. “The idea of having the\nsentence first!”\n“Hold your tongue!” said the Queen, turning purple.\n“I wo’n’t!” said Alice.\n“Off with her head!” the Queen shouted at the top of her voice.\nNobody moved.\n“Who cares for you?” said Alice (she had grown to her full size\nby this time). “You’re nothing but a pack of cards!”\nAt this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying\ndown upon her; she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of\nanger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the\nbank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently\nbrushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the\ntrees upon her face.\n“Wake up, Alice dear!” said her sister; “Why, what a long sleep\nyou’ve had!”\n“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!” said Alice. And she told\nher sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange\nAdventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and, when\nshe had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, “It was a\ncurious dream, dear, certainly; but now run in to your tea: it’s\ngetting late.” So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran,\nas well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.\nBut her sister sat still just as she left her, leaning her head\non her hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Alice\nand all her wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after\na fashion, and this was her dream:—\nFirst, she dreamed about little Alice herself: once again the\ntiny hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes\nwere looking up into hers—she could hear the very tones of her\nvoice, and see that queer little toss of her head to keep back the\nwandering hair that would always get into her eyes—and still as she\nlistened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her becamelistened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her became\nalive the strange creatures of her little sister’s dream.\nThe long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried\nby—the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring\npool—she could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and\nhis friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of\nthe Queen ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution—once\nmore the pig-baby was sneezing on the Duchess’s knee, while plates\nand dishes crashed around it—once more the shriek of the Gryphon,\nthe squeaking of the Lizard’s slate-pencil, and the choking of the\nsuppressed guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the distant\nsob of the miserable Mock Turtle.\nSo she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in\nWonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all\nwould change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in\nthe wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds—the\nrattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the\nQueen’s shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy—and the\nsneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other\nqueer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of\nthe busy farm-yard—while the lowing of the cattle in the distance\nwould take the place of the Mock Turtle’s heavy sobs.\nLastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of\nhers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how\nshe would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving\nheart of her childhood; and how she would gather about her other\nlittle children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a\nstrange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long\nago; and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find\na pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own\nchild-life, and the happy summer days."}
{"text": "3 May. Bistritz. —Left Munich at 8:35 P. M, on 1st May, arriving\nat Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but\ntrain was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from\nthe glimpse which I got of it from the train and the little I could\nwalk through the streets. I feared to go very far from the station,\nas we had arrived late and would start as near the correct time as\npossible.\nThe impression I had was that we were leaving the West and\nentering the East; the most western of splendid bridges over the\nDanube, which is here of noble width and depth, took us among the\ntraditions of Turkish rule.\nWe left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to\nKlausenburgh. Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I\nhad for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with\nred pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Mem. get recipe for\nMina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called \"paprika\nhendl,\" and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to\nget it anywhere along the Carpathians.\nI found my smattering of German very useful here, indeed, I\ndon't know how I should be able to get on without it.\nHaving had some time at my disposal when in London, I had\nvisited the British Museum, and made search among the books and\nmaps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that\nsome foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some\nimportance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.\nI find that the district he named is in the extreme east of the\ncountry, just on the borders of three states, Transylvania,\nMoldavia, and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian mountains;\none of the wildest and least known portions of Europe.\nI was not able to light on any map or work giving the exact\nlocality of the Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this\ncountry as yet to compare with our own Ordance Survey Maps; but I\nfound that Bistritz, the post town named by Count Dracula, is a\nfairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my notes, asfairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my notes, as\nthey may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with\nMina.\nIn the population of Transylvania there are four distinct\nnationalities: Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the\nWallachs, who are the descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the\nWest, and Szekelys in the East and North. I am going among the\nlatter, who claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This\nmay be so, for when the Magyars conquered the country in the\neleventh century they found the Huns settled in it.\nI read that every known superstition in the world is gathered\ninto the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of\nsome sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very\ninteresting. (Mem., I must ask the Count all about them.)\nI did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for\nI had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night\nunder my window, which may have had something to do with it; or it\nmay have been the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in\nmy carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was\nwakened by the continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must\nhave been sleeping soundly then.\nI had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of\nmaize flour which they said was \"mamaliga\", and egg-plant stuffed\nwith forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call \"impletata\".\n(Mem.,get recipe for this also.)\nI had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before\neight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to the\nstation at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour\nbefore we began to move.\nIt seems to me that the further east you go the more unpunctual\nare the trains. What ought they to be in China?\nAll day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was\nfull of beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or\ncastles on the top of steep hills such as we see in old missals;castles on the top of steep hills such as we see in old missals;\nsometimes we ran by rivers and streams which seemed from the wide\nstony margin on each side of them to be subject of great floods. It\ntakes a lot of water, and running strong, to sweep the outside edge\nof a river clear.\nAt every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds,\nand in all sorts of attire. Some of them were just like the\npeasants at home or those I saw coming through France and Germany,\nwith short jackets, and round hats, and home-made trousers; but\nothers were very picturesque.\nThe women looked pretty, except when you got near them, but they\nwere very clumsy about the waist. They had all full white sleeves\nof some kind or other, and most of them had big belts with a lot of\nstrips of something fluttering from them like the dresses in a\nballet, but of course there were petticoats under them.\nThe strangest figures we saw were the Slovaks, who were more\nbarbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boy hats, great baggy\ndirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous heavy\nleather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brass\nnails. They wore high boots, with their trousers tucked into them,\nand had long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are very\npicturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage they would\nbe set down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands. They\nare, however, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in\nnatural self-assertion.\nIt was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz,\nwhich is a very interesting old place. Being practically on the\nfrontier—for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina—it has had\na very stormy existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty\nyears ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible\nhavoc on five separate occasions. At the very beginning of the\nseventeenth century it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost\n13,000 people, the casualties of war proper being assisted by\nfamine and disease."}
{"text": "13,000 people, the casualties of war proper being assisted by\nfamine and disease.\nCount Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel,\nwhich I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned,\nfor of course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the\ncountry.\nI was evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a\ncheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress—white\nundergarment with a long double apron, front, and back, of coloured\nstuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she\nbowed and said, \"The Herr Englishman?\"\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"Jonathan Harker.\"\nShe smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white\nshirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the door.\nHe went, but immediately returned with a letter:\n\"My friend.—Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting\nyou. Sleep well tonight. At three tomorrow the diligence will start\nfor Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my\ncarriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your\njourney from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy\nyour stay in my beautiful land.—Your friend, Dracula.\"\n4 May—I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count,\ndirecting him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on\nmaking inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and\npretended that he could not understand my German.\nThis could not be true, because up to then he had understood it\nperfectly; at least, he answered my questions exactly as if he\ndid.\nHe and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at\neach other in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the\nmoney had been sent in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I\nasked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of\nhis castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying\nthat they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It\nwas so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask anyonewas so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask anyone\nelse, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means\ncomforting.\nJust before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and\nsaid in a hysterical way: \"Must you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you\ngo?\" She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost\nher grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some\nother language which I did not know at all. I was just able to\nfollow her by asking many questions. When I told her that I must go\nat once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked\nagain:\n\"Do you know what day it is?\" I answered that it was the fourth\nof May. She shook her head as she said again:\n\"Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it\nis?\"\nOn my saying that I did not understand, she went on:\n\"It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that\nto-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in\nthe world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and\nwhat you are going to?\" She was in such evident distress that I\ntried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally, she went down on\nher knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two\nbefore starting.\nIt was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable.\nHowever, there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing\nto interfere with it.\nI tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I\nthanked her, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go.\nShe then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her\nneck offered it to me.\nI did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have\nbeen taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous,\nand yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so\nwell and in such a state of mind.\nShe saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary\nround my neck and said, \"For your mother's sake,\" and went out of\nthe room.\nI am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting forthe room.\nI am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting for\nthe coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still\nround my neck.\nWhether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly\ntraditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know,\nbut I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual.\nIf this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my\ngood-bye. Here comes the coach!\n5 May. The Castle.—The gray of the morning has passed, and the\nsun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether\nwith trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big\nthings and little are mixed.\nI am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake,\nnaturally I write till sleep comes.\nThere are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them\nmay fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put\ndown my dinner exactly.\nI dined on what they called \"robber steak\"—bits of bacon, onion,\nand beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks, and\nroasted over the fire, in simple style of the London cat's\nmeat!\nThe wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on\nthe tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable.\nI had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.\nWhen I got on the coach, the driver had not taken his seat, and\nI saw him talking to the landlady.\nThey were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they\nlooked at me, and some of the people who were sitting on the bench\noutside the door—came and listened, and then looked at me, most of\nthem pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer\nwords, for there were many nationalities in the crowd, so I quietly\ngot my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out.\nI must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were\n\"Ordog\"—Satan, \"Pokol\"—hell, \"stregoica\"—witch, \"vrolok\" and\n\"vlkoslak\"—both mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other\nServian for something that is either werewolf or vampire. (Mem.,I"}
{"text": "Servian for something that is either werewolf or vampire. (Mem.,I\nmust ask the Count about these superstitions.)\nWhen we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this\ntime swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross\nand pointed two fingers towards me.\nWith some difficulty, I got a fellow passenger to tell me what\nthey meant. He would not answer at first, but on learning that I\nwas English, he explained that it was a charm or guard against the\nevil eye.\nThis was not very pleasant for me, just starting for an unknown\nplace to meet an unknown man. But everyone seemed so kind-hearted,\nand so sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I could not but be\ntouched.\nI shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn\nyard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing themselves,\nas they stood round the wide archway, with its background of rich\nfoliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the\ncentre of the yard.\nThen our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered the whole\nfront of the boxseat,—\"gotza\" they call them—cracked his big whip\nover his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on\nour journey.\nI soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the\nbeauty of the scene as we drove along, although had I known the\nlanguage, or rather languages, which my fellow-passengers were\nspeaking, I might not have been able to throw them off so easily.\nBefore us lay a green sloping land full of forests and woods, with\nhere and there steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with\nfarmhouses, the blank gable end to the road. There was everywhere a\nbewildering mass of fruit blossom—apple, plum, pear, cherry. And as\nwe drove by I could see the green grass under the trees spangled\nwith the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green hills of\nwhat they call here the \"Mittel Land\" ran the road, losing itself\nas it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the\nstraggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down thestraggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down the\nhillsides like tongues of flame. The road was rugged, but still we\nseemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not understand\nthen what the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on\nlosing no time in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told that this road\nis in summertime excellent, but that it had not yet been put in\norder after the winter snows. In this respect it is different from\nthe general run of roads in the Carpathians, for it is an old\ntradition that they are not to be kept in too good order. Of old\nthe Hospadars would not repair them, lest the Turk should think\nthat they were preparing to bring in foreign troops, and so hasten\nthe war which was always really at loading point.\nBeyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty\nslopes of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians\nthemselves. Right and left of us they towered, with the afternoon\nsun falling full upon them and bringing out all the glorious\ncolours of this beautiful range, deep blue and purple in the\nshadows of the peaks, green and brown where grass and rock mingled,\nand an endless perspective of jagged rock and pointed crags, till\nthese were themselves lost in the distance, where the snowy peaks\nrose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the mountains,\nthrough which, as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again the\nwhite gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my arm\nas we swept round the base of a hill and opened up the lofty,\nsnow-covered peak of a mountain, which seemed, as we wound on our\nserpentine way, to be right before us.\n\"Look! Isten szek!\"—\"God's seat!\"—and he crossed himself\nreverently.\nAs we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower\nbehind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This\nwas emphasized by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held\nthe sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here\nand there we passed Cszeks and slovaks, all in picturesque attire,and there we passed Cszeks and slovaks, all in picturesque attire,\nbut I noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside\nwere many crosses, and as we swept by, my companions all crossed\nthemselves. Here and there was a peasant man or woman kneeling\nbefore a shrine, who did not even turn round as we approached, but\nseemed in the self-surrender of devotion to have neither eyes nor\nears for the outer world. There were many things new to me. For\ninstance, hay-ricks in the trees, and here and there very beautiful\nmasses of weeping birch, their white stems shining like silver\nthrough the delicate green of the leaves.\nNow and again we passed a leiter-wagon—the ordinary peasants's\ncart—with its long, snakelike vertebra, calculated to suit the\ninequalities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a\ngroup of homecoming peasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the\nSlovaks with their coloured sheepskins, the latter carrying\nlance-fashion their long staves, with axe at end. As the evening\nfell it began to get very cold, and the growing twilight seemed to\nmerge into one dark mistiness the gloom of the trees, oak, beech,\nand pine, though in the valleys which ran deep between the spurs of\nthe hills, as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs stood out\nhere and there against the background of latelying snow. Sometimes,\nas the road was cut through the pine woods that seemed in the\ndarkness to be closing down upon us, great masses of greyness which\nhere and there bestrewed the trees, produced a peculiarly weird and\nsolemn effect, which carried on the thoughts and grim fancies\nengendered earlier in the evening, when the falling sunset threw\ninto strange relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the\nCarpathians seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes\nthe hills were so steep that, despite our driver's haste, the\nhorses could only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk up them,\nas we do at home, but the driver would not hear of it. \"No, no,\" he"}
{"text": "as we do at home, but the driver would not hear of it. \"No, no,\" he\nsaid. \"You must not walk here. The dogs are too fierce.\" And then\nhe added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he\nlooked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—\"And you may\nhave enough of such matters before you go to sleep.\" The only stop\nhe would make was a moment's pause to light his lamps.\nWhen it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the\npassengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as\nthough urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses\nunmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries of\nencouragement urged them on to further exertions. Then through the\ndarkness I could see a sort of patch of grey light ahead of us, as\nthough there were a cleft in the hills. The excitement of the\npassengers grew greater. The crazy coach rocked on its great\nleather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I\nhad to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly\nalong. Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each side\nand to frown down upon us. We were entering on the Borgo Pass. One\nby one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they\npressed upon me with an earnestness which would take no denial.\nThese were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given\nin simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that\nsame strange mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had seen\noutside the hotel at Bistritz— the sign of the cross and the guard\nagainst the evil eye. Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned\nforward, and on each side the passengers, craning over the edge of\nthe coach, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that\nsomething very exciting was either happening or expected, but\nthough I asked each passenger, no one would give me the slightest\nexplanation. This state of excitement kept on for some little time.\nAnd at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the easternAnd at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the eastern\nside. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the\nheavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the\nmountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had\ngot into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the\nconveyance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I\nexpected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness, but all\nwas dark. The only light was the flickering rays of our own lamps,\nin which the steam from our hard-driven horses rose in a white\ncloud. We could see now the sandy road lying white before us, but\nthere was on it no sign of a vehicle. The passengers drew back with\na sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment. I\nwas already thinking what I had best do, when the driver, looking\nat his watch, said to the others something which I could hardly\nhear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone, I thought it\nwas \"An hour less than the time.\" Then turning to me, he spoke in\nGerman worse than my own.\n\"There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all.\nHe will now come on to Bukovina, and return tomorrow or the next\nday, better the next day.\" Whilst he was speaking the horses began\nto neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to\nhold them up. Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants\nand a universal crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four\nhorses, drove up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the\ncoach. I could see from the flash of our lamps as the rays fell on\nthem, that the horses were coal-black and splendid animals. They\nwere driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great\nblack hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see\nthe gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red in the\nlamplight, as he turned to us.\nHe said to the driver, \"You are early tonight, my friend.\"\nThe man stammered in reply, \"The English Herr was in a\nhurry.\"The man stammered in reply, \"The English Herr was in a\nhurry.\"\nTo which the stranger replied, \"That is why, I suppose, you\nwished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend.\nI know too much, and my horses are swift.\"\nAs he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hardlooking\nmouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as\nivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from\nBurger's \"Lenore\".\n\"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell.\" (\"For the dead travel\nfast.\")\nThe strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up\nwith a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the\nsame time putting out his two fingers and crossing himself. \"Give\nme the Herr's luggage,\" said the driver, and with exceeding\nalacrity my bags were handed out and put in the caleche. Then I\ndescended from the side of the coach, as the caleche was close\nalongside, the driver helping me with a hand which caught my arm in\na grip of steel. His strength must have been prodigious.\nWithout a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and we\nswept into the darkness of the pass. As I looked back I saw the\nsteam from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and\nprojected against it the figures of my late companions crossing\nthemselves. Then the driver cracked his whip and called to his\nhorses, and off they swept on their way to Bukovina. As they sank\ninto the darkness I felt a strange chill, and a lonely feeling come\nover me. But a cloak was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across\nmy knees, and the driver said in excellent German—\n\"The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me\ntake all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum\nbrandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you should require\nit.\"\nI did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there\nall the same. I felt a little strangely, and not a little\nfrightened. I think had there been any alternative I should have\ntaken it, instead of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The"}
{"text": "taken it, instead of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The\ncarriage went at a hard pace straight along, then we made a\ncomplete turn and went along another straight road. It seemed to me\nthat we were simply going over and over the same ground again, and\nso I took note of some salient point, and found that this was so. I\nwould have liked to have asked the driver what this all meant, but\nI really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed as I was, any\nprotest would have had no effect in case there had been an\nintention to delay.\nBy-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time was\npassing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch. It\nwas within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock,\nfor I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased\nby my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of\nsuspense.\nThen a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the\nroad, a long, agonized wailing, as if from fear. The sound was\ntaken up by another dog, and then another and another, till, borne\non the wind which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild\nhowling began, which seemed to come from all over the country, as\nfar as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the\nnight.\nAt the first howl the horses began to strain and rear, but the\ndriver spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but\nshivered and sweated as though after a runaway from sudden fright.\nThen, far off in the distance, from the mountains on each side of\nus began a louder and a sharper howling, that of wolves, which\naffected both the horses and myself in the same way. For I was\nminded to jump from the caleche and run, whilst they reared again\nand plunged madly, so that the driver had to use all his great\nstrength to keep them from bolting. In a few minutes, however, my\nown ears got accustomed to the sound, and the horses so far became\nquiet that the driver was able to descend and to stand before\nthem.\nHe petted and soothed them, and whispered something in theirthem.\nHe petted and soothed them, and whispered something in their\nears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and with extraordinary\neffect, for under his caresses they became quite manageable again,\nthough they still trembled. The driver again took his seat, and\nshaking his reins, started off at a great pace. This time, after\ngoing to the far side or the Pass, he suddenly turned down a narrow\nroadway which ran sharply to the right.\nSoon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right\nover the roadway till we passed as through a tunnel. And again\ngreat frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we\nwere in shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and\nwhistled through the rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed\ntogether as we swept along. It grew colder and colder still, and\nfine, powdery snow began to fall, so that soon we and all around us\nwere covered with a white blanket. The keen wind still carried the\nhowling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our\nway. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though\nthey were closing round on us from every side. I grew dreadfully\nafraid, and the horses shared my fear. The driver, however, was not\nin the least disturbed. He kept turning his head to left and right,\nbut I could not see anything through the darkness.\nSuddenly, away on our left I saw a fain flickering blue flame.\nThe driver saw it at the same moment. He at once checked the\nhorses, and, jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness.\nI did not know what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves\ngrew closer. But while I wondered, the driver suddenly appeared\nagain, and without a word took his seat, and we resumed our\njourney. I think I must have fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the\nincident, for it seemed to be repeated endlessly, and now looking\nback, it is like a sort of awful nightmare. Once the flame appeared\nso near the road, that even in the darkness around us I could watchso near the road, that even in the darkness around us I could watch\nthe driver's motions. He went rapidly to where the blue flame\narose, it must have been very faint, for it did not seem to\nillumine the place around it at all, and gathering a few stones,\nformed them into some device.\nOnce there appeared a strange optical effect. When he stood\nbetween me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see\nits ghostly flicker all the same. This startled me, but as the\neffect was only momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me\nstraining through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue\nflames, and we sped onwards through the gloom, with the howling of\nthe wolves around us, as though they were following in a moving\ncircle.\nAt last there came a time when the driver went further afield\nthan he had yet gone, and during his absence, the horses began to\ntremble worse than ever and to snort and scream with fright. I\ncould not see any cause for it, for the howling of the wolves had\nceased altogether. But just then the moon, sailing through the\nblack clouds, appeared behind the jagged crest of a beetling,\npine-clad rock, and by its light I saw around us a ring of wolves,\nwith white teeth and lolling red tongues, with long, sinewy limbs\nand shaggy hair. They were a hundred times more terrible in the\ngrim silence which held them than even when they howled. For\nmyself, I felt a sort of paralysis of fear. It is only when a man\nfeels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understand\ntheir true import.\nAll at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had\nhad some peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped about and\nreared, and looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way\npainful to see. But the living ring of terror encompassed them on\nevery side, and they had perforce to remain within it. I called to\nthe coachman to come, for it seemed to me that our only chance was\nto try to break out through the ring and to aid his approach, Ito try to break out through the ring and to aid his approach, I\nshouted and beat the side of the caleche, hoping by the noise to\nscare the wolves from the side, so as to give him a chance of\nreaching the trap. How he came there, I know not, but I heard his\nvoice raised in a tone of imperious command, and looking towards\nthe sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As he swept his long arms,\nas though brushing aside some impalpable obstacle, the wolves fell\nback and back further still. Just then a heavy cloud passed across\nthe face of the moon, so that we were again in darkness.\nWhen I could see again the driver was climbing into the caleche,\nand the wolves disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny\nthat a dreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or\nmove. The time seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in\nalmost complete darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the\nmoon.\nWe kept on ascending, with occasional periods of quick descent,\nbut in the main always ascending. Suddenly, I became conscious of\nthe fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in\nthe courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black\nwindows came no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a\njagged line against the sky."}
{"text": "5 May.—I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been\nfully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable\nplace. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and\nas several dark ways led from it under great round arches, it\nperhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able\nto see it by daylight.\nWhen the caleche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out\nhis hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his\nprodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice\nthat could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took my\ntraps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to\na great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a\nprojecting doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim\nlight that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had\nbeen much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped\nagain into his seat and shook the reins. The horses started\nforward, and trap and all disappeared down one of the dark\nopenings.\nI stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do.\nOf bell or knocker there was no sign. Through these frowning walls\nand dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could\npenetrate. The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and\nfears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among\nwhat kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I\nhad embarked? Was this a customary incident in the life of a\nsolicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London\nestate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that.\nSolicitor, for just before leaving London I got word that my\nexamination was successful, and I am now a full-blown solicitor! I\nbegan to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It\nall seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I\nshould suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn\nstruggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt instruggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in\nthe morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the\npinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed\nawake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be\npatient, and to wait the coming of morning.\nJust as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step\napproaching behind the great door, and saw through the chinks the\ngleam of a coming light. Then there was the sound of rattling\nchains and the clanking of massive bolts drawn back. A key was\nturned with the loud grating noise of long disuse, and the great\ndoor swung back.\nWithin, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white\nmoustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single\nspeck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique\nsilver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe\nof any kind, throwing long quivering shadows as it flickered in the\ndraught of the open door. The old man motioned me in with his right\nhand with a courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with\na strange intonation.\n\"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will!\"\nHe made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue,\nas though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The\ninstant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved\nimpulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a\nstrength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by\nthe fact that it seemed cold as ice, more like the hand of a dead\nthan a living man. Again he said.\n\"Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and leave\nsomething of the happiness you bring!\" The strength of the\nhandshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the\ndriver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if\nit were not the same person to whom I was speaking. So to make\nsure, I said interrogatively, \"Count Dracula?\"\nHe bowed in a courtly was as he replied, \"I am Dracula, and IHe bowed in a courtly was as he replied, \"I am Dracula, and I\nbid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in, the night air is\nchill, and you must need to eat and rest.\"As he was speaking, he\nput the lamp on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my\nluggage. He had carried it in before I could forestall him. I\nprotested, but he insisted.\n\"Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not\navailable. Let me see to your comfort myself.\"He insisted on\ncarrying my traps along the passage, and then up a great winding\nstair, and along another great passage, on whose stone floor our\nsteps rang heavily. At the end of this he threw open a heavy door,\nand I rejoiced to see within a well-lit room in which a table was\nspread for supper, and on whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs,\nfreshly replenished, flamed and flared.\nThe Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, and\ncrossing the room, opened another door, which led into a small\noctagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly without a window\nof any sort. Passing through this, he opened another door, and\nmotioned me to enter. It was a welcome sight. For here was a great\nbedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire, also added\nto but lately, for the top logs were fresh, which sent a hollow\nroar up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my luggage inside\nand withdrew, saying, before he closed the door.\n\"You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by\nmaking your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When you\nare ready, come into the other room, where you will find your\nsupper prepared.\"\nThe light and warmth and the Count's courteous welcome seemed to\nhave dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having then reached my\nnormal state, I discovered that I was half famished with hunger. So\nmaking a hasty toilet, I went into the other room.\nI found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side\nof the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a\ngraceful wave of his hand to the table, and said,"}
{"text": "graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said,\n\"I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will I trust,\nexcuse me that I do not join you, but I have dined already, and I\ndo not sup.\"\nI handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had\nentrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely. Then, with a\ncharming smile, he handed it to me to read. One passage of it, at\nleast, gave me a thrill of pleasure.\n\"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a\nconstant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for\nsome time to come. But I am happy to say I can send a sufficient\nsubstitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a\nyoung man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very\nfaithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into\nmanhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you\nwill during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all\nmatters.\"\nThe count himself came forward and took off the cover of a dish,\nand I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. This, with\nsome cheese and a salad and a bottle of old tokay, of which I had\ntwo glasses, was my supper. During the time I was eating it the\nCount asked me many question as to my journey, and I told him by\ndegrees all I had experienced.\nBy this time I had finished my supper, and by my host's desire\nhad drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which\nhe offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not\nsmoke. I had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of\na very marked physiognomy.\nHis face was a strong, a very strong, aquiline, with high bridge\nof the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed\nforehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely\nelsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the\nnose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion.\nThe mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, wasThe mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was\nfixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth.\nThese protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed\nastonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears\nwere pale, and at the tops extremely pointed. The chin was broad\nand strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was\none of extraordinary pallor.\nHitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his\nknees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine.\nBut seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they\nwere rather coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say,\nthere were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and\nfine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his\nhands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been\nthat his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came\nover me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.\nThe Count, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim\nsort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his\nprotruberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the\nfireplace. We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards\nthe window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There\nseemed a strange stillness over everything. But as I listened, I\nheard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many\nwolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said.\n\"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they\nmake!\" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to\nhim, he added,\"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into\nthe feelings of the hunter.\" Then he rose and said.\n\"But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow\nyou shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the\nafternoon, so sleep well and dream well!\" With a courteous bow, he\nopened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered\nmy bedroom.opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered\nmy bedroom.\nI am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt. I fear. I think strange\nthings, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if\nonly for the sake of those dear to me!\n7 May.—It is again early morning, but I have rested and enjoyed\nthe last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the day, and awoke\nof my own accord. When I had dressed myself I went into the room\nwhere we had supped, and found a cold breakfast laid out, with\ncoffee kept hot by the pot being placed on the hearth. There was a\ncard on the table, on which was written—\n\"I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me. D.\" I set\nto and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell,\nso that I might let the servants know I had finished, but I could\nnot find one. There are certainly odd deficiencies in the house,\nconsidering the extraordinary evidences of wealth which are round\nme. The table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that\nit must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery of the\nchairs and sofas and the hangings of my bed are of the costliest\nand most beautiful fabrics, and must have been of fabulous value\nwhen they were made, for they are centuries old, though in\nexcellent order. I saw something like them in Hampton Court, but\nthey were worn and frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the\nrooms is there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my\ntable, and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag before\nI could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a\nservant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the\nhowling of wolves. Some time after I had finished my meal, I do not\nknow whether to call it breakfast of dinner, for it was between\nfive and six o'clock when I had it, I looked about for something to\nread, for I did not like to go about the castle until I had asked\nthe Count's permission. There was absolutely nothing in the room,\nbook, newspaper, or even writing materials, so I opened another"}
{"text": "book, newspaper, or even writing materials, so I opened another\ndoor in the room and found a sort of library. The door opposite\nmine I tried, but found locked.\nIn the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of\nEnglish books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of\nmagazines and newspapers. A table in the center was littered with\nEnglish magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very\nrecent date. The books were of the most varied kind, history,\ngeography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law, all\nrelating to England and English life and customs and manners. There\nwere even such books of reference as the London Directory, the\n\"Red\" and \"Blue\" books, Whitaker's Almanac, the Army and Navy\nLists, and it somehow gladdened my heart to see it, the Law\nList.\nWhilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the\nCount entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had\nhad a good night's rest. Then he went on.\n\"I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is\nmuch that will interest you. These companions,\" and he laid his\nhand on some of the books, \"have been good friends to me, and for\nsome years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have\ngiven me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to\nknow your great England, and to know her is to love her. I long to\ngo through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the\nmidst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its\nchange, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! As\nyet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I\nlook that I know it to speak.\"\n\"But, Count,\" I said, \"You know and speak English thoroughly!\"\nHe bowed gravely.\n\"I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate,\nbut yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would\ntravel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not\nhow to speak them.\n\"Indeed,\" I said, \"You speak excellently.\"how to speak them.\n\"Indeed,\" I said, \"You speak excellently.\"\n\"Not so,\" he answered. \"Well, I know that, did I move and speak\nin your London, none there are who would not know me for a\nstranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble. I am a Boyar.\nThe common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a\nstrange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to\ncare not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man\nstops if he sees me, or pauses in his speaking if he hears my\nwords, `Ha, ha! A stranger!' I have been so long master that I\nwould be master still, or at least that none other should be master\nof me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter\nHawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London.\nYou shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so that by our\ntalking I may learn the English intonation. And I would that you\ntell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I\nam sorry that I had to be away so long today, but you will, I know\nforgive one who has so many important affairs in hand.\" Of course I\nsaid all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come\ninto that room when I chose. He answered, \"Yes, certainly,\" and\nadded.\n\"You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the\ndoors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is\nreason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my\neyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better\nunderstand.\" I said I was sure of this, and then he went on.\n\"We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our\nways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange\nthings. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences\nalready, you know something of what strange things there may\nbe.\"\nThis led to much conversation, and as it was evident that he\nwanted to talk, if only for talking's sake, I asked him many\nquestions regarding things that had already happened to me or comequestions regarding things that had already happened to me or come\nwithin my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned\nthe conversation by pretending not to understand, but generally he\nanswered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had\ngot somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of\nthe preceding night, as for instance, why the coachman went to the\nplaces where he had seen the blue flames. He then explained to me\nthat it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the year,\nlast night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have\nunchecked sway, a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure\nhas been concealed.\n\"That treasure has been hidden,\" he went on, \"in the region\nthrough which you came last night, there can be but little doubt.\nFor it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian,\nthe Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all\nthis region that has not been enriched by the blood of men,\npatriots or invaders. In the old days there were stirring times,\nwhen the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the\npatriots went out to meet them, men and women, the aged and the\nchildren too, and waited their coming on the rocks above the\npasses, that they might sweep destruction on them with their\nartificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but\nlittle, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly\nsoil.\"\n\"But how,\" said I, \"can it have remained so long undiscovered,\nwhen there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble\nto look? \"The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums,\nthe long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely. He\nanswered.\n\"Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those\nflames only appear on one night, and on that night no man of this\nland will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear\nsir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the\npeasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would"}
{"text": "peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would\nnot know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you\nwould not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places\nagain?\"\n\"There you are right,\" I said. \"I know no more than the dead\nwhere even to look for them.\" Then we drifted into other\nmatters.\n\"Come,\" he said at last, \"tell me of London and of the house\nwhich you have procured for me.\" With an apology for my remissness,\nI went into my own room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was\nplacing them in order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the\nnext room, and as I passed through, noticed that the table had been\ncleared and the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the\ndark. The lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found\nthe Count lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world,\nand English Bradshaw's Guide. When I came in he cleared the books\nand papers from the table, and with him I went into plans and deeds\nand figures of all sorts. He was interested in everything, and\nasked me a myriad questions about the place and its surroundings.\nHe clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject\nof the neighborhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much\nmore than I did. When I remarked this, he answered.\n\"Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I\ngo there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan, nay,\npardon me. I fall into my country's habit of putting your\npatronymic first, my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side\nto correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably\nworking at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins.\nSo!\"\nWe went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the\nestate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his\nsignature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with\nthem ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had\ncome across so suitable a place. I read to him the notes which Icome across so suitable a place. I read to him the notes which I\nhad made at the time, and which I inscribe here.\n\"At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as\nseemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice\nthat the place was for sale. It was surrounded by a high wall, of\nancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired\nfor a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak\nand iron, all eaten with rust.\n\"The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old\nQuatre Face, as the house is four sided, agreeing with the cardinal\npoints of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite\nsurrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many\ntrees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep,\ndark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as\nthe water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house\nis very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediaeval\ntimes, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few\nwindows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of\na keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter\nit, as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house,\nbut I have taken with my Kodak views of it from various points. The\nhouse had been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can\nonly guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very\ngreat. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very\nlarge house only recently added to and formed into a private\nlunatic asylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.\"\nWhen I had finished, he said, \"I am glad that it is old and big.\nI myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would kill\nme. A house cannot be made habitable in a day, and after all, how\nfew days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a\nchapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think thatchapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that\nour bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor\nmirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling\nwaters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young, and my\nheart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is attuned to\nmirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken. The shadows are\nmany, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and\ncasements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with\nmy thoughts when I may.\" Somehow his words and his look did not\nseem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his smile\nlook malignant and saturnine.\nPresently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to pull my\npapers together. He was some little time away, and I began to look\nat some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found\nopened naturally to England, as if that map had been much used. On\nlooking at it I found in certain places little rings marked, and on\nexamining these I noticed that one was near London on the east\nside, manifestly where his new estate was situated. The other two\nwere Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.\nIt was the better part of an hour when the Count returned.\n\"Aha!\" he said. \"Still at your books? Good! But you must not work\nalways. Come! I am informed that your supper is ready.\" He took my\narm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent\nsupper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he\nhad dined out on his being away from home. But he sat as on the\nprevious night, and chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as\non the last evening, and the Count stayed with me, chatting and\nasking questions on every conceivable subject, hour after hour. I\nfelt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say\nanything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host's wishes in\nevery way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had\nfortified me, but I could not help experiencing that chill which"}
{"text": "fortified me, but I could not help experiencing that chill which\ncomes over one at the coming of the dawn, which is like, in its\nway, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are near death\ndie generally at the change to dawn or at the turn of the tide.\nAnyone who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post,\nexperienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All\nat once we heard the crow of the cock coming up with preternatural\nshrillness through the clear morning air.\nCount Dracula, jumping to his feet, said, \"Why there is the\nmorning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You must\nmake your conversation regarding my dear new country of England\nless interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us,\"\nand with a courtly bow, he quickly left me.\nI went into my room and drew the curtains, but there was little\nto notice. My window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was\nthe warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again,\nand have written of this day.\n8 May.—I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was\ngetting too diffuse. But now I am glad that I went into detail from\nthe first, for there is something so strange about this place and\nall in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of\nit, or that I had never come. It may be that this strange night\nexistence is telling on me, but would that that were all! If there\nwere any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I\nhave only the Count to speak with, and he— I fear I am myself the\nonly living soul within the place. Let me be prosaiac so far as\nfacts can be. It will help me to bear up, and imagination must not\nrun riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I\nstand, or seem to.\nI only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling that I\ncould not sleep any more, got up. I had hung my shaving glass by\nthe window, and was just beginning to shave. Suddenly I felt a hand\non my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, \"Goodon my shoulder, and heard the Count's voice saying to me, \"Good\nmorning.\" I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him,\nsince the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me.\nIn starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the\nmoment. Having answered the Count's salutation, I turned to the\nglass again to see how I had been mistaken. This time there could\nbe no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over\nmy shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The\nwhole room behind me was displayed, but there was no sign of a man\nin it, except myself.\nThis was startling, and coming on the top of so many strange\nthings, was beginning to increase that vague feeling of uneasiness\nwhich I always have when the Count is near. But at the instant I\nsaw the the cut had bled a little, and the blood was trickling over\nmy chin. I laid down the razor, turning as I did so half round to\nlook for some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his\neyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a\ngrab at my throat. I drew away and his hand touched the string of\nbeads which held the crucifix. It made an instant change in him,\nfor the fury passed so quickly that I could hardly believe that it\nwas ever there.\n\"Take care,\" he said, \"take care how you cut yourself. It is\nmore dangerous that you think in this country.\" Then seizing the\nshaving glass, he went on, \"And this is the wretched thing that has\ndone the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with\nit!\" And opening the window with one wrench of his terrible hand,\nhe flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces\non the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without\na word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave,\nunless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving pot, which is\nfortunately of metal.\nWhen I went into the dining room, breakfast was prepared, but I\ncould not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It iscould not find the Count anywhere. So I breakfasted alone. It is\nstrange that as yet I have not seen the Count eat or drink. He must\nbe a very peculiar man! After breakfast I did a little exploring in\nthe castle. I went out on the stairs, and found a room looking\ntowards the South.\nThe view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every\nopportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a\nterrific precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a\nthousand feet without touching anything! As far as the eye can\nreach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift\nwhere there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the\nrivers wind in deep gorges through the forests.\nBut I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen\nthe view I explored further. Doors, doors, doors everywere, and all\nlocked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle\nwalls is there an available exit. The castle is a veritable prison,\nand I am a prisoner!When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came\nover me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and\npeering out of every window I could find, but after a little the\nconviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When\nI look back after a few hours I think I must have been mad for the\ntime, for I behaved much as a rat does in a trap. When, however,\nthe conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down\nquietly, as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life, and\nbegan to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still,\nand as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only\nam I certain. That it is no use making my ideas known to the Count.\nHe knows well that I am imprisoned, and as he has done it himself,\nand has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me\nif I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only\nplan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my\neyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my\nown fears, or else I am in desperate straits, and if the latter be\nso, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.\nI had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door\nbelow shut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come\nat once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and\nfound him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I\nhad all along thought, that there are no servants in the house.\nWhen later I saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door\nlaying the table in the dining room, I was assured of it. For if he\ndoes himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that\nthere is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Count\nhimself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This\nis a terrible thought, for if so, what does it mean that he could\ncontrol the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand for\nsilence? How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the"}
{"text": "silence? How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the\ncoach had some terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of the\ncrucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash?\nBless that good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck!\nFor it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is\nodd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour\nand as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of\nhelp. Is it that there is something in the essence of the thing\nitself, or that it is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying\nmemories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if it may be, I must\nexamine this matter and try to make up my mind about it. In the\nmeantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula, as it may\nhelp me to understand. Tonight he may talk of himself, if I turn\nthe conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to\nawake his suspicion.\nMidnight.—I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a\nfew questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the\nsubject wonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and\nespecially of battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them\nall. This he afterwards explained by saying that to a Boyar the\npride of his house and name is his own pride, that their glory is\nhis glory, that their fate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his\nhouse he always said \"we\", and spoke almost in the plural, like a\nking speaking. I wish I could put down all he said exactly as he\nsaid it, for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in it\na whole history of the country. He grew excited as he spoke, and\nwalked about the room pulling his great white moustache and\ngrasping anything on which he laid his hands as though he would\ncrush it by main strength. One thing he said which I shall put down\nas nearly as I can, for it tells in its way the story of his\nrace.\n\"We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows\nthe blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, forthe blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for\nlordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe\nbore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin\ngame them, which their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on\nthe seaboards of Europe, aye, and of Asia and Africa too, till the\npeoples thought that the werewolves themselves had come. Here, too,\nwhen they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept\nthe earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that in\ntheir veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, expelled from\nScythia had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What\ndevil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in\nthese veins?\" He held up his arms. \"Is it a wonder that we were a\nconquering race, that we were proud, that when the Magyar, the\nLombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on\nour frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad\nand his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found us\nhere when he reached the frontier, that the Honfoglalas was\ncompleted there?And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the\nSzekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to\nus for centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of\nTurkeyland. Aye, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier\nguard, for as the Turks say, `water sleeps, and the enemy is\nsleepless.' Who more gladly than we throughout the Four Nations\nreceived the `bloody sword,' or at its warlike call flocked quicker\nto the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great shame of\nmy nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of the Wallach and\nthe Magyar went down beneath the Crescent?Who was it but one of my\nown race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his\nown ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own\nunworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the Turk\nand brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula,and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula,\nindeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age\nagain and again brought his forces over the great river into\nTurkeyland, who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again,\nthough he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops\nwere being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could\nultimately triumph! They said that he thought only of himself. Bah!\nWhat good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without\na brain and heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of\nMohacs, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood\nwere amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we\nwere not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys, and the Dracula as\ntheir heart's blood, their brains, and their swords, can boast a\nrecord that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs\ncan never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a\nthing in these days of dishonourable peace, and the glories of the\ngreat races are as a tale that is told.\"\nIt was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (Mem.,\nthis diary seems horribly like the beginning of the \"Arabian\nNights,\" for everything has to break off at cockcrow, or like the\nghost of Hamlet's father.)\n12 May.—Let me begin with facts, bare, meager facts, verified by\nbooks and figures, and of which there can be no doubt. I must not\nconfuse them with experiences which will have to rest on my own\nobservation, or my memory of them. Last evening when the Count came\nfrom his room he began by asking me questions on legal matters and\non the doing of certain kinds of business. I had spent the day\nwearily over books, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over\nsome of the matters I had been examined in at Lincoln's Inn. There\nwas a certain method in the Count's inquiries, so I shall try to\nput them down in sequence. The knowledge may somehow or some time\nbe useful to me.\nFirst, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or"}
{"text": "be useful to me.\nFirst, he asked if a man in England might have two solicitors or\nmore. I told him he might have a dozen if he wished, but that it\nwould not be wise to have more than one solicitor engaged in one\ntransaction, as only one could act at a time, and that to change\nwould be certain to militate against his interest. He seemed\nthoroughly to understand, and went on to ask if there would be any\npractical difficulty in having one man to attend, say, to banking,\nand another to look after shipping, in case local help were needed\nin a place far from the home of the banking solicitor. I asked to\nexplain more fully, so that I might not by any chance mislead him,\nso he said,\n\"I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter Hawkins,\nfrom under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral at Exeter, which\nis far from London, buys for me through your good self my place at\nLondon. Good! Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it\nstrange that I have sought the services of one so far off from\nLondon instead of some one resident there, that my motive was that\nno local interest might be served save my wish only, and as one of\nLondon residence might, perhaps, have some purpose of himself or\nfriend to serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent, whose labours\nshould be only to my interest. Now, suppose I, who have much of\naffairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or\nHarwich, or Dover, might it not be that it could with more ease be\ndone by consigning to one in these ports?\"\nI answered that certainly it would be most easy, but that we\nsolicitors had a system of agency one for the other, so that local\nwork could be done locally on instruction from any solicitor, so\nthat the client, simply placing himself in the hands of one man,\ncould have his wishes carried out by him without further\ntrouble.\n\"But,\" said he,\"I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is it\nnot so?\"\n\"Of course, \" I replied, and \"Such is often done by men of\nbusiness, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known bybusiness, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be known by\nany one person.\"\n\"Good!\" he said, and then went on to ask about the means of\nmaking consignments and the forms to be gone through, and of all\nsorts of difficulties which might arise, but by forethought could\nbe guarded against. I explained all these things to him to the best\nof my ability, and he certainly left me under the impression that\nhe would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing\nthat he did not think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the\ncountry, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business,\nhis knowledge and acumen were wonderful. When he had satisfied\nhimself on these points of which he had spoken, and I had verified\nall as well as I could by the books available, he suddenly stood up\nand said, \"Have you written since your first letter to our friend\nMr. Peter Hawkins, or to any other?\"\nIt was with some bitterness in my heart that I answered that I\nhad not, that as yet I had not seen any opportunity of sending\nletters to anybody.\n\"Then write now, my young friend,\" he said, laying a heavy hand\non my shoulder, \"write to our friend and to any other, and say, if\nit will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from\nnow.\"\n\"Do you wish me to stay so long?\" I asked, for my heart grew\ncold at the thought.\n\"I desire it much, nay I will take no refusal. When your master,\nemployer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on his\nbehalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted.\nI have not stinted. Is it not so?\"\nWhat could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkins'\ninterest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself, and\nbesides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his\neyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a\nprisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice. The Count\nsaw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the trouble of my\nface, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth,\nresistless way.face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth,\nresistless way.\n\"I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse\nof things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless\nplease your friends to know that you are well, and that you look\nforward to getting home to them. Is it not so?\" As he spoke he\nhanded me three sheets of note paper and three envelopes. They were\nall of the thinnest foreign post, and looking at them, then at him,\nand noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying\nover the red underlip, I understood as well as if he had spoken\nthat I should be more careful what I wrote, for he would be able to\nread it. So I determined to write only formal notes now, but to\nwrite fully to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her\nI could write shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if he did\nsee it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, reading a\nbook whilst the Count wrote several notes, referring as he wrote\nthem to some books on his table. Then he took up my two and placed\nthem with his own, and put by his writing materials, after which,\nthe instant the door had closed behind him, I leaned over and\nlooked at the letters, which were face down on the table. I felt no\ncompunction in doing so for under the circumstances I felt that I\nshould protect myself in every way I could.\nOne of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, No. 7,\nThe Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, Varna. The third was\nto Coutts & Co., London, and the fourth to Herren Klopstock\n& Billreuth, bankers, Buda Pesth. The second and fourth were\nunsealed. I was just about to look at them when I saw the door\nhandle move. I sank back in my seat, having just had time to resume\nmy book before the Count, holding still another letter in his hand,\nentered the room. He took up the letters on the table and stamped\nthem carefully, and then turning to me, said,\n\"I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in"}
{"text": "\"I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in\nprivate this evening. You will, I hope, find all things as you\nwish.\" At the door he turned, and after a moment's pause said, \"Let\nme advise you, my dear young friend. Nay, let me warn you with all\nseriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any\nchance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and\nhas many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep\nunwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be\nlike to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for\nyour rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this\nrespect, then,\" He finished his speech in a gruesome way, for he\nmotioned with his hands as if he were washing them. I quite\nunderstood. My only doubt was as to whether any dream could be more\nterrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery\nwhich seemed closing around me.\nLater.—I endorse the last words written, but this time there is\nno doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any place where\nhe is not. I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed, I\nimagine that my rest is thus freer from dreams, and there it shall\nremain.\nWhen he left me I went to my room. After a little while, not\nhearing any sound, I came out and went up the stone stair to where\nI could look out towards the South. There was some sense of freedom\nin the vast expanse, inaccessible though it was to me, as compared\nwith the narrow darkness of the courtyard. Looking out on this, I\nfelt that I was indeed in prison, and I seemed to want a breath of\nfresh air, though it were of the night. I am beginning to feel this\nnocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. I start\nat my own shadow, and am full of all sorts of horrible imaginings.\nGod knows that there is ground for my terrible fear in this\naccursed place!I looked out over the beautiful expanse, bathed in\nsoft yellow moonlight till it was almost as light as day. In thesoft yellow moonlight till it was almost as light as day. In the\nsoft light the distant hills became melted, and the shadows in the\nvalleys and gorges of velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed to\ncheer me. There was peace and comfort in every breath I drew. As I\nleaned from the window my eye was caught by something moving a\nstorey below me, and somewhat to my left, where I imagined, from\nthe order of the rooms, that the windows of the Count's own room\nwould look out. The window at which I stood was tall and deep,\nstone-mullioned, and though weatherworn, was still complete. But it\nwas evidently many a day since the case had been there. I drew back\nbehind the stonework, and looked carefully out.\nWhat I saw was the Count's head coming out from the window. I\ndid not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the\nmovement of his back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the\nhands which I had had some many opportunities of studying. I was at\nfirst interested and somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small\na matter will interest and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But\nmy very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the\nwhole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the\ncastle wall over the dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak\nspreading out around him like great wings. At first I could not\nbelieve my eyes. I thought it was some trick of the moonlight, some\nweird effect of shadow, but I kept looking, and it could be no\ndelusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the\nstones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by\nthus using every projection and inequality move downwards with\nconsiderable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.\nWhat manner of man is this, or what manner of creature, is it in\nthe semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place\noverpowering me. I am in fear, in awful fear, and there is no\nescape for me. I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not\nthink of.escape for me. I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not\nthink of.\n15 May.—Once more I have seen the count go out in his lizard\nfashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong way, some hundred feet\ndown, and a good deal to the left. He vanished into some hole or\nwindow. When his head had disappeared, I leaned out to try and see\nmore, but without avail. The distance was too great to allow a\nproper angle of sight. I knew he had left the castle now, and\nthought to use the opportunity to explore more than I had dared to\ndo as yet. I went back to the room, and taking a lamp, tried all\nthe doors. They were all locked, as I had expected, and the locks\nwere comparatively new. But I went down the stone stairs to the\nhall where I had entered originally. I found I could pull back the\nbolts easily enough and unhook the great chains. But the door was\nlocked, and the key was gone! That key must be in the Count's room.\nI must watch should his door be unlocked, so that I may get it and\nescape. I went on to make a thorough examination of the various\nstairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened from them.\nOne or two small rooms near the hall were open, but there was\nnothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty with age and\nmoth-eaten. At last, however, I found one door at the top of the\nstairway which, though it seemed locked, gave a little under\npressure. I tried it harder, and found that it was not really\nlocked, but that the resistance came from the fact that the hinges\nhad fallen somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here\nwas an opportunity which I might not have again, so I exerted\nmyself, and with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter.\nI was now in a wing of the castle further to the right than the\nrooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the windows I could see\nthat the suite of rooms lay along to the south of the castle, the\nwindows of the end room looking out both west and south. On the\nlatter side, as well as to the former, there was a great precipice."}
{"text": "latter side, as well as to the former, there was a great precipice.\nThe castle was built on the corner of a great rock, so that on\nthree sides it was quite impregnable, and great windows were placed\nhere where sling, or bow, or culverin could not reach, and\nconsequently light and comfort, impossible to a position which had\nto be guarded, were secured. To the west was a great valley, and\nthen, rising far away, great jagged mountain fastnesses, rising\npeak on peak, the sheer rock studded with mountain ash and thorn,\nwhose roots clung in cracks and crevices and crannies of the stone.\nThis was evidently the portion of the castle occupied by the ladies\nin bygone days, for the furniture had more an air of comfort than\nany I had seen.\nThe windows were curtainless, and the yellow moonlight, flooding\nin through the diamond panes, enabled one to see even colours,\nwhilst it softened the wealth of dust which lay over all and\ndisguised in some measure the ravages of time and moth. My lamp\nseemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was\nglad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the\nplace which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble. Still, it\nwas better than living alone in the rooms which I had come to hate\nfrom the presence of the Count, and after trying a little to school\nmy nerves, I found a soft quietude come over me. Here I am, sitting\nat a little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady\nsat to pen, with much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love\nletter, and writing in my diary in shorthand all that has happened\nsince I closed it last. It is the nineteenth century up-to-date\nwith a vengeance. And yet, unless my senses deceive me, the old\ncenturies had, and have, powers of their own which mere \"modernity\"\ncannot kill.\nLater: The morning of 16 May.—God preserve my sanity, for to\nthis I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of\nthe past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for,the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for,\nthat I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be\nsane, then surely it is maddening to think that of all the foul\nthings that lurk in this hateful place the Count is the least\ndreadful to me, that to him alone I can look for safety, even\nthough this be only whilst I can serve his purpose. Great God!\nMerciful God, let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness\nindeed. I begin to get new lights on certain things which have\npuzzled me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meant\nwhen he made Hamlet say, \"My tablets! Quick, my tablets! `tis meet\nthat I put it down,\" etc., For now, feeling as though my own brain\nwere unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its\nundoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering\naccurately must help to soothe me.\nThe Count's mysterious warning frightened me at the time. It\nfrightens me more not when I think of it, for in the future he has\na fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt what he may say!\nWhen I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the\nbook and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count's warning came\ninto my mind, but I took pleasure in disobeying it. The sense of\nsleep was upon me, and with it the obstinacy which sleep brings as\noutrider. The soft moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without\ngave a sense of freedom which refreshed me. I determined not to\nreturn tonight to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here,\nwhere, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives whilst\ntheir gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk away in the midst\nof remorseless wars. I drew a great couch out of its place near the\ncorner, so that as I lay, I could look at the lovely view to east\nand south, and unthinking of and uncaring for the dust, composed\nmyself for sleep. I suppose I must have fallen asleep. I hope so,\nbut I fear, for all that followed was startlingly real, so real\nthat now sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the morning, Ithat now sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the morning, I\ncannot in the least believe that it was all sleep.\nI was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way\nsince I came into it. I could see along the floor, in the brilliant\nmoonlight, my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long\naccumulation of dust. In the moonlight opposite me were three young\nwomen, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that\nI must be dreaming when I saw them, they threw no shadow on the\nfloor. They came close to me, and looked at me for some time, and\nthen whispered together. Two were dark, and had high aquiline\nnoses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes, that seemed\nto be almost red when contrasted with the pale yellow moon. The\nother was fair, as fair as can be, with great masses of golden hair\nand eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face,\nand to know it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not\nrecollect at the moment how or where. All three had brilliant white\nteeth that shone like pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous\nlips. There was something about them that made me uneasy, some\nlonging and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a\nwicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red\nlips.It is not good to note this down, lest some day it should meet\nMina's eyes and cause her pain, but it is the truth. They whispered\ntogether, and then they all three laughed, such a silvery, musical\nlaugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have come\nthrough the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable,\ntingling sweetness of waterglasses when played on by a cunning\nhand. The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two\nurged her on.\nOne said, \"Go on! You are first, and we shall follow. Yours' is\nthe right to begin.\"\nThe other added, \"He is young and strong. There are kisses for\nus all.\"\nI lay quiet, looking out from under my eyelashes in an agony of"}
{"text": "us all.\"\nI lay quiet, looking out from under my eyelashes in an agony of\ndelightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and bent over me\ntill I could feel the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was\nin one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the\nnerves as her voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a\nbitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood.\nI was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw\nperfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent\nover me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness\nwhich was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck\nshe actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in\nthe moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the\nred tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went\nher head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and\nseemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear\nthe churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips,\nand I could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my\nthroat began to tingle as one's flesh does when the hand that is to\ntickle it approaches nearer, nearer. I could feel the soft,\nshivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my\nthroat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and\npausing there. I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and waited,\nwaited with beating heart.\nBut at that instant, another sensation swept through me as quick\nas lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of\nhis being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened\ninvoluntarily I saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the\nfair woman and with giant's power draw it back, the blue eyes\ntransformed with fury, the white teeth champing with rage, and the\nfair cheeks blazing red with passion. But the Count! Never did I\nimagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit. His\neyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, aseyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as\nif the flames of hell fire blazed behind them. His face was deathly\npale, and the lines of it were hard like drawn wires. The thick\neyebrows that met over the nose now seemed like a heaving bar of\nwhite-hot metal. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the\nwoman from him, and then motioned to the others, as though he were\nbeating them back. It was the same imperious gesture that I had\nseen used to the wolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in\na whisper seemed to cut through the air and then ring in the room\nhe said,\n\"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on\nhim when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs\nto me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with\nme.\"\nThe fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer\nhim. \"You yourself never loved. You never love!\" On this the other\nwomen joined, and such a mirthless,hard, soulless laughter rang\nthrough the room that it almost made me faint to hear. It seemed\nlike the pleasure of fiends.\nThen the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, and\nsaid in a soft whisper, \"Yes, I too can love. You yourselves can\ntell it from the past. Is it not so? Well, now I promise you that\nwhen I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will. Now go!\nGo! I must awaken him, for there is work to be done.\"\n\"Are we to have nothing tonight?\"said one of them, with a low\nlaugh, as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the\nfloor, and which moved as though there were some living thing\nwithin it. For answer he nodded his head. One of the women jumped\nforward and opened it. If my ears did not deceive me there was a\ngasp and a low wail, as of a half smothered child. The women closed\nround, whilst I was aghast with horror. But as I looked, they\ndisappeared, and with them the dreadful bag. There was no door near\nthem, and they could not have passed me without my noticing. Theythem, and they could not have passed me without my noticing. They\nsimply seemed to fade into the rays of the moonlight and pass out\nthrough the window, for I could see outside the dim, shadowy forms\nfor a moment before they entirely faded away.\nThen the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count\nmust have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the\nsubject, but could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be\nsure, there were certain small evidences, such as that my clothes\nwere folded and laid by in a manner which was not my habit. My\nwatch was still unwound, and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it\nthe last thing before going to bed, and many such details. But\nthese things are no proof, for they may have been evidences that my\nmind was not as usual, and, for some cause or another, I had\ncertainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one thing I\nam glad. If it was that the Count carried me here and undressed me,\nhe must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I\nam sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would\nnot have brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look\nround this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is\nnow a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than\nthose awful women, who were, who are, waiting to suck my blood.\n18 May.—I have been down to look at that room again in daylight,\nfor I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of\nthe stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven\nagainst the jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could\nsee that the bolt of the lock had not been shot, but the door is\nfastened from the inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on\nthis surmise.\n19 May.—I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me\nin the sauvest tones to write three letters, one saying that my\nwork here was nearly done, and that I should start for home within\na few days, another that I was starting on the next morning from\nthe time of the letter, and the third that I had left the castle\nand arrived at Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that\nin the present state of things it would be madness to quarrel\nopenly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power. And"}
{"text": "openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power. And\nto refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger.\nHe knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be\ndangerous to him. My only chance is to prolong my opportunities.\nSomething may occur which will give me a chance to escape. I saw in\nhis eyes something of that gathering wrath which was manifest when\nhe hurled that fair woman from him. He explained to me that posts\nwere few and uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease\nof mind to my friends. And he assured me with so much\nimpressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which\nwould be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would\nadmit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been\nto create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his\nviews, and asked him what dates I should put on the letters.\nHe calculated a minute, and then said, \"The first should be June\n12,the second June 19,and the third June 29.\"\nI know now the span of my life. God help me!\n28 May.—There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being\nable to send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle,\nand are encamped in the courtyard. These are gipsies. I have notes\nof them in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world,\nthough allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are\nthousands of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost\noutside all law. They attach themselves as a rule to some great\nnoble or boyar, and call themselves by his name. They are fearless\nand without religion, save superstition, and they talk only their\nown varieties of the Romany tongue.\nI shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to\nhave them posted. I have already spoken to them through my window\nto begin acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made\nobeisance and many signs, which however, I could not understand any\nmore than I could their spoken language …more than I could their spoken language …\nI have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply\nask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my\nsituation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It\nwould shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to\nher. Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet\nknow my secret or the extent of my knowledge …\nI have given the letters. I threw them through the bars of my\nwindow with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them\nposted. The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed,\nand then put them in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to\nthe study, and began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have\nwritten here …\nThe Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his\nsmoothest voice as he opened two letters, \"The Szgany has given me\nthese, of which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of\ncourse, take care. See!\"—He must have looked at it.—\"One is from\nyou, and to my friend Peter Hawkins. The other,\"—here he caught\nsight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the\ndark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly,—\"The\nother is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality!\nIt is not signed. Well! So it cannot matter to us.\"And he calmly\nheld letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were\nconsumed.\nThen he went on, \"The letter to Hawkins, that I shall, of course\nsend on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your\npardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you\nnot cover it again?\"He held out the letter to me, and with a\ncourteous bow handed me a clean envelope.\nI could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When he\nwent out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute\nlater I went over and tried it, and the door was locked.\nWhen, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the\nroom, his coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa.room, his coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa.\nHe was very courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing\nthat I had been sleeping, he said, \"So, my friend, you are tired?\nGet to bed. There is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure\nof talk tonight, since there are many labours to me, but you will\nsleep, I pray.\"\nI passed to my room and went to bed, and, strange to say, slept\nwithout dreaming. Despair has its own calms.\n31 May.—This morning when I woke I thought I would provide\nmyself with some papers and envelopes from my bag and keep them in\nmy pocket, so that I might write in case I should get an\nopportunity, but again a surprise, again a shock!\nEvery scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my\nmemoranda, relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in\nfact all that might be useful to me were I once outside the castle.\nI sat and pondered awhile, and then some thought occurred to me,\nand I made search of my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had\nplaced my clothes.\nThe suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat\nand rug. I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like\nsome new scheme of villainy …\n17 June.—This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed\ncudgelling my brains, I heard without a crackling of whips and\npounding and scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the\ncourtyard. With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the\nyard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses,\nand at the head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great\nnail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also\ntheir long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend\nand try and join them through the main hall, as I thought that way\nmight be opened for them. Again a shock, my door was fastened on\nthe outside.\nThen I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me\nstupidly and pointed, but just then the \"hetman\" of the Szgany came"}
{"text": "stupidly and pointed, but just then the \"hetman\" of the Szgany came\nout, and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at\nwhich they laughed.\nHenceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonized\nentreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned\naway. The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles\nof thick rope. These were evidently empty by the ease with which\nthe Slovaks handled them, and by their resonance as they were\nroughly moved.\nWhen they were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one\ncorner of the yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the\nSzgany, and spitting on it for luck, lazily went each to his\nhorse's head. Shortly afterwards, I heard the crackling of their\nwhips die away in the distance.\n24 June.—Last night the Count left me early, and locked himself\ninto his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the winding stair,\nand looked out of the window, which opened South. I thought I would\nwatch for the Count, for there is something going on. The Szgany\nare quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work of some\nkind. I know it, for now and then, I hear a far-away muffled sound\nas of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of\nsome ruthless villainy.\nI had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I\nsaw something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and\nwatched carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock\nto me to find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn\nwhilst travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible\nbag which I had seen the women take away. There could be no doubt\nas to his quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme\nof evil, that he will allow others to see me, as they think, so\nthat he may both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns\nor villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which\nhe may do shall by the local people be attributed to me.\nIt makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I amIt makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am\nshut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of\nthe law which is even a criminal's right and consolation.\nI thought I would watch for the Count's return, and for a long\ntime sat doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there\nwere some quaint little specks floating in the rays of the\nmoonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of dust, and they\nwhirled round and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I\nwatched them with a sense of soothing, and a sort of calm stole\nover me. I leaned back in the embrasure in a more comfortable\nposition, so that I could enjoy more fully the aerial\ngambolling.\nSomething made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs\nsomewhere far below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight.\nLouder it seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating moats of dust\nto take new shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I\nfelt myself struggling to awake to some call of my instincts. Nay,\nmy very soul was struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities\nwere striving to answer the call. I was becoming hypnotised!\nQuicker and quicker danced the dust. The moonbeams seemed to\nquiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom beyond. More and\nmore they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And\nthen I started, broad awake and in full possession of my senses,\nand ran screaming from the place.\nThe phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually materialised\nfrom the moonbeams, were those three ghostly women to whom I was\ndoomed.\nI fled, and felt somewhat safer in my own room, where there was\nno moonlight, and where the lamp was burning brightly.\nWhen a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in\nthe Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed.\nAnd then there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me.\nWith a beating heart, I tried the door, but I was locked in my\nprison, and could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.prison, and could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried.\nAs I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without, the agonised\ncry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered\nbetween the bars.\nThere, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her\nhands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was\nleaning against the corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at\nthe window she threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden\nwith menace, \"Monster, give me my child!\"\nShe threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried\nthe same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her\nhair and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the\nviolences of extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself\nforward, and though I could not see her, I could hear the beating\nof her naked hands against the door.\nSomewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the\nvoice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call\nseemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves.\nBefore many minutes had passed a pack of them poured, like a\npent-up dam when liberated, through the wide entrance into the\ncourtyard.\nThere was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves\nwas but short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their\nlips.\nI could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her\nchild, and she was better dead.\nWhat shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this\ndreadful thing of night, gloom, and fear?\n25 June.—No man knows till he has suffered from the night how\nsweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the\nsun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great\ngateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed\nto me as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell\nfrom me as if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the\nwarmth.\nI must take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is"}
{"text": "warmth.\nI must take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is\nupon me. Last night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the\nfirst of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of\nmy existence from the earth.\nLet me not think of it. Action!\nIt has always been at night-time that I have been molested or\nthreatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet\nseen the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when\nothers wake, that he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could\nonly get into his room! But there is no possible way. The door is\nalways locked, no way for me.\nYes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has\ngone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from\nhis window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window?\nThe chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I\nshall risk it. At the worst it can only be death, and a man's death\nis not a calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me.\nGod help me in my task! Goodbye, Mina, if I fail. Goodbye, my\nfaithful friend and second father. Goodbye, all, and last of all\nMina!\nSame day, later.—I have made the effort, and God helping me,\nhave come safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in\norder. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on\nthe south side, and at once got outside on this side. The stones\nare big and roughly cut, and the mortar has by process of time been\nwashed away between them. I took off my boots, and ventured out on\nthe desperate way. I looked down once, so as to make sure that a\nsudden glimpse of the awful depth would not overcome me, but after\nthat kept my eyes away from it. I know pretty well the direction\nand distance of the Count's window, and made for it as well as I\ncould, having regard to the opportunities available. I did not feel\ndizzy, I suppose I was too excited, and the time seemed\nridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window sillridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window sill\nand trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation,\nhowever, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in through the\nwindow. Then I looked around for the Count, but with surprise and\ngladness, made a discovery. The room was empty! It was barely\nfurnished with odd things, which seemed to have never been\nused.\nThe furniture was something the same style as that in the south\nrooms, and was covered with dust. I looked for the key, but it was\nnot in the lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I\nfound was a great heap of gold in one corner, gold of all kinds,\nRoman, and British, and Austrian, and Hungarian,and Greek and\nTurkish money, covered with a film of dust, as though it had lain\nlong in the ground. None of it that I noticed was less than three\nhundred years old. There were also chains and ornaments, some\njewelled, but all of them old and stained.\nAt one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for,\nsince I could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer\ndoor, which was the main object of my search, I must make further\nexamination, or all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and\nled through a stone passage to a circular stairway, which went\nsteeply down.\nI descended, minding carefully where I went for the stairs were\ndark, being only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the\nbottom there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which came a\ndeathly, sickly odour, the odour of old earth newly turned. As I\nwent through the passage the smell grew closer and heavier. At last\nI pulled open a heavy door which stood ajar, and found myself in an\nold ruined chapel, which had evidently been used as a graveyard.\nThe roof was broken, and in two places were steps leading to\nvaults, but the ground had recently been dug over, and the earth\nplaced in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been\nbrought by the Slovaks.\nThere was nobody about, and I made a search over every inch ofbrought by the Slovaks.\nThere was nobody about, and I made a search over every inch of\nthe ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even into the\nvaults, where the dim light struggled, although to do so was a\ndread to my very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing\nexcept fragments of old coffins and piles of dust. In the third,\nhowever, I made a discovery.\nThere, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in\nall, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either\ndead or asleep. I could not say which, for eyes were open and\nstony, but without the glassiness of death, and the cheeks had the\nwarmth of life through all their pallor. The lips were as red as\never. But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no breath, no\nbeating of the heart.\nI bent over him, and tried to find any sign of life, but in\nvain. He could not have lain there long, for the earthy smell would\nhave passed away in a few hours. By the side of the box was its\ncover, pierced with holes here and there. I thought he might have\nthe keys on him, but when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and\nin them dead though they were, such a look of hate, though\nunconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and\nleaving the Count's room by the window, crawled again up the castle\nwall. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and\ntried to think.\n29 June.—Today is the date of my last letter, and the Count has\ntaken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave\nthe castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down\nthe wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal\nweapon, that I might destroy him. But I fear that no weapon wrought\nalong by man's hand would have any effect on him. I dared not wait\nto see him return, for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came\nback to the library, and read there till I fell asleep.\nI was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man\ncould look as he said,\"Tomorrow, my friend, we must part. You"}
{"text": "could look as he said,\"Tomorrow, my friend, we must part. You\nreturn to your beautiful England, I to some work which may have\nsuch an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been\ndespatched. Tomorrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready\nfor your journey. In the morning come the Szgany, who have some\nlabours of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they\nhave gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you to\nthe Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But\nI am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.\"\nI suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity.\nSincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in\nconnection with such a monster, so I asked him pointblank, \"Why may\nI not go tonight?\"\n\"Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a\nmission.\"\n\"But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at\nonce.\"\nHe smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew\nthere was some trick behind his smoothness. He said, \"And your\nbaggage?\"\n\"I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time.\"\nThe Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made\nme rub my eyes, it seemed so real, \"You English have a saying which\nis close to my heart, for its spirit is that which rules our\nboyars, `Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.' Come with\nme, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house\nagainst your will, though sad am I at your going, and that you so\nsuddenly desire it. Come!\" With a stately gravity, he, with the\nlamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly he\nstopped. \"Hark!\"\nClose at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost as\nif the sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just as the music\nof a great orchestra seems to leap under the baton of the\nconductor. After a pause of a moment, he proceeded, in his stately\nway, to the door, drew back the ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy\nchains, and began to draw it open.chains, and began to draw it open.\nTo my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked.\nSuspiciously, I looked all round, but could see no key of any\nkind.\nAs the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without\ngrew louder and angrier. Their red jaws, with champing teeth, and\ntheir blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, came in through the opening\ndoor. I knew than that to struggle at the moment against the Count\nwas useless. With such allies as these at his command, I could do\nnothing.\nBut still the door continued slowly to open, and only the\nCount's body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me that this\nmight be the moment and means of my doom. I was to be given to the\nwolves, and at my own instigation. There was a diabolical\nwickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, and as the last\nchance I cried out, \"Shut the door! I shall wait till morning.\" And\nI covered my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter\ndisappointment.\nWith one sweep of his powerful arm, the Count threw the door\nshut, and the great bolts clanged and echoed through the hall as\nthey shot back into their places.\nIn silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or two\nI went to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his\nkissing his hand to me, with a red light of triumph in his eyes,\nand with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.\nWhen I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I heard a\nwhispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened. Unless my\nears deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count.\n\"Back! Back to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait!\nHave patience! Tonight is mine. Tomorrow night is yours!\"\nThere was a low, sweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage I threw\nopen the door, and saw without the three terrible women licking\ntheir lips. As I appeared, they all joined in a horrible laugh, and\nran away.\nI came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is then\nso near the end? Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Lord, help me, and those to\nwhom I am dear!so near the end? Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Lord, help me, and those to\nwhom I am dear!\n30 June.—These may be the last words I ever write in this diary.\nI slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself on\nmy knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me\nready.\nAt last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the\nmorning had come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, and I felt that\nI was safe. With a glad heart, I opened the door and ran down the\nhall. I had seen that the door was unlocked, and now escape was\nbefore me. With hands that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the\nchains and threw back the massive bolts.\nBut the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled and\npulled at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it\nrattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been\nlocked after I left the Count.\nThen a wild desire took me to obtain the key at any risk, and I\ndetermined then and there to scale the wall again, and gain the\nCount's room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier\nchoice of evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window,\nand scrambled down the wall, as before, into the Count's room. It\nwas empty, but that was as I expected. I could not see a key\nanywhere, but the heap of gold remained. I went through the door in\nthe corner and down the winding stair and along the dark passage to\nthe old chapel. I knew now well enough where to find the monster I\nsought.\nThe great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but\nthe lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready\nin their places to be hammered home.\nI knew I must reach the body for the key, so I raised the lid,\nand laid it back against the wall. And then I saw something which\nfilled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count, but looking\nas if his youth had been half restored. For the white hair and\nmoustache were changed to dark irongrey. The cheeks were fuller,\nand the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath. The mouth was redder"}
{"text": "and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath. The mouth was redder\nthan ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which\ntrickled from the corners of the mouth and ran down over the chin\nand neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen\nflesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed\nas if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He\nlay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.\nI shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense in me\nrevolted at the contact, but I had to search, or I was lost. The\ncoming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar war to\nthose horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I\nfind of the key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was\na mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad.\nThis was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where,\nperhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming\nmillions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and\never-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.\nThe very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me to\nrid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at\nhand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to\nfill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge\ndownward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and\nthe eyes fell upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The\nsight seemed to paralyze me, and the shovel turned in my hand and\nglanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above the\nforehead. The shovel fell from my hand across the box, and as I\npulled it away the flange of the blade caught the edge of the lid\nwhich fell over again, and hid the horrid thing from my sight. The\nlast glimpse I had was of the bloated face, blood-stained and fixed\nwith a grin of malice which would have held its own in the\nnethermost hell. I thought and thought what should be my next move,nethermost hell. I thought and thought what should be my next move,\nbut my brain seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feeling\ngrowing over me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song\nsung by merry voices coming closer, and through their song the\nrolling of heavy wheels and the cracking of whips. The Szgany and\nthe Slovaks of whom the Count had spoken were coming. With a last\nlook around and at the box which contained the vile body, I ran\nfrom the place and gained the Count's room, determined to rush out\nat the moment the door should be opened. With strained ears, I\nlistened, and heard downstairs the grinding of the key in the great\nlock and the falling back of the heavy door. There must have been\nsome other means of entry, or some one had a key for one of the\nlocked doors.\nThen there came the sound of many feet tramping and dying away\nin some passage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned to run down\nagain towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance, but\nat the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the\ndoor to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust\nfrom the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that\nit was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom\nwas closing round me more closely.\nAs I write there is in the passage below a sound of many\ntramping feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily,\ndoubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. There was a sound\nof hammering. It is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the\nheavy feet tramping again along the hall, with with many other idle\nfeet coming behind them.\nThe door is shut, the chains rattle. There is a grinding of the\nkey in the lock. I can hear the key withdrawn, then another door\nopens and shuts. I hear the creaking of lock and bolt.\nHark! In the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy\nwheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany as they\npass into the distance.wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany as they\npass into the distance.\nI am alone in the castle with those horrible women. Faugh! Mina\nis a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of the\nPit!\nI shall not remain alone with them. I shall try to scale the\ncastle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of\nthe gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this\ndreadful place.\nAnd then away for home! Away to the quickest and nearest train!\nAway from the cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil\nand his children still walk with earthly feet!\nAt least God's mercy is better than that of those monsters, and\nthe precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep, as a\nman. Goodbye, all. Mina!9 May.\nMy dearest Lucy,\nForgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply\noverwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is\nsometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and by the sea,\nwhere we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.\nI have been working very hard lately, because I want to keep up\nwith Jonathan's studies, and I have been practicing shorthand very\nassiduously. When we are married I shall be able to be useful to\nJonathan, and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what\nhe wants to say in this way and write it out for him on the\ntypewriter, at which also I am practicing very hard.\nHe and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping\na stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I\nshall keep a diary in the same way. I don't mean one of those\ntwo-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but\na sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel\ninclined.\nI do not suppose there will be much of interest to other people,\nbut it is not intended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day\nif there is in it anything worth sharing, but it is really an\nexercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do,\ninterviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember\nconversations. I am told that, with a little practice, one can\nremember all that goes on or that one hears said during a day.\nHowever, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans when\nwe meet. I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from\nTransylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I\nam longing to hear all his news. It must be nice to see strange\ncountries. I wonder if we, I mean Jonathan and I, shall ever see\nthem together. There is the ten o'clock bell ringing. Goodbye. Your\nloving Mina\nTell me all the news when you write. You have not told me\nanything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall,\nhandsome, curly-haired man.???\nLETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY\n17, Chatham Street"}
{"text": "handsome, curly-haired man.???\nLETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY\n17, Chatham Street\nWednesday\nMy dearest Mina,\nI must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad\ncorrespondent. I wrote you twice since we parted, and your last\nletter was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you.\nThere is really nothing to interest you.\nTown is very pleasant just now, and we go a great deal to\npicture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the\ntall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at\nthe last Pop. Someone has evidently been telling tales.\nThat was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and\nMamma get on very well together, they have so many things to talk\nabout in common.\nWe met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you\nwere not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellant parti,\nbeing handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and\nreally clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and twenty, and he has\nan immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood\nintroduced him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes\nnow. I think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet\nthe most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what\na wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious\nhabit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read\none's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter\nmyself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my\nglass.\nDo you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you\nit is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well\nfancy if you have never tried it.\nHe says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I\nhumbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest\nin dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore.\nThat is slang again, but never mind. Arthur says that every\nday.\nThere, it is all out, Mina, we have told all our secrets to eachday.\nThere, it is all out, Mina, we have told all our secrets to each\nother since we were children. We have slept together and eaten\ntogether, and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have\nspoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I\nlove him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves\nme, he has not told me so in words. But, oh, Mina, I love him. I\nlove him! There, that does me good.\nI wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as\nwe used to sit, and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not\nknow how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I\nshould tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I do so\nwant to tell you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all\nthat you think about it. Mina, pray for my happiness.\nLucy\nP. S.—I need not tell you this is a secret. Goodnight again.\nL.\nLETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY\n24 May\nMy dearest Mina,\nThanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It\nwas so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy. My\ndear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.\nHere am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a\nproposal till today, not a real proposal, and today I had three.\nJust fancy! Three proposals in one day! Isn't it awful! I feel\nsorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh,\nMina, I am so happy that I don't know what to do with myself. And\nthree proposals! But, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of the\ngirls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas, and\nimagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first\nday at home they did not get six at least. Some girls are so vain!\nYou and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down\nsoon soberly into old married women, can despise vanity. Well, I\nmust tell you about the three, but you must keep it a secret, dear,\nfrom every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him,from every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him,\nbecause I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A\nwoman ought to tell her husband everything. Don't you think so,\ndear? And I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to\nbe quite as fair as they are. And women, I am afraid, are not\nalways quite as fair as they should be.\nWell, my dear, number One came just before lunch. I told you of\nhim, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic asylum man, with the strong jaw\nand the good forehead. He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous\nall the same. He had evidently been schooling himself as to all\nsorts of little things, and remembered them, but he almost managed\nto sit down on his silk hat, which men don't generally do when they\nare cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing\nwith a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,\nMina, very straightfordwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,\nthough he had known me so little, and what his life would be with\nme to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he\nwould be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said\nhe was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he\nbroke off and asked if I could love him in time, and when I shook\nmy head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked\nme if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely,\nsaying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but\nonly to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have\nhope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there\nwas some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and\nhe looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in\nhis and said he hoped I would be happy, and that If I ever wanted a\nfriend I must count him one of my best.\nOh, Mina dear, I can't help crying, and you must excuse this\nletter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice and"}
{"text": "letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice and\nall that sort of thing, but it isn't at all a happy thing when you\nhave to see a poor fellow, whom you know loves you honestly, going\naway and looking all broken hearted, and to know that, no matter\nwhat he may say at the moment, you are passing out of his life. My\ndear, I must stop here at present, I feel so miserable, though I am\nso happy.\nEvening.\nArthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when I\nleft off, so I can go on telling you about the day.\nWell, my dear, number Two came after lunch. He is such a nice\nfellow, and American from Texas, and he looks so young and so fresh\nthat it seems almost impossible that he has been to so many places\nand has such adventures. I sympathize with poor Desdemona when she\nhad such a stream poured in her ear, even by a black man. I suppose\nthat we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us\nfrom fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were\na man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was\nMr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and\nyet …\nMy dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincy P. Morris found me\nalone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he\ndoesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him\nall I could, I am not ashamed to say it now. I must tell you\nbeforehand that Mr. Morris doesn't always speak slang, that is to\nsay, he never does so to strangers or before them, for he is really\nwell educated and has exquisite manners, but he found out that it\namused me to hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was\npresent, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such funny\nthings. I am afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, for it fits\nexactly into whatever else he has to say. But this is a way slang\nhas. I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang. I do not\nknow if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as\nyet.\nWell, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked as happy andyet.\nWell, Mr. Morris sat down beside me and looked as happy and\njolly as he could, but I could see all the same that he was very\nnervous. He took my hand in his, and said ever so\nsweetly …\n\"Miss Lucy, I know I ain't good enough to regulate the fixin's\nof your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you find a man\nthat is you will go join them seven young women with the lamps when\nyou quit. Won't you just hitch up along-side of me and let us go\ndown the long road together, driving in double harness?\"\nWell, he did look so hood humoured and so jolly that it didn't\nseem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward. So I\nsaid, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of\nhitching, and that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he\nsaid that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he\nhad made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, and\noccasion for him, I would forgive him. He really did look serious\nwhen he was saying it, and I couldn't help feeling a sort of\nexultation that he was number Two in one day. And then, my dear,\nbefore I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of\nlovemaking, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so\nearnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be\nplayful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I\nsuppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he\nsuddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I\ncould have loved him for if I had been free …\n\"Lucy, you are an honest hearted girl, I know. I should not be\nhere speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe you clean\ngrit, right through to the very depths of your soul. Tell me, like\none good fellow to another, is there any one else that you care\nfor? And if there is I'll never trouble you a hair's breadth again,\nbut will be, if you will let me, a very faithful friend.\"\nMy dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women are so little\nworthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great hearted,worthy of them? Here was I almost making fun of this great hearted,\ntrue gentleman. I burst into tears, I am afraid, my dear, you will\nthink this a very sloppy letter in more ways than one, and I really\nfelt very badly.\nWhy can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want\nher, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not\nsay it. I am glad to say that, though I was crying, I was able to\nlook into Mr. Morris' brave eyes, and I told him out\nstraight …\n\"Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet\nthat he even loves me.\" I was right to speak to him so frankly, for\nquite a light came into his face, and he put out both his hands and\ntook mine, I think I put them into his, and said in a hearty\nway …\n\"That's my brave girl. It's better worth being late for a chance\nof winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world.\nDon't cry, my dear. If it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack, and I\ntake it standing up. If that other fellow doesn't know his\nhappiness, well, he'd better look for it soon, or he'll have to\ndeal with me. Little girl, your honesty and pluck have made me a\nfriend, and that's rarer than a lover, it's more selfish anyhow. My\ndear, I'm going to have a pretty lonely walk between this and\nKingdom Come. Won't you give me one kiss? It'll be something to\nkeep off the darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like,\nfor that other good fellow, or you could not love him, hasn't\nspoken yet.\"\nThat quite won me, Mina, for it was brave and sweet of him, and\nnoble too, to a rival, wasn't it? And he so sad, so I leant over\nand kissed him.\nHe stood up with my two hands in his, and as he looked down into\nmy face, I am afraid I was blushing very much, he said, \"Little\ngirl, I hold your hand, and you've kissed me, and if these things\ndon't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweet\nhonesty to me, and goodbye.\" He wrung my hand, and taking up his\nhat, went straight out of the room without looking back, without a"}
{"text": "hat, went straight out of the room without looking back, without a\ntear or a quiver or a pause, and I am crying like a baby.\nOh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots\nof girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on? I know\nI would if I were free, only I don't want to be free My dear, this\nquite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at\nonce, after telling you of it, and I don't wish to tell of the\nnumber Three until it can be all happy. Ever your loving …\nLucy\nP. S.—Oh, about number Three, I needn't tell you of number\nThree, need I? Besides, it was all so confused. It seemed only a\nmoment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round\nme, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know\nwhat I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to\nshow that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in\nsending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.\nGoodbye.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY (Kept in phonograph)\n25 May.—Ebb tide in appetite today. Cannot eat, cannot rest, so\ndiary instead. since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty\nfeeling. Nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be\nworth the doing. As I knew that the only cure for this sort of\nthing was work, I went amongst the patients. I picked out one who\nhas afforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint that I am\ndetermined to understand him as well as I can. Today I seemed to\nget nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.\nI questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to\nmaking myself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my\nmanner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I\nseemed to wish to keep him to the point of his madness, a thing\nwhich I avoid with the patients as I would the mouth of hell.\n(Mem., Under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of\nhell?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price! If there be\nanything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace itanything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it\nafterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do so,\ntherefore …\nR. M, Renfield, age 59. Sanguine temperament, great physical\nstrength, morbidly excitable, periods of gloom, ending in some\nfixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine\ntemperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a\nmentally-accomplished finish, a possibly dangerous man, probably\ndangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an\narmour for their foes as for themselves. What I think of on this\npoint is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is\nbalanced with the centrifugal. When duty, a cause, etc., is the\nfixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident of a\nseries of accidents can balance it.\nLETTER, QUINCEY P. MORRIS TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD\n25 May.\nMy dear Art,\nWe've told yarns by the campfire in the prairies, and dressed\none another's wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas, and\ndrunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be\ntold, and other wounds to be healed, and another health to be\ndrunk. Won't you let this be at my campfire tomorrow night? I have\nno hesitation in asking you, as I know a certain lady is engaged to\na certain dinner party, and that you are free. There will only be\none other, our old pal at the Korea, Jack Seward. He's coming, too,\nand we both want to mingle our weeps over the wine cup, and to\ndrink a health with all our hearts to the happiest man in all the\nwide world, who has won the noblest heart that God has made and\nbest worth winning. We promise you a hearty welcome, and a loving\ngreeting, and a health as true as your own right hand. We shall\nboth swear to leave you at home if you drink too deep to a certain\npair of eyes. Come!\nYours, as ever and always,\nQuincey P. Morris\nTELEGRAM FROM ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO QUINCEY P. MORRIS\n26 May\nCount me in every time. I bear messages which will make both\nyour ears tingle.\nArt24 July. Whitby.—Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter and\nlovlier than ever, and we drove up to the house at the Crescent in\nwhich they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little river,\nthe Esk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes\nnear the harbour. A great viaduct runs across, with high piers,\nthrough which the view seems somehow further away than it really\nis. The valley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when\nyou are on the high land on either side you look right across it,\nunless you are near enough to see down. The houses of the old\ntown—the side away from us, are all red-roofed, and seem piled up\none over the other anyhow, like the pictures we see of Nuremberg.\nRight over the town is the ruin of Whitby Abbey, which was sacked\nby the Danes, and which is the scene of part of \"Marmion,\" where\nthe girl was built up in the wall. It is a most noble ruin, of\nimmense size, and full of beautiful and romantic bits. There is a\nlegend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it\nand the town there is another church, the parish one, round which\nis a big graveyard, all full of tombstones. This is to my mind the\nnicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a\nfull view of the harbour and all up the bay to where the headland\ncalled Kettleness stretches out into the sea. It descends so\nsteeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen away, and\nsome of the graves have been destroyed.\nIn one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches out\nover the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats\nbeside them, through the churchyard, and people go and sit there\nall day long looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the\nbreeze.\nI shall come and sit here often myself and work. Indeed, I am\nwriting now, with my book on my knee, and listening to the talk of\nthree old men who are sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing\nall day but sit here and talk.\nThe harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long"}
{"text": "all day but sit here and talk.\nThe harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long\ngranite wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at\nthe end of it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy\nseawall runs along outside of it. On the near side, the seawall\nmakes an elbow crooked inversely, and its end too has a lighthouse.\nBetween the two piers there is a narrow opening into the harbour,\nwhich then suddenly widens.\nIt is nice at high water, but when the tide is out it shoals\naway to nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running\nbetween banks of sand, with rocks here and there. Outside the\nharbour on this side there rises for about half a mile a great\nreef, the sharp of which runs straight out from behind the south\nlighthouse. At the end of it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in\nbad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the wind.\nThey have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard\nout at sea. I must ask the old man about this. He is coming this\nway …\nHe is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is\ngnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he is\nnearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing\nfleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very\nsceptical person, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and\nthe White Lady at the abbey he said very brusquely,\n\"I wouldn't fash masel' about them, miss. Them things be all\nwore out. Mind, I don't say that they never was, but I do say that\nthey wasn't in my time. They be all very well for comers and\ntrippers, an' the like, but not for a nice young lady like you.\nThem feet-folks from York and Leeds that be always eatin'cured\nherrin's and drinkin' tea an' lookin' out to buy cheap jet would\ncreed aught. I wonder masel' who'd be bothered tellin' lies to\nthem, even the newspapers, which is full of fool-talk.\"\nI thought he would be a good person to learn interesting things\nfrom, so I asked him if he would mind telling me something aboutfrom, so I asked him if he would mind telling me something about\nthe whale fishing in the old days. He was just settling himself to\nbegin when the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up,\nand said,\n\"I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My granddaughter\ndoesn't like to be kept waitin' when the tea is ready, for it takes\nme time to crammle aboon the grees, for there be a many of `em, and\nmiss, I lack belly-timber sairly by the clock.\"\nHe hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he\ncould, down the steps. The steps are a great feature on the place.\nThey lead from the town to the church, there are hundreds of them,\nI do not know how many, and they wind up in a delicate curve. The\nslope is so gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them.\nI think they must originally have had something to do with the\nabbey. I shall go home too. Lucy went out, visiting with her\nmother, and as they were only duty calls, I did not go.\n1 August.—I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and we had a\nmost interesting talk with my old friend and the two others who\nalways come and join him. He is evidently the Sir Oracle of them,\nand I should think must have been in his time a most dictatorial\nperson.\nHe will not admit anything, and down faces everybody. If he\ncan't out-argue them he bullies them, and then takes their silence\nfor agreement with his views.\nLucy was looking sweetly pretty in her white lawn frock. She has\ngot a beautiful colour since she has been here.\nI noticed that the old men did not lose any time in coming and\nsitting near her when we sat down. She is so sweet with old people,\nI think they all fell in love with her on the spot. Even my old man\nsuccumbed and did not contradict her, but gave me double share\ninstead. I got him on the subject of the legends , and he went off\nat once into a sort of sermon. I must try to remember it and put it\ndown.\n\"It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel, that's what it be\nand nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' bar-guestsand nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' bar-guests\nan' bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy\nwomen a'belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims\nan' signs an' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome\nberk-bodies an' railway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an'\nto get folks to do somethin' that they don't other incline to. It\nmakes me ireful to think o' them. Why, it's them that, not content\nwith printin' lies on paper an' preachin' them ou t of pulpits,\ndoes want to be cuttin' them on the tombstones. Look here all\naround you in what airt ye will. All them steans, holdin' up their\nheads as well as they can out of their pride, is acant, simply\ntumblin' down with the weight o' the lies wrote on them, `Here lies\nthe body' or `Sacred to the memory' wrote on all of them, an' yet\nin nigh half of them there bean't no bodies at all, an' the\nmemories of them bean't cared a pinch of snuff about, much less\nsacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or another!\nMy gog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment\nwhen they come tumblin' up in their death-sarks, all jouped\ntogether an' trying' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove\nhow good they was, some of them trimmlin' an' dithering, with their\nhands that dozzened an' slippery from lyin' in the sea that they\ncan't even keep their gurp o' them.\"\nI could see from the old fellow's self-satisfied air and the way\nin which he looked round for the approval of his cronies that he\nwas \"showing off,\" so I put in a word to keep him going.\n\"Oh, Mr. Swales, you can't be serious. Surely these tombstones\nare not all wrong?\"\n\"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where\nthey make out the people too good, for there be folk that do think\na balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole\nthing be only lies. Now look you here. You come here a stranger,\nan' you see this kirkgarth.\"\nI nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not"}
{"text": "an' you see this kirkgarth.\"\nI nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not\nquite understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with\nthe church.\nHe went on, \"And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk\nthat be haped here, snod an' snog?\" I assented again. \"Then that be\njust where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these laybeds\nthat be toom as old Dun's `baccabox on Friday night.\"\nHe nudged one of his companions, and they all laughed. \"And, my\ngog! How could they be otherwise? Look at that one, the aftest\nabaft the bier-bank, read it!\"\nI went over and read, \"Edward Spencelagh, master mariner,\nmurdered by pirates off the coast of Andres, April, 1854, age 30.\"\nWhen I came back Mr. Swales went on,\n\"Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off\nthe coast of Andres! An' you consated his body lay under! Why, I\ncould name ye a dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above,\"\nhe pointed northwards, \"or where the currants may have drifted\nthem. There be the steans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes,\nread the small print of the lies from here. This Braithwaite\nLowery, I knew his father, lost in the Lively off Greenland in `20,\nor Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777, or John\nPaxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a year later, or old John\nRawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of\nFinland in `50. Do ye think that all these men will have to make a\nrush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums aboot\nit! I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin' and\njostlin' one another that way that it `ud be like a fight up on the\nice in the old days, when we'd be at one another from daylight to\ndark, an' tryin' to tie up our cuts by the aurora borealis.\" This\nwas evidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it,\nand his cronies joined in with gusto.\n\"But,\" I said, \"surely you are not quite correct, for you start\non the assumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, willon the assumption that all the poor people, or their spirits, will\nhave to take their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do\nyou think that will be really necessary?\"\n\"Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that,\nmiss!\"\n\"To please their relatives, I suppose.\"\n\"To please their relatives, you suppose!\" This he said with\nintense scorn. \"How will it pleasure their relatives to know that\nlies is wrote over them, and that everybody in the place knows that\nthey be lies?\"\nHe pointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a\nslab, on which the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff.\n\"Read the lies on that thruff-stone,\" he said.\nThe letters were upside down to me from where I sat, but Lucy\nwas more opposite to them, so she leant over and read, \"Sacred to\nthe memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of a glorious\nresurrection, on July 29,1873,falling from the rocks at Kettleness.\nThis tomb was erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly beloved\nson.`He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.'\nReally, Mr. Swales, I don't see anything very funny in that!\" She\nspoke her comment very gravely and somewhat severely.\n\"Ye don't see aught funny! Ha-ha! But that's because ye don't\ngawm the sorrowin'mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he\nwas acrewk'd, a regular lamiter he was, an' he hated her so that he\ncommitted suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she\nput on his life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old\nmusket that they had for scarin' crows with. `twarn't for crows\nthen, for it brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way\nhe fell off the rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection,\nI've often heard him say masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for\nhis mother was so pious that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he\ndidn't want to addle where she was. Now isn't that stean at any\nrate,\"he hammered it with his stick as he spoke, \"a pack of lies?\nAnd won't it make Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes pantin' ut theAnd won't it make Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes pantin' ut the\ngrees with the tompstean balanced on his hump, and asks to be took\nas evidence!\"\nI did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as\nshe said, rising up, \"Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my\nfavorite seat, and I cannot leave it, and now I find I must go on\nsitting over the grave of a suicide.\"\n\"That won't harm ye, my pretty, an' it may make poor Geordie\ngladsome to have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt\nye. Why, I've sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an'\nit hasn't done me no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under\nye, or that doesn' lie there either! It'll be time for ye to be\ngetting scart when ye see the tombsteans all run away with, and the\nplace as bare as a stubble-field. There's the clock, and'I must\ngang. My service to ye, ladies!\" And off he hobbled.\nLucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us\nthat we took hands as we sat, and she told me all over again about\nArthur and their coming marriage. That made me just a little\nheart-sick, for I haven't heard from Jonathan for a whole\nmonth.\nThe same day. I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was\nno letter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with\nJonathan. The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights\nscattered all over the town, sometimes in rows where the streets\nare, and sometimes singly. They run right up the Esk and die away\nin the curve of the valley. To my left the view is cut off by a\nblack line of roof of the old house next to the abbey. The sheep\nand lambs are bleating in the fields away behind me, and there is a\nclatter of donkeys' hoofs up the paved road below. The band on the\npier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further along the\nquay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street. Neither of\nthe bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see them both. I\nwonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish he\nwere here.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY"}
{"text": "wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish he\nwere here.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n5 June.—The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I\nget to understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely\ndeveloped, selfishness, secrecy, and purpose.\nI wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He seems\nto have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I do not\nknow. His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed,\nhe has such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is only\nabnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts.\nJust now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such a\nquantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment,\nhe did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the\nmatter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then\nsaid, \"May I have three days? I shall clear them away.\" Of course,\nI said that would do. I must watch him.\n18 June.—He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got\nseveral very big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them his flies,\nand the number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished,\nalthough he has used half his food in attracting more flies from\noutside to his room.\n1 July.—His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his\nflies, and today I told him that he must get rid of them.\nHe looked very sad at this, so I said that he must some of them,\nat all events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the\nsame time as before for reduction.\nHe disgusted me much while with him, for when a horrid blowfly,\nbloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, he caught it,\nheld it exultantly for a few moments between his finger and thumb,\nand before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and\nate it.\nI scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very\ngood and very wholesome, that it was life, strong life, and gave\nlife to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must\nwatch how he gets rid of his spiders.watch how he gets rid of his spiders.\nHe has evidently some deep problem in his mind, for he keeps a\nlittle notebook in which he is always jotting down something. whole\npages of it are filled with masses of figures, generally single\nnumbers added up in batches, and then the totals added in batches\nagain, as though he were focussing some account, as the auditors\nput it.\n8 July.—There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary\nidea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then,\noh, unconscious cerebration, you will have to give the wall to your\nconscious brother.\nI kept away from my friend for a few days, so that I might\nnotice if there were any change. Things remain as they were except\nthat he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one.\nHe has managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed\nit. His means of taming is simple, for already the spiders have\ndiminshed. Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for he\nstill brings in the flies by tempting them with his food.\n19 July—We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of\nsparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I\ncame in he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour, a\nvery, very great favour. And as he spoke, he fawned on me like a\ndog.\nI asked him what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in\nhis voice and bearing, \"A kitten, a nice, little, sleek playful\nkitten, that I can play with, and teach, and feed, and feed, and\nfeed!\"\nI was not unprepared for this request, for I had noticed how his\npets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did not care\nthat his pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped out in the\nsame manner as the flies and spiders. So I said I would see about\nit, and asked him if he would not rather have a cat than a\nkitten.\nHis eagerness betrayed him as he answered, \"Oh, yes, I would\nlike a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should refuse me a\ncat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?\"cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?\"\nI shook my head, and said that at present I feared it would not\nbe possible, but that I would see about it. His face fell, and I\ncould see a warning of danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce,\nsidelong look which meant killing. The man is an undeveloped\nhomicidal maniac. I shall test him with his present craving and see\nhow it will work out, then I shall know more.\n10 pm.—I have visited him again and found him sitting in a\ncorner brooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees\nbefore me and implored me to let him have a cat, that his salvation\ndepended upon it.\nI was firm, however, and told him that he could not have it,\nwhereupon he went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his\nfingers, in the corner where I had found him. I shall see him in\nthe morning early.\n20 July.—Visited Renfield very early, before attendant went his\nrounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his\nsugar, which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly\nbeginning his fly catching again, and beginning it cheerfully and\nwith a good grace.\nI looked around for his birds, and not seeing them,asked him\nwhere they were. He replied, without turning round, that they had\nall flown away. There were a few feathers about the room and on his\npillow a drop of blood. I said nothing, but went and told the\nkeeper to report to me if there were anything odd about him during\nthe day.\n11 am.—The attendant has just been to see me to say that\nRenfield has been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of\nfeathers. \"My belief is, doctor,\" he said, \"that he has eaten his\nbirds, and that he just took and ate them raw!\"\n11 pm.—I gave Renfield a strong opiate tonight, enough to make\neven him sleep, and took away his pocketbook to look at it. The\nthought that has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete,\nand the theory proved.\nMy homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have to\ninvent a new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous"}
{"text": "invent a new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous\n(life-eating) maniac. What he desires is to absorb as many lives as\nhe can, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative\nway. He gave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird,\nand then wanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been\nhis later steps?\nIt would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. It\nmight be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men sneered at\nvivisection, and yet look at its results today! Why not advance\nscience in its most difficult and vital aspect, the knowledge of\nthe brain?\nHad I even the secret of one such mind, did I hold the key to\nthe fancy of even one lunatic, I might advance my own branch of\nscience to a pitch compared with which Burdon-Sanderson's\nphysiology or Ferrier's brain knowledge would be as nothing. If\nonly there were a sufficient cause! I must not think too much of\nthis, or I may be tempted. A good cause might turn the scale with\nme, for may not I too be of an exceptional brain, congenitally?\nHow well the man reasoned. Lunatics always do within their own\nscope. I wonder at how many lives he values a man, or if at only\none. He has closed the account most accurately, and today begun a\nnew record. How many of us begin a new record with each day of our\nlives?\nTo me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my\nnew hope, and that truly I began a new record. So it shall be until\nthe Great Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a\nbalance to profit or loss.\nOh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I be angry\nwith my friend whose happiness is yours, but I must only wait on\nhopeless and work. Work! Work!\nIf I could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there, a\ngood, unselfish cause to make me work, that would be indeed\nhappiness.\nMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL\n26 July.—I am anxious, and it soothes me to express myself here.\nIt is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time.It is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time.\nAnd there is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes\nit different from writing. I am unhappy about Lucy and about\nJonathan. I had not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very\nconcerned, but yesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind,\nsent me a letter from him. I had written asking him if he had\nheard, and he said the enclosed had just been received. It is only\na line dated from Castle Dracula, and says that he is just starting\nfor home. That is not like Jonathan. I do not understand it, and it\nmakes me uneasy.\nThen, too, Lucy , although she is so well, has lately taken to\nher old habit of walking in her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me\nabout it, and we have decided that I am to lock the door of our\nroom every night.\nMrs. Westenra has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out\non roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs and then get\nsuddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes\nall over the place.\nPoor dear, she is naturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me\nthat her husband, Lucy's father, had the same habit, that he would\nget up in the night and dress himself and go out, if he were not\nstopped.\nLucy is to be married in the autumn, and she is already planning\nout her dresses and how her house is to be arranged. I sympathise\nwith her, for I do the same, only Jonathan and I will start in life\nin a very simple way, and shall have to try to make both ends\nmeet.\nMr. Holmwood, he is the Hon. Arthur Holmwood, only son of Lord\nGodalming, is coming up here very shortly, as soon as he can leave\ntown, for his father is not very well, and I think dear Lucy is\ncounting the moments till he comes.\nShe wants to take him up in the seat on the churchyard cliff and\nshow him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it is the waiting which\ndisturbs her. She will be all right when he arrives.\n27 July.—No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about27 July.—No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about\nhim, though why I should I do not know, but I do wish that he would\nwrite, if it were only a single line.\nLucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by her\nmoving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is so hot that she\ncannot get cold. But still, the anxiety and the perpetually being\nawakened is beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous and\nwakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy's health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood has\nbeen suddenly called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken\nseriously ill. Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him, but it\ndoes not touch her looks. She is a trifle stouter, and her cheeks\nare a lovely rose-pink. She has lost the anemic look which she had.\nI pray it will all last.\n3 August.—Another week gone by, and no news from Jonathan, not\neven to Mr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope he is\nnot ill. He surely would have written. I look at that last letter\nof his, but somehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like\nhim, and yet it is his writing. There is no mistake of that.\nLucy has not walked much in her sleep the last week, but there\nis an odd concentration about her which I do not understand, even\nin her sleep she seems to be watching me. She tries the door, and\nfinding it locked, goes about the room searching for the key.\n6 August.—Another three days, and no news. This suspense is\ngetting dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go\nto, I should feel easier. But no one has heard a word of Jonathan\nsince that last letter. I must only pray to God for patience.\nLucy is more excitable than ever, but is otherwise well. Last\nnight was very threatening, and the fishermen say that we are in\nfor a storm. I must try to watch it and learn the weather\nsigns.\nToday is a gray day, and the sun as I write is hidden in thick\nclouds, high over Kettleness. Everything is gray except the green\ngrass, which seems like emerald amongst it, gray earthy rock, gray"}
{"text": "grass, which seems like emerald amongst it, gray earthy rock, gray\nclouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the\ngray sea, into which the sandpoints stretch like gray figures. The\nsea is tumbling in over the shallows and the sandy flats with a\nroar, muffled in the sea-mists drifting inland. The horizon is lost\nin a gray mist. All vastness, the clouds are piled up like giant\nrocks, and there is a `brool' over the sea that sounds like some\npassage of doom. Dark figures are on the beach here and there,\nsometimes half shrouded in the mist, and seem `men like trees\nwalking'. The fishing boats are racing for home, and rise and dip\nin the ground swell as they sweep into the harbour, bending to the\nscuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is making straight for me,\nand I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that he wants to\ntalk.\nI have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man.\nWhen he sat down beside me, he said in a very gentle way, \"I want\nto say something to you, miss.\"\nI could see he was not at ease, so I took his poor old wrinkled\nhand in mine and asked him to speak fully.\nSo he said, leaving his hand in mine, \"I'm afraid, my deary,\nthat I must have shocked you by all the wicked things I've been\nsayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past, but I didn't\nmean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm gone. We aud\nfolks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal,\ndon't altogether like to think of it, and we don't want to feel\nscart of it, and that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so\nthat I'd cheer up my own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I\nain't afraid of dyin', not a bit, only I don't want to die if I can\nhelp it. My time must be nigh at hand now, for I be aud, and a\nhundred years is too much for any man to expect. And I'm so nigh it\nthat the Aud Man is already whettin' his scythe. Ye see, I can't\nget out o' the habit of caffin' about it all at once. The chafts\nwill wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of Death willwill wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of Death will\nsound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my\ndeary!\"—for he saw that I was crying— \"if he should come this very\nnight I'd not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all,\nonly a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin', and death\nbe all that we can rightly depend on. But I'm content, for it's\ncomin' to me, my deary, and comin' quick. It may be comin' while we\nbe lookin' and wonderin'. Maybe it's in that wind out over the sea\nthat's bringin' with it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad\nhearts. Look! Look!\" he cried suddenly. \"There's something in that\nwind and in the hoast beyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes,\nand smells like death. It's in the air. I feel it comin'. Lord,\nmake me answer cheerful, when my call comes!\" He held up his arms\ndevoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth moved as though he were\npraying. After a few minutes' silence, he got up, shook hands with\nme, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled off. It all\ntouched me, and upset me very much.\nI was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spyglass\nunder his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but\nall the time kept looking at a strange ship.\n\"I can't make her out,\" he said. \"She's a Russian, by the look\nof her. But she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't\nknow her mind a bit. She seems to see the storm coming, but can't\ndecide whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look\nthere again! She is steered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind\nthe hand on the wheel, changes about with every puff of wind. We'll\nhear more of her before this time tomorrow.\"(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL)\nFrom a correspondent.\nWhitby.\nOne of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been\nexperienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather\nhad been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the\nmonth of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known,\nand the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits\nto Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes,\nand the various trips in the neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers\nEmma and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there\nwas an unusual amount of `tripping' both to and from Whitby. The\nday was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips\nwho frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from the commanding\neminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east,\ncalled attention to a sudden show of `mares tails' high in the sky\nto the northwest. The wind was then blowing from the southwest in\nthe mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked `No. 2,\nlight breeze.'\nThe coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old\nfisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on\nweather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner\nthe coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very\nbeautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds,\nthat there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in\nthe old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below\nthe black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western\nsky, its downward was was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset\ncolour, flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of\ngold, with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly\nabsolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as\ncolossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters,\nand doubtless some of the sketches of the `Prelude to the Great\nStorm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next."}
{"text": "Storm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.\nMore than one captain made up his mind then and there that his\n`cobble' or his `mule', as they term the different classes of\nboats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The\nwind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there\nwas a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity\nwhich, on the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive\nnature.\nThere were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting\nsteamers, which usually hug the shore so closely, kept well to\nseaward, and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail\nnoticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was\nseemingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her\nofficers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in\nsight, and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in the\nface of her danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with\nsails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of\nthe sea.\n\"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.\"\nShortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite\noppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a\nsheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly\nheard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was\nlike a dischord in the great harmony of nature's silence. A little\nafter midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high\noverhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow\nbooming.\nThen without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which,\nat the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible\nto realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed.\nThe waves rose in growing fury, each overtopping its fellow, till\nin a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and\ndevouring monster. Whitecrested waves beat madly on the level sands\nand rushed up the shelving cliffs. Others broke over the piers, andand rushed up the shelving cliffs. Others broke over the piers, and\nwith their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise\nfrom the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour.\nThe wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it\nwas with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or clung\nwith grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to\nclear the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the\nfatalities of the night would have increased manifold. To add to\nthe difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came\ndrifting inland. White, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly\nfashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort\nof imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were\ntouching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and\nmany a one shuddered at the wreaths of sea-mist swept by.\nAt times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could\nbe seen in the glare of the lightning, which came thick and fast,\nfollowed by such peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead\nseemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.\nSome of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur\nand of absorbing interest. The sea, running mountains high, threw\nskywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the\ntempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space. Here and\nthere a fishing boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter\nbefore the blast, now and again the white wings of a storm-tossed\nseabird. On the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was\nready for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in\ncharge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of\nonrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice\nits service was most effective, as when a fishing boat, with\ngunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance\nof the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against theof the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the\npiers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a\nshout of joy from the mass of people on the shore, a shout which\nfor a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in\nits rush.\nBefore long the searchlight discovered some distance away a\nschooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had\nbeen noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time\nbacked to the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on\nthe cliff as they realized the terrible danger in which she now\nwas.\nBetween her and the port lay the great flat reef on which so\nmany good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind\nblowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that\nshe should fetch the entrance of the harbour.\nIt was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so\ngreat that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost\nvisible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with\nsuch speed that, in the words of one old salt, \"she must fetch up\nsomewhere, if it was only in hell\". Then came another rush of\nsea-fog, greater than any hitherto, a mass of dank mist, which\nseemed to close on all things like a gray pall, and left available\nto men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and\nthe crash of the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows\ncame through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The rays of\nthe searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the\nEast Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited\nbreathless.\nThe wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and the remnant of\nthe sea fog melted in the blast. And then, mirabile dictu, between\nthe piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong\nspeed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail\nset, and gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed\nher, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the"}
{"text": "her, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the\nhelm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and\nfro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on the\ndeck at all.\nA great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by\na miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a\ndead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to\nwrite these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the\nharbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel\nwashed by many tides and many storms into the southeast corner of\nthe pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill\nPier.\nThere was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel\ndrove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained,\nand some of the `top-hammer' came crashing down. But, strangest of\nall, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang\nup on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running\nforward, jumped from the bow on the sand.\nMaking straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs\nover the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat\ntombstones, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in\nWhitby vernacular, actually project over where the sustaining cliff\nhas fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed\nintensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.\nIt so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill\nPier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either\nin bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on\nduty on the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to\nthe little pier, was the first to climb aboard. The men working the\nsearchlight, after scouring the entrance of the harbour without\nseeing anything, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it\nthere. The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel,\nbent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under somebent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some\nsudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a\nnumber of people began to run.\nIt is a good way round from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to\nTate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good runner, and\ncame well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found\nalready assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and\npolice refused to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the\nchief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted to climb on\ndeck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman whilst\nactually lashed to the wheel.\nIt was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even\nawed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was\nsimply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke\nof the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix,\nthe set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists\nand wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow\nmay have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of\nthe sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and had\ndragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied\nhad cut the flesh to the bone.\nAccurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor,\nSurgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place, who came\nimmediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the\nman must have been dead for quite two days.\nIn his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a\nlittle roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the\nlog.\nThe coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands,\nfastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was\nthe first on board may save some complications later on, in the\nAdmiralty Court, for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is\nthe right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already,\nhowever, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law studenthowever, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law student\nis loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already\ncompletely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of\nthe statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not\nproof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.\nIt is needless to say that the dead steersman has been\nreverently removed from the place where he held his honourable\nwatch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the\nyoung Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.\nAlready the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is\nabating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is beginning\nto redden over the Yorkshire wolds.\nI shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of\nthe derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour\nin the storm.\n9 August.—The sequel to the strange arrival of the derelict in\nthe storm last night is almost more startling than the thing\nitself. It turns out that the schooner is Russian from Varna, and\nis called the Demeter. She is almost entirely in ballast of silver\nsand, with only a small amount of cargo, a number of great wooden\nboxes filled with mould.\nThis cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F.\nBillington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went aboard and\ntook formal possession of the goods consigned to him.\nThe Russian consul, too, acting for the charter-party, took\nformal possession of the ship, and paid all harbour dues, etc.\nNothing is talked about here today except the strange\ncoincidence. The officials of the Board of Trade have been most\nexacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with\nexisting regulations. As the matter is to be a `nine days wonder',\nthey are evidently determined that there shall be no cause of other\ncomplaint.\nA good deal of interest was abroad concerning the dog which\nlanded when the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of\nthe S. P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to"}
{"text": "the S. P.C.A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to\nbefriend the animal. To the general disappointment, however, it was\nnot to be found. It seems to have disappeared entirely from the\ntown. It may be that it was frightened and made its way on to the\nmoors, where it is still hiding in terror.\nThere are some who look with dread on such a possibility, lest\nlater on it should in itself become a danger, for it is evidently a\nfierce brute. Early this morning a large dog, a half-bred mastiff\nbelonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found\ndead in the roadway opposite its master's yard. It had been\nfighting, and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat\nwas torn away, and its belly was slit open as if with a savage\nclaw.\nLater.—By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, I have\nbeen permitted to look over the log book of the Demeter, which was\nin order up to within three days, but contained nothing of special\ninterest except as to facts of missing men. The greatest interest,\nhowever, is with regard to the paper found in the bottle, which was\ntoday produced at the inquest. And a more strange narrative than\nthe two between them unfold it has not been my lot to come\nacross.\nAs there is no motive for concealment, I am permitted to use\nthem, and accordingly send you a transcript, simply omitting\ntechnical details of seamanship and supercargo. It almost seems as\nthough the captain had been seized with some kind of mania before\nhe had got well into blue water, and that this had developed\npersistently throughout the voyage. Of course my statement must be\ntaken cum grano, since I am writing from the dictation of a clerk\nof the Russian consul, who kindly translated for me, time being\nshort.\nLOG OF THE \"DEMETER\" Varna to Whitby\nWritten 18 July, things so strange happening, that I shall keep\naccurate note henceforth till we land.\nOn 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and boxes of\nearth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands …earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands …\ntwo mates, cook, and myself, (captain).\nOn 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by Turkish Customs\nofficers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under way at 4 p. m.\nOn 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and\nflagboat of guarding squadron. Backsheesh again. Work of officers\nthorough, but quick. Want us off soon. At dark passed into\nArchipelago.\nOn 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about\nsomething. Seemed scared, but would not speak out.\nOn 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all steady\nfellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not make out what\nwas wrong. They only told him there was SOME- THING, and crossed\nthemselves. Mate lost temper with one of them that day and struck\nhim. Expected fierce quarrel, but all was quiet.\nOn 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of the crew,\nPetrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took larboard\nwatch eight bells last night, was relieved by Amramoff, but did not\ngo to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. All said they expected\nsomething of the kind, but would not say more than there was\nSOMETHING aboard. Mate getting very impatient with them. Feared\nsome trouble ahead.\nOn 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to my\ncabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there\nwas a strange man aboard the ship. He said that in his watch he had\nbeen sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was a rain storm,\nwhen he saw a tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew,\ncome up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and\ndisappear. He followed cautiously, but when he got to bows found no\none, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic of\nsuperstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. To allay\nit, I shall today search the entire ship carefully from stem to\nstern.\nLater in the day I got together the whole crew, and told them,\nas they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we wouldas they evidently thought there was some one in the ship, we would\nsearch from stem to stern. First mate angry, said it was folly, and\nto yield to such foolish ideas would demoralise the men, said he\nwould engage to keep them out of trouble with the handspike. I let\nhim take the helm, while the rest began a thorough search, all\nkeeping abreast, with lanterns. We left no corner unsearched. As\nthere were only the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners\nwhere a man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and\nwent back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said\nnothing.\n22 July.—Rough weather last three days, and all hands busy with\nsails, no time to be frightened. Men seem to have forgotten their\ndread. Mate cheerful again, and all on good terms. Praised men for\nwork in bad weather. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits. All\nwell.\n24 July.—There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand\nshort, and entering the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and\nyet last night another man lost, disappeared. Like the first, he\ncame off his watch and was not seen again. Men all in a panic of\nfear, sent a round robin, asking to have double watch, as they fear\nto be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either\nhe or the men will do some violence.\n28 July.—Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of\nmalestrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all\nworn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since no one fit to go\non. Second mate volunteered to steer and watch, and let men snatch\na few hours sleep. Wind abating, seas still terrific, but feel them\nless, as ship is steadier.\n29 July.—Another tragedy. Had single watch tonight, as crew too\ntired to double. When morning watch came on deck could find no one\nexcept steersman. Raised outcry, and all came on deck. Thorough\nsearch, but no one found. Are now without second mate, and crew in\na panic. Mate and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any\nsign of cause.\n30 July.—Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather"}
{"text": "sign of cause.\n30 July.—Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. Weather\nfine, all sails set. Retired worn out, slept soundly, awakened by\nmate telling me that both man of watch and steersman missing. Only\nself and mate and two hands left to work ship.\n1 August.—Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had hoped\nwhen in the English Channel to be able to signal for help or get in\nsomewhere. Not having power to work sails, have to run before wind.\nDare not lower, as could not raise them again. We seem to be\ndrifting to some terrible doom. Mate now more demoralised than\neither of men. His stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly\nagainst himself. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and\npatiently, with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he\nRoumanian.\n2 August, midnight.—Woke up from few minutes sleep by hearing a\ncry, seemingly outside my port. Could see nothing in fog. Rushed on\ndeck, and ran against mate. Tells me he heard cry and ran, but no\nsign of man on watch. One more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we\nmust be past Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw\nNorth Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are now\noff in the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the fog, which\nseems to move with us, and God seems to have deserted us.\n3 August.—At midnight I went to relieve the man at the wheel and\nwhen I got to it found no one there. The wind was steady, and as we\nran before it there was no yawing. I dared not leave it, so shouted\nfor the mate. After a few seconds, he rushed up on deck in his\nflannels. He looked wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his\nreason has given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely,\nwith his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air might\nhear. \"It is here. I know it now. On the watch last night I saw It,\nlike a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. It was in the bows,\nand looking out. I crept behind It, and gave it my knife, but the\nknife went through It, empty as the air.\" And as he spoke he tookknife went through It, empty as the air.\" And as he spoke he took\nthe knife and drove it savagely into space. Then he went on, \"But\nIt is here, and I'll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of\nthose boxes. I'll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the\nhelm.\" And with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went\nbelow. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could not leave\nthe helm. I saw him come out on deck again with a tool chest and\nlantern, and go down the forward hatchway. He is mad, stark, raving\nmad, and it's no use my trying to stop him. He can't hurt those big\nboxes, they are invoiced as clay, and to pull them about is as\nharmless a thing as he can do. So here I stay and mind the helm,\nand write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the\nfog clears. Then, if I can't steer to any harbour with the wind\nthat is, I shall cut down sails, and lie by, and signal for\nhelp …\nIt is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope that\nthe mate would come out calmer, for I heard him knocking away at\nsomething in the hold, and work is good for him, there came up the\nhatchway a sudden, startled scream, which made my blood run cold,\nand up on the deck he came as if shot from a gun, a raging madman,\nwith his eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. \"Save me!\nSave me!\" he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of fog.\nHis horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he said,\"You\nhad better come too, captain, before it is too late. He is there! I\nknow the secret now. The sea will save me from Him, and it is all\nthat is left!\" Before I could say a word, or move forward to seize\nhim, he sprang on the bulwark and deliberately threw himself into\nthe sea. I suppose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman\nwho had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed them\nhimself. God help me! How am I to account for all these horrors\nwhen I get to port? When I get to port! Will that ever be?\n4 August.—Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce, I know4 August.—Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce, I know\nthere is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. I\ndared not go below, I dared not leave the helm, so here all night I\nstayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw it, Him! God, forgive\nme, but the mate was right to jump overboard. It was better to die\nlike a man. To die like a sailor in blue water, no man can object.\nBut I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle\nthis fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when\nmy strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that\nwhich He, It, dare not touch. And then, come good wind or foul, I\nshall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. I am growing\nweaker, and the night is coming on. If He can look me in the face\nagain, I may not have time to act … If we are wrecked, mayhap\nthis bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand. If\nnot … well, then all men shall know that I have been true to\nmy trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help a poor\nignorant soul trying to do his duty …\nOf course the verdict was an open one. There is no evidence to\nadduce, and whether or not the man himself committed the murders\nthere is now none to say. The folk here hold almost universally\nthat the captain is simply a hero, and he is to be given a public\nfuneral. Already it is arranged that his body is to be taken with a\ntrain of boats up the Esk for a piece and then brought back to Tate\nHill Pier and up the abbey steps, for he is to be buried in the\nchurchyard on the cliff. The owners of more than a hundred boats\nhave already given in their names as wishing to follow him to the\ngrave.\nNo trace has ever been found of the great dog, at which there is\nmuch mourning, for, with public opinion in its present state, he\nwould, I believe, be adopted by the town. Tomorrow will see the\nfuneral, and so will end this one more `mystery of the sea'.\nMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL\n8 August.—Lucy was very restless all night, and I too, could not"}
{"text": "MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL\n8 August.—Lucy was very restless all night, and I too, could not\nsleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed loudly among the\nchimney pots, it made me shudder. When a sharp puff came it seemed\nto be like a distant gun. Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake, but\nshe got up twice and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I\nawoke in time and managed to undress her without waking her, and\ngot her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this\nsleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical\nway, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields\nherself almost exactly to the routine of her life.\nEarly in the morning we both got up and went down to the harbour\nto see if anything had happened in the night. There were very few\npeople about, and though the sun was bright, and the air clear and\nfresh, the big, grim-looking waves, that seemed dark themselves\nbecause the foam that topped them was like snow, forced themselves\nin through the mouth of the harbour, like a bullying man going\nthrough a crowd. Somehow I felt glad that Jonathan was not on the\nsea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where\nis he, and how? I am getting fearfully anxious about him. If I only\nknew what to do, and could do anything!\n10 August.—The funeral of the poor sea captain today was most\ntouching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to be there, and the\ncoffin was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up\nto the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old\nseat, whilst the cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct\nand came down again. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession\nnearly all the way. The poor fellow was laid to rest near our seat\nso that we stood on it, when the time came and saw everything.\nPoor Lucy seemed much upset. She was restless and uneasy all the\ntime, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at night is telling\non her. She is quite odd in one thing. She will not admit to meon her. She is quite odd in one thing. She will not admit to me\nthat there is any cause for restlessness, or if there be, she does\nnot understand it herself.\nThere is an additional cause in that poor Mr. Swales was found\ndead this morning on our seat, his neck being broken. He had\nevidently, as the doctor said, fallen back in the seat in some sort\nof fright, for there was a look of fear and horror on his face that\nthe men said made them shudder. Poor dear old man!\nLucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more\nacutely than other people do. Just now she was quite upset by a\nlittle thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very\nfond of animals.\nOne of the men who came up here often to look for the boats was\nfollowed by his dog. The dog is always with him. They are both\nquiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog\nbark. During the service the dog would not come to its master, who\nwas on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and\nhowling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then\nangrily. But it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It\nwas in a fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hair bristling out\nlike a cat's tail when puss is on the war path.\nFinally the man too got angry, and jumped down and kicked the\ndog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged\nand half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The\nmoment it touched the stone the poor thing began to tremble. It did\nnot try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and\nwas in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without\neffect, to comfort it.\nLucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to touch the\ndog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way. I greatly fear\nthat she is of too super sensitive a nature to go through the world\nwithout trouble. She will be dreaming of this tonight, I am sure.\nThe whole agglomeration of things, the ship steered into port by aThe whole agglomeration of things, the ship steered into port by a\ndead man, his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and\nbeads, the touching funeral, the dog, now furious and now in\nterror, will all afford material for her dreams.\nI think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out\nphysically, so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to\nRobin Hood's Bay and back. She ought not to have much inclination\nfor sleep-walking then.Same day, 11 o'clock p. m..—Oh, but I am tired! If it were not\nthat I had made my diary a duty I should not open it tonight. We\nhad a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was in gay spirits, owing,\nI think, to some dear cows who came nosing towards us in a field\nclose to the lighthouse, and frightened the wits out of us. I\nbelieve we forgot everything, except of course, personal fear, and\nit seemed to wipe the slate clean and give us a fresh start. We had\na capital `severe tea' at Robin Hood's Bay in a sweet little\noldfashioned inn, with a bow window right over the seaweedcovered\nrocks of the strand. I believe we should have shocked the `New\nWoman' with our appetites. Men are more tolerant, bless them! Then\nwe walked home with some, or rather many, stoppages to rest, and\nwith our hearts full of a constant dread of wild bulls.\nLucy was really tired, and we intended to creep off to bed as\nsoon as we could. The young curate came in, however, and Mrs.\nWestenra asked him to stay for supper. Lucy and I had both a fight\nfor it with the dusty miller. I know it was a hard fight on my\npart, and I am quite heroic. I think that some day the bishops must\nget together and see about breeding up a new class of curates, who\ndon't take supper, no matter how hard they may be pressed to, and\nwho will know when girls are tired.\nLucy is asleep and breathing softly. She has more color in her\ncheeks than usual, and looks, oh so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in\nlove with her seeing her only in the drawing room, I wonder what he\nwould say if he saw her now. Some of the `New Women' writers will\nsome day start an idea that men and women should be allowed to see\neach other asleep before proposing or accepting. But I suppose the\n`New Woman' won't condescend in future to accept. She will do the\nproposing herself. And a nice job she will make of it too! There's\nsome consolation in that. I am so happy tonight, because dear Lucy\nseems better. I really believe she has turned the corner, and that"}
{"text": "seems better. I really believe she has turned the corner, and that\nwe are over her troubles with dreaming. I should be quite happy if\nI only knew if Jonathan … God bless and keep him.\n11 August.—Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write. I\nam too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such an\nagonizing experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my\ndiary … Suddenly I became broad awake, and sat up, with a\nhorrible sense of fear upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness\naround me. The room was dark, so I could not see Lucy's bed. I\nstole across and felt for her. The bed was empty. I lit a match and\nfound that she was not in the room. The door was shut, but not\nlocked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her mother, who has been\nmore than usually ill lately, so threw on some clothes and got\nready to look for her. As I was leaving the room it struck me that\nthe clothes she wore might give me some clue to her dreaming\nintention. Dressing-gown would mean house, dress outside.\nDressing-gown and dress were both in their places. \"Thank God,\" I\nsaid to myself, \"she cannot be far, as she is only in her\nnightdress.\"\nI ran downstairs and looked in the sitting room. Not there! Then\nI looked in all the other rooms of the house, with an ever-growing\nfear chilling my heart. Finally, I came to the hall door and found\nit open. It was not wide open, but the catch of the lock had not\ncaught. The people of the house are careful to lock the door every\nnight, so I feared that Lucy must have gone out as she was. There\nwas no time to think of what might happen. A vague over-mastering\nfear obscured all details.\nI took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking\none as I was in the Crescent, and there was not a soul in sight. I\nran along the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white\nfigure which I expected. At the edge of the West Cliff above the\npier I looked across the harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or\nfear, I don't know which, of seeing Lucy in our favorite seat.fear, I don't know which, of seeing Lucy in our favorite seat.\nThere was a bright full moon, with heavy black, driving clouds,\nwhich threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of light and\nshade as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see\nnothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary's Church and\nall around it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of\nthe abbey coming into view, and as the edge of a narrow band of\nlight as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the church and\nchurchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was,\nit was not disappointed, for there, on our favorite seat, the\nsilver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy\nwhite. The coming of the cloud was too quick for me to see much,\nfor shadow shut down on light almost immediately, but it seemed to\nme as though something dark stood behind the seat where the white\nfigure shone, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast,\nI could not tell.\nI did not wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep\nsteps to the pier and along by the fish-market to the bridge, which\nwas the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed as dead,\nfor not a soul did I see. I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted\nno witness of poor Lucy's condition. The time and distance seemed\nendless, and my knees trembled and my breath came laboured as I\ntoiled up the endless steps to the abbey. I must have gone fast,\nand yet it seemed to me as if my feet were weighted with lead, and\nas though every joint in my body were rusty.\nWhen I got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white\nfigure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it even through\nthe spells of shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and\nblack, bending over the half-reclining white figure. I called in\nfright, \"Lucy! Lucy!\" and something raised a head, and from where I\nwas I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes.\nLucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of theLucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the\nchurchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and the seat,\nand for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view\nagain the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly\nthat I could see Lucy half reclining with her head lying over the\nback of the seat. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of\nany living thing about.\nWhen I bent over her I could see that she was still asleep. Her\nlips were parted, and she was breathing, not softly as usual with\nher, but in long, heavy gasps, as though striving to get her lungs\nfull at every breath. As I came close, she put up her hand in her\nsleep and pulled the collar of her nightdress close around her, as\nthough she felt the cold. I flung the warm shawl over her, and drew\nthe edges tight around her neck, for I dreaded lest she should get\nsome deadly chill from the night air, unclad as she was. I feared\nto wake her all at once, so, in order to have my hands free to help\nher, I fastened the shawl at her throat with a big safety pin. But\nI must have been clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her\nwith it, for by-and-by, when her breathing became quieter, she put\nher hand to her throat again and moaned. When I had her carefully\nwrapped up I put my shoes on her feet, and then began very gently\nto wake her.\nAt first she did not respond, but gradually she became more and\nmore uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally. At\nlast, as time was passing fast, and for many other reasons, I\nwished to get her home at once, I shook her forcibly, till finally\nshe opened her eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised to see\nme, as, of course, she did not realize all at once where she\nwas.\nLucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time,when her\nbody must have been chilled with cold, and her mind somewhat\nappalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night, she did not\nlose her grace. She trembled a little, and clung to me. When I told"}
{"text": "lose her grace. She trembled a little, and clung to me. When I told\nher to come at once with me home, she rose without a word, with the\nobedience of a child. As we passed along, the gravel hurt my feet,\nand Lucy noticed me wince. She stopped and wanted to insist upon my\ntaking my shoes, but I would not. However, when we got to the\npathway outside the chruchyard, where there was a puddle of water,\nremaining from the storm, I daubed my feet with mud, using each\nfoot in turn on the other, so that as we went home, no one, in case\nwe should meet any one, should notice my bare feet.\nFortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a soul.\nOnce we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a\nstreet in front of us. But we hid in a door till he had disappeared\nup an opening such as there are here, steep little closes, or\n`wynds', as they call them in Scotland. My heart beat so loud all\nthe time sometimes I thought I should faint. I was filled with\nanxiety about Lucy, not only for her health, lest she should suffer\nfrom the exposure, but for her reputation in case the story should\nget wind. When we got in, and had washed our feet, and had said a\nprayer of thankfulness together, I tucked her into bed. Before\nfalling asleep she asked, even implored, me not to say a word to\nany one, even her mother, about her sleepwalking adventure.\nI hesitated at first, to promise, but on thinking of the state\nof her mother's health, and how the knowledge of such a thing would\nfret her, and think too, of how such a story might become\ndistorted, nay, infallibly would, in case it should leak out, I\nthought it wiser to do so. I hope I did right. I have locked the\ndoor, and the key is tied to my wrist, so perhaps I shall not be\nagain disturbed. Lucy is sleeping soundly. The reflex of the dawn\nis high and far over the sea …\nSame day, noon.—All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her and\nseemed not to have even changed her side. The adventure of the\nnight does not seem to have harmed her, on the contrary, it hasnight does not seem to have harmed her, on the contrary, it has\nbenefited her, for she looks better this morning than she has done\nfor weeks. I was sorry to notice that my clumsiness with the\nsafety-pin hurt her. Indeed, it might have been serious, for the\nskin of her throat was pierced. I must have pinched up a piece of\nloose skin and have transfixed it, for there are two little red\npoints like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress was a\ndrop of blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, she\nlaughed and petted me, and said she did not even feel it.\nFortunately it cannot leave a scar, as it is so tiny.\nSame day, night.—We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and\nthe sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to\nMulgrave Woods, Mrs. Westenra driving by the road and Lucy and I\nwalking by the cliff-path and joining her at the gate. I felt a\nlittle sad myself, for I could not but feel how absolutely happy it\nwould have been had Jonathan been with me. But there! I must only\nbe patient. In the evening we strolled in the Casino Terrace, and\nheard some good music by Spohr and Mackenzie, and went to bed\nearly. Lucy seems more restful than she has been for some time, and\nfell asleep at once. I shall lock the door and secure the key the\nsame as before, though I do not expect any trouble tonight.\n12 August.—My expectations were wrong, for twice during the\nnight I was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She seemed, even in\nher sleep, to be a little impatient at finding the door shut, and\nwent back to bed under a sort of protest. I woke with the dawn, and\nheard the birds chirping outside of the window. Lucy woke, too, and\nI was glad to see, was even better than on the previous morning.\nAll her old gaiety of manner seemed to have come back, and she came\nand snuggled in beside me and told me all about Arthur. I told her\nhow anxious I was about Jonathan, and then she tried to comfort me.\nWell, she succeeded somewhat, for, though sympathy can't alter\nfacts, it can make them more bearable.facts, it can make them more bearable.\n13 August.—Another quiet day, and to bed with the key on my\nwrist as before. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy sitting\nup in bed, still asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly,\nand pulling aside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant\nmoonlight, and the soft effect of the light over the sea and sky,\nmerged together in one great silent mystery, was beautiful beyond\nwords. Between me and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and\ngoing in great whirling circles. Once or twice it came quite close,\nbut was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me, and flitted away\nacross the harbour towards the abbey. When I came back from the\nwindow Lucy had lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully. She\ndid not stir again all night.\n14 August.—On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy\nseems to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it\nis hard to get her away from it when it is time to come home for\nlunch or tea or dinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We\nwere coming home for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps\nup from the West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as we\ngenerally do. The setting sun, low down in the sky, was just\ndropping behind Kettleness. The red light was thrown over on the\nEast Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to bathe everything in a\nbeautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, and suddenly Lucy\nmurmured as if to herself …\n\"His red eyes again! They are just the same.\" It was such an odd\nexpression, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. I\nslewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to\nstare at her, and saw that she was in a half dreamy state, with an\nodd look on her face that I could not quite make out, so I said\nnothing, but followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at\nour own seat, whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was quite a\nlittle startled myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the"}
{"text": "little startled myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the\nstranger had great eyes like burning flames, but a second look\ndispelled the illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the windows\nof St. Mary's Church behind our seat, and as the sun dipped there\nwas just sufficient change in the refraction and reflection to make\nit appear as if the light moved. I called Lucy's attention to the\npeculiar effect, and she became herself with a start, but she\nlooked sad all the same. It may have been that she was thinking of\nthat terrible night up there. We never refer to it, so I said\nnothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went\nearly to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little stroll\nmyself.\nI walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet\nsadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home, it was\nthen bright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part\nof the Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen, I\nthrew a glance up at our window, and saw Lucy's head leaning out. I\nopened my handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice or make any\nmovement whatever. Just then, the moonlight crept round an angle of\nthe building, and the light fell on the window. There distinctly\nwas Lucy with her head lying up against the side of the window sill\nand her eyes shut. She was fast asleep, and by her, seated on the\nwindow sill, was something that looked like a good-sized bird. I\nwas afraid she might get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came\ninto the room she was moving back to her bed, fast asleep, and\nbreathing heavily. She was holding her hand to her throat, as\nthough to protect if from the cold.\nI did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly. I have taken care\nthat the door is locked and the window securely fastened.\nShe looks so sweet as she sleeps, but she is paler than is her\nwont, and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do\nnot like. I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could\nfind out what it is.not like. I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could\nfind out what it is.\n15 August.—Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired,\nand slept on after we had been called. We had a happy surprise at\nbreakfast. Arthur's father is better, and wants the marriage to\ncome off soon. Lucy is full of quiet joy, and her mother is glad\nand sorry at once. Later on in the day she told me the cause. She\nis grieved to lose Lucy as her very own, but she is rejoiced that\nshe is soon to have some one to protect her. Poor dear, sweet lady!\nShe confided to me that she has got her death warrant. She has not\ntold Lucy, and made me promise secrecy. Her doctor told her that\nwithin a few months, at most, she must die, for her heart is\nweakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock would be almost\nsure to kill her. Ah, we were wise to keep from her the affair of\nthe dreadful night of Lucy's sleep-walking.\n17 August.—No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart\nto write. Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming over our\nhappiness. No news from Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing\nweaker, whilst her mother's hours are numbering to a close. I do\nnot understand Lucy's fading away as she is doing. She eats well\nand sleeps well, and enjoys the fresh air, but all the time the\nroses in her cheeks are fading, and she gets weaker and more\nlanguid day by day. At night I hear her gasping as if for air.\nI keep the key of our door always fastened to my wrist at night,\nbut she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open\nwindow. Last night I found her leaning out when I woke up, and when\nI tried to wake her I could not.\nShe was in a faint. When I managed to restore her, she was weak\nas water, and cried silently between long, painful struggles for\nbreath. When I asked her how she came to be at the window she shook\nher head and turned away.\nI trust her feeling ill may not be from that unlucky prick of\nthe safety-pin. I looked at her throat just now as she lay asleep,the safety-pin. I looked at her throat just now as she lay asleep,\nand the tiny wounds seem not to have healed. They are still open,\nand, if anything, larger than before, and the edges of them are\nfaintly white. They are like little white dots with red centres.\nUnless they heal within a day or two, I shall insist on the doctor\nseeing about them.\nLETTER, SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON, SOLICITORS WHITBY, TO\nMESSRS. CARTER, PATERSON & CO., LONDON.\n17 August\n\"Dear Sirs, —\n\"Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great Northern\nRailway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near Purfleet,\nimmediately on receipt at goods station King's Cross. The house is\nat present empty, but enclosed please find keys, all of which are\nlabelled.\n\"You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which form\nthe consignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of\nthe house and marked `A' on rough diagrams enclosed. Your agent\nwill easily recognize the locality, as it is the ancient chapel of\nthe mansion. The goods leave by the train at 9:30 tonight, and will\nbe due at King's Cross at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon. As our client\nwishes the delivery made as soon as possible, we shall be obliged\nby your having teams ready at King's Cross at the time named and\nforthwith conveying the goods to destination. In order to obviate\nany delays possible through any routine requirements as to payment\nin your departments, we enclose cheque herewith for ten pounds,\nreceipt of which please acknowledge. Should the charge be less than\nthis amount, you can return balance, if greater, we shall at once\nsend cheque for difference on hearing from you. You are to leave\nthe keys on coming away in the main hall of the house, where the\nproprietor may get them on his entering the house by means of his\nduplicate key.\n\"Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of business\ncourtesy in pressing you in all ways to use the utmost expedition.\n\"We are, dear Sirs, \"Faithfully yours, \"SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON &\nSON\""}
{"text": "\"We are, dear Sirs, \"Faithfully yours, \"SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON &\nSON\"\nLETTER, MESSRS. CARTER, PATERSON & CO., LONDON, TO MESSRS.\nBILLINGTON & SON, WHITBY.\n21 August.\n\"Dear Sirs,—\n\"We beg to acknowledge 10 pounds received and to return cheque\nof 1 pound, 17s, 9d, amount of overplus, as shown in receipted\naccount herewith. Goods are delivered in exact accordance with\ninstructions, and keys left in parcel in main hall, as directed.\n\"We are, dear Sirs, \"Yours respectfully, \"Pro CARTER, PATERSON\n& CO.\"\nMINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL.\n18 August.—I am happy today, and write sitting on the seat in\nthe churchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last night she slept\nwell all night, and did not disturb me once.\nThe roses seem coming back already to her cheeks, though she is\nstill sadly pale and wan-looking. If she were in any way anemic I\ncould understand it, but she is not. She is in gay spirits and full\nof life and cheerfulness. All the morbid reticence seems to have\npassed from her, and she has just reminded me, as if I needed any\nreminding, of that night, and that it was here, on this very seat,\nI found her asleep.\nAs she told me she tapped playfully with the heel of her boot on\nthe stone slab and said,\n\"My poor little feet didn't make much noise then! I daresay poor\nold Mr. Swales would have told me that it was because I didn't want\nto wake up Geordie.\"\nAs she was in such a communicative humour, I asked her if she\nhad dreamed at all that night.\nBefore she answered, that sweet, puckered look came into her\nforehead, which Arthur, I call him Arthur from her habit, says he\nloves, and indeed, I don't wonder that he does. Then she went on in\na half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to\nherself.\n\"I didn't quite dream, but it all seemed to be real. I only\nwanted to be here in this spot. I don't know why, for I was afraid\nof something, I don't know what. I remember, though I suppose I was\nasleep, passing through the streets and over the bridge. A fish\nleaped as I went by, and I leaned over to look at it, and I heard aleaped as I went by, and I leaned over to look at it, and I heard a\nlot of dogs howling. The whole town seemed as if it must be full of\ndogs all howling at once, as I went up the steps. Then I had a\nvague memory of something long and dark with red eyes, just as we\nsaw in the sunset, and something very sweet and very bitter all\naround me at once. And then I seemed sinking into deep green water,\nand there was a singing in my ears, as I have heard there is to\ndrowning men, and then everything seemed passing away from me. My\nsoul seemed to go out from my body and float about the air. I seem\nto remember that once the West Lighthouse was right under me, and\nthen there was a sort of agonizing feeling, as if I were in an\nearthquake, and I came back and found you shaking my body. I saw\nyou do it before I felt you.\"\nThen she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to me, and I\nlistened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like it, and thought\nit better not to keep her mind on the subject, so we drifted on to\nanother subject, and Lucy was like her old self again. When we got\nhome the fresh breeze had braced her up, and her pale cheeks were\nreally more rosy. Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all\nspent a very happy evening together.\n19 August.—Joy, joy, joy! Although not all joy. At last, news of\nJonathan. The dear fellow has been ill, that is why he did not\nwrite. I am not afraid to think it or to say it, now that I know.\nMr. Hawkins sent me on the letter, and wrote himself, oh so kindly.\nI am to leave in the morning and go over to Jonathan, and to help\nto nurse him if necessary, and to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says\nit would not be a bad thing if we were to be married out there. I\nhave cried over the good Sister's letter till I can feel it wet\nagainst my bosom, where it lies. It is of Jonathan, and must be\nnear my heart, for he is in my heart. My journey is all mapped out,\nand my luggage ready. I am only taking one change of dress. Lucy\nwill bring my trunk to London and keep it till I send for it, forwill bring my trunk to London and keep it till I send for it, for\nit may be that … I must write no more. I must keep it to say\nto Jonathan, my husband. The letter that he has seen and touched\nmust comfort me till we meet.\nLETTER, SISTER AGATHA, HOSPITAL OF ST. JOSEPH AND STE. MARY\nBUDA-PESTH, TO MISS WILLHELMINA MURRAY\n12 August,\n\"Dear Madam.\n\"I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is himself not\nstrong enough to write, though progressing well, thanks to God and\nSt. Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been under our care for nearly six\nweeks, suffering from a violent brain fever. He wishes me to convey\nhis love, and to say that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter\nHawkins, Exeter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is\nsorry for his delay, and that all of his work is completed. He will\nrequire some few weeks' rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but\nwill then return. He wishes me to say that he has not sufficient\nmoney with him, and that he would like to pay for his staying here,\nso that others who need shall not be wanting for belp.\nBelieve me,\nYours, with sympathy\nand all blessings. Sister Agatha\"\n\"P. S.—My patient being asleep, I open this to let you know\nsomething more. He has told me all about you, and that you are\nshortly to be his wife. All blessings to you both! He has had some\nfearful shock, so says our doctor, and in his delirium his ravings\nhave been dreadful, of wolves and poison and blood, of ghosts and\ndemons, and I fear to say of what. Be careful of him always that\nthere may be nothing to excite him of this kind for a long time to\ncome. The traces of such an illness as his do not lightly die away.\nWe should have written long ago, but we knew nothing of his\nfriends, and there was nothing on him, nothing that anyone could\nunderstand. He came in the train from Klausenburg, and the guard\nwas told by the station master there that he rushed into the\nstation shouting for a ticket for home. Seeing from his violent\ndemeanor that he was English, they gave him a ticket for the"}
{"text": "demeanor that he was English, they gave him a ticket for the\nfurthest station on the way thither that the train reached.\n\"Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all hearts by\nhis sweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting on well, and I\nhave no doubt will in a few weeks be all himself. But be careful of\nhim for safety's sake. There are, I pray God and St. Joseph and\nSte.Mary, many, many, happy years for you both.\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n19 Agust.—Strange and sudden change in Renfield last night.\nAbout eight o'clock he began to get excited and sniff about as a\ndog does when setting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and\nknowing my interest in him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually\nrespectful to the attendant and at times servile, but tonight, the\nman tells me, he was quite haughty. Would not condescend to talk\nwith him at all.\nAll he would say was, \"I don't want to talk to you. You don't\ncount now. The master is at hand.\"\nThe attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania\nwhich has seized him. If so, we must look out for squalls, for a\nstrong man with homicidal and religious mania at once might be\ndangerous. The combination is a dreadful one.\nAt Nine o'clock I visited him myself. His attitude to me was the\nsame as that to the attendant. In his sublime selffeeling the\ndifference between myself and the attendant seemed to him as\nnothing. It looks like religious mania, and he will soon think that\nhe himself is God.\nThese infinitesimal distinctions between man and man are too\npaltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselves\naway! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall. But the God\ncreated from human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a\nsparrow. Oh, if men only knew!\nFor half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in\ngreater and greater degree. I did not pretend to be watching him,\nbut I kept strict observation all the same. All at once that shifty\nlook came into his eyes which we always see when a madman haslook came into his eyes which we always see when a madman has\nseized an idea, and with it the shifty movement of the head and\nback which asylum attendants come to know so well. He became quite\nquiet, and went and sat on the edge of his bed resignedly, and\nlooked into space with lack-luster eyes.\nI thought I would find out if his apathy were real or only\nassumed, and tried to lead him to talk of his pets, a theme which\nhad never failed to excite his attention.\nAt first he made no reply, but at length said testily, \"Bother\nthem all! I don't care a pin about them.\"\n\"What\" I said. \"You don't mean to tell me you don't care about\nspiders?\" (Spiders at present are his hobby and the notebook is\nfilling up with columns of small figures.)\nTo this he answered enigmatically, \"The Bride maidens rejoice\nthe eyes that wait the coming of the bride. But when the bride\ndraweth nigh, then the maidens shine not to the eyes that are\nfilled.\"\nHe would not explain himself, but remained obstinately seated on\nhis bed all the time I remained with him.\nI am weary tonight and low in spirits. I cannot but think of\nLucy, and how different things might have been. If I don't sleep at\nonce, chloral, the modern Morpheus! I must be careful not to let it\ngrow into a habit. No, I shall take none tonight! I have thought of\nLucy, and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If need by,\ntonight shall be sleepless.\nLater.—Glad I made the resolution, gladder that I kept to it. I\nhad lain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike only twice,\nwhen the night watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say\nthat Renfield had escaped. I threw on my clothes and ran down at\nonce. My patient is too dangerous a person to be roaming about.\nThose ideas of his might work out dangerously with strangers.\nThe attendant was waiting for me. He said he had seen him not\nten minutes before, seemingly asleep in his bed, when he had looked\nthrough the observation trap in the door. His attention was calledthrough the observation trap in the door. His attention was called\nby the sound of the window being wrenched out. He ran back and saw\nhis feet disappear through the window, and had at once sent up for\nme. He was only in his night gear, and cannot be far off.\nThe attendant thought it would be more useful to watch where he\nshould go than to follow him, as he might lose sight of him whilst\ngetting out of the building by the door. He is a bulky man, and\ncouldn't get through the window.\nI am thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but feet foremost, and\nas we were only a few feet above ground landed unhurt.\nThe attendant told me the patient had gone to the left, and had\ntaken a straight line, so I ran as quickly as I could. As I got\nthrough the belt of trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall\nwhich separates our grounds from those of the deserted house.\nI ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four men\nimmediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, in case our\nfriend might be dangerous. I got a ladder myself, and crossing the\nwall, dropped down on the other side. I could see Renfield's figure\njust disappearing behind the angle of the house, so I ran after\nhim. On the far side of the house I found him pressed close against\nthe old ironbound oak door of the chapel.\nHe was talking, apparently to some one, but I was afraid to go\nnear enough to hear what he was saying, les t I might frighten him,\nand he should run off.\nChasing an errant swarm of bees is nothing to following a naked\nlunatic, when the fit of escaping is upon him! After a few minutes,\nhowever, I could see that he did not take note of anything around\nhim, and so ventured to draw nearer to him, the more so as my men\nhad now crossed the wall and were closing him in. I heard him\nsay …\n\"I am here to do your bidding, Master. I am your slave, and you\nwill reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped you long\nand afar off. Now that you are near, I await your commands, and youand afar off. Now that you are near, I await your commands, and you\nwill not pass me by, will you, dear Master, in your distribution of\ngood things?\"\nHe is a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the loaves and\nfishes even when he believes his is in a real Presence. His manias\nmake a startling combination. When we closed in on him he fought\nlike a tiger. He is immensely strong, for he was more like a wild\nbeast than a man.\nI never saw a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage before, and I\nhope I shall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out his\nstrength and his danger in good time. With strength and\ndetermination like his, he might have done wild work before he was\ncaged.\nHe is safe now, at any rate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn't get\nfree from the strait waistcoat that keeps him restrained, and he's\nchained to the wall in the padded room.\nHis cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are\nmore deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and\nmovement.\nJust now he spoke coherent words for the first time. \"I shall be\npatient, Master. It is coming, coming, coming!\"\nSo I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to sleep,\nbut this diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get some sleep\ntonight."}
{"text": "Buda-Pesth, 24 August.\n\"My dearest Lucy,\n\"I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened since\nwe parted at the railway station at Whitby.\n\"Well, my dear, I got to Hull all right, and caught the boat to\nHamburg, and then the train on here. I feel that I can hardly\nrecall anything of the journey, except that I knew I was coming to\nJonathan, and that as I should have to do some nursing, I had\nbetter get all the sleep I could. I found my dear one, oh, so thin\nand pale and weaklooking. All the resolution has gone out of his\ndear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face\nhas vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not\nremember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At\nleast, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask.\n\"He has had some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his\npoor brain if he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a\ngood creature and a born nurse, tells me that he wanted her to tell\nme what they were, but she would only cross herself, and say she\nwould never tell. That the ravings of the sick were the secrets of\nGod, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she\nshould respect her trust..\n\"She is a sweet, good soul, and the next day, when she saw I was\ntroubled, she opened up the subject my poor dear raved about,\nadded, `I can tell you this much, my dear. That it was not about\nanything which he has done wrong himself, and you, as his wife to\nbe, have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what\nhe owes to you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no\nmortal can treat of.'\n\"I do believe the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my\npoor dear should have fallen in love with any other girl. The idea\nof my being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my dear, let me\nwhisper, I felt a thrill of joy through me when I knew that no\nother woman was a cause for trouble. I am now sitting by his\nbedside, where I can see his face while he sleeps. He is\nwaking!bedside, where I can see his face while he sleeps. He is\nwaking!\n\"When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to get\nsomething from the pocket. I asked Sister Agatha, and she brought\nall his things. I saw amongst them was his notebook, and was was\ngoing to ask him to let me look at it, for I knew that I might find\nsome clue to his trouble, but I suppose he must have seen my wish\nin my eyes, for he sent me over to the window, saying he wanted to\nbe quite alone for a moment.\n\"Then he called me back, and he said to me very solemnly,\n`Wilhelmina', I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has\nnever called me by that name since he asked me to marry him, `You\nknow, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife. There\nshould be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and\nwhen I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I\ndo not know if it was real of the dreaming of a madman. You know I\nhad brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I\ndo not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our\nmarriage.' For, my dear, we had decided to be married as soon as\nthe formalities are complete. `Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to\nshare my ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it\nif you will,but never let me know unless, indeed, some solemn duty\nshould come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or\nawake, sane or mad, recorded here.' He fell back exhausted, and I\nput the book under his pillow, and kissed him. have asked Sister\nAgatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this afternoon,\nand am waiting her reply … \"\n\"She has come and told me that the Chaplain of the English\nmission church has been sent for. We are to be married in an hour,\nor as soon after as Jonathan awakes.\"\n\"Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very,\nvery happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was\nready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answeredready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered\nhis `I will' firmly and strong. I could hardly speak. My heart was\nso full that even those words seemed to choke me.\n\"The dear sisters were so kind. Please, God, I shall never,\nnever forget them, nor the grave and sweet responsibilities I have\ntaken upon me. I must tell you of my wedding present. When the\nchaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband—oh,\nLucy, it is the first time I have written the words `my\nhusband'—left me alone with my husband, I took the book from under\nhis pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it with a\nlittle bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed\nit over the knot with sealing wax, and for my seal I used my\nwedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and\ntold him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward\nand visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other,\nthat I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or\nfor the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and\noh, Lucy, it was the first time he took his wifes' hand, and said\nthat it was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he\nwould go through all the past again to win it, if need be. The poor\ndear meant to have said a part of the past, but he cannot think of\ntime yet, and I shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only\nthe month, but the year.\n\"Well, my dear, could I say? I could only tell him that I was\nthe happiest woman in all the wide world, and that I had nothing to\ngive him except myself, my life, and my trust, and that with these\nwent my love and duty for all the days of my life. And, my dear,\nwhen he kissed me, and drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it\nwas like a solemn pledge between us.\n\"Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only\nbecause it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are,\nvery dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide"}
{"text": "very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide\nwhen you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life.\nI want you to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife,\nwhither duty has led me, so that in your own married life you too\nmay be all happy, as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life\nmay be all it promises, a long day of sunshine, with no harsh wind,\nno forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for\nthat can never be, but I do hope you will be always as happy as I\nam now. Goodbye, my dear. I shall post this at once, and perhaps,\nwrite you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan is waking. I\nmust attend my husband! \"Your ever-loving \"Mina Harker.\"\nLETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA HARKER.\nWhitby, 30 August.\n\"My dearest Mina,\n\"Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon be in\nyour own home with your husband. I wish you were coming home soon\nenough to stay with us here. The strong air would soon restore\nJonathan. It has quite restored me. I have an appetite like a\ncormorant, am full of life, and sleep well. You will be glad to\nknow that I have quite given up walking in my sleep. I think I have\nnot stirred out of my bed for a week, that is when I once got into\nit at night. Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to\ntell you that Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives, and\nrides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing together, and I love him\nmore than ever. He tells me that he loves me more, but I doubt\nthat, for at first he told me that he couldn't love me more than he\ndid then. But this is nonsense. There he is, calling to me. So no\nmore just at present from your loving, \"Lucy.\n\"P. S.—Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor dear.\n\"P. P.S.—We are to be married on 28 September.\"\nDR. SEWARDS DIARY\n20 August.—The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He\nhas now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his\npassion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetuallypassion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually\nviolent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and\nkept murmuring to himself. \"Now I can wait. Now I can wait.\"\nThe attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a\nlook at him. He was still in the strait waistcoat and in the padded\nroom, but the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes\nhad something of their old pleading. I might almost say, cringing,\nsoftness. I was satisfied with his present condition, and directed\nhim to be relieved. The attendants hesitated, but finally carried\nout my wishes without protest.\nIt was a strange thing that the patient had humour enough to see\ntheir distrust, for, coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all\nthe while looking furtively at them, \"They think I could hurt you!\nFancy me hurting you! The fools!\"\nIt was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself\ndisassociated even in the mind of this poor madman from the others,\nbut all the same I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that\nI have anything in common with him, so that we are, as it were, to\nstand together. Or has he to gain from me some good so stupendous\nthat my well being is needful to Him? I must find out later on.\nTonight he will not speak. Even the offer of a kitten or even a\nfull-grown cat will not tempt him.\nHe will only say, \"I don't take any stock in cats. I have more\nto think of now, and I can wait. I can wait.\"\nAfter a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he was\nquiet until just before dawn, and that then he began to get uneasy,\nand at length violent, until at last he fell into a paroxysm which\nexhausted him so that he swooned into a sort of coma.\n … Three nights has the same thing happened, violent all\nday then quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some\nclue to the cause. It would almost seem as if there was some\ninfluence which came and went. Happy thought! We shall tonight play\nsane wits against mad ones. He escaped before without our help.sane wits against mad ones. He escaped before without our help.\nTonight he shall escape with it. We shall give him a chance, and\nhave the men ready to follow in case they are required.\n23 August.—\"The expected always happens.\" How well Disraeli knew\nlife. Our bird when he found the cage open would not fly, so all\nour subtle arrangements were for nought. At any rate, we have\nproved one thing, that the spells of quietness last a reasonable\ntime. We shall in future be able to ease his bonds for a few hours\neach day. I have given orders to the night attendant merely to shut\nhim in the padded room, when once he is quiet, until the hour\nbefore sunrise. The poor soul's body will enjoy the relief even if\nhis mind cannot appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected again! I am\ncalled. The patient has once more escaped.\nLater.—Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited until\nthe attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then he dashed out\npast him and flew down the passage. I sent word for the attendants\nto follow. Again he went into the grounds of the deserted house,\nand we found him in the same place, pressed against the old chapel\ndoor. When he saw me he became furious, and had not the attendants\nseized him in time, he would have tried to kill me. As we sere\nholding him a strange thing happened. He suddenly redoubled his\nefforts, and then as suddenly grew calm. I looked round\ninstinctively, but could see nothing. Then I caught the patient's\neye and followed it, but could trace nothing as it looked into the\nmoonlight sky, except a big bat, which was flapping its silent and\nghostly way to the west. Bats usually wheel about, but this one\nseemed to go straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or\nhad some intention of its own.\nThe patient grew calmer every instant, and presently said, \"You\nneedn't tie me. I shall go quietly!\" Without trouble, we came back\nto the house. I feel there is something ominous in his calm, and\nshall not forget this night.\nLUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY"}
{"text": "shall not forget this night.\nLUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY\nHillingham, 24 August.—I must imitate Mina, and keep writing\nthings down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder\nwhen it will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so\nunhappy. Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at\nWhitby. Perhaps it is the change of air, or getting home again. It\nis all dark and horrid to me, for I can remember nothing. But I am\nfull of vague fear, and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur\ncame to lunch he looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn't\nthe spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in\nmother's room tonight. I shall make an excuse to try.\n25 August.—Another bad night. Mother did not seem to take to my\nproposal. She seems not too well herself, and doubtless she fears\nto worry me. I tried to keep awake, and succeeded for a while, but\nwhen the clock struck twelve it waked me from a doze, so I must\nhave been falling asleep. There was a sort of scratching or\nflapping at the window, but I did not mind it, and as I remember no\nmore, I suppose I must have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish\nI could remember them. This morning I am horribly weak. My face is\nghastly pale, and my throat pains me. It must be something wrong\nwith my lungs, for I don't seem to be getting air enough. I shall\ntry to cheer up when Arthur comes, or else I know he will be\nmiserable to see me so.\nLETTER, ARTHUR TO DR. SEWARD\n\"Albemarle Hotel, 31 August \"My dear Jack,\n\"I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill, that is she has no\nspecial disease, but she looks awful, and is getting worse every\nday. I have asked her if there is any cause, I not dare to ask her\nmother, for to disturb the poor lady's mind about her daughter in\nher present state of health would be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has\nconfided to me that her doom is spoken, disease of the heart,\nthough poor Lucy does not know it yet. I am sure that there is\nsomething preying on my dear girl's mind. I am almost distractedsomething preying on my dear girl's mind. I am almost distracted\nwhen I think of her. To look at her gives me a pang. I told her I\nshould ask you to see her, and though she demurred at first, I know\nwhy, old fellow, she finally consented. It will be a painful task\nfor you, I know, old friend, but it is for her sake, and I must not\nhesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to lunch at\nHillingham tomorrow, two o'clock, so as not to arouse any suspicion\nin Mrs. Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will take an opportunity of\nbeing alone with you. I am filled with anxiety, and want to consult\nwith you alone as soon as I can after you have seen her. Do not\nfail! \"Arthur.\" TELEGRAM, ARTHUR HOLMWOOD TO SEWARD\n1 September\n\"Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am writing. Write\nme fully by tonight's post to Ring. Wire me if necessary.\"\nLETTER FROM DR. SEWARD TO ARTHUR HOLMWOOD\n2 September\n\"My dear old fellow,\n\"With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you know\nat once that in my opinion there is not any functal disturbance or\nany malady that I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means\nsatisfied with her appearance. She is woefully different from what\nshe was when I saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I\ndid not have full opportunity of examination such as I should wish.\nOur very friendship makes a little difficulty which not even\nmedical science or custom can bridge over. I had better tell you\nexactly what happened, leaving you to draw, in a measure, your own\nconclusions. I shall then say what I have done and propose\ndoing.\n\"I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was\npresent, and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying\nall she knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from being\nanxious. I have no doubt she guesses, if she does not know, what\nneed of caution there is.\n\"We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be\ncheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some realcheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real\ncheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and\nLucy was left with me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got\nthere her gaiety remained, for the servants were coming and\ngoing.\n\"As soon as the door was closed, however, the mask fell from her\nface, and she sank down into a chair with a great sigh, and hid her\neyes with her hand. When I saw that her high spirits had failed, I\nat once took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis.\n\"She said to me very sweetly, `I cannot tell you how I loathe\ntalking about myself.' I reminded her that a doctor's confidence\nwas sacred, but that you were grievously anxious about her. She\ncaught on to my meaning at once, and settled that matter in a word.\n`Tell Arthur everything you choose. I do not care for myself, but\nfor him!' So I am quite free.\n\"I could easily see that she was somewhat bloodless, but I could\nnot see the usual anemic signs, and by the chance ,I was able to\ntest the actual quality of her blood, for in opening a window which\nwas stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with\nbroken glass. It was a slight matter in itself, but it gave me an\nevident chance, and I secured a few drops of the blood and have\nanalysed them.\n\"The qualitative analysis give a quite normal condition, and\nshows, I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health. In\nother physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need\nfor anxiety, but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come to\nthe conclusion that it must be something mental.\n\"She complains of difficulty breathing satisfactorily at times,\nand of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but\nregarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a child,\nshe used to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit\ncame back, and that once she walked out in the night and went to\nEast Cliff, where Miss Murray found her. But she assures me that of\nlate the habit has not returned."}
{"text": "late the habit has not returned.\n\"I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of. I\nhave written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, of\nAmsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in\nthe world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that\nall things were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who\nyou are and your relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow,\nis in obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy\nto do anything I can for her.\n\"Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personal\nreason, so no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept his\nwishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, this is because he knows\nwhat he is talking about better than any one else. He is a\nphilosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced\nscientists of his day, and he has, I believe, an absolutely open\nmind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, and\nindomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from\nvirtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that\nbeats, these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing\nfor mankind, work both in theory and practice, for his views are as\nwide as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that you\nmay know why I have such confidence in him. I have asked him to\ncome at once. I shall see Miss Westenra tomorrow again. She is to\nmeet me at the Stores, so that I may not alarm her mother by too\nearly a repetition of my call.\n\"Yours always.\"\nJohn Seward\nLETTER, ABRAHAM VAN HELSING, MD, DPh, D. LiT, ETC, ETC, TO DR.\nSEWARD\n2 September.\n\"My good Friend,\n\"When I received your letter I am already coming to you. By good\nfortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who\nhave trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those who\nhave trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those\nhe holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck fromhe holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from\nmy wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that\nour other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when\nhe wants my aids and you call for them than all his great fortune\ncould do. But it is pleasure added to do for him, your friend, it\nis to you that I come. Have near at hand, and please it so arrange\nthat we may see the young lady not too late on tomorrow, for it is\nlikely that I may have to return here that night. But if need be I\nshall come again in three days, and stay longer if it must. Till\nthen goodbye, my friend John.\n\"Van Helsing.\"\nLETTER, DR. SEWARD TO HON. ARTHUR HOLMWOOD\n3 September\n\"My dear Art,\n\"Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me to\nHillingham, and found that, by Lucy's discretion, her mother was\nlunching out, so that we were alone with her.\n\"Van Helsing made a very careful examination of the patient. He\nis to report to me, and I shall advise you, for of course I was not\npresent all the time. He is, I fear, much concerned, but says he\nmust think. When I told him of our friendship and how you trust to\nme in the matter, he said, `You must tell him all you think. Tell\nhim him what I think, if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am\nnot jesting. This is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more.' I\nasked what he meant by that, for he was very serious. This was when\nwe had come back to town, and he was having a cup of tea before\nstarting on his return to Amsterdam. He would not give me any\nfurther clue. You must not be angry with me, Art, because his very\nreticence means that all his brains are working for her good. He\nwill speak plainly enough when the time comes, be sure. So I told\nhim I would simply write an account of our visit, just as if I were\ndoing a descriptive special article for THE DAILY TELEGRAPH. He\nseemed not to notice, but remarked that the smuts of London were\nnot quite so bad as they used to be when he was a student here. Inot quite so bad as they used to be when he was a student here. I\nam to get his report tomorrow if he can possibly make it. In any\ncase I am to have a letter.\n\"Well, as to the visit, Lucy was more cheerful than on the day I\nfirst saw her, and certainly looked better. She had lost something\nof the ghastly look that so upset you, and her breathing was\nnormal. She was very sweet to the Professor (as she always is),and\ntried to make him feel at ease, though I could see the poor girl\nwas making a hard struggle for it.\n\"I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw the quick look\nunder his bushy brows that I knew of old. Then he began to chat of\nall things except ourselves and diseases and with such an infinite\ngeniality that I could see poor Lucy's pretense of animation merge\ninto reality. Then, without any seeming change, he brought the\nconversation gently round to his visit, and sauvely said,\n\"`My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure because you\nare so much beloved. That is much, my dear, even were there that\nwhich I do not see. They told me you were down in the spirit, and\nthat you were of a ghastly pale. To them I say \"Pouf!\" ' And he\nsnapped his fingers at me and went on. `But you and I shall show\nthem how wrong they are. How can he', and he pointed at me with the\nsame look and gesture as that with which he pointed me out in his\nclass, on, or rather after, a particular occasion which he never\nfails to remind me of, `know anything of a young ladies? He has his\nmadmen to play with, and to bring them back to happiness, and to\nthose that love them. It is much to do, and, oh, but there are\nrewards in that we can bestow such happiness. But the young ladies!\nHe has no wife nor daughter, and the young do not tell themselves\nto the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so many\nsorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we will send him away\nto smoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you and I have little\ntalk all to ourselves.' I took the hint, and strolled about, and"}
{"text": "talk all to ourselves.' I took the hint, and strolled about, and\npresently the professor came to the window and called me in. He\nlooked grave, but said, ` I have made careful examination, but\nthere is no functional cause. With you I agree that there has been\nmuch blood lost, it has been but is not. But the conditions of her\nare in no way anemic. I have asked her to send me her maid, that I\nmay ask just one or two questions, that so I may not chance to miss\nnothing. I know well what she will say. And yet there is cause.\nThere is always cause for everything. I must go back home and\nthink. You must send me the telegram every day, and if there be\ncause I shall come again. The disease, for not to be well is a\ndisease, interest me, and the sweet, young dear, she interest me\ntoo. She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I\ncome.'\n\"As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were\nalone. And so now, Art, you know all I know. I shall keep stern\nwatch. I trust your poor father is rallying. It must be a terrible\nthing to you, my dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position\nbetween two people who are both so dear to you. I know your idea of\nduty to your father, and you are right to stick to it. But if need\nbe, I shall send you word to come at once to Lucy, so do not be\nover-anxious unless you hear from me.\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n4 September.—Zoophagous patient still keeps up our interest in\nhim. He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual\ntime. Just before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless. The\nattendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately\nthe men came at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of\nnoon he became so violent that it took all their strength to hold\nhim. In about five minutes, however, he began to get more quiet,and\nfinally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which state he has\nremained up to now. The attendant tells me that his screams whilst\nin the paroxysm were really appalling. I found my hands full when Iin the paroxysm were really appalling. I found my hands full when I\ngot in, attending to some of the other patients who were frightened\nby him. Indeed, I can quite understand the effect, for the sounds\ndisturbed even me, though I was some distance away. It is now after\nthe dinner hour of the asylum, and as yet my patient sits in a\ncorner brooding, with a dull, sullen, woe-begone look in his face,\nwhich seems rather to indicate than to show something directly. I\ncannot quite understand it.\nLater.—Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in\non him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used\nto be. He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note\nof his capture by making nailmarks on the edge of the door between\nthe ridges of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologized\nfor his bad conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to\nbe led back to his own room, and to have his notebook again. I\nthought it well to humour him, so he is back in his room with the\nwindow open. He has the sugar of his tea spread out on the window\nsill, and is reaping quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating\nthem, but putting them into a box, as of old, and is already\nexamining the corners of his room to find a spider. I tried to get\nhim to talk about the past few days, for any clue to his thoughts\nwould be of immense help to me, but he would not rise. For a moment\nor two he looked very sad, and said in a sort of far away voice, as\nthough saying it rather to himself than to me.\n\"All over! All over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now\nunless I do it myself!\" Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute\nway, he said,\"Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have\na little more sugar? I think it would be very good for me.\"\n\"And the flies?\" I said.\n\"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies, therefore I\nlike it.\"And there are people who know so little as to think that\nmadmen do not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left himmadmen do not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him\nas happy a man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could\nfathom his mind.\nMidnight.—Another change in him. I had been to see Miss\nWestenra, whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was\nstanding at our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I\nheard him yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I\ncould hear it better than in the morning. It was a shock to me to\nturn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with\nits lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that\ncome on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realize all the\ngrim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of\nbreathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all. I\nreached him just as the sun was going down, and from his window saw\nthe red disc sink. As it sank he became less and less frenzied, and\njust as it dipped he slid from the hands that held him, an inert\nmass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectual\nrecuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he stood\nup quite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the\nattendants not to hold him, for I was anxious to see what he would\ndo. He went straight over to the window and brushed out the crumbs\nof sugar. Then he took his fly box, and emptied it outside, and\nthrew away the box. Then he shut the window, and crossing over, sat\ndown on his bed. All this surprised me, so I asked him,\"Are you\ngoing to keep flies any more?\"\n\"No,\" said he. \"I am sick of all that rubbish!\" He certainly is\na wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of\nhis mind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop. There may be\na clue after all, if we can find why today his paroxysms came on at\nhigh noon and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence\nof the sun at periods which affects certain natures, as at times\nthe moon does others? We shall see.\nTELEGRAM. SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAMthe moon does others? We shall see.\nTELEGRAM. SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM\n\"4 September.—Patient still better today.\"\nTELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM\n\"5 September.—Patient greatly improved. Good appetite, sleeps\nnaturally, good spirits, color coming back.\"\nTELEGRAM, SEWARD, LONDON, TO VAN HELSING, AMSTERDAM\n\"6 September.—Terrible change for the worse. Come at once. Do\nnot lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holmwood till have seen\nyou.\""}
{"text": "6 September\n\"My dear Art,\n\"My news today is not so good. Lucy this morning had gone back a\nbit. There is, however, one good thing which has arisen from it.\nMrs. Westenra was naturally anxious concerning Lucy, and has\nconsulted me professionally about her. I took advantage of the\nopportunity, and told her that my old master, Van Helsing, the\ngreat specialist, was coming to stay with me, and that I would put\nher in his charge conjointly with myself. So now we can come and go\nwithout alarming her unduly, for a shock to her would mean sudden\ndeath, and this, in Lucy's weak condition, might be disastrous to\nher. We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor fellow,\nbut, please God, we shall come through them all right. If any need\nI shall write, so that, if you do not hear from me, take it for\ngranted that I am simply waiting for news, In haste,\n\"Yours ever,\"\nJohn Seward\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n7 September.—The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met\nat Liverpool Street was, \"Have you said anything to our young\nfriend, to lover of her?\"\n\"No,\" I said. \"I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my\ntelegram. I wrote him a letter simply telling him that you were\ncoming, as Miss Westenra was not so well, and that I should let him\nknow if need be.\"\n\"Right, my friend,\" he said. \"Quite right! Better he not know as\nyet. Perhaps he will never know. I pray so, but if it be needed,\nthen he shall know all. And, my good friend John, let me caution\nyou. You deal with the madmen. All men are mad in some way or the\nother, and inasmuch as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so\ndeal with God's madmen too, the rest of the world. You tell not\nyour madmen what you do nor why you do it. You tell them not what\nyou think. So you shall keep knowledge in its place, where it may\nrest, where it may gather its kind around it and breed. You and I\nshall keep as yet what we know here, and here.\" He touched me on\nthe heart and on the forehead, and then touched himself the samethe heart and on the forehead, and then touched himself the same\nway. \"I have for myself thoughts at the present. Later I shall\nunfold to you.\"\n\"Why not now?\" I asked. \"It may do some good. We may arrive at\nsome decision.\"He looked at me and said,\"My friend John, when the\ncorn is grown, even before it has ripened, while the milk of its\nmother earth is in him, and the sunshine has not yet begun to paint\nhim with his gold, the husbandman he pull the ear and rub him\nbetween his rough hands, and blow away the green chaff, and say to\nyou, 'Look! He's good corn, he will make a good crop when the time\ncomes.' \"\nI did not see the application and told him so. For reply he\nreached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully,\nas he used long ago to do at lectures, and said, \"The good\nhusbandman tell you so then because he knows, but not till then.\nBut you do not find the good husbandman dig up his planted corn to\nsee if he grow. That is for the children who play at husbandry, and\nnot for those who take it as of the work of their life. See you\nnow, friend John? I have sown my corn, and Nature has her work to\ndo in making it sprout, if he sprout at all, there's some promise,\nand I wait till the ear begins to swell.\" He broke off, for he\nevidently saw that I understood. Then he went on gravely, \"You were\nalways a careful student, and your case book was ever more full\nthan the rest. And I trust that good habit have not fail. Remember,\nmy friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should\nnot trust the weaker. Even if you have not kept the good practice,\nlet me tell you that this case of our dear miss is one that may be,\nmind, I say may be, of such interest to us and others that all the\nrest may not make him kick the beam, as your people say. Take then\ngood note of it. Nothing is too small. I counsel you, put down in\nrecord even your doubts and surmises. Hereafter it may be of\ninterest to you to see how true you guess. We learn from failure,\nnot from success!\"interest to you to see how true you guess. We learn from failure,\nnot from success!\"\nWhen I described Lucy's symptoms, the same as before, but\ninfinitely more marked, he looked very grave, but said nothing. He\ntook with him a bag in which were many instruments and drugs, \"the\nghastly paraphernalia of our beneficial trade,\" as he once called,\nin one of his lectures, the equipment of a professor of the healing\ncraft.\nWhen we were shown in, Mrs. Westenra met us. She was alarmed,\nbut not nearly so much as I expected to find her. Nature in one of\nher beneficient moods has ordained that even death has some\nantidote to its own terrors. Here, in a case where any shock may\nprove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from some cause or other,\nthe things not personal, even the terrible change in her daughter\nto whom she is so attached, do not seem to reach her. It is\nsomething like the way dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an\nenvelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil\nthat which it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an\nordered selfishness, then we should pause before we condemn any one\nfor the vice of egoism, for there may be deeper root for its causes\nthan we have knowledge of.\nI used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and\nset down a rule that she should not be present with Lucy, or think\nof her illness more than was absolutely required. She assented\nreadily, so readily that I saw again the hand of Nature fighting\nfor life. Van Helsing and I were shown up to Lucy's room. If I was\nshocked when I saw her yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her\ntoday.\nShe was ghastly, chalkily pale. The red seemed to have gone even\nfrom her lips and gums, and the bones of her face stood out\nprominently. Her breathing was painful to see or hear. Van\nHelsing's face grew set as marble, and his eyebrows converged till\nthey almost touched over his nose. Lucy lay motionless, and did not\nseem to have strength to speak, so for a while we were all silent."}
{"text": "seem to have strength to speak, so for a while we were all silent.\nThen Van Helsing beckoned to me, and we went gently out of the\nroom. The instant we had closed the door he stepped quickly along\nthe passage to the next door, which was open. Then he pulled me\nquickly in with him and closed the door. \"My god!\" he said. \"This\nis dreadful. There is not time to be lost. She will die for sheer\nwant of blood to keep the heart's action as it should be. There\nmust be a transfusion of blood at once. Is it you or me?\"\n\"I am younger and stronger, Professor. It must be me.\"\n\"Then get ready at once. I will bring up my bag. I am\nprepared.\"\nI went downstairs with him, and as we were going there was a\nknock at the hall door. When we reached the hall, the maid had just\nopened the door, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up\nto me, saying in an eager whisper,\n\"Jack, I was so anxious. I read between the lines of your\nletter, and have been in an agony. The dad was better, so I ran\ndown here to see for myself. Is not that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing?\nI am so thankful to you, sir, for coming.\"\nWhen first the Professor's eye had lit upon him, he had been\nangry at his interruption at such a time, but now, as he took in\nhis stalwart proportions and recognized the strong young manhood\nwhich seemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause\nhe said to him as he held out his hand,\n\"Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear miss.\nShe is bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that.\"For\nhe suddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. \"You\nare to help her. You can do more than any that live, and your\ncourage is your best help.\"\n\"What can I do?\" asked Arthur hoarsely. \"Tell me, and I shall do\nit. My life is hers' and I would give the last drop of blood in my\nbody for her.\"\nThe Professor has a strongly humorous side, and I could from old\nknowledge detect a trace of its origin in his answer.\n\"My young sir, I do not ask so much as that, not the last!\"\"My young sir, I do not ask so much as that, not the last!\"\n\"What shall I do?\" There was fire in his eyes, and his open\nnostrils quivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped him on the\nshoulder.\n\"Come!\" he said. \"You are a man, and it is a man we want. You\nare better than me, better than my friend John.\" Arthur looked\nbewildered, and the Professor went on by explaining in a kindly\nway.\n\"Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she\nmust have or die. My friend John and I have consulted, and we are\nabout to perform what we call transfusion of blood, to transfer\nfrom full veins of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John\nwas to give his blood, as he is the more young and strong than\nme.\"—Here Arthur took my hand and wrung it hard in silence.—\"But\nnow you are here, you are more good than us, old or young, who toil\nmuch in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm and our\nblood so bright than yours!\"\nArthur turned to him and said, \"If you only knew how gladly I\nwould die for her you would understand … \" He stopped with a\nsort of choke in his voice.\n\"Good boy!\" said Van Helsing. \"In the not-so-far-off you will be\nhappy that you have done all for her you love. Come now and be\nsilent. You shall kiss her once before it is done, but then you\nmust go, and you must leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame. You\nknow how it is with her. There must be no shock, any knowledge of\nthis would be one. Come!\"\nWe all went up to Lucy's room. Arthur by direction remained\noutside. Lucy turned her head and looked at us, but said nothing.\nShe was not asleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort.\nHer eyes spoke to us, that was all.\nVan Helsing took some things from his bag and laid them on a\nlittle table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and coming\nover to the bed, said cheerily, \"Now, little miss, here is your\nmedicine. Drink it off, like a good child. See, I lift you so that\nto swallow is easy. Yes.\" She had made the effort with success.to swallow is easy. Yes.\" She had made the effort with success.\nIt astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact,\nmarked the extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless until\nsleep began to flicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the\nnarcotic began to manifest its potency, and she fell into a deep\nsleep. When the Professor was satisfied, he called Arthur into the\nroom, and bade him strip off his coat. Then he added, \"You may take\nthat one little kiss whiles I bring over the table. Friend John,\nhelp to me!\" So neither of us looked whilst he bent over her.\nVan Helsing, turning to me, said, \"He is so young and strong,\nand of blood so pure that we need not defibrinate it.\"\nThen with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing\nperformed the operation. As the transfusion went on, something like\nlife seemed to come back to poor Lucy's cheeks, and through\nArthur's growing pallor the joy of his face seemed absolutely to\nshine. After a bit I began to grow anxious, for the loss of blood\nwas telling on Arthur, strong man as he was. It gave me an idea of\nwhat a terrible strain Lucy's system must have undergone that what\nweakened Arthur only partially restored her.\nBut the Professor's face was set, and he stood watch in hand,\nand with his eyes fixed now on the patient and now on Arthur. I\ncould hear my own heart beat. Presently, he said in a soft voice,\n\"Do not stir an instant. It is enough. You attend him. I will look\nto her.\"\nWhen all was over, I could see how much Arthur was weakened. I\ndressed the wound and took his arm to bring him away, when Van\nHelsing spoke without turning round, the man seems to have eyes in\nthe back of his head,\"The brave lover, I think, deserve another\nkiss, which he shall have presently.\" And as he had now finished\nhis operation, he adjusted the pillow to the patient's head. As he\ndid so the narrow black velvet band which she seems always to wear\nround her throat, buckled with an old diamond buckle which her"}
{"text": "round her throat, buckled with an old diamond buckle which her\nlover had given her, was dragged a little up, and showed a red mark\non her throat.\nArthur did not notice it, but I could hear the deep hiss of\nindrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing's ways of betraying\nemotion. He said nothing at the moment, but turned to me, saying,\n\"Now take down our brave young lover, give him of the port wine,\nand let him lie down a while. He must then go home and rest, sleep\nmuch and eat much, that he may be recruited of what he has so given\nto his love. He must not stay here. Hold a moment! I may take it,\nsir, that you are anxious of result. Then bring it with you, that\nin all ways the operation is successful. You have saved her life\nthis time, and you can go home and rest easy in mind that all that\ncan be is. I shall tell her all when she is well. She shall love\nyou none the less for what you have done. Goodbye.\"\nWhen Arthur had gone I went back to the room. Lucy was sleeping\ngently, but her breathing was stronger. I could see the counterpane\nmove as her breast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking\nat her intently. The velvet band again covered the red mark. I\nasked the Professor in a whisper, \"What do you make of that mark on\nher throat?\"\n\"What do you make of it?\"\n\"I have not examined it yet,\" I answered, and then and there\nproceeded to loose the band. Just over the external jugular vein\nthere were two punctures, not large, but not wholesome looking.\nThere was no sign of disease, but the edges were white and worn\nlooking, as if by some trituration. It at once occurred to me that\nthat this wound, or whatever it was, might be the means of that\nmanifest loss of blood. But I abandoned the idea as soon as it\nformed, for such a thing could not be. The whole bed would have\nbeen drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the girl must have\nlost to leave such a pallor as she had before the transfusion.\n\"Well?\" said Van Helsing.\n\"Well,\" said I. \"I can make nothing of it.\"\"Well?\" said Van Helsing.\n\"Well,\" said I. \"I can make nothing of it.\"\nThe Professor stood up. \"I must go back to Amsterdam tonight,\"\nhe said \"There are books and things there which I want. You must\nremain here all night, and you must not let your sight pass from\nher.\"\n\"Shall I have a nurse?\" I asked.\n\"We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night.\nSee that she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must\nnot sleep all the night.Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall\nbe back as soon as possible. And then we may begin.\"\n\"May begin?\" I said. \"What on earth do you mean?\"\n\"We shall see!\" he answered, as he hurried out. He came back a\nmoment later and put his head inside the door and said with a\nwarning finger held up, \"Remember, she is your charge. If you leave\nher, and harm befall, you shall not sleep easy hereafter!\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY—CONTINUED\n8 September.—I sat up all night with Lucy. The opiate worked\nitself off towards dusk, and she waked naturally. She looked a\ndifferent being from what she had been before the operation. Her\nspirits even were good, and she was full of a happy vivacity, but I\ncould see evidences of the absolute prostration which she had\nundergone. When I told Mrs. Westenra that Dr. Van Helsing had\ndirected that I should sit up with her, she almost pooh-poohed the\nidea, pointing out her daughter's renewed strength and excellent\nspirits. I was firm, however, and made preparations for my long\nvigil. When her maid had prepared her for the night I came in,\nhaving in the meantime had supper, and took a seat by the\nbedside.\nShe did not in any way make objection, but looked at me\ngratefully whenever I caught her eye. After a long spell she seemed\nsinking off to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself\ntogether and shook it off. It was apparent that she did not want to\nsleep, so I tackled the subject at once.\n\"You do not want to sleep?\"\n\"No. I am afraid.\"\n\"Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave\nfor.\"\"No. I am afraid.\"\n\"Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave\nfor.\"\n\"Ah, not if you were like me, if sleep was to you a presage of\nhorror!\"\n\"A presage of horror! What on earth do you mean?\"\n\"I don't know. Oh, I don't know. And that is what is so\nterrible. All this weakness comes to me in sleep, until I dread the\nvery thought.\"\n\"But, my dear girl, you may sleep tonight. I am here watching\nyou, and I can promise that nothing will happen.\"\n\"Ah, I can trust you!\" she said.\nI seized the opportunity, and said, \"I promise that if I see any\nevidence of bad dreams I will wake you at once.\"\n\"You will? Oh, will you really? How good you are to me. Then I\nwill sleep!\" And almost at the word she gave a deep sigh of relief,\nand sank back, asleep.\nAll night long I watched by her. She never stirred, but slept on\nand on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, healthgiving sleep. Her\nlips were slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell with the\nregularity of a pendulum. There was a smile on her face, and it was\nevident that no bad dreams had come to disturb her peace of\nmind.\nIn the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her care\nand took myself back home, for I was anxious about many things. I\nsent a short wire to Van Helsing and to Arthur, telling them of the\nexcellent result of the operation. My own work, with its manifold\narrears, took me all day to clear off. It was dark when I was able\nto inquire about my zoophagous patient. The report was good. He had\nbeen quite quiet for the past day and night. A telegram came from\nVan Helsing at Amsterdam whilst I was at dinner, suggesting that I\nshould be at Hillingham tonight, as it might be well to be at hand,\nand stating that he was leaving by the night mail and would join me\nearly in the morning.\n9 September.—I was pretty tired and worn out when I got to\nHillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of sleep, and my\nbrain was beginning to feel that numbness which marks cerebral\nexhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook"}
{"text": "exhaustion. Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits. When she shook\nhands with me she looked sharply in my face and said,\n\"No sitting up tonight for you. You are worn out. I am quite\nwell again. Indeed, I am, and if there is to be any sitting up, it\nis I who will sit up with you.\"\nI would not argue the point, but went and had my supper. Lucy\ncame with me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I made an\nexcellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than\nexcellent port. Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me a room\nnext her own, where a cozy fire was burning.\n\"Now,\" she said. \"You must stay here. I shall leave this door\nopen and my door too. You can lie on the sofa for I know that\nnothing would induce any of you doctors to go to bed whilst there\nis a patient above the horizon. If I want anything I shall call\nout, and you can come to me at once.\"\nI could not but acquiesce, for I was dog tired, and could not\nhave sat up had I tried. So, on her renewing her promise to call me\nif she should want anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot all\nabout everything.\nLUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY\n9 September.—I feel so happy tonight. I have been so miserably\nweak, that to be able to think and move about is like feeling\nsunshine after a long spell of east wind out of a steel sky.\nSomehow Arthur feels very, very close to me. I seem to feel his\npresence warm about me. I suppose it is that sickness and weakness\nare selfish things and turn our inner eyes and sympathy on\nourselves, whilst health and strength give love rein, and in\nthought and feeling he can wander where he wills. I know where my\nthoughts are. If only Arthur knew! My dear, my dear, your ears must\ntingle as you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh, the blissful rest of\nlast night! How I slept, with that dear, good Dr. Seward watching\nme. And tonight I shall not fear to sleep, since he is close at\nhand and within call. Thank everybody for being so good to me.\nThank God! Goodnight Arthur.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n10 September.—I was conscious of the Professor's hand on myDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n10 September.—I was conscious of the Professor's hand on my\nhead, and started awake all in a second. That is one of the things\nthat we learn in an asylum, at any rate.\n\"And how is our patient?\"\n\"Well, when I left her, or rather when she left me,\" I\nanswered.\n\"Come, let us see,\" he said. And together we went into the\nroom.\nThe blind was down, and I went over to raise it gently, whilst\nVan Helsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, over to the\nbed.\nAs I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded the\nroom, I heard the Professor's low hiss of inspiration, and knowing\nits rarity, a deadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over\nhe moved back, and his exclamation of horror, \"Gott in Himmel!\"\nneeded no enforcement from his agonized face. He raised his hand\nand pointed to the bed, and his iron face was drawn and ashen\nwhite. I felt my knees begin to tremble.\nThere on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy, more\nhorribly white and wan-looking than ever. Even the lips were white,\nand the gums seemed to have shrunken back from the teeth, as we\nsometimes see in a corpse after a prolonged illness.\nVan Helsing raised his foot to stamp in anger, but the instinct\nof his life and all the long years of habit stood to him, and he\nput it down again softly.\n\"Quick!\" he said. \"Bring the brandy.\"\nI flew to the dining room, and returned with the decanter. He\nwetted the poor white lips with it, and together we rubbed palm and\nwrist and heart. He felt her heart, and after a few moments of\nagonizing suspense said,\n\"It is not too late. It beats, though but feebly. All our work\nis undone. We must begin again. There is no young Arthur here now.\nI have to call on you yourself this time, friend John.\" As he\nspoke, he was dipping into his bag, and producing the instruments\nof transfusion. I had taken off my coat and rolled up my shirt\nsleeve. There was no possibility of an opiate just at present, and\nno need of one. and so, without a moment's delay, we began the\noperation.no need of one. and so, without a moment's delay, we began the\noperation.\nAfter a time, it did not seem a short time either, for the\ndraining away of one's blood, no matter how willingly it be given,\nis a terrible feeling, Van Helsing held up a warning finger. \"Do\nnot stir,\" he said. \"But I fear that with growing strength she may\nwake, and that would make danger, oh, so much danger. But I shall\nprecaution take. I shall give hypodermic injection of morphia.\" He\nproceeded then, swiftly and deftly, to carry out his intent.\nThe effect on Lucy was not bad, for the faint seemed to merge\nsubtly into the narcotic sleep. It was with a feeling of personal\npride that I could see a faint tinge of color steal back into the\npallid cheeks and lips. No man knows, till he experiences it, what\nit is to feel his own lifeblood drawn away into the veins of the\nwoman he loves.\nThe Professor watched me critically. \"That will do,\" he said.\n\"Already?\" I remonstrated. \"You took a great deal more from Art.\"\nTo which he smiled a sad sort of smile as he replied,\n\"He is her lover, her fiance. You have work, much work to do for\nher and for others, and the present will suffice.\nWhen we stopped the operation, he attended to Lucy, whilst I\napplied digital pressure to my own incision. I laid down, while I\nwaited his leisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little\nsick. By and by he bound up my wound, and sent me downstairs to get\na glass of wine for myself. As I was leaving the room, he came\nafter me, and half whispered.\n\"Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover should\nturn up unexpected, as before, no word to him. It would at once\nfrighten him and enjealous him, too. There must be none. So!\"\nWhen I came back he looked at me carefully, and then said, \"You\nare not much the worse. Go into the room, and lie on your sofa, and\nrest awhile, then have much breakfast and come here to me.\"\nI followed out his orders, for I knew how right and wise they\nwere. I had done my part, and now my next duty was to keep up my"}
{"text": "were. I had done my part, and now my next duty was to keep up my\nstrength. I felt very weak, and in the weakness lost something of\nthe amazement at what had occurred. I fell asleep on the sofa,\nhowever, wondering over and over again how Lucy had made such a\nretrograde movement, and how she could have been drained of so much\nblood with no sign any where to show for it. I think I must have\ncontinued my wonder in my dreams, for, sleeping and waking my\nthoughts always came back to the little punctures in her throat and\nthe ragged, exhausted appearance of their edges, tiny though they\nwere.\nLucy slept well into the day, and when she woke she was fairly\nwell and strong, though not nearly so much so as the day before.\nWhen Van Helsing had seen her, he went out for a walk, leaving me\nin charge, with strict injunctions that I was not to leave her for\na moment. I could hear his voice in the hall, asking the way to the\nnearest telegraph office.\nLucy chatted with me freely, and seemed quite unconscious that\nanything had happened. I tried to keep her amused and interested.\nWhen her mother came up to see her, she did not seem to notice any\nchange whatever, but said to me gratefully,\n\"We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all you have done, but you\nreally must now take care not to overwork yourself. You are looking\npale yourself. You want a wife to nurse and look after you a bit,\nthat you do!\" As she spoke, Lucy turned crimson, though it was only\nmomentarily, for her poor wasted veins could not stand for long an\nunwonted drain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor\nas she turned imploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and laid\nmy finger on my lips. With a sigh, she sank back amid her pillows.\nVan Helsing returned in a couple of hours, and presently said to\nme. \"Now you go home, and eat much and drink enough. Make yourself\nstrong. I stay here tonight, and I shall sit up with little miss\nmyself. You and I must watch the case, and we must have none othermyself. You and I must watch the case, and we must have none other\nto know. I have grave reasons. No, do not ask the. Think what you\nwill. Do not fear to think even the most not-improbable.\nGoodnight.\"\nIn the hall two of the maids came to me, and asked if they or\neither of them might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They implored me to\nlet them, and when I said it was Dr. Van Helsing's wish that either\nhe or I should sit up, they asked me quite piteously to intercede\nwith the`foreign gentleman'. I was much touched by their kindness.\nPerhaps it is because I am weak at present, and perhaps because it\nwas on Lucy's account, that their devotion was manifested. For over\nand over again have I seen similar instances of woman's kindness. I\ngot back here in time for a late dinner, went my rounds, all well,\nand set this down whilst waiting for sleep. It is coming.\n11 September.—This afternoon I went over to Hillingham. Found\nVan Helsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much better. Shortly\nafter I had arrived, a big parcel from abroad came for the\nProfessor. He opened it with much impressment, assumed, of course,\nand showed a great bundle of white flowers.\n\"These are for you, Miss Lucy,\" he said.\n\"For me? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing!\"\n\"Yes, my dear, but not for you to play with. These are\nmedicines.\" Here Lucy made a wry face. \"Nay, but they are not to\ntake in a decoction or in nauseous form, so you need not snub that\nso charming nose, or I shall point out to my friend Arthur what\nwoes he may have to endure in seeing so much beauty that he so\nloves so much distort. Aha, my pretty miss, that bring the so nice\nnose all straight again. This is medicinal, but you do not know\nhow. I put him in your window, I make pretty wreath, and hang him\nround your neck, so you sleep well. Oh, yes! They, like the lotus\nflower, make your trouble forgotten. It smell so like the waters of\nLethe, and of that fountain of youth that the Conquistadores sought\nfor in the Floridas, and find him all too late.\"for in the Floridas, and find him all too late.\"\nWhilst he was speaking, Lucy had been examining the flowers and\nsmelling them. Now she threw them down saying, with half laughter,\nand half disgust,\n\"Oh, Professor, I believe you are only putting up a joke on me.\nWhy, these flowers are only common garlic.\"\nTo my surprise, Van Helsing rose up and said with all his\nsternness, his iron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meeting,\n\"No trifling with me! I never jest! There is grim purpose in\nwhat I do, and I warn you that you do not thwart me. Take care, for\nthe sake of others if not for your own.\" Then seeing poor Lucy\nscared, as she might well be, he went on more gently, \"Oh, little\nmiss, my dear, do not fear me. I only do for your good, but there\nis much virtue to you in those so common flowers. See, I place them\nmyself in your room. I make myself the wreath that you are to wear.\nBut hush! No telling to others that make so inquisitive questions.\nWe must obey, and silence is a part of obedience, and obedience is\nto bring you strong and well into loving arms that wait for you.\nNow sit still a while. Come with me, friend John, and you shall\nhelp me deck the room with my garlic, which is all the war from\nHaarlem, where my friend Vanderpool raise herb in his glass houses\nall the year. I had to telegraph yesterday, or they would not have\nbeen here.\"\nWe went into the room, taking the flowers with us. The\nProfessor's actions were certainly odd and not to be found in any\npharmacopeia that I ever heard of. First he fastened up the windows\nand latched them securely. Next, taking a handful of the flowers,\nhe rubbed them all over the sashes, as though to ensure that every\nwhiff of air that might get in would be laden with the garlic\nsmell. Then with the wisp he rubbed all over the jamb of the door,\nabove, below, and at each side, and round the fireplace in the same\nway. It all seemed grotesque to me, and presently I said, \"Well,\nProfessor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, butProfessor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, but\nthis certainly puzzles me. It is well we have no sceptic here, or\nhe would say that you were working some spell to keep out an evil\nspirit.\"\n\"Perhaps I am!\" He answered quietly as he began to make the\nwreath which Lucy was to wear round her neck.\nWe then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, and\nwhen she was in bed he came and himself fixed the wreath of garlic\nround her neck. The last words he said to her were,\n\"Take care you do not disturb it, and even if the room feel\nclose, do not tonight open the window or the door.\"\n\"I promise,\" said Lucy. \"And thank you both a thousand times for\nall your kindness to me! Oh, what have I done to be blessed with\nsuch friends?\"\nAs we left the house in my fly, which was waiting, Van Helsing\nsaid,\"Tonight I can sleep in peace, and sleep I want, two nights of\ntravel, much reading in the day between, and much anxiety on the\nday to follow, and a night to sit up, without to wink. Tomorrow in\nthe morning early you call for me, and we come together to see our\npretty miss, so much more strong for my `spell' which I have work.\nHo, ho!\"\nHe seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two\nnights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague\nterror. It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell\nit to my friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears."}
{"text": "12 September.—How good they all are to me. I quite love that\ndear Dr. Van Helsing. I wonder why he was so anxious about these\nflowers. He positively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he\nmust have been right, for I feel comfort from them already.\nSomehow, I do not dread being alone tonight, and I can go to sleep\nwithout fear. I shall not mind any flapping outside the window. Oh,\nthe terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of\nlate, the pain of sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep,\nand with such unknown horrors as it has for me! How blessed are\nsome people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is\na blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.\nWell, here I am tonight, hoping for sleep, and lying like Ophelia\nin the play, with`virgin crants and maiden strewments.' I never\nliked garlic before, but tonight it is delightful! There is peace\nin its smell. I feel sleep coming already. Goodnight,\neverybody.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n13 September.—Called at the Berkeley and found Van Helsing, as\nusual, up to time. The carriage ordered from the hotel was waiting.\nThe Professor took his bag, which he always brings with him\nnow.\nLet all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived at\nHillingham at eight o'clock. It was a lovely morning. The bright\nsunshine and all the fresh feeling of early autumn seemed like the\ncompletion of nature's annual work. The leaves were turning to all\nkinds of beautiful colors, but had not yet begun to drop from the\ntrees. When we entered we met Mrs. Westenra coming out of the\nmorning room. She is always an early riser. She greeted us warmly\nand said,\n\"You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear child is\nstill asleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but did not go\nin, lest I should disturb her.\" The Professor smiled, and looked\nquite jubilant. He rubbed his hands together, and said, \"Aha! I\nthought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment is working.\"\nTo which she replied, \"You must not take all the credit toTo which she replied, \"You must not take all the credit to\nyourself, doctor. Lucy's state this morning is due in part to\nme.\"\n\"How do you mean, ma'am?\" asked the Professor.\n\"Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, and went\ninto her room. She was sleeping soundly, so soundly that even my\ncoming did not wake her. But the room was awfully stuffy. There\nwere a lot of those horrible, strongsmelling flowers about\neverywhere, and she had actually a bunch of them round her neck. I\nfeared that the heavy odor would be too much for the dear child in\nher weak state, so I took them all away and opened a bit of the\nwindow to let in a little fresh air. You will be pleased with her,\nI am sure.\"\nShe moved off into her boudoir, where she usually breakfasted\nearly. As she had spoken, I watched the Professor's face, and saw\nit turn ashen gray. He had been able to retain his self-command\nwhilst the poor lady was present, for he knew her state and how\nmischievous a shock would be. He actually smiled on her as he held\nopen the door for her to pass into her room. But the instant she\nhad disappeared he pulled me, suddenly and forcibly, into the\ndining room and closed the door.\nThen, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break\ndown. He raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair,\nand then beat his palms together in a helpless way. Finally he sat\ndown on a chair, and putting his hands before his face, began to\nsob, with loud, dry sobs that seemed to come from the very racking\nof his heart.\nThen he raised his arms again, as though appealing to the whole\nuniverse. \"God! God! God!\" he said. \"What have we done, what has\nthis poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate\namongst us still, send down from the pagan world of old, that such\nthings must be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing,\nand all for the best as she think, does such thing as lose her\ndaughter body and soul, and we must not tell her, we must not evendaughter body and soul, and we must not tell her, we must not even\nwarn her, or she die, then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are\nall the powers of the devils against us!\"\nSuddenly he jumped to his feet. \"Come,\" he said.\"come, we must\nsee and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it\nmatters not. We must fight him all the same.\" He went to the hall\ndoor for his bag, and together we went up to Lucy's room.\nOnce again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went towards\nthe bed. This time he did not start as he looked on the poor face\nwith the same awful, waxen pallor as before. He wore a look of\nstern sadness and infinite pity.\n\"As I expected,\" he murmured, with that hissing inspiration of\nhis which meant so much. Without a word he went and locked the\ndoor, and then began to set out on the little table the instruments\nfor yet another operation of transfusion of blood. I had long ago\nrecognized the necessity, and begun to take off my coat, but he\nstopped me with a warning hand. \"No!\" he said. \"Today you must\noperate. I shall provide. You are weakened already.\" As he spoke he\ntook off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeve.\nAgain the operation. Again the narcotic. Again some return of\ncolor to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing of healthy\nsleep. This time I watched whilst Van Helsing recruited himself and\nrested.\nPresently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra that\nshe must not remove anything from Lucy's room without consulting\nhim. That the flowers were of medicinal value, and that the\nbreathing of their odor was a part of the system of cure. Then he\ntook over the care of the case himself, saying that he would watch\nthis night and the next, and would send me word when to come.\nAfter another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and bright\nand seemingly not much the worse for her terrible ordeal.\nWhat does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my long habit\nof life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own\nbrain.\nLUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY"}
{"text": "of life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon my own\nbrain.\nLUCY WESTENRA'S DIARY\n17 September.—Four days and nights of peace. I am getting so\nstrong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I had passed\nthrough some long nightmare, and had just awakened to see the\nbeautiful sunshine and feel the fresh air of the morning around me.\nI have a dim half remembrance of long, anxious times of waiting and\nfearing, darkness in which there was not even the pain of hope to\nmake present distress more poignant. And then long spells of\noblivion, and the rising back to life as a diver coming up through\na great press of water. Since, however, Dr. Van Helsing has been\nwith me, all this bad dreaming seems to have passed away. The\nnoises that used to frighten me out of my wits, the flapping\nagainst the windows, the distant voices which seemed so close to\nme, the harsh sounds that came from I know not where and commanded\nme to do I know not what, have all ceased. I go to bed now without\nany fear of sleep. I do not even try to keep awake. I have grown\nquite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me every day\nfrom Haarlem. Tonight Dr. Van Helsing is going away, as he has to\nbe for a day in Amsterdam. But I need not be watched. I am well\nenough to be left alone.\nThank God for Mother's sake, and dear Arthur's, and for all our\nfriends who have been so kind! I shall not even feel the change,\nfor last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair a lot of the\ntime. I found him asleep twice when I awoke. But I did not fear to\ngo to sleep again, although the boughs or bats or something flapped\nalmost angrily against the window panes.\nTHE PALL MALL GAZETTE 18 September.\nTHE ESCAPED WOLF PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER\nINTERVIEW WITH THE KEEPER IN THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS\nAfter many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and\nperpetually using the words `PALL MALL GAZETTE ' as a sort of\ntalisman, I managed to find the keeper of the section of the\nZoological Gardens in which the wold department is included. ThomasZoological Gardens in which the wold department is included. Thomas\nBilder lives in one of the cottages in the enclosure behind the\nelephant house, and was just sitting down to his tea when I found\nhim. Thomas and his wife are hospitable folk, elderly, and without\nchildren, and if the specimen I enjoyed of their hospitality be of\nthe average kind, their lives must be pretty comfortable. The\nkeeper would not enter on what he called business until the supper\nwas over, and we were all satisfied. Then when the table was\ncleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said,\n\"Now, Sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You'll\nexcoose me refoosin' to talk of perfeshunal subjucts afore meals. I\ngives the wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in all our section\ntheir tea afore I begins to arsk them questions.\"\n\"How do you mean, ask them questions?\" I queried, wishful to get\nhim into a talkative humor.\n\" `Ittin' of them over the `ead with a pole is one way.\nScratchin' of their ears in another, when gents as is flush wants a\nbit of a show-orf to their gals. I don't so much mind the fust, the\n`ittin of the pole part afore I chucks in their dinner, but I waits\ntill they've `ad their sherry and kawffee, so to speak,afore I\ntries on with the ear scratchin'. Mind you,\" he added\nphilosophically, \"there's a deal of the same nature in us as in\nthem theer animiles. Here's you a-comin' and arskin' of me\nquestions about my business, and I that grump-like that only for\nyour bloomin' `arf-quid I'd `a' seen you blowed fust `fore I'd\nanswer. Not even when you arsked me sarcastic like if I'd like you\nto arsk the Superintendent if you might arsk me questions. Without\noffence did I tell yer to go to `ell?\"\n\"You did.\"\n\"An' when you said you'd report me for usin' obscene language\nthat was `ittin' me over the `ead. But the `arfquid made that all\nright. I weren't a-goin' to fight, so I waited for the food, and\ndid with my `owl as the wolves and lions and tigers does. But, lor'\nlove yer `art, now that the old `ooman has stuck a chunk of herlove yer `art, now that the old `ooman has stuck a chunk of her\ntea-cake in me, an' rinsed me out with her bloomin' old teapot, and\nI've lit hup, you may scratch my ears for all you're worth, and\nwon't even get a growl out of me. Drive along with your questions.\nI know what yer a-comin' at, that `ere escaped wolf.\"\n\"Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell me\nhow it happened, and when I know the facts I'll get you to say what\nyou consider was the cause of it, and how you think the whole\naffair will end.\"\n\"All right, guv'nor. This `ere is about the `ole story. That`ere\nwolf what we called Bersicker was one of three gray ones that came\nfrom Norway to Jamrach's, which we bought off him four years ago.\nHe was a nice well-behaved wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk\nof. I'm more surprised at `im for wantin' to get out nor any other\nanimile in the place. But, there, you can't trust wolves no more\nnor women.\"\n\"Don't you mind him, Sir!\" broke in Mrs. Tom, with a cheery\nlaugh. \" `E's got mindin' the animiles so long that blest if he\nain't like a old wolf `isself! But there ain't no `arm in `im.\"\n\"Well, Sir, it was about two hours after feedin' yesterday when\nI first hear my disturbance. I was makin' up a litter in the monkey\nhouse for a young puma which is ill. But when I heard the yelpin'\nand `owlin' I kem away straight. There was Bersicker a-tearin' like\na mad thing at the bars as if he wanted to get out. There wasn't\nmuch people about that day, and close at hand was only one man, a\ntall, thin chap, with a `ook nose and a pointed beard, with a few\nwhite hairs runnin' through it. He had a `ard, cold look and red\neyes, and I took a sort of mislike to him, for it seemed as if it\nwas `im as they was hirritated at. He `ad white kid gloves on `is\n`ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says, `Keeper,\nthese wolves seem upset at something.'\n\"`Maybe it's you,' says I, for I did not like the airs as he\ngive `isself. He didn't get angry, as I `oped he would, but he"}
{"text": "give `isself. He didn't get angry, as I `oped he would, but he\nsmiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp\nteeth. `Oh no, they wouldn't like me,' `e says.\n\" `Ow yes, they would,' says I, a-imitatin'of him.`They always\nlike a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea time, which\nyou `as a bagful.'\n\"Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us\na-talkin' they lay down, and when I went over to Bersicker he let\nme stroke his ears same as ever. That there man kem over, and\nblessed but if he didn't put in his hand and stroke the old wolf's\nears too!\n\" `Tyke care,' says I. `Bersicker is quick.'\n\" `Never mind,' he says. I'm used to `em!'\n\" `Are you in the business yourself?\"I says, tyking off my `at,\nfor a man what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good friend to\nkeepers.\n\" `Nom' says he, `not exactly in the business, but I `ave made\npets of several.' and with that he lifts his `at as perlite as a\nlord, and walks away. Old Bersicker kep' a-lookin' arter `im till\n`e was out of sight, and then went and lay down in a corner and\nwouldn't come hout the `ole hevening. Well, larst night, so soon as\nthe moon was hup, the wolves here all began a-`owling. There warn't\nnothing for them to `owl at. There warn't no one near, except some\none that was evidently a-callin' a dog somewheres out back of the\ngardings in the Park road. Once or twice I went out to see that all\nwas right, and it was, and then the `owling stopped. Just before\ntwelve o'clock I just took a look round afore turnin' in, an', bust\nme, but when I kem opposite to old Bersicker's cage I see the rails\nbroken and twisted about and the cage empty. And that's all I know\nfor certing.\"\n\"Did any one else see anything?\"\n\"One of our gard`ners was a-comin' `ome about that time from a\n`armony, when he sees a big gray dog comin' out through the garding\n`edges. At least, so he says, but I don't give much for it myself,\nfor if he did `e never said a word about it to his missis when `efor if he did `e never said a word about it to his missis when `e\ngot `ome, and it was only after the escape of the wolf was made\nknown, and we had been up all night a-huntin' of the Park for\nBersicker, that he remembered seein' anything. My own belief was\nthat the `armony `ad got into his `ead.\"\n\"Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the escape of\nthe wolf?\"\n\"Well, Sir,\"he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, \"I think\nI can, but I don't know as `ow you'd be satisfied with the\ntheory.\"\n\"Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the animals\nfrom experience, can't hazard a good guess at any rate, who is even\nto try?\"\n\"well then, Sir, I accounts for it this way. It seems to me that\n`ere wolf escaped—simply because he wanted to get out.\"\nFrom the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife laughed at the\njoke I could see that it had done service before, and that the\nwhole explanation was simply an elaborate sell. I couldn't cope in\nbadinage with the worthy Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way\nto his heart, so I said,\"Now, Mr. Bilder, we'll consider that first\nhalf-sovereign worked off, and this brother of his is waiting to be\nclaimed when you've told me what you think will happen.\"\n\"Right y`are, Sir,\" he said briskly. \"Ye`ll excoose me, I know,\nfor a-chaffin' of ye, but the old woman her winked at me, which was\nas much as telling me to go on.\"\n\"Well, I never!\" said the old lady.\n\"My opinion is this. That `ere wolf is a`idin' of, somewheres.\nThe gard`ner wot didn't remember said he was a-gallopin' northward\nfaster than a horse could go, but I don't believe him, for, yer\nsee, Sir, wolves don't gallop no more nor dogs does, they not bein'\nbuilt that way. Wolves is fine things in a storybook, and I dessay\nwhen they gets in packs and does be chivyin' somethin' that's more\nafeared than they is they can make a devil of a noise and chop it\nup, whatever it is. But, Lor' bless you, in real life a wolf is\nonly a low creature, not half so clever or bold as a good dog, andonly a low creature, not half so clever or bold as a good dog, and\nnot half a quarter so much fight in `im. This one ain't been used\nto fightin' or even to providin' for hisself, and more like he's\nsomewhere round the Park a'hidin' an' a'shiverin' of, and if he\nthinks at all, wonderin' where he is to get his breakfast from. Or\nmaybe he's got down some area and is in a coal cellar. My eye,\nwon't some cook get a rum start when she sees his green eyes\na-shinin' at her out of the dark! If he can't get food he's bound\nto look for it, and mayhap he may chance to light on a butcher's\nshop in time. If he doesn't, and some nursemaid goes out walkin' or\norf with a soldier, leavin' of the hinfant in the\nperambulator—well, then I shouldn't be surprised if the census is\none babby the less. That's all.\"\nI was handing him the half-sovereign, when something came\nbobbing up against the window, and Mr. Bilder's face doubled its\nnatural length with surprise.\n\"God bless me!\" he said. \"If there ain't old Bersicker come back\nby `isself!\"\nHe went to the door and opened it, a most unnecessary proceeding\nit seemed to me. I have always thought that a wild animal never\nlooks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is\nbetween us. A personal experience has intensified rather than\ndiminished that idea.\nAfter all, however, there is nothing like custom, for neither\nBilder nor his wife thought any more of the wolf than I should of a\ndog. The animal itself was a peaceful and well-behaved as that\nfather of all picture-wolves, Red Riding Hood's quondam friend,\nwhilst moving her confidence in masquerade.\nThe whole scene was a unutterable mixture of comedy and pathos.\nThe wicked wolf that for a half a day had paralyzed London and set\nall the children in town shivering in their shoes, was there in a\nsort of penitent mood, and was received and petted like a sort of\nvulpine prodigal son. Old Bilder examined him all over with most\ntender solicitude, and when he had finished with his penitent\nsaid,"}
{"text": "tender solicitude, and when he had finished with his penitent\nsaid,\n\"There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some kind of\ntrouble. Didn't I say it all along? Here's his head all cut and\nfull of broken glass. `E's been a-gettin' over some bloomin' wall\nor other. It's a shyme that people are allowed to top their walls\nwith broken bottles. This `ere's what comes of it. Come along,\nBersicker.\"\nHe took the wolf and locked him up in a cage, with a piece of\nmeat that satisfied, in quantity at any rate, the elementary\nconditions of the fatted calf, and went off to report.\nI came off too, to report the only exclusive information that is\ngiven today regarding the strange escapade at the Zoo.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n17 September.—I was engaged after dinner in my study posting up\nmy books, which, through press of other work and the many visits to\nLucy, had fallen sadly into arrear. Suddenly the door was burst\nopen, and in rushed my patient, with his face distorted with\npassion. I was thunderstruck, for such a thing as a patient getting\nof his own accord into the Superintendent's study is almost\nunknown.\nWithout an instant's notice he made straight at me. He had a\ndinner knife in his hand, and as I saw he was dangerous, I tried to\nkeep the table between us. He was too quick and too strong for me,\nhowever, for before I could get my balance he had struck at me and\ncut my left wrist rather severely.\nBefore he could strike again, however, I got in my right hand\nand he was sprawling on his back on the floor. My wrist bled\nfreely, and quite a little pool trickled on to the carpet. I saw\nthat my friend was not intent on further effort, and occupied\nmyself binding up my wrist, keeping a wary eye on the prostrate\nfigure all the time. When the attendants rushed in, and we turned\nour attention to him, his employment positively sickened me. He was\nlying on his belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood\nwhich had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured, andwhich had fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured, and\nto my surprise, went with the attendants quite placidly, simply\nrepeating over and over again, \"The blood is the life! The blood is\nthe life!\"\nI cannot afford to lose blood just at present. I have lost too\nmuch of late for my physical good, and then the prolonged strain of\nLucy's illness and its horrible phases is telling on me. I am over\nexcited and weary, and I need rest, rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing\nhas not summoned me, so I need not forego my sleep. Tonight I could\nnot well do without it.\nTELEGRAM, VAN HELSING, ANTWERP, TO SEWARD, CARFAX\n(Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given, delivered late by\ntwenty-two hours.)\n17 September.—Do not fail to be at Hilllingham tonight. If not\nwatching all the time, frequently visit and see that flowers are as\nplaced, very important, do not fail. Shall be with you as soon as\npossible after arrival.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n18 September.—Just off train to London. The arrival of Van\nHelsing's telegram filled me with dismay. A whole night lost, and I\nknow by bitter experience what may happen in a night. Of course it\nis possible that all may be well, but what may have happened?\nSurely there is some horrible doom hanging over us that every\npossible accident should thwart us in all we try to do. I shall\ntake this cylinder with me, and then I can complete my entry on\nLucy's phonograph. MEMORANDUM LEFT BY LUCY WESTENRA\n17 September, Night.—I write this and leave it to be seen, so\nthat no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is\nan exact record of what took place tonight. I feel I am dying of\nweakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if\nI die in the doing.\nI went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were placed\nas Dr. Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep.\nI was waked by the flapping at the window, which had begun after\nthat sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when Mina saved me, and\nwhich now I know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr.which now I know so well. I was not afraid, but I did wish that Dr.\nSeward was in the next room, as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be,\nso that I might have called him. I tried to sleep, but I could not.\nThen there came to me the old fear of sleep, and I determined to\nkeep awake. Perversely sleep would try to come then when I did not\nwant it. So, as I feared to be alone, I opened my door and called\nout. \"Is there anybody there?\" There was no answer. I was afraid to\nwake mother, and so closed my door again. Then outside in the\nshrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog's, but more fierce and\ndeeper. I went to the window and looked out, but could see nothing,\nexcept a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings\nagainst the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined not\nto go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother looked in.\nSeeing by my moving that I was not asleep, she came in and sat by\nme. She said to me even more sweetly and softly than her wont,\n\"I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that you\nwere all right.\"\nI feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her to\ncome in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay down\nbeside me. She did not take off her dressing gown, for she said she\nwould only stay a while and then go back to her own bed. As she lay\nthere in my arms, and I in hers the flapping and buffeting came to\nthe window again. She was startled and a little frightened, and\ncried out, \"What is that?\"\nI tried to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she lay quiet.\nBut I could hear her poor dear heart still beating terribly. After\na while there was the howl again out in the shrubbery, and shortly\nafter there was a crash at the window, and a lot of broken glass\nwas hurled on the floor. The window blind blew back with the wind\nthat rushed in, and in the aperture of the broken panes there was\nthe head of a great, gaunt gray wolf.\nMother cried out in a fright, and struggled up into a sitting\nposture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her."}
{"text": "posture, and clutched wildly at anything that would help her.\nAmongst other things, she clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr.\nVan Helsing insisted on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away\nfrom me. For a second or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and\nthere was a strange and horrible gurgling in her throat. Then she\nfell over, as if struck with lightning, and her head hit my\nforehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two.\nThe room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes\nfixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole\nmyriad of little specks seems to come blowing in through the broken\nwindow, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust\nthat travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I\ntried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear Mother's\npoor body, which seemed to grow cold already, for her dear heart\nhad ceased to beat, weighed me down, and I remembered no more for a\nwhile.\nThe time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I\nrecovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was\ntolling. The dogs all round the neighborhood were howling, and in\nour shrubbery, seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing. I\nwas dazed and stupid with pain and terror and weakness, but the\nsound of the nightingale seemed like the voice of my dead mother\ncome back to comfort me. The sounds seemed to have awakened the\nmaids, too, for I could hear their bare feet pattering outside my\ndoor. I called to them, and they came in, and when they saw what\nhad happened, and what it was that lay over me on the bed, they\nscreamed out. The wind rushed in through the broken window, and the\ndoor slammed to. They lifted off the body of my dear mother, and\nlaid her, covered up with a sheet, on the bed after I had got up.\nThey were all so frightened and nervous that I directed them to go\nto the dining room and each have a glass of wine. The door flew\nopen for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and thenopen for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then\nwent in a body to the dining room, and I laid what flowers I had on\nmy dear mother's breast. When they were there I remembered what Dr.\nVan Helsing had told me, but I didn't like to remove them, and\nbesides, I would have some of the servants to sit up with me now. I\nwas surprised that the maids did not come back. I called them, but\ngot no answer, so I went to the dining room to look for them.\nMy heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all four lay\nhelpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The decanter of sherry\nwas on the table half full, but there was a queer, acrid smell\nabout. I was suspicious, and examined the decanter. It smelt of\nlaudanum, and looking on the sideboard, I found that the bottle\nwhich Mother's doctor uses for her—oh! did use—was empty. What am I\nto do? What am I to do? I am back in the room with Mother. I cannot\nleave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom\nsome one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I\ncan hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.\nThe air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the\ndraught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am\nI to do? God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this\npaper in my breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay\nme out. My dear mother gone! It is time that I go too. Goodbye,\ndear Arthur, if I should not survive this night. God keep you,\ndear, and God help me!18 September.—I drove at once to Hillingham and arrived early.\nKeeping my cab at the gate, I went up the avenue alone. I knocked\ngently and rang as quietly as possible, for I feared to disturb\nLucy or her mother, and hoped to only bring a servant to the door.\nAfter a while, finding no response, I knocked and rang again, still\nno answer. I cursed the laziness of the servants that they should\nlie abed at such an hour, for it was now ten o'clock, and so rang\nand knocked again, but more impatiently, but still without\nresponse. Hitherto I had blamed only the servants, but now a\nterrible fear began to assail me. Was this desolation but another\nlink in the chain of doom which seemed drawing tight round us? Was\nit indeed a house of death to which I had come, too late? I know\nthat minutes, even seconds of delay, might mean hours of danger to\nLucy, if she had had again one of those frightful relapses, and I\nwent round the house to try if I could find by chance an entry\nanywhere. I could find no means of ingress. Every window and door\nwas fastened and locked, and I returned baffled to the porch. As I\ndid so, I heard the rapid pit-pat of a swiftly driven horse's feet.\nThey stopped at the gate, and a few seconds later I met Van Helsing\nrunning up the avenue. When he saw me, he gasped out, \"Then it was\nyou, and just arrived. How is she? Are we too late? Did you not get\nmy telegram?\"\nI answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I had only\ngot his telegram early in the morning, and had not a minute in\ncoming here, and that I could not make any one in the house hear\nme. He paused and raised his hat as he said solemnly, \"Then I fear\nwe are too late. God's will be done!\"\nWith his usual recuperative energy, he went on, \"Come. If there\nbe no way open to get in, we must make one. Time is all in all to\nus now.\"\nWe went round to the back of the house, where there was a\nkitchen window. The Professor took a small surgical saw from his\ncase, and handing it to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded"}
{"text": "case, and handing it to me, pointed to the iron bars which guarded\nthe window. I attacked them at once and had very soon cut through\nthree of them. Then with a long, thin knife we pushed back the\nfastening of the sashes and opened the window. I helped the\nProfessor in, and followed him. There was no one in the kitchen or\nin the servants' rooms, which were close at hand. We tried all the\nrooms as we went along, and in the dining room, dimly lit by rays\nof light through the shutters, found four servant women lying on\nthe floor. There was no need to think them dead, for their\nstertorous breathing and the acrid smell of laudanum in the room\nleft no doubt as to their condition.\nVan Helsing and I looked at each other, and as we moved away he\nsaid, \"We can attend to them later.\"Then we ascended to Lucy's\nroom. For an instant or two we paused at the door to listen, but\nthere was no sound that we could hear. With white faces and\ntrembling hands, we opened the door gently, and entered the\nroom.\nHow shall I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two women, Lucy\nand her mother. The latter lay farthest in, and she was covered\nwith a white sheet, the edge of which had been blown back by the\ndrought through the broken window, showing the drawn, white, face,\nwith a look of terror fixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with\nface white and still more drawn. The flowers which had been round\nher neck we found upon her mother's bosom, and her throat was bare,\nshowing the two little wounds which we had noticed before, but\nlooking horribly white and mangled. Without a word the Professor\nbent over the bed, his head almost touching poor Lucy's breast.\nThen he gave a quick turn of his head, as of one who listens, and\nleaping to his feet, he cried out to me, \"It is not yet too late!\nQuick! Quick! Bring the brandy!\"\nI flew downstairs and returned with it, taking care to smell and\ntaste it, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter of sherry\nwhich I found on the table. The maids were still breathing, butwhich I found on the table. The maids were still breathing, but\nmore restlessly, and I fancied that the narcotic was wearing off. I\ndid not stay to make sure, but returned to Van Helsing. He rubbed\nthe brandy, as on another occasion, on her lips and gums and on her\nwrists and the palms of her hands. He said to me, \"I can do this,\nall that can be at the present. You go wake those maids. Flick them\nin the face with a wet towel, and flick them hard. Make them get\nheat and fire and a warm bath. This poor soul is nearly as cold as\nthat beside her. She will need be heated before we can do anything\nmore.\"\nI went at once, and found little difficulty in waking three of\nthe women. The fourth was only a young girl, and the drug had\nevidently affected her more strongly so I lifted her on the sofa\nand let her sleep.\nThe others were dazed at first, but as remembrance came back to\nthem they cried and sobbed in a hysterical manner. I was stern with\nthem, however, and would not let them talk. I told them that one\nlife was bad enough to lose, and if they delayed they would\nsacrifice Miss Lucy. So, sobbing and crying they went about their\nway, half clad as they were, and prepared fire and water.\nFortunately, the kitchen and boiler fires were still alive, and\nthere was no lack of hot water. We got a bath and carried Lucy out\nas she was and placed her in it. Whilst we were busy chafing her\nlimbs there was a knock at the hall door. One of the maids ran off,\nhurried on some more clothes, and opened it. Then she returned and\nwhispered to us that there was a gentleman who had come with a\nmessage from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her simply tell him that he must\nwait, for we could see no one now. She went away with the message,\nand, engrossed with our work, I clean forgot all about him.\nI never saw in all my experience the Professor work in such\ndeadly earnest. I knew, as he knew, that it was a stand-up fight\nwith death, and in a pause told him so. He answered me in a way\nthat I did not understand, but with the sternest look that his facethat I did not understand, but with the sternest look that his face\ncould wear.\n\"If that were all, I would stop here where we are now, and let\nher fade away into peace, for I see no light in life over her\nhorizon.\" He went on with his work with, if possible, renewed and\nmore frenzied vigour.\nPresently we both began to be conscious that the heat was\nbeginning to be of some effect. Lucy's heart beat a trifle more\naudibly to the stethoscope, and her lungs had a perceptible\nmovement. Van Helsing's face almost beamed, and as we lifted her\nfrom the bath and rolled her in a hot sheet to dry her he said to\nme, \"The first gain is ours! Check to the King!\"\nWe took Lucy into another room, which had by now been prepared,\nand laid her in bed and forced a few drops of brandy down her\nthroat. I noticed that Van Helsing tied a soft silk handkerchief\nround her throat. She was still unconscious, and was quite as bad\nas, if not worse than, we had ever seen her.\nVan Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to stay\nwith her and not to take her eyes off her till we returned, and\nthen beckoned me out of the room.\n\"We must consult as to what is to be done,\" he said as we\ndescended the stairs. In the hall he opened the dining room door,\nand we passed in, he closing the door carefully behind him. The\nshutters had been opened, but the blinds were already down, with\nthat obedience to the etiquette of death which the British woman of\nthe lower classes always rigidly observes. The room was, therefore,\ndimly dark. It was, however, light enough for our purposes. Van\nHelsing's sternness was somewhat relieved by a look of perplexity.\nHe was evidently torturing his mind about something, so I waited\nfor an instant, and he spoke.\n\"What are we to do now? Where are we to turn for help? We must\nhave another transfusion of blood, and that soon, or that poor\ngirl's life won't be worth an hour's purchase. You are exhausted\nalready. I am exhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if"}
{"text": "already. I am exhausted too. I fear to trust those women, even if\nthey would have courage to submit. What are we to do for some one\nwho will open his veins for her?\"\n\"What's the matter with me, anyhow?\"\nThe voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones\nbrought relief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey\nMorris.\nVan Helsing started angrily at the first sound, but his face\nsoftened and a glad look came into his eyes as I cried out,\n\"Quincey Morris!\" and rushed towards him with outstretched\nhands.\n\"What brought you her?\" I cried as our hands met.\n\"I guess Art is the cause.\"\nHe handed me a telegram.— `Have not heard from Seward for three\ndays, and am terribly anxious. Cannot leave. Father still in same\ncondition. Send me word how Lucy is. Do not delay.—Holmwood.'\n\"I think I came just in the nick of time. You know you have only\nto tell me what to do.\"\nVan Helsing strode forward, and took his hand, looking him\nstraight in the eyes as he said, \"A brave man's blood is the best\nthing on this earth when a woman is in trouble. You're a man and no\nmistake. Well, the devil may work against us for all he's worth,\nbut God sends us men when we want them.\"\nOnce again we went through that ghastly operation. I have not\nthe heart to go through with the details. Lucy had got a terrible\nshock and it told on her more than before, for though plenty of\nblood went into her veins, her body did not respond to the\ntreatment as well as on the other occasions. Her struggle back into\nlife was something frightful to see and hear. However, the action\nof both heart and lungs improved, and Van Helsing made a\nsub-cutaneous injection of morphia, as before, and with good\neffect. Her faint became a profound slumber. The Professor watched\nwhilst I went downstairs with Quincey Morris, and sent one of the\nmaids to pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting.\nI left Quincey lying down after having a glass of wine, and told\nthe cook to get ready a good breakfast. Then a thought struck me,the cook to get ready a good breakfast. Then a thought struck me,\nand I went back to the room where Lucy now was. When I came softly\nin, I found Van Helsing with a sheet or two of note paper in his\nhand. He had evidently read it, and was thinking it over as he sat\nwith his hand to his brow. There was a look of grim satisfaction in\nhis face, as of one who has had a doubt solved. He handed me the\npaper saying only, \"It dropped from Lucy's breast when we carried\nher to the bath.\"\nWhen I had read it, I stook looking at the Professor, and after\na pause asked him, \"In God's name, what does it all mean? Was she,\nor is she, mad, or what sort of horrible danger is it?\" I was so\nbewildered that I did not know what to say more. Van Helsing put\nout his hand and took the paper, saying,\n\"Do not trouble about it now. Forget if for the present. You\nshall know and understand it all in good time, but it will be\nlater. And now what is it that you came to me to say?\" This brought\nme back to fact, and I was all myself again.\n\"I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do not\nact properly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and that paper\nwould have to be produced. I am in hopes that we need have no\ninquest, for if we had it would surely kill poor Lucy, if nothing\nelse did. I know, and you know, and the other doctor who attended\nher knows, that Mrs. Westenra had disease of the heart, and we can\ncertify that she died of it. Let us fill up the certificate at\nonce, and I shall take it myself to the registrar and go on to the\nundertaker.\"\n\"Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly Miss Lucy, if\nshe be sad in the foes that beset her, is at least happy in the\nfriends thatlove her. One, two, three, all open their veins for\nher, besides one old man. Ah, yes, I know, friend John. I am not\nblind! I love you all the more for it! Now go.\"\nIn the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Arthur\ntelling him that Mrs. Westenra was dead, that Lucy also had been\nill, but was now going on better, and that Van Helsing and I wereill, but was now going on better, and that Van Helsing and I were\nwith her. I told him where I was going, and he hurried me out, but\nas I was going said, \"When you come back, Jack, may I have two\nwords with you all to ourselves?\" I nodded in reply and went out. I\nfound no difficulty about the registration, and arranged with the\nlocal undertaker to come up in the evening to measure for the\ncoffin and to make arrangements.\nWhen I got back Quincey was waiting for me. I told him I would\nsee him as soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up to her room. She\nwas still sleeping, and the Professor seemingly had not moved from\nhis seat at her side. From his putting his finger to his lips, I\ngathered that he expected her to wake before long and was afraid of\nfore-stalling nature. So I went down to Quincey and took him into\nthe breakfast room, where the blinds were not drawn down, and which\nwas a little more cheerful, or rather less cheerless, than the\nother rooms.\nWhen we were alone, he said to me, \"Jack Seward, I don't want to\nshove myself in anywhere where I've no right to be, but this is no\nordinary case. You know I loved that girl and wanted to marry her,\nbut although that's all past and gone, I can't help feeling anxious\nabout her all the same. What is it that's wrong with her? The\nDutchman, and a fine old fellow is is, I can see that, said that\ntime you two came into the room, that you must have another\ntransfusion of blood, and that both you and he were exhausted. Now\nI know well that you medical men speak in camera, and that a man\nmust not expect to know what they consult about in private. But\nthis is no common matter, and whatever it is, I have done my part.\nIs not that so?\"\n\"That's so,\" I said, and he went on.\n\"I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done already what I\ndid today. Is not that so?\"\n\"That's so.\"\n\"And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four days ago\ndown at his own place he looked queer. I have not seen anything\npulled down so quick since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that"}
{"text": "pulled down so quick since I was on the Pampas and had a mare that\nI was fond of go to grass all in a night. One of those big bats\nthat they call vampires had got at her in the night, and what with\nhis gorge and the vein left open, there wasn't enough blood in her\nto let her stand up, and I had to put a bullet through her as she\nlay. Jack, if you may tell me without betraying confidence, Arthur\nwas the first, is not that so?\"\nAs he spoke the poor fellow looked terribly anxious. He was in a\ntorture of suspense regarding the woman he loved, and his utter\nignorance of the terrible mystery which seemed to surround her\nintensified his pain. His very heart was bleeding, and it took all\nthe manhood of him, and there was a royal lot of it, too, to keep\nhim from breaking down. I paused before answering, for I felt that\nI must not betray anything which the Professor wished kept secret,\nbut already he knew so much, and guessed so much, that there could\nbe no reason for not answering, so I answered in the same\nphrase.\n\"That's so.\"\n\"And how long has this been going on?\"\n\"About ten days.\"\n\"Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that poor pretty\ncreature that we all love has had put into her veins within that\ntime the blood of four strong men. Man alive, her whole body\nwouldn't hold it.\" Then coming close to me, he spoke in a fierce\nhalf-whisper. \"What took it out?\"\nI shook my head. \"That,\" I said, \"is the crux. Van Helsing is\nsimply frantic about it, and I am at my wits' end. I can't even\nhazard a guess. There has been a series of little circumstances\nwhich have thrown out all our calculations as to Lucy being\nproperly watched. But these shall not occur again. Here we stay\nuntil all be well, or ill.\"\nQuincey held out his hand. \"Count me in,\" he said. \"You and the\nDutchman will tell me what to do, and I'll do it.\"\nWhen she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy's first movement was\nto feel in her breast, and to my surprise, produced the paper which\nVan Helsing had given me to read. The careful Professor hadVan Helsing had given me to read. The careful Professor had\nreplaced it where it had come from, lest on waking she should be\nalarmed. Her eyes then lit on Van Helsing and on me too, and\ngladdened. Then she looked round the room, and seeing where she\nwas, shuddered. She gave a loud cry, and put her poor thin hands\nbefore her pale face.\nWe both understood what was meant, that she had realized to the\nfull her mother's death. So we tried what we could to comfort her.\nDoubtless sympathy eased her somewhat, but she was very low in\nthought and spirit, and wept silently and weakly for a long time.\nWe told her that either or both of us would now remain with her all\nthe time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk she fell\ninto a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. Whilst still asleep\nshe took the paper from her breast and tore it in two. Van Helsing\nstepped over and took the pieces from her. All the same, however,\nshe went on with the action of tearing, as though the material were\nstill in her hands. Finally she lifted her hands and opened them as\nthough scattering the fragments. Van Helsing seemed surprised, and\nhis brows gathered as if in thought, but he said nothing.\n19 September.—All last night she slept fitfully, being always\nafraid to sleep, and something weaker when she woke from it. The\nProfessor and I took in turns to watch, and we never left her for a\nmoment unattended. Quincey Morris said nothing about his intention,\nbut I knew that all night long he patrolled round and round the\nhouse.\nWhen the day came, its searching light showed the ravages in\npoor Lucy's strength. She was hardly able to turn her head, and the\nlittle nourishment which she could take seemed to do her no good.\nAt times she slept, and both Van Helsing and I noticed the\ndifference in her, between sleeping and waking. Whilst asleep she\nlooked stronger, although more haggard, and her breathing was\nsofter. Her open mouth showed the pale gums drawn back from the\nteeth, which looked positively longer and sharper than usual. Whenteeth, which looked positively longer and sharper than usual. When\nshe woke the softness of her eyes evidently changed the expression,\nfor she looked her own self, although a dying one. In the afternoon\nshe asked for Arthur, and we telegraphed for him. Quincey went off\nto meet him at the station.\nWhen he arrived it was nearly six o'clock, and the sun was\nsetting full and warm, and the red light streamed in through the\nwindow and gave more color to the pale cheeks. When he saw her,\nArthur was simply choking with emotion, and none of us could speak.\nIn the hours that had passed, the fits of sleep, or the comatose\ncondition that passed for it, had grown more frequent, so that the\npauses when conversation was possible were shortened. Arthur's\npresence, however, seemed to act as a stimulant. She rallied a\nlittle, and spoke to him more brightly than she had done since we\narrived. He too pulled himself together, and spoke as cheerily as\nhe could, so that the best was made of everything.\nIt is now nearly one o'clock, and he and Van Helsing are sitting\nwith her. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an hour, and I am\nentering this on Lucy's phonograph. Until six o'clock they are to\ntry to rest. I fear that tomorrow will end our watching, for the\nshock has been too great. The poor child cannot rally. God help us\nall.\nLETTER MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA\n(Unopened by her)\n17 September\nMy dearest Lucy,\n\"It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since I\nwrote. You will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when you have\nread all my budget of news. Well, I got my husband back all right.\nWhen we arrived at Exeter there was a carriage waiting for us, and\nin it, though he had an attack of gout, Mr. Hawkins. He took us to\nhis house, where there were rooms for us all nice and comfortable,\nand we dined together. After dinner Mr. Hawkins said,\n\" `My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity, and may\nevery blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and"}
{"text": "every blessing attend you both. I know you both from children, and\nhave, with love and pride, seen you grow up. Now I want you to make\nyour home here with me. I have left to me neither chick nor child.\nAll are gone, and in my will I have left you everything.' I cried,\nLucy dear, as Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our evening\nwas a very, very happy one.\n\"So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and from\nboth my bedroom and the drawing room I can see the great elms of\nthe cathedral close, with their great black stems standing out\nagainst the old yellow stone of the cathedral, and I can hear the\nrooks overhead cawing and cawing and chattering and chattering and\ngossiping all day, after the manner of rooks—and humans. I am busy,\nI need not tell you, arranging things and housekeeping. Jonathan\nand Mr. Hawkins are busy all day, for now that Jonathan is a\npartner, Mr. Hawkins wants to tell him all about the clients.\n\"How is your dear mother getting on? I wish I could run up to\ntown for a day or two to see you, dear, but I, dare not go yet,\nwith so much on my shoulders, and Jonathan wants looking after\nstill. He is beginning to put some flesh on his bones again, but he\nwas terribly weakened by the long illness. Even now he sometimes\nstarts out of his sleep in a sudden way and awakes all trembling\nuntil I can coax him back to his usual placidity. However, thank\nGod, these occasions grow less frequent as the days go on, and they\nwill in time pass away altogether, I trust. And now I have told you\nmy news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married, and where,\nand who is to perform the ceremony, and what are you to wear, and\nis it to be a public or private wedding? Tell me all about it,\ndear, tell me all about everything, for there is nothing which\ninterests you which will not be dear to me. Jonathan asks me to\nsend his `respectful duty', but I do not think that is good enough\nfrom the junior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker.from the junior partner of the important firm Hawkins & Harker.\nAnd so, as you love me, and he loves me, and I love you with all\nthe moods and tenses of the verb, I send you simply his `love'\ninstead. Goodbye, my dearest Lucy, and blessings on you.\" Yours,\nMina Harker\nREPORT FROM PATRICK HENNESSEY, MD, MRCSLK, QCPI, ETC, ETC, TO\nJOHN SEWARD, MD\n20 September\nMy dear Sir:\n\"In accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the\nconditions of everything left in my charge. With regard to patient,\nRenfield, there is more to say. He has had another outbreak, which\nmight have had a dreadful ending, but which, as it fortunately\nhappened, was unattended with any unhappy results. This afternoon a\ncarrier's cart with two men made a call at the empty house whose\ngrounds abut on ours, the house to which, you will remember, the\npatient twice ran away. The men stopped at our gate to ask the\nporter their way, as they were strangers.\n\"I was myself looking out of the study window, having a smoke\nafter dinner, and saw one of them come up to the house. As he\npassed the window of Renfield's room, the patient began to rate him\nfrom within, and called him all the foul names he could lay his\ntongue to. The man, who seemed a decent fellow enough, contented\nhimself by telling him to `shut up for a foul-mouthed\nbeggar',whereon our man accused him of robbing him and wanting to\nmurder him and said that he would hinder him if he were to swing\nfor it. I opened the window and signed to the man not to notice, so\nhe contented himself after looking the place over and making up his\nmind as to what kind of place he had got to by saying, `Lor' bless\nyer, sir, I wouldn't mind what was said to me in a bloomin'\nmadhouse. I pity ye and the guv'nor for havin' to live in the house\nwith a wild beast like that.'\n\"Then he asked his way civilly enough, and I told him where the\ngate of the empty house was. He went away followed by threats and\ncurses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I couldcurses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I could\nmake out any cause for his anger, since he is usually such a\nwell-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing of the kind\nhad ever occurred. I found him, to my astonishment, quite composed\nand most genial in his manner. I tried to get him to talk of the\nincident, but he blandly asked me questions as to what I meant, and\nled me to believe that he was completely oblivious of the affair.\nIt was, I am sorry to say, however, only another instance of his\ncunning, for within half an hour I heard of him again. This time he\nhad broken out through the window of his room, and was running down\nthe avenue. I called to the attendants to follow me, and ran after\nhim, for I feared he was intent on some mischief. My fear was\njustified when I saw the same cart which had passed before coming\ndown the road, having on it some great wooden boxes. The men were\nwiping their foreheads, and were flushed in the face, as if with\nviolent exercise. Before I could get up to him, the patient rushed\nat them, and pulling one of them off the cart, began to knock his\nhead against the ground. If I had not seized him just at the\nmoment, I believe he would have killed the man there and then. The\nother fellow jumped down and struck him over the head with the butt\nend of his heavy whip. It was a horrible blow, but he did not seem\nto mind it, but seized him also, and struggled with the three of\nus, pulling us to and fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no\nlightweight, and the others were both burly men. At first he was\nsilent in his fighting, but as we began to master him, and the\nattendants were putting a strait waistcoat on him, he began to\nshout, `I'll frustrate them! They shan't rob me!They shan't murder\nme by inches! I'll fight for my Lord and Master!'and all sorts of\nsimilar incoherent ravings. It was with very considerable\ndifficulty that they got him back to the house and put him in the\npadded room. One of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken."}
{"text": "padded room. One of the attendants, Hardy, had a finger broken.\nHowever, I set it all right, and he is going on well.\n\"The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of actions\nfor damages, and promised to rain all the penalties of the law on\nus. Their threats were, however, mingled with some sort of indirect\napology for the defeat of the two of them by a feeble madman. They\nsaid that if it had not been for the way their strength had been\nspent in carrying and raising the heavy boxes to the cart they\nwould have made short work of him. They gave as another reason for\ntheir defeat the extraordinary state of drouth to which they had\nbeen reduced by the dusty nature of their occupation and the\nreprehensible distance from the scene of their labors of any place\nof public entertainment. I quite understood their drift, and after\na stiff glass of strong grog, or rather more of the same, and with\neach a sovereign in hand, they made light of the attack, and swore\nthat they would encounter a worse madman any day for the pleasure\nof meeting so `bloomin' good a bloke' as your correspondent. I took\ntheir names and addresses, in case they might be needed. They are\nas follows: Jack Smollet, of Dudding's Rents, King George's Road,\nGreat Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley's Row, Guide\nCourt, Bethnal Green. They are both in the employment of Harris\n& Sons, Moving and Shipment Company, Orange Master's Yard,\nSoho.\n\"I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring here,\nand shall wire you at once if there is anything of importance.\n\"Believe me, dear Sir,\n\"Yours faithfully,\n\"Patrick Hennessey.\"\nLETTER, MINA HARKER TO LUCY WESTENRA (Unopened by her)\n18 September\n\"My dearest Lucy,\n\"Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died very\nsuddenly. Some may not think it so sad for us, but we had both come\nto so love him that it really seems as though we had lost a father.\nI never knew either father or mother, so that the dear old man's\ndeath is a real blow to me. Jonathan is greatly distressed. It isdeath is a real blow to me. Jonathan is greatly distressed. It is\nnot only that he feels sorrow, deep sorrow, for the dear,good man\nwho has befriended him all his life, and now at the end has treated\nhim like his own son and left him a fortune which to people of our\nmodest bringing up is wealth beyond the dream of avarice, but\nJonathan feels it on another account. He says the amount of\nresponsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous. He begins\nto doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and my belief in him helps\nhim to have a belief in himself. But it is here that the grave\nshock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too\nhard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his, a\nnature which enabled him by our dear, good friend's aid to rise\nfrom clerk to master in a few years, should be so injured that the\nvery essence of its strength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I worry\nyou with my troubles in the midst of your own happiness, but Lucy\ndear, I must tell someone, for the strain of keeping up a brave and\ncheerful appearance to Jonathan tries me, and I have no one here\nthat I can confide in. I dread coming up to London, as we must do\nthat day after tomorrow, for poor Mr. Hawkins left in his will that\nhe was to be buried in the grave with his father. As there are no\nrelations at all, Jonathan will have to be chief mourner. I shall\ntry to run over to see you, dearest, if only for a few minutes.\nForgive me for troubling you. With all blessings,\n\"Your loving\nMina Harker\" DR. SEWARD' DIARY\n20 September.—Only resolution and habit can let me make an entry\ntonight. I am too miserable, too low spirited, too sick of the\nworld and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care\nif I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of\ndeath. And he has been flapping those grim wings to some purpose of\nlate, Lucy's mother and Arthur's father, and now … Let me get\non with my work.\nI duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We wantedon with my work.\nI duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We wanted\nArthur to go to rest also, but he refused at first. It was only\nwhen I told him that we should want him to help us during the day,\nand that we must not all break down for want of rest, lest Lucy\nshould suffer, that he agreed to go.\nVan Helsing was very kind to him. \"Come, my child,\" he said.\n\"Come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and\nmuch mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know\nof. You must not be alone, for to be alone is to be full of fears\nand alarms. Come to the drawing room, where there is a big fire,\nand there are two sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other,\nand our sympathy will be comfort to each other, even though we do\nnot speak, and even if we sleep.\"\nArthur went off with him, casting back a longing look on Lucy's\nface, which lay in her pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. She lay\nquite still, and I looked around the room to see that all was as it\nshould be. I could see that the Professor had carried out in this\nroom, as in the other, his purpose of using the garlic. The whole\nof the window sashes reeked with it, and round Lucy's neck, over\nthe silk handkerchief which Van Helsing made her keep on, was a\nrough chaplet of the same odorous flowers.\nLucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and her face was at\nits worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. Her teeth, in\nthe dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they had\nbeen in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the\ncanine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest.\nI sat down beside her, and presently she moved uneasily. At the\nsame moment there came a sort of dull flapping or buffeting at the\nwindow. I went over to it softly, and peeped out by the corner of\nthe blind. There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the\nnoise was made by a great bat, which wheeled around, doubtless\nattracted by the light, although so dim, and every now and again"}
{"text": "attracted by the light, although so dim, and every now and again\nstruck the window with its wings. When I came back to my seat, I\nfound that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic\nflowers from her throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and\nsat watching her.\nPresently she woke, and I gave her food, as Van Helsing had\nprescribed. She took but a little, and that languidly. There did\nnot seem to be with her now the unconscious struggle for life and\nstrength that had hitherto so marked her illness. It struck me as\ncurious that the moment she became conscious she pressed the garlic\nflowers close to her. It was certainly odd that whenever she got\ninto that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put\nthe flowers from her, but that when she waked she clutched them\nclose, There was no possibility of making amy mistake about this,\nfor in the long hours that followed, she had many spells of\nsleeping and waking and repeated both actions many times.\nAt six o'clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur had then\nfallen into a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep on. When he saw\nLucy's face I could hear the sissing indraw of breath, and he said\nto me in a sharp whisper.\"Draw up the blind. I want light!\" Then he\nbent down, and, with his face almost touching Lucy's, examined her\ncarefully. He removed the flowers and lifted the silk handkerchief\nfrom her throat. As he did so he started back and I could hear his\nejaculation, \"Mein Gott!\" as it was smothered in his throat. I bent\nover and looked, too, and as I noticed some queer chill came over\nme. The wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared.\nFor fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, with\nhis face at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said calmly,\n\"She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much difference,\nmark me, whether she dies conscious or in her sleep. Wake that poor\nboy, and let him come and see the last. He trusts us, and we have\npromised him.\"\nI went to the dining room and waked him. He was dazed for apromised him.\"\nI went to the dining room and waked him. He was dazed for a\nmoment, but when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the edges\nof the shutters he thought he was late, and expressed his fear. I\nassured him that Lucy was still asleep, but told him as gently as i\ncould that both Van Helsing and I feared that the end was near. He\ncovered his face with his hands, and slid down on his knees by the\nsofa, where he remained, perhaps a minute, with his head buried,\npraying, whilst his shoulders shook with grief. I took him by the\nhand and raised him up. \"Come,\" I said, \"my dear old fellow, summon\nall your fortitude. It will be best and easiest for her.\"\nWhen we came into Lucy's room I could see that Van Helsing had,\nwith his usual forethought, been putting matters straight and\nmaking everything look as pleasing as possible. He had even brushed\nLucy's hair, so that it lay on the pillow in its usual sunny\nripples. When we came into the room she opened her eyes, and seeing\nhim, whispered softly, \"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have\ncome!\"\nHe was stooping to kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned him back.\n\"No,\" he whispered, \"not yet! Hold her hand, it will comfort her\nmore.\"\nSo Arthur took her hand and knelt beside her, and she looked her\nbest, with all the soft lines matching the angelic beauty of her\neyes. Then gradually her eyes closed, and she sank to sleep. For a\nlittle bit her breast heaved softly, and her breath came and went\nlike a tired child's.\nAnd then insensibly there came the strange change which I had\nnoticed in the night. Her breathing grew stertorous, the mouth\nopened, and the pale gums, drawn back, made the teeth look longer\nand sharper than ever. In a sort of sleepwaking, vague, unconscious\nway she opened her eyes, which were now dull and hard at once, and\nsaid in a soft,voluptuous voice, such as I had never heard from her\nlips, \"Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come! Kiss\nme!\"\nArthur bent eagerly over to kiss her, but at that instant Vanme!\"\nArthur bent eagerly over to kiss her, but at that instant Van\nHelsing, who, like me, had been startled by her voice, swooped upon\nhim, and catching him by the neck with both hands, dragged him back\nwith a fury of strength which I never thought he could have\npossessed, and actually hurled him almost across the room. \"Not on\nyour life!\" he said, \"not for your living soul and hers!\" And he\nstood between them like a lion at bay.\nArthur was so taken aback that he did not for a moment know what\nto do or say, and before any impulse of violence could seize him he\nrealized the place and the occasion, and stood silent, waiting.\nI kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we saw a\nspasm as of rage flit like a shadow over her face. The sharp teeth\nclamped together. Then her eyes closed, and she breathed\nheavily.\nVery shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness,\nand putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing's great\nbrown one, drawing it close to her, she kissed it. \"My true\nfriend,\" she said, in a faint voice, but with untellable pathos,\n\"My true friend, and his! Oh, guard him, and give me peace!\"\n\"I swear it!\" he said solemnly, kneeling beside her and holding\nup his hand, as one who registers an oath. Then he turned to\nArthur, and said to him, \"Come, my child, take her hand in yours,\nand kiss her on the forehead, and only once.\"\nTheir eyes met instead of their lips, and so they parted. Lucy's\neyes closed, and Van Helsing, who had been watching closely, took\nArthur's arm, and drew him away.\nAnd then Lucy's breathing became stertorous again, and all at\nonce it ceased.\n\"It is all over,\" said Van Helsing. \"She is dead!\"\nI took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the drawing room,\nwhere he sat down, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing in\na way that nearly broke me down to see.\nI went back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking at poor\nLucy, and his face was sterner than eve. Some change had come over\nher body. Death had given back part of her beauty, for her brow andher body. Death had given back part of her beauty, for her brow and\ncheeks had recovered some of their flowing lines. Even the lips had\nlost their deadly pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed\nfor the working of the heart, had gone to make the harshness of\ndeath as little rude as might be.\n\"We thought her dying whilst she slept, And sleeping when she\ndied.\"\nI stood beside Van Helsing, and said, \"Ah well, poor girl, there\nis peace for her at last. It is the end!\"\nHe turned to me, and said with grave solemnity,\"Not so, alas!\nNot so. It is only the beginning!\"\nWhen I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head and\nanswered, \"We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see.\""}
{"text": "The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so that\nLucy and her mother might be buried together. I attended to all the\nghastly formalities, and the urbane undertaker proved that his\nstaff was afflicted, or blessed, with something of his own\nobsequious suavity. Even the woman who performed the last offices\nfor the dead remarked to me, in a confidential,\nbrother-professional way, when she had come out from the death\nchamber,\n\"She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege\nto attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit\nto our establishment!\"\nI noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This was\npossible from the disordered state of things in the household.\nThere were no relatives at hand, and as Arthur had to be back the\nnext day to attend at his father's funeral, we were unable to\nnotify any one who should have been bidden. Under the\ncircumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon ourselves to examine\npapers, etc. He insisted upon looking over Lucy's papers himself. I\nasked him why, for I feared that he, being a foreigner, might not\nbe quite aware of English legal requirements, and so might in\nignorance make some unnecessary trouble.\nHe answered me, \"I know, I know. You forget that I am a lawyer\nas well as a doctor. But this is not altogether for the law. You\nknew that, when you avoided the coroner. I have more than him to\navoid. There may be papers more, such as this.\"\nAs he spoke he took from his pocket book the memorandum which\nhad been in Lucy's breast, and which she had torn in her sleep.\n\"When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the late\nMrs. Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him tonight. For me,\nI watch here in the room and in Miss Lucy's old room all night, and\nI myself search for what may be. It is not well that her very\nthoughts go into the hands of strangers.\"\nI went on with my part of the work, and in another half hour had\nfound the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and hadfound the name and address of Mrs. Westenra's solicitor and had\nwritten to him. All the poor lady's papers were in order. Explicit\ndirections regarding the place of burial were given. I had hardly\nsealed the letter, when, to my surprise, Van Helsing walked into\nthe room, saying,\n\"Can I help you friend John? I am free, and if I may, my service\nis to you.\"\n\"Have you got what you looked for?\" I asked.\nTo which he replied, \"I did not look for any specific thing. I\nonly hoped to find, and find I have, all that there was, only some\nletters and a few memoranda, and a diary new begun. But I have them\nhere, and we shall for the present say nothing of them. I shall see\nthat poor lad tomorrow evening, and, with his sanction, I shall use\nsome.\"\nWhen we had finished the work in hand, he said to me, \"And now,\nfriend John, I think we may to bed. We want sleep, both you and I,\nand rest to recuperate. Tomorrow we shall have much to do, but for\nthe tonight there is no need of us. Alas!\"\nBefore turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker\nhad certainly done his work well, for the room was turned into a\nsmall chapelle ardente. There was a wilderness of beautiful white\nflowers, and death was made as little repulsive as might be. The\nend of the winding sheet was laid over the face. When the Professor\nbent over and turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty\nbefore us. The tall wax candles showing a sufficient light to note\nit well. All Lucy's loveliness had come back to her in death, and\nthe hours that had passed, instead of leaving traces of `decay's\neffacing fingers', had but restored the beauty of life, till\npositively I could not believe my eyes that I was looking at a\ncorpse.\nThe Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I\nhad, and there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me,\n\"Remain till I return,\" and left the room. He came back with a\nhandful of wild garlic from the box waiting in the hall, but which\nhad not been opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others onhad not been opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others on\nand around the bed. Then he took from his neck, inside his collar,\na little gold crucifix, and placed it over the mouth. He restored\nthe sheet to its place, and we came away.\nI was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at\nthe door, he entered, and at once began to speak.\n\"Tomorrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of\npost-mortem knives.\"\n\"Must we make an autopsy?\" I asked.\n\"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not what you think. Let me\ntell you now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head\nand take out her heart. Ah! You a surgeon, and so shocked! You,\nwhom I have seen with no tremble of hand or heart, do operations of\nlife and death that make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not\nforget, my dear friend John, that you loved her, and I have not\nforgotten it for is I that shall operate, and you must not help. I\nwould like to do it tonight, but for Arthur I must not. He will be\nfree after his father's funeral tomorrow, and he will want to see\nher, to see it. Then, when she is coffined ready for the next day,\nyou and I shall come when all sleep. We shall unscrew the coffin\nlid, and shall do our operation, and then replace all, so that none\nknow, save we alone.\"\n\"But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her poor\nbody without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem\nand nothing to gain by it, no good to her, to us, to science, to\nhuman knowledge, why do it? Without such it is monstrous.\"\nFor answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with\ninfinite tenderness, \"Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart,\nand I love you the more because it does so bleed. If I could, I\nwould take on myself the burden that you do bear. But there are\nthings that you know not, but that you shall know, and bless me for\nknowing, though they are not pleasant things. John, my child, you\nhave been my friend now many years, and yet did you ever know me to"}
{"text": "have been my friend now many years, and yet did you ever know me to\ndo any without good cause? I may err, I am but man, but I believe\nin all I do. Was it not for these causes that you send for me when\nthe great trouble came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay horrified,\nwhen I would not let Arthur kiss his love, though she was dying,\nand snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet you saw how\nshe thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too,\nso weak, and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did\nyou not hear me swear promise to her, that so she closed her eyes\ngrateful? Yes!\n\"Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do. You have for\nmany years trust me. You have believe me weeks past, when there be\nthings so strange that you might have well doubt. Believe me yet a\nlittle, friend John. If you trust me not, then I must tell what I\nthink, and that is not perhaps well. And if I work, as work I\nshall, no matter trust or no trust, without my friend trust in me,\nI work with heavy heart and feel, oh so lonely when I want all help\nand courage that may be!\" He paused a moment and went on solemnly,\n\"Friend John, there are strange and terrible days before us. Let us\nnot be two, but one, that so we work to a good end. Will you not\nhave faith in me?\"\nI took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open as he\nwent away, and watched him go to his room and close the door. As I\nstood without moving, I saw one of the maids pass silently along\nthe passage, she had her back to me, so did not see me, and go into\nthe room where Lucy lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so rare,\nand we are so grateful to those who show it unasked to those we\nlove. Here was a poor girl putting aside the terrors which she\nnaturally had of death to go watch alone by the bier of the\nmistress whom she loved, so that the poor clay might not be lonely\ntill laid to eternal rest.\nI must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight\nwhen Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over towhen Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to\nmy bedside and said, \"You need not trouble about the knives. We\nshall not do it.\"\n\"Why not?\" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had\ngreatly impressed me.\n\"Because,\" he said sternly, \"it is too late, or too early. See!\"\nHere he held up the little golden crucifix.\n\"This was stolen in the night.\"\n\"How stolen,\"I asked in wonder,\"since you have it now?\"\n\"Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it,\nfrom the woman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment\nwill surely come, but not through me. She knew not altogether what\nshe did, and thus unknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait.\" He\nwent away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a\nnew puzzle to grapple with.\nThe forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came,\nMr. Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was\nvery genial and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off\nour hands all cares as to details. During lunch he told us that\nMrs. Westenra had for some time expected sudden death from her\nheart, and had put her affairs in absolute order. He informed us\nthat, with the exception of a certain entailed property of Lucy's\nfather which now, in default of direct issue, went back to a\ndistant branch of the family, the whole estate, real and personal,\nwas left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had told us so much\nhe went on,\n\"Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary\ndisposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that might leave\nher daughter either penniless or not so free as she should be to\nact regarding a matrimonial alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter\nso far that we almost came into collision, for she asked us if we\nwere or were not prepared to carry out her wishes. Of course, we\nhad then no alternative but to accept. We were right in principle,\nand ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should have proved, by\nthe logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment.\n\"Frankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form\nof disposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of\nher wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would\nhave come into possession of the property, and, even had she only\nsurvived her mother by five minutes, her property would, in case\nthere were no will, and a will was a practical impossibility in\nsuch a case, have been treated at her decease as under intestacy.\nIn which case Lord Godalming, though so dear a friend, would have\nhad no claim in the world. And the inheritors, being remote, would\nnot be likely to abandon their just rights, for sentimental reasons\nregarding an entire stranger. I assure you, my dear sirs, I am\nrejoiced at the result,perfectly rejoiced.\"\nHe was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part,\nin which he was officially interested, of so great a tragedy, was\nan object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic\nunderstanding.\nHe did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the\nday and see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain\ncomfort to us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread\nhostile criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at\nfive o'clock, so a little before that time we visited the death\nchamber. It was so in very truth, for now both mother and daughter\nlay in it. The undertaker, true to his craft, had made the best\ndisplay he could of his goods, and there was a mortuary air about\nthe place that lowered our spirits at once.\nVan Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to,\nexplaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would\nbe less harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his\nfiancee quite alone.\nThe undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and exerted\nhimself to restore things to the condition in which we left them\nthe night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his\nfeelings as we could avoid were saved."}
{"text": "feelings as we could avoid were saved.\nPoor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken. Even his\nstalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of\nhis much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and\ndevotedly attached to his father, and to lose him, and at such a\ntime, was a bitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to\nVan Helsing he was sweetly courteous. But I could not help seeing\nthat there was some constraint with him. The professor noticed it\ntoo, and motioned me to bring him upstairs. I did so, and left him\nat the door of the room, as I felt he would like to be quite alone\nwith her, but he took my arm and led me in, saying huskily,\n\"You loved her too, old fellow. She told me all about it, and\nthere was no friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I\ndon't know how to thank you for all you have done for her. I can't\nthink yet … \"\nHere he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my\nshoulders and laid his head on my breast, crying, \"Oh, Jack! Jack!\nWhat shall I do? The whole of life seems gone from me all at once,\nand there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for.\"\nI comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not\nneed much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm\nover the shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy\ndear to a man's heart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died\naway, and then I said softly to him, \"Come and look at her.\"\nTogether we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from\nher face. God! How beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be\nenhancing her loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat. And\nas for Arthur, he fell to trembling, and finally was shaken with\ndoubt as with an ague. At last, after a long pause, he said to me\nin a faint whisper,\"Jack, is she really dead?\"\nI assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest, for\nI felt that such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment\nlonger than I could help, that it often happened that after deathlonger than I could help, that it often happened that after death\nfaces become softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty,\nthat this was especially so when death had been preceded by any\nacute or prolonged suffering. I seemed to quite do away with any\ndoubt, and after kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking\nat her lovingly and long, he turned aside. I told him that that\nmust be goodbye, as the coffin had to be prepared, so he went back\nand took her dead hand in his and kissed it, and bent over and\nkissed her forehead. He came away, fondly looking back over his\nshoulder at her as he came.\nI left him in the drawing room, and told Van Helsing that he had\nsaid goodbye, so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the\nundertaker's men to proceed with the preperations and to screw up\nthe coffin. When he came out of the room again I told him of\nArthur's question, and he replied, \"I am not surprised. Just now I\ndoubted for a moment myself!\"\nWe all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying\nto make the best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner\ntime, but when we had lit our cigars he said, \"Lord … , but\nArthur interrupted him.\n\"No, no, not that, for God's sake! Not yet at any rate. Forgive\nme, sir. I did not mean to speak offensively. It is only because my\nloss is so recent.\"\nThe Professor answered very sweetly, \"I only used that name\nbecause I was in doubt. I must not call you `Mr.' and I have grown\nto love you, yes, my dear boy, to love you, as Arthur.\"\nArthur held out his hand, and took the old man's warmly. \"Call\nme what you will,\" he said. \"I hope I may always have the title of\na friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you\nfor your goodness to my poor dear.\" He paused a moment, and went\non, \"I know that she understood your goodness even better than I\ndo. And if I was rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted\nso, you remember,\"— the Professor nodded—\"You must forgive me.\"\nHe answered with a grave kindness, \"I know it was hard for youHe answered with a grave kindness, \"I know it was hard for you\nto quite trust me then, for to trust such violence needs to\nunderstand, and I take it that you do not, that you cannot, trust\nme now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be more times\nwhen I shall want you to trust when you cannot, and may not, and\nmust not yet understand. But the time will come when your trust\nshall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand as\nthough the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me\nfrom first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others,\nand for her dear sake to whom I swore to protect.\"\n\"And indeed, indeed, sir,\" said Arthur warmly. \"I shall in all\nways trust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and\nyou are Jack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you\nlike.\"\nThe Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though\nabout to speak, and finally said, \"May I ask you something\nnow?\"\n\"Certainly.\"\n\"You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?\"\n\"No, poor dear. I never thought of it.\"\n\"And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you\nwill. I want you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy's\npapers and letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a\nmotive of which, be sure, she would have approved. I have them all\nhere. I took them before we knew that all was yours, so that no\nstrange hand might touch them, no strange eye look through words\ninto her soul. I shall keep them, if I may. Even you may not see\nthem yet, but I shall keep them safe. No word shall be lost, and in\nthe good time I shall give them back to you. It is a hard thing\nthat I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for Lucy's sake?\"\nArthur spoke out heartily, like his old self, \"Dr. Van Helsing,\nyou may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I am doing\nwhat my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you with\nquestions till the time comes.\"\nThe old Professor stood up as he said solemnly,\"And you are"}
{"text": "questions till the time comes.\"\nThe old Professor stood up as he said solemnly,\"And you are\nright. There will be pain for us all, but it will not be all pain,\nnor will this pain be the last. We and you too, you most of all,\ndear boy, will have to pass through the bitter water before we\nreach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and\ndo our duty, and all will be well!\"\nI slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did\nnot go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if patroling the\nhouse, and was never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her\ncoffin, strewn with the wild garlic flowers, which sent through the\nodor of lily and rose, a heavy, overpowering smell into the\nnight.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n22 September.—In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleeping. It\nseems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much\nbetween then, in Whitby and all the world before me, Jonathan away\nand no news of him, and now, married to Jonathan, Jonathan a\nsolicitor, a partner, rich, master of his business, Mr. Hawkins\ndead and buried, and Jonathan with another attack that may harm\nhim. Some day he may ask me about it. Down it all goes. I am rusty\nin my shorthand, see what unexpected prosperity does for us, so it\nmay be as well to freshen it up again with an exercise anyhow.\nThe service was very simple and very solemn. There were only\nourselves and the servants there, one or two old friends of his\nfrom Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir\nJohn Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society.\nJonathan and I stood hand in hand, and we felt that our best and\ndearest friend was gone from us.\nWe came back to town quietly, taking a bus to Hyde Park Corner.\nJonathan thought it would interest me to go into the Row for a\nwhile, so we sat down. But there were very few people there, and it\nwas sad-looking and desolate to see so many empty chairs. It made\nus think of the empty chair at home. So we got up and walked downus think of the empty chair at home. So we got up and walked down\nPiccadilly. Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to\nin the old days before I went to school. I felt it very improper,\nfor you can't go on for some years teaching etiquette and decorum\nto other girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself a\nbit. But it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn't know\nanybody who saw us, and we didn't care if they did, so on we\nwalked. I was looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel\nhat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's, when I felt Jonathan\nclutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his\nbreath, \"My God!\"\nI am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous\nfit may upset him again. So I turned to him quickly, and asked him\nwhat it was that disturbed him.\nHe was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in\nterror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a\nbeaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also\nobserving the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he\ndid not see either of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face\nwas not a good face. It was hard, and cruel, and sensual,and big\nwhite teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so\nred, were pointed like an animal's. Jonathan kept staring at him,\ntill I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take it ill,\nhe looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was\ndisturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much\nabout it as he did, \"Do you see who it is?\"\n\"No, dear,\" I said. \"I don't know him, who is it?\" His answer\nseemed to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he did not\nknow that it was me, Mina, to whom he was speaking. \"It is the man\nhimself!\"\nThe poor dear was evidently terrified at something, very greatly\nterrified. I do believe that if he had not had me to lean on and to\nsupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man camesupport him he would have sunk down. He kept staring. A man came\nout of the shop with a small parcel, and gave it to the lady, who\nthen drove off. Th e dark man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when\nthe carriage moved up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction,\nand hailed a hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as\nif to himself,\n\"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if\nthis be so! Oh, my God! My God! If only I knew! If only I knew!\" He\nwas distressing himself so much that I feared to keep his mind on\nthe subject by asking him any questions, so I remained silent. I\ndrew away quietly, and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a\nlittle further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green\nPark. It was a hot day for autumn, and there was a comfortable seat\nin a shady place. After a few minutes' staring at nothing,\nJonathan's eyes closed, and he went quickly into a sleep, with his\nhead on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so\ndid not disturb him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said\nto me quite cheerfully,\n\"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so\nrude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere.\"\nHe had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in\nhis illness he had forgotten all that this episode had reminded him\nof. I don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness. It may make or\ncontinue some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I\nshall do more harm than good, but I must somehow learn the facts of\nhis journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open the\nparcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know,\nforgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.\nLater.—A sad home-coming in every way, the house empty of the\ndear soul who was so good to us. Jonathan still pale and dizzy\nunder a slight relapse of his malady, and now a telegram from Van\nHelsing, whoever he may be. \"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs."}
{"text": "Helsing, whoever he may be. \"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs.\nWestenra died five days ago, and that Lucy died the day before\nyesterday. They were both buried today.\"\nOh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra!\nPoor Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor\nArthur, to have lost such a sweetness out of his life! God help us\nall to bear our troubles.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY-CONT.\n22 September.—It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and\nhas taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I\nbelieve in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's\ndeath as any of us, but he bore himself through it like a moral\nViking. If America can go on breeding men like that, she will be a\npower in the world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest\npreparatory to his journey. He goes to Amsterdam tonight, but says\nhe returns tomorrow night, that he only wants to make some\narrangements which can only be made personally. He is to stop with\nme then, if he can. He says he has work to do in London which may\ntake him some time. Poor old fellow! I fear that the strain of the\npast week has broken down even his iron strength. All the time of\nthe burial he was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on\nhimself. When it was all over, we were standing beside Arthur, who,\npoor fellow, was speaking of his part in the operation where his\nblood had been transfused to his Lucy's veins. I could see Van\nHelsing's face grow white and purple by turns. Arthur was saying\nthat he felt since then as if they two had been really married, and\nthat she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word\nof the other operations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and\nQuincey went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I\ncame on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way\nto a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it\nwas hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humorwas hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humor\nasserting itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he\ncried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us\nand misjudge. And then he cried, till he laughed again, and laughed\nand cried together, just as a woman does. I tried to be stern with\nhim, as one is to a woman under the circumstances, but it had no\neffect. Men and women are so different in manifestations of nervous\nstrength or weakness! Then when his face grew grave and stern again\nI asked him why his mirth, and why at such a time. His reply was in\na way characteristic of him, for it was logical and forceful and\nmysterious. He said,\n\"Ah, you don't comprehend, friend John. Do not think that I am\nnot sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even when the laugh did\nchoke me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the\nlaugh he come just the same. Keep it always with you that laughter\nwho knock at your door and say, `May I come in?' is not true\nlaughter. No! He is a king, and he come when and how he like. He\nask no person, he choose no time of suitability. He say, `I am\nhere.' Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so sweet\nyoung girl. I give my blood for her, though I am old and worn. I\ngive my time, my skill, my sleep. I let my other sufferers want\nthat she may have all. And yet I can laugh at her very grave, laugh\nwhen the clay from the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and\nsay `Thud, thud!' to my heart, till it send back the blood from my\ncheek. My heart bleed for that poor boy, that dear boy, so of the\nage of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with\nhis hair and eyes the same.\n\"There, you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say\nthings that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my\nfather-heart yearn to him as to no other man, not even you, friend\nJohn, for we are more level in experiences than father and son, yet\neven at such a moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and belloweven at such a moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow\nin my ear,`Here I am! Here I am!' till the blood come dance back\nand bring some of the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek.\nOh, friend John, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full\nof miseries, and woes, and troubles. And yet when King Laugh come,\nhe make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and\ndry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all\ndance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth\nof him. And believe me, friend John, that he is good to come, and\nkind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain\nthat pull us different ways. Then tears come, and like the rain on\nthe ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain become too\ngreat, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine, and\nhe ease off the strain again, and we bear to go on with our labor,\nwhat it may be.\"\nI did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his idea,\nbut as I did not yet understand the cause of his laughter, I asked\nhim. As he answered me his face grew stern, and he said in quite a\ndifferent tone,\n\"Oh, it was the grim irony of it all,this so lovely lady\ngarlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by\none we wondered if she were truly dead, she laid in that so fine\nmarble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her\nkin, laid there with the mother who loved her, and whom she loved,\nand that sacred bell going \"Toll! Toll! Toll!' so sad and slow, and\nthose holy men, with the white garments of the angel, pretending to\nread books, and yet all the time their eyes never on the page, and\nall of us with the bowed head. And all for what? She is dead, so!\nIs it not?\"\n\"Well, for the life of me, Professor,\" I said, \"I can't see\nanything to laugh at in all that. Why, your expression makes it a\nharder puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was\ncomic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why his heart was\nsimply breaking.\""}
{"text": "comic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why his heart was\nsimply breaking.\"\n\"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her\nveins had made her truly his bride?\"\n\"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.\"\n\"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that,\nthen what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a\npolyandrist, and me,with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by\nChurch's law, though no wits, all gone, even I, who am faithful\nhusband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist.\"\n\"I don't see where the joke comes in there either!\" I said, and\nI did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such\nthings. He laid his hand on my arm, and said,\n\"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to\nothers when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I\ncan trust. If you could have looked into my heart then when I want\nto laugh, if you could have done so when the laugh arrived, if you\ncould do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all\nthat is to him, for he go far, far away from me, and for a long,\nlong time, maybe you would perhaps pity me the most of all.\"\nI was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.\n\"Because I know!\"\nAnd now we are all scattered, and for many a long day loneliness\nwill sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb\nof her kin, a lordly death house in a lonely churchyard, away from\nteeming London, where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over\nHampstead Hill, and where wild flowers grow of their own\naccord.\nSo I can finish this diary, and God only knows if I shall ever\nbegin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to\ndeal with different people and different themes, for here at the\nend, where the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up\nthe thread of my life-work, I say sadly and without hope,\n\"FINIS\".\nTHE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY\nThe neighborhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised withThe neighborhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with\na series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of\nwhat was known to the writers of headlines and \"The Kensington\nHorror,\" or \"The Stabbing Woman,\" or \"The Woman in Black.\" During\nthe past two or three days several cases have occurred of young\nchildren straying from home or neglecting to return from their\nplaying on the Heath. In all these cases the children were too\nyoung to give any properly intelligible account of themselves, but\nthe consensus of their excuses is that they had been with a\n\"bloofer lady.\" It has always been late in the evening when they\nhave been missed, and on two occasions the children have not been\nfound until early in the following morning. It is generally\nsupposed in the neighborhood that, as the first child missed gave\nas his reason for being away that a \"bloofer lady\" had asked him to\ncome for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as\noccasion served. This is the more natural as the favorite game of\nthe little ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A\ncorrespondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots\npretending to be the \"bloofer lady\" is supremely funny. Some of our\ncaricaturists might, he says, take a lesson in the irony of\ngrotesque by comparing the reality and the picture. It is only in\naccordance with general principles of human nature that the\n\"bloofer lady\" should be the popular role at these al fresco\nperformances. Our correspondent naively says that even Ellen Terry\ncould not be so winningly attractive as some of these grubby-faced\nlittle children pretend, and even imagine themselves, to be.\nThere is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for\nsome of the children, indeed all who have been missed at night,\nhave been slightly torn or wounded in the throat. The wounds seem\nsuch as might be made by a rat or a small dog, and although of not\nmuch importance individually, would tend to show that whatevermuch importance individually, would tend to show that whatever\nanimal inflicts them has a system or method of its own. The police\nof the division have been instructed to keep a sharp lookout for\nstraying children, especially when very young, in and around\nHampstead Heath, and for any stray dog which may be about.\nTHE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, 25 SEPTEMBER EXTRA SPECIAL\nTHE HAMPSTEAD HORROR\nANOTHER CHILD INJURED\nTHE \"BLOOFER LADY\"\nWe have just received intelligence that another child, missed\nlast night, was only discovered late in the morning under a furze\nbush at the Shooter's Hill side of Hampstead Heath, which is\nperhaps, less frequented than the other parts. It has the same tiny\nwound in the throat as has been noticed in other cases. It was\nterribly weak, and looked quite emaciated. It too, when partially\nrestored, had the common story to tell of being lured away by the\n\"bloofer lady\".23 September.—Jonathan is better after a bad night. I am so glad\nthat he has plenty of work to do, for that keeps his mind off the\nterrible things, and oh, I am rejoiced that he is not now weighed\ndown with the responsibility of his new position. I knew he would\nbe true to himself, and now how proud I am to see my Jonathan\nrising to the height of his advancement and keeping pace in all\nways with the duties that come upon him. He will be away all day\ntill late, for he said he could not lunch at home. My household\nwork is done, so I shall take his foreign journal, and lock myself\nup in my room and read it.\n24 September.—I hadn't the heart to write last night, that\nterrible record of Jonathan's upset me so. Poor dear! How he must\nhave suffered, whether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if\nthere is any truth in it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and\nthen write all those terrible things, or had he some cause for it\nall? I suppose I shall never know, for I dare not open the subject\nto him. And yet that man we saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain\nof him, poor fellow! I suppose it was the funeral upset him and\nsent his mind back on some train of thought.\nHe believes it all himself. I remember how on our wedding day he\nsaid \"Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go back to the bitter\nhours, asleep or awake, mad or sane … \" There seems to be\nthrough it all some thread of continuity. That fearful Count was\ncoming to London. If it should be, and he came to London, with its\nteeming millions … There may be a solemn duty, and if it come\nwe must not shrink from it. I shall be prepared. I shall get my\ntypewriter this very hour and begin transcribing. Then we shall be\nready for other eyes if required. And if it be wanted, then,\nperhaps, if I am ready, poor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can\nspeak for him and never let him be troubled or worried with it at\nall. If ever Jonathan quite gets over the nervousness he may want\nto tell me of it all, and I can ask him questions and find out"}
{"text": "to tell me of it all, and I can ask him questions and find out\nthings, and see how I may comfort him.\nLETTER, VAN HELSING TO MRS. HARKER\n24 September\n(Confidence)\n\"Dear Madam,\n\"I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as\nthat I sent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra's death. By the\nkindness of Lord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and\npapers, for I am deeply concerned about certain matters vitally\nimportant. In them I find some letters from you, which show how\ngreat friends you were and how you love her. Oh, Madam Mina, by\nthat love, I implore you, help me. It is for others' good that I\nask, to redress great wrong, and to lift much and terrible\ntroubles, that may be more great than you can know. May it be that\nI see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and of\nLord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it\nprivate for the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see\nyou at once if you tell me I am privilege to come, and where and\nwhen. I implore your pardon, Madam. I have read your letters to\npoor Lucy, and know how good you are and how your husband suffer.\nSo I pray you, if it may be, enlighten him not, least it may harm.\nAgain your pardon, and forgive me.\n\"VAN HELSING\"\nTELEGRAM, MRS. HARKER TO VAN HELSING\n25 September.—Come today by quarter past ten train if you can\ncatch it. Can see you any time you call. \"WILHELMINA HARKER\"\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n25 September.—I cannot help feeling terribly excited as the time\ndraws near for the visit of Dr. Van Helsing, for somehow I expect\nthat it will throw some light upon Jonathan's sad experience, and\nas he attended poor dear Lucy in her last illness, he can tell me\nall about her. That is the reason of his coming. It is concerning\nLucy and her sleepwalking, and not about Jonathan. Then I shall\nnever know the real truth now! How silly I am. That awful journal\ngets hold of my imagination and tinges everything with something of\nits own color. Of course it is about Lucy. That habit came back toits own color. Of course it is about Lucy. That habit came back to\nthe poor dear, and that awful night on the cliff must have made her\nill. I had almost forgotten in my own affairs how ill she was\nafterwards. She must have told him of her sleep-walking adventure\non the cliff, and that I knew all about it, and now he wants me to\ntell him what I know, so that he may understand. I hope I did right\nin not saying anything of it to Mrs. Westenra. I should never\nforgive myself if any act of mine, were it even a negative one,\nbrought harm on poor dear Lucy. I hope too, Dr. Van Helsing will\nnot blame me. I have had so much trouble and anxiety of late that I\nfeel I cannot bear more just at present.\nI suppose a cry does us all good at times, clears the air as\nother rain does. Perhaps it was reading the journal yesterday that\nupset me, and then Jonathan went away this morning to stay away\nfrom me a whole day and night, the first time we have been parted\nsince our marriage. I do hope the dear fellow will take care of\nhimself, and that nothing will occur to upset him. It is two\no'clock, and the doctor will be here soon now. I shall say nothing\nof Jonathan's journal unless he asks me. I am so glad I have\ntypewritten out my own journal, so that, in case he asks about\nLucy, I can hand it to him. It will save much questioning.\nLater.—He has come and gone. Oh, what a strange meeting, and how\nit all makes my head whirl round. I feel like one in a dream. Can\nit be all possible, or even a part of it? If I had not read\nJonathan's journal first, I should never have accepted even a\npossibility. Poor, poor, dear Jonathan! How he must have suffered.\nPlease the good God, all this may not upset him again. I shall try\nto save him from it. But it may be even a consolation and a help to\nhim, terrible though it be and awful in its consequences, to know\nfor certain that his eyes and ears and brain did not deceive him,\nand that it is all true. It may be that it is the doubt which\nhaunts him, that when the doubt is removed, no matter which, wakinghaunts him, that when the doubt is removed, no matter which, waking\nor dreaming, may prove the truth, he will be more satisfied and\nbetter able to bear the shock. Dr. Van Helsing must be a good man\nas well as a clever one if he is Arthur's friend and Dr. Seward's,\nand if they brought him all the way from Holland to look after\nLucy. I feel from having seen him that he is good and kind and of a\nnoble nature. When he comes tomorrow I shall ask him about\nJonathan. And then, please God, all this sorrow and anxiety may\nlead to a good end. I used to think I would like to practice\ninterviewing. Jonathan's friend on \"The Exeter News\" told him that\nmemory is everything in such work, that you must be able to put\ndown exactly almost every word spoken, even if you had to refine\nsome of it afterwards. Here was a rare interview. I shall try to\nrecord it verbatim.\nIt was half-past two o'clock when the knock came. I took my\ncourage a deux mains and waited. In a few minutes Mary opened the\ndoor, and announced \"Dr. Van Helsing\".\nI rose and bowed, and he came towards me, a man of medium\nweight, strongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad,\ndeep chest and a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on\nthe neck. The poise of the head strikes me at once as indicative of\nthought and power. The head is noble, well-sized, broad, and large\nbehind the ears. The face, cleanshaven, shows a hard, square chin,\na large resolute, mobile mouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight,\nbut with quick, sensitive nostrils, that seem to broaden as the big\nbushy brows come down and the mouth tightens. The forehead is broad\nand fine, rising at first almost straight and then sloping back\nabove two bumps or ridges wide apart, such a forehead that the\nreddish hair cannot possibly tumble over it, but falls naturally\nback and to the sides. Big, dark blue eyes are set widely apart,\nand are quick and tender or stern with the man's moods. He said to\nme,\n\"Mrs. Harker, is it not?\" I bowed assent.\n\"That was Miss Mina Murray?\" Again I assented."}
{"text": "me,\n\"Mrs. Harker, is it not?\" I bowed assent.\n\"That was Miss Mina Murray?\" Again I assented.\n\"It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that\npoor dear child Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the\ndead that I come.\"\n\"Sir,\" I said, \"you could have no better claim on me than that\nyou were a friend and helper of Lucy Westenra.\"And I held out my\nhand. He took it and said tenderly,\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I know that the friend of that poor little girl\nmust be good, but I had yet to learn … \" He finished his\nspeech with a courtly bow. I asked him what it was that he wanted\nto see me about, so he at once began.\n\"I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but I had to\nbegin to inquire somewhere, and there was none to ask. I know that\nyou were with her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary, you need\nnot look surprised, Madam Mina. It was begun after you had left,\nand was an imitation of you, and in that diary she traces by\ninference certain things to a sleep-walking in which she puts down\nthat you saved her. In great perplexity then I come to you, and ask\nyou out of your so much kindness to tell me all of it that you can\nremember.\"\n\"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it.\"\n\"Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not\nalways so with young ladies.\"\n\"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it\nto you if you like.\"\n\"Oh, Madam Mina, I well be grateful. You will do me much\nfavor.\"\nI could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit, I\nsuppose it is some taste of the original apple that remains still\nin our mouths, so I handed him the shorthand diary. He took it with\na grateful bow, and said, \"May I read it?\"\n\"If you wish,\" I answered as demurely as I could. He opened it,\nand for an instant his face fell. Then he stood up and bowed.\n\"Oh, you so clever woman!\" he said. \"I knew long that Mr.\nJonathan was a man of much thankfulness, but see, his wife have all\nthe good things. And will you not so much honor me and so help methe good things. And will you not so much honor me and so help me\nas to read it for me? Alas! I know not the shorthand.\"\nBy this time my little joke was over, and I was almost ashamed.\nSo I took the typewritten copy from my work basket and handed it to\nhim.\n\"Forgive me,\" I said. \"I could not help it, but I had been\nthinking that it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and so\nthat you might not have time to wait, not on my account, but\nbecause I know your time must be precious, I have written it out on\nthe typewriter for you.\"\nHe took it and his eyes glistened. \"You are so good,\" he said.\n\"And may I read it now? I may want to ask you some things when I\nhave read.\"\n\"By all means,\" I said. \"read it over whilst I order lunch, and\nthen you can ask me questions whilst we eat.\"\nHe bowed and settled himself in a chair with his back to the\nlight, and became so absorbed in the papers, whilst I went to see\nafter lunch chiefly in order that he might not be disturbed. When I\ncame back, I found him walking hurriedly up and down the room, his\nface all ablaze with excitement. He rushed up to me and took me by\nboth hands.\n\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said, \"how can I say what I owe to you?\nThis paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am dazed, I\nam dazzled, with so much light, and yet clouds roll in behind the\nlight every time. But that you do not, cannot comprehend. Oh, but I\nam grateful to you, you so clever woman. Madame,\" he said this very\nsolemnly, \"if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or\nyours, I trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and\ndelight if I may serve you as a friend, as a friend, but all I have\never learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and those you\nlove. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights. You are\none of the lights. You will have a happy life and a good life, and\nyour husband will be blessed in you.\"\n\"But, doctor, you praise me too much, and you do not know\nme.\"\n\"Not know you, I, who am old, and who have studied all my lifeme.\"\n\"Not know you, I, who am old, and who have studied all my life\nmen and women, I who have made my specialty the brain and all that\nbelongs to him and all that follow from him! And I have read your\ndiary that you have so goodly written for me, and which breathes\nout truth in every line. I, who have read your so sweet letter to\npoor Lucy of your marriage and your trust, not know you! Oh, Madam\nMina, good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and\nby minute, such things that angels can read. And we men who wish to\nknow have in us something of angels' eyes. Your husband is noble\nnature, and you are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be\nwhere there is mean nature. And your husband, tell me of him. Is he\nquite well? Is all that fever gone, and is he strong and\nhearty?\"\nI saw here an opening to ask him about Jonathan, so I said,\"He\nwas almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins\ndeath.\"\nHe interrupted, \"Oh, yes. I know. I know. I have read your last\ntwo letters.\"\nI went on, \"I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town\non Thursday last he had a sort of shock.\"\n\"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That is not good. What\nkind of shock was it?\"\n\"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible,\nsomething which led to his brain fever.\" And here the whole thing\nseemed to overwhelm me in a rush. The pity for Jonathan, the horror\nwhich he experienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and\nthe fear that has been brooding over me ever since, all came in a\ntumult. I suppose I was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees\nand held up my hands to him, and implored him to make my husband\nwell again. He took my hands and raised me up, and made me sit on\nthe sofa, and sat by me. He held my hand in his, and said to me\nwith, oh, such infinite sweetness,\n\"My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I\nhave not had much time for friendships, but since I have been\nsummoned to here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good"}
{"text": "summoned to here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good\npeople and seen such nobility that I feel more than ever, and it\nhas grown with my advancing years, the loneliness of my life.\nBelieve me, then, that I come here full of respect for you, and you\nhave given me hope, hope, not in what I am seeking of, but that\nthere are good women still left to make life happy, good women,\nwhose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for the children\nthat are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some use to\nyou. For if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my\nstudy and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do all for\nhim that I can, all to make his life strong and manly, and your\nlife a happy one. Now you must eat. You are over-wrought and\nperhaps over-anxious. Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so\npale, and what he like not where he love, is not to his good.\nTherefore for his sake you must eat and smile. You have told me\nabout Lucy, and so now we shall not speak of it, lest it distress.\nI shall stay in Exeter tonight, for I want to think much over what\nyou have told me, and when I have thought I will ask you questions,\nif I may. And then too, you will tell me of husband Jonathan's\ntrouble so far as you can, but not yet. You must eat now,\nafterwards you shall tell me all.\"\nAfter lunch, when we went back to the drawing room, he said to\nme, \"And now tell me all about him.\"\nWhen it came to speaking to this great learned man, I began to\nfear that he would think me a weak fool, and Jonathan a madman,\nthat journal is all so strange, and I hesitated to go on. But he\nwas so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I trusted\nhim, so I said,\n\"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you\nmust not laugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday\nin a sort of fever of doubt. You must be kind to me, and not think\nme foolish that I have even half believed some very strange\nthings.\"\nHe reassured me by his manner as well as his words when he said,things.\"\nHe reassured me by his manner as well as his words when he said,\n\"Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding\nwhich I am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to\nthink little of any one's belief, no matter how strange it may be.\nI have tried to keep an open mind, and it is not the ordinary\nthings of life that could close it, but the strange things, the\nextraordinary things, the things that make one doubt if they be mad\nor sane.\"\n\"Thank you, thank you a thousand times! You have taken a weight\noff my mind. If you will let me, I shall give you a paper to read.\nIt is long, but I have typewritten it out. It will tell you my\ntrouble and Jonathan's. It is the copy of his journal when abroad,\nand all that happened. I dare not say anything of it. You will read\nfor yourself and judge. And then when I see you, perhaps, you will\nbe very kind and tell me what you think.\"\n\"I promise,\" he said as I gave him the papers. \"I shall in the\nmorning, as soon as I can, come to see you and your husband, if I\nmay.\"\n\"Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must come to\nlunch with us and see him then. You could catch the quick 3:34\ntrain, which will leave you at Paddington before eight.\" He was\nsurprised at my knowledge of the trains offhand, but he does not\nknow that I have made up all the trains to and from Exeter, so that\nI may help Jonathan in case he is in a hurry.\nSo he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit here\nthinking, thinking I don't know what.\nLETTER (by hand), VAN HELSING TO MRS. HARKER\n25 September, 6 o'clock\n\"Dear Madam Mina,\n\"I have read your husband's so wonderful diary. You may sleep\nwithout doubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is true! I will\npledge my life on it. It may be worse for others, but for him and\nyou there is no dread. He is a noble fellow, and let me tell you\nfrom experience of men, that one who would do as he did in going\ndown that wall and to that room, aye, and going a second time, isdown that wall and to that room, aye, and going a second time, is\nnot one to be injured in permanence by a shock. His brain and his\nheart are all right, this I swear, before I have even seen him, so\nbe at rest. I shall have much to ask him of other things. I am\nblessed that today I come to see you, for I have learn all at once\nso much that again I am dazzled, dazzled more than ever, and I must\nthink.\n\"Yours the most faithful,\n\"Abraham Van Helsing.\"\nLETTER, MRS. HARKER TO VAN HELSING\n25 September, 6:30 p. m.\n\"My dear Dr. Van Helsing,\n\"A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which has taken a great\nweight off my mind. And yet, if it be true, what terrible things\nthere are in the world, and what an awful thing if that man, that\nmonster, be really in London! I fear to think. I have this moment,\nwhilst writing, had a wire from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by\nthe 6:25 tonight from Launceston and will be here at 10:18,so that\nI shall have no fear tonight. Will you, therefore, instead of\nlunching with us, please come to breakfast at eight o'clock, if\nthis be not too early for you? You can get away, if you are in a\nhurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bring you to Paddington by\n2:35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that, if I do not\nhear, you will come to breakfast.\n\"Believe me,\n\"Your faithful and grateful friend,\n\"Mina Harker.\"\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n26 September.—I thought never to write in this diary again, but\nthe time has come. When I got home last night Mina had supper\nready, and when we had supped she told me of Van Helsing's visit,\nand of her having given him the two diaries copied out, and of how\nanxious she has been about me. She showed me in the doctor's letter\nthat all I wrote down was true. It seems to have made a new man of\nme. It was the doubt as to the reality of the whole thing that\nknocked me over. I felt impotent, and in the dark, and distrustful.\nBut, now that I know, I am not afraid, even of the Count. He has\nsucceeded after all, then, in his design in getting to London, and"}
{"text": "succeeded after all, then, in his design in getting to London, and\nit was he I saw. He has got younger, and how? Van Helsing is the\nman to unmask him and hunt him out, if he is anything like what\nMina says. We sat late, and talked it over. Mina is dressing, and I\nshall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring him over.\nHe was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into the room\nwhee he was, and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and\nturned my face round to the light, and said, after a sharp\nscrutiny,\n\"But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you had had a\nshock.\"\nIt was so funny to hear my wife called `Madam Mina' by this\nkindly, strong-faced old man. I smiled, and said, \"I was ill, I\nhave had a shock, but you have cured me already.\"\n\"And how?\"\n\"By your letter to Mina last night. I was in doubt, and then\neverything took a hue of unreality, and I did not know what to\ntrust, even the evidence of my own senses. Not knowing what to\ntrust, I did not know what to do, and so had only to keep on\nworking in what had hitherto been the groove of my life. The groove\nceased to avail me, and I mistrusted myself. Doctor, you don't know\nwhat it is to doubt everything, even yourself. No, you don't, you\ncouldn't with eyebrows like yours.\"\nHe seemed pleased, and laughed as he said, \"So! You are a\nphysiognomist. I learn more here with each hour. I am with so much\npleasure coming to you to breakfast, and, oh, sir, you will pardon\npraise from an old man, but you are blessed in your wife.\"\nI would listen to him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply\nnodded and stood silent.\n\"She is one of God's women, fashioned by His own hand to show us\nmen and other women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and\nthat its light can be here on earth. So true, so sweet, so noble,\nso little an egoist, and that, let me tell you, is much in this\nage, so sceptical and selfish. And you, sir… I have read all the\nletters to poor Miss Lucy, and some of them speak of you, so I knowletters to poor Miss Lucy, and some of them speak of you, so I know\nyou since some days from the knowing of others, but I have seen\nyour true self since last night. You will give me your hand, will\nyou not? And let us be friends for all our lives.\"\nWe shook hands, and he was so earnest and so kind that it made\nme quite choky.\n\"and now,\" he said, \"may I ask you for some more help? I have a\ngreat task to do, and at the beginning it is to know. You can help\nme here. Can you tell me what went before your going to\nTransylvania? Later on I may ask more help, and of a different\nkind, but at first this will do.\"\n\"Look here, Sir,\" I said, \"does what you have to do concern the\nCount?\"\n\"It does,\" he said solemnly.\"\n\"Then I am with you heart and soul. As you go by the 10:30\ntrain, you will not have time to read them, but I shall get the\nbundle of papers. You can take them with you and read them in the\ntrain.\"\nAfter breakfast I saw him to the station. When we were parting\nhe said, \"Perhaps you will come to town if I send for you, and take\nMadam Mina too.\"\n\"We shall both come when you will,\" I said.\nI had got him the morning papers and the London papers of the\nprevious night, and while we were talking at the carriage window,\nwaiting for the train to start, he was turning them over. His eyes\nsuddenly seemed to catch something in one of them, \"The Westminster\nGazette\", I knew it by the color, and he grew quite white. He read\nsomething intently, groaning to himself, \"Mein Gott! Mein Gott! So\nsoon! So soon!\" I do not think he remembered me at the moment. Just\nthen the whistle blew, and the train moved off. This recalled him\nto himself, and he leaned out of the window and waved his hand,\ncalling out, \"Love to Madam Mina. I shall write so soon as ever I\ncan.\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n26 September.—Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a\nweek since I said \"Finis,\" and yet here I am starting fresh again,\nor rather going on with the record. Until this afternoon I had no\ncause to think of what is done. Renfield had become, to allcause to think of what is done. Renfield had become, to all\nintents, as sane as he ever was. He was already well ahead with his\nfly business, and he had just started in the spider line also, so\nhe had not been of any trouble to me. I had a letter from Arthur,\nwritten on Sunday, and from it I gather that he is bearing up\nwonderfully well. Quincey Morris is with him, and that is much of a\nhelp, for he himself is a bubbling well of good spirits. Quincey\nwrote me a line too, and from him I hear that Arthur is beginning\nto recover something of his old buoyancy, so as to them all my mind\nis at rest. As for myself, I was settling down to my work with the\nenthusiasm which I used to have for it, so that I might fairly have\nsaid that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was becoming\ncicatrised.\nEverything is, however, now reopened, and what is to be the end\nGod only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows,\ntoo, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity.\nHe went to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. Today he\ncame back, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five\no'clock, and thrust last night's \"Westminster Gazette\" into my\nhand.\n\"What do you think of that?\" he asked as he stood back and\nfolded his arms.\nI looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he\nmeant, but he took it from me and pointed out a paragraph about\nchildren being decoyed away at Hampstead. It did not convey much to\nme, until I reached a passage where it described small puncture\nwounds on their throats. An idea struck me, and I looked up.\n\"Well?\" he said.\n\"It is like poor Lucy's.\"\n\"And what do you make of it?\"\n\"Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that\ninjured her has injured them.\" I did not quite understand his\nanswer.\n\"That is true indirectly, but not directly.\"\n\"How do you mean, Professor?\" I asked. I was a little inclined\nto take his seriousness lightly, for, after all, four days of rest\nand freedom from burning, harrowing, anxiety does help to restore"}
{"text": "and freedom from burning, harrowing, anxiety does help to restore\none's spirits, but when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even\nin the midst of our despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more\nstern.\n\"Tell me!\" I said. \"I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what\nto think, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture.\"\n\"Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion\nas to what poor Lucy died of, not after all the hints given, not\nonly by events, but by me?\"\n\"Of nervous prostration following a great loss or waste of\nblood.\"\n\"And how was the blood lost or wasted?\" I shook my head.\nHe stepped over and sat down beside me, and went on,\"You are a\nclever man, friend John. You reason well, and your wit is bold, but\nyou are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears\nhear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account\nto you. Do you not think that there are things which you cannot\nunderstand, and yet which are,that some people see things that\nothers cannot? But there are things old and new which must not be\ncontemplated by men's eyes, because they know, or think they know,\nsome things which other men have told them. Ah, it is the fault of\nour science that it wants to explain all, and if it explain not,\nthen it says there is nothing to explain. But yet we see around us\nevery day the growth of new beliefs, which think themselves new,\nand which are yet but the old, which pretend to be young, like the\nfine ladies at the opera. I suppose now you do not believe in\ncorporeal transference. No? Nor in materialization. No? Nor in\nastral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in\nhypnotism … \"\n\"Yes,\" I said. \"Charcot has proved that pretty well.\"\nHe smiled as he went on, \"Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes?\nAnd of course then you understand how it act, and can follow the\nmind of the great Charcot, alas that he is no more, into the very\nsoul of the patient that he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I\nto take it that you simply accept fact, and are satisfied to letto take it that you simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let\nfrom premise to conclusion be a blank? No? Then tell me, for I am a\nstudent of the brain, how you accept hypnotism and reject the\nthought reading. Let me tell you, my friend, that there are things\ndone today in electrical science which would have been deemed\nunholy by the very man who discovered electricity, who would\nthemselves not so long before been burned as wizards. There are\nalways mysteries in life. Why was it that Methuselah lived nine\nhundred years, and `Old Parr'one hundred and sixty-nine, and yet\nthat poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her poor veins, could not\nlive even one day? For, had she live one more day, we could save\nher. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do you know the\naltogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the\nqualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you\ntell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great\nspider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church\nand grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil of\nall the church lamps? Can you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and\nelsewhere, there are bats that come out at night and open the veins\nof cattle and horses and suck dry their veins, how in some islands\nof the Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day,\nand those who have seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and\nthat when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is hot,\nflit down on them and then, and then in the morning are found dead\nmen, white as even Miss Lucy was?\"\n\"Good God, Professor!\" I said, starting up. \"Do you mean to tell\nme that Lucy was bitten by such a bat, and that such a thing is\nhere in London in the nineteenth century?\"\nHe waved his hand for silence, and went on,\"Can you tell me why\nthe tortoise lives more long than generations of men, why the\nelephant goes on and on till he have sees dynasties, and why the\nparrot never die only of bite of cat of dog or other complaint? Canparrot never die only of bite of cat of dog or other complaint? Can\nyou tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are\nmen and women who cannot die? We all know, because science has\nvouched for the fact, that there have been toads shut up in rocks\nfor thousands of years, shut in one so small hole that only hold\nhim since the youth of the world. Can you tell me how the Indian\nfakir can make himself to die and have been buried, and his grave\nsealed and corn sowed on it, and the corn reaped and be cut and\nsown and reaped and cut again, and then men come and take away the\nunbroken seal and that there lie the Indian fakir, not dead, but\nthat rise up and walk amongst them as before?\"\nHere I interrupted him. I was getting bewildered. He so crowded\non my mind his list of nature's eccentricities and possible\nimpossibilities that my imagination was getting fired. I had a dim\nidea that he was teaching me some lesson, as long ago he used to do\nin his study at Amsterdam. But he used them to tell me the thing,\nso that I could have the object of thought in mind all the time.\nBut now I was without his help, yet I wanted to follow him, so I\nsaid,\n\"Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the\nthesis, so that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present\nI am going in my mind from point to point as a madman, and not a\nsane one, follows an idea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a\nbog in a midst, jumping from one tussock to another in the mere\nblind effort to move on without knowing where I am going.\"\n\"That is a good image,\" he said. \"Well, I shall tell you. My\nthesis is this, I want you to believe.\"\n\"To believe what?\"\n\"To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I\nheard once of an American who so defined faith, `that fac ulty\nwhich enables us to believe things which we know to be untrue.' For\none, I follow that man. He meant that we shall have an open mind,\nand not let a little bit of truth check the rush of the big truth,and not let a little bit of truth check the rush of the big truth,\nlike a small rock does a railway truck. We get the small truth\nfirst. Good! We keep him, and we value him, but all the same we\nmust not let him think himself all the truth in the universe.\"\n\"Then you want me not to let some previous conviction inure the\nreceptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I\nread your lesson aright?\"\n\"Ah, you are my favorite pupil still. It is worth to teach you.\nNow that you are willing to understand, you have taken the first\nstep to understand. You think then that those so small holes in the\nchildren's throats were made by the same that made the holes in\nMiss Lucy?\"\n\"I suppose so.\"\nHe stood up and said solemnly, \"Then you are wrong. Oh, would it\nwere so! But alas! No. It is worse, far, far worse.\"\n\"In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?\" I\ncried.\nHe threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and\nplaced his elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as\nhe spoke.\n\"They were made by Miss Lucy!\""}
{"text": "For a while sheer anger mastered me. It was as if he had during\nher life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose\nup as I said to him, \"Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?\"\nHe raised his head and looked at me, and somehow the tenderness\nof his face calmed me at once. \"Would I were!\" he said. \"Madness\nwere easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my friend,\nwhey, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell so\nsimple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all my\nlife? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I\nwanted, no so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life,\nand from a fearful death? Ah no!\"\n\"Forgive me,\" said I.\nHe went on, \"My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in\nthe breaking to you, for I know you have loved that so sweet lady.\nBut even yet I do not expect you to believe. It is so hard to\naccept at once any abstract truth, that we may doubt such to be\npossible when we have always believed the `no' of it. It is more\nhard still to accept so sad a concrete truth, and of such a one as\nMiss Lucy. Tonight I go to prove it. Dare you come with me?\"\nThis staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth,\nByron excepted from the catagory, jealousy.\n\"And prove the very truth he most abhorred.\"\nHe saw my hesitation, and spoke, \"The logic is simple, no\nmadman's logic this time, jumping from tussock to tussock in a\nmisty bog. If it not be true, then proof will be relief. At worst\nit will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread. Yet every\ndread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come,\nI tell you what I propose. First, that we go off now and see that\nchild in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where\nthe papers say the child is, is a friend of mine, and I think of\nyours since you were in class at Amsterdam. He will let two\nscientists see his case, if he will not let two friends. We shall\ntell him nothing, but only that we wish to learn. And then …\n\"\n\"And then?\"tell him nothing, but only that we wish to learn. And then …\n\"\n\"And then?\"\nHe took a key from his pocket and held it up. \"And then we spend\nthe night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is\nthe key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin man to give to\nArthur.\"\nMy heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful\nordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what\nheart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon\nwas passing.\nWe found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some\nfood, and altogether was going on well. Dr, Vincent took the\nbandage from its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no\nmistaking the similarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat.\nThey were smaller, and the edges looked fresher, that was all. We\nasked Vincent to what he attributed them, and he replied that it\nmust have been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat, but for his\nown part, he was inclined to think it was one of the bats which are\nso numerous on the northern heights of London. \"Out of so many\nharmless ones,\" he said, \"there may be some wild specimen from the\nSouth of a more malignant species. Some sailor may have brought one\nhome, and it managed to escape, or even from the Zoological Gardens\na young one may have got loose, or one be bred there from a\nvampire. These things do occur, you, know. Only ten days ago a wolf\ngot out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a\nweek after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood\non the Heath and in every alley in the place until this `bloofer\nlady' scare came along, since then it has been quite a gala time\nwith them. Even this poor little mite, when he woke up today, asked\nthe nurse if he might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to\ngo, he said he wanted to play with the `bloofer lady'.\"\n\"I hope,\" said Van Helsing, \"that when you are sending the child\nhome you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it.home you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it.\nThese fancies to stray are most dangerous, and if the child were to\nremain out another night, it would probably be fatal. But in any\ncase I suppose you will not let it away for some days?\"\n\"Certainly not, not for a week at least, longer if the wound is\nnot healed.\"\nOur visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned\non, and the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw\nhow dark it was, he said,\n\"There is not hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let\nus seek somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our\nway.\"\nWe dined at `Jack Straw's Castle' along with a little crowd of\nbicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o'clock we\nstarted from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered\nlamps made the darkness greater when we were once outside their\nindividual radius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we\nwere to go, for he went on unhesitatingly, but, as for me, I was in\nquite a mixup as to locality. As we went further, we met fewer and\nfewer people, till at last we were somewhat surprised when we met\neven the patrol of horse police going their usual suburban round.\nAt last we reached the wall of the churchyard, which we climbed\nover. With some little difficulty, for it was very dark, and the\nwhole place seemed so strange to us, we found the Westenra tomb.\nThe Professor took the key, opened the creaky door, and standing\nback, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to precede\nhim. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in the courtliness\nof giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My companion\nfollowed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after\ncarefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a\nspring one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight.\nThen he fumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece\nof candle, proceeded to make a light. The tomb in the daytime, and\nwhen wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome"}
{"text": "when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome\nenough, but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank\nand dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to browns,\nwhen the spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed\ndominance, when the time-discolored stone, and dust-encrusted\nmortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and clouded\nsilver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect\nwas more miserable and sordid than could have been imagined. It\nconveyed irresistibly the idea that life, animal life, was not the\nonly thing which could pass away.\nVan Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his\ncandle so that he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it\nthat the sperm dropped in white patches which congealed as they\ntouched the metal, he made assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another\nsearch in his bag, and he took out a turnscrew.\n\"What are you going to do?\" I asked.\n\"To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.\"\nStraightway he began taking out the screws, and finally lifted\noff the lid, showing the casing of lead beneath. The sight was\nalmost too much for me. It seemed to be as much an affront to the\ndead as it would have been to have stripped off her clothing in her\nsleep whilst living. I actually took hold of his hand to stop\nhim.\nHe only said, \"You shall see,\"and again fumbling in his bag took\nout a tiny fret saw. Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a\nswift downward stab, which made me wince, he made a small hole,\nwhich was, however, big enough to admit the point of the saw. I had\nexpected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We doctors, who\nhave had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to such\nthings, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never\nstopped for a moment. He sawed down a couple of feet along one side\nof the lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side.\nTaking the edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards theTaking the edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the\nfoot of the coffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture,\nmotioned to me to look.\nI drew near and looked. The coffin was empty. It was certainly a\nsurprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but Van Helsing\nwas unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground, and so\nemboldened to proceed in his task.\"Are you satisfied now, friend\nJohn?\" he asked.\nI felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake\nwithin me as I answered him, \"I am satisfied that Lucy's body is\nnot in that coffin, but that only proves one thing.\"\n\"And what is that, friend John?\"\n\"That it is not there.\"\n\"That is good logic,\" he said, \"so far as it goes. But how do\nyou, how can you, account for it not being there?\"\n\"Perhaps a body-snatcher,\" I suggested. \"Some of the\nundertaker's people may have stolen it.\" I felt that I was speaking\nfolly, and yet it was the only real cause which I could\nsuggest.\nThe Professor sighed. \"Ah well!\" he said,\" we must have more\nproof. Come with me.\"\nHe put on the coffin lid again, gathered up all his things and\nplaced them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle\nalso in the bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he\nclosed the door and locked it. He handed me the key, saying, \"Will\nyou keep it? You had better be assured.\"\nI laughed, it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am bound to say,\nas I motioned him to keep it. \"A key is nothing,\" I said, \"thee are\nmany duplicates, and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of\nthis kind.\"\nHe said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he told me\nto watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at the\nother.\nI took up my place behind a yew tree, and I saw his dark figure\nmove until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my\nsight. It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I\nheard a distant clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two.\nI was chilled and unnerved, and angry with the Professor for takingI was chilled and unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking\nme on such an errand and with myself for coming. I was too cold and\ntoo sleepy to be keenly observant, and not sleepy enough to betray\nmy trust, so altogether I had a dreary, miserable time.\nSuddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a\nwhite streak, moving between two dark yew trees at the side of the\nchurchyard farthest from the tomb. At the same time a dark mass\nmoved from the Professor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went\ntowards it. Then I too moved, but I had to go round headstones and\nrailed-off tombs, and I stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast,\nand somewhere far off an early cock crew. A little ways off, beyond\na line of scattered juniper trees, which marked the pathway to the\nchurch, a white dim figure flitted in the direction of the tomb.\nThe tomb itself was hidden by trees, and I could not see where the\nfigure had disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual movement where\nI had first seen the white figure, and coming over, found the\nProfessor holding in his arms a tiny child. When he saw me he held\nit out to me, and said, \"Are you satisfied now?\"\n\"No,\" I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.\n\"Do you not see the child?\"\n\"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it\nwounded?\"\n\"We shall see,\"said the Professor, and with one impulse we took\nour way out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.\nWhen we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump\nof trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It\nwas without a scratch or scar of any kind.\n\"Was I right?\" I asked triumphantly.\n\"We were just in time,\" said the Professor thankfully.\nWe had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so\nconsulted about it. If we were to take it to a police station we\nshould have to give some account of our movements during the night.\nAt least, we should have had to make some statement as to how we\nhad come to find the child. So finally we decided that we would"}
{"text": "had come to find the child. So finally we decided that we would\ntake it to the Heath, and when we heard a policeman coming, would\nleave it where he could not fail to find it. We would then seek our\nway home as quickly as we could. All fell out well. At the edge of\nHampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy tramp, and laying the\nchild on the pathway, we waited and watched until he saw it as he\nflashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation of\nastonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got\na cab near the `Spainiards,' and drove to town.\nI cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a\nfew hours' sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He\ninsists that I go with him on another expedition.\n27 September.—It was two o'clock before we found a suitable\nopportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at noon was all\ncompleted, and the last stragglers of the mourners had taken\nthemselves lazily away, when, looking carefully from behind a clump\nof alder trees, we saw the sexton lock the gate after him. We knew\nthat we were safe till morning did we desire it, but the Professor\ntold me that we should not want more than an hour at most. Again I\nfelt that horrid sense of the reality of things, in which any\neffort of imagination seemed out of place, and I realized\ndistinctly the perils of the law which we were incurring in our\nunhallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless. Outrageous\nas it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman dead nearly a\nweek were really dead, it now seemed the height of folly to open\nthe tomb again, when we knew, from the evidence of our own\neyesight, that the coffin was empty. I shrugged my shoulders,\nhowever, and rested silent, for Van Helsing had a way of going on\nhis own road, no matter who remonstrated. He took the key, opened\nthe vault, and again courteously motioned me to precede. The place\nwas not so gruesome as last night, but oh, how unutterably mean\nlooking when the sunshine streamed in. Van Helsing walked over tolooking when the sunshine streamed in. Van Helsing walked over to\nLucy's coffin, and I followed. He bent over and again forced back\nthe leaden flange, and a shock of surprise and dismay shot through\nme.\nThere lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the night\nbefore her funeral. She was, if possible, more radiantly beautiful\nthan ever, and I could not believe that she was dead. The lips were\nred, nay redder than before, and on the cheeks was a delicate\nbloom.\n\"Is this a juggle?\" I said to him.\n\"Are you convinced now?\" said the Professor, in response, and as\nhe spoke he put over his hand, and in a way that made me shudder,\npulled back the dead lips and showed the white teeth. \"See,\" he\nwent on,\"they are even sharper than before. With this and this,\"\nand he touched one of the canine teeth and that below it, \"the\nlittle children can be bitten. Are you of belief now, friend\nJohn?\"\nOnce more argumentative hostility woke within me. I could not\naccept such an overwhelming idea as he suggested. So, with an\nattempt to argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said,\n\"She may have been placed here since last night.\"\n\"Indeed? That is so, and by whom?\"\n\"I do not know. Someone has done it.\"\n\"And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in that time\nwould not look so.\"\nI had no answer for this, so was silent. Van Helsing did not\nseem to notice my silence. At any rate, he showed neither chagrin\nnor triumph. He was looking intently at the face of the dead woman,\nraising the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening\nthe lips and examining the teeth. Then he turned to me and\nsaid,\n\"Here, there is one thing which is different from all recorded.\nHere is some dual life that is not as the common. She was bitten by\nthe vampire when she was in a trance, sleep-walking, oh, you start.\nYou do not know that, friend John, but you shall know it later, and\nin trance could he best come to take more blood. In trance she\ndies, and in trance she is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differdies, and in trance she is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ\nfrom all other. Usually when the Un-Dead sleep at home,\" as he\nspoke he made a comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what to\na vampire was `home', \"their face show what they are, but this so\nsweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back to the nothings of\nthe common dead. There is no malign there, see, and so it make hard\nthat I must kill her in her sleep.\"\nThis turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn upon me that I\nwas accepting Van Helsing's theories. But if she were really dead,\nwhat was there of terror in the idea of killing her?\nHe looked up at me, and evidently saw the change in my face, for\nhe said almost joyously, \"Ah, you believe now?\"\nI answered, \"Do not press me too hard all at once. I am willing\nto accept. How will you do this bloody work?\"\n\"I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and I\nshall drive a stake through her body.\"\nIt made me shudder to think of so mutilating the body of the\nwoman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling was not so strong as I\nhad expected. I was, in fact, beginning to shudder at the presence\nof this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing called it, and to\nloathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective, or all\nobjective?\nI waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but he\nstood as if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the catch of\nhis bag with a snap, and said,\n\"I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to what is\nbest. If I did simply follow my inclining I would do now, at this\nmoment, what is to be done. But there are other things to follow,\nand things that are thousand times more difficult in that them we\ndo not know. This is simple. She have yet no life taken, though\nthat is of time, and to act now would be to take danger from her\nforever. But then we may have to want Arthur, and how shall we tell\nhim of this? If you, who saw the wounds on Lucy's throat, and saw\nthe wounds so similar on the child's at the hospital, if you, who"}
{"text": "the wounds so similar on the child's at the hospital, if you, who\nsaw the coffin empty last night and full today with a woman who\nhave not change only to be more rose and more beautiful in a whole\nweek, after she die, if you know of this and know of the white\nfigure last night that brought the child to the churchyard, and yet\nof your own senses you did not believe, how then, can I expect\nArthur, who know none of those things, to believe?\n\"He doubted me when I took him from her kiss when she was dying.\nI know he has forgiven me because in some mistaken idea I have done\nthings that prevent him say goodbye as he ought, and he may think\nthat in some more mistaken idea this woman was buried alive, and\nthat in most mistake of all we have killed her. He will then argue\nback that it is we, mistaken ones, that have killed her by our\nideas, and so he will be much unhappy always. Yet he never can be\nsure, and that is the worst of all. And he will sometimes think\nthat she he loved was buried alive, and that will paint his dreams\nwith horrors of what she must have suffered, and again, he will\nthink that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after all,\nan Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I learn much. Now,\nsince I know it is all true, a hundred thousand times more do I\nknow that he must pass through the bitter waters to reach the\nsweet. He, poor fellow, must have one hour that will make the very\nface of heaven grow black to him, then we can act for good all\nround and send him peace. My mind is made up. Let us go. You return\nhome for tonight to your asylum, and see that all be well. As for\nme, I shall spend the night here in this churchyard in my own way.\nTomorrow night you will come to me to the Berkeley Hotel at ten of\nthe clock. I shall send for Arthur to come too, and also that so\nfine young man of America that gave his blood. Later we shall all\nhave work to do. I come with you so far as Piccadilly and there\ndine, for I must be back here before the sun set.\"dine, for I must be back here before the sun set.\"\nSo we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the wall of\nthe churchyard, which was not much of a task, and drove back to\nPiccadilly.\nNOTE LEFT BY VAN HELSING IN HIS PORTMANTEAU, BERKELEY HOTEL\nDIRECTED TO JOHN SEWARD, M. D. (Not Delivered)\n27 September\n\"Friend John,\n\"I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone to\nwatch in that churchyard. It pleases me that the Un-Dead, Miss\nLucy, shall not leave tonight, that so on the morrow night she may\nbe more eager. Therefore I shall fix some things she like not,\ngarlic and a crucifix, and so seal up the door of the tomb. She is\nyoung as Un-Dead, and will heed. Moreover, these are only to\nprevent her coming out. They may not prevail on her wanting to get\nin, for then the Un-Dead is desperate, and must find the line of\nleast resistance, whatsoever it may be. I shall be at hand all the\nnight from sunset till after sunrise, and if there be aught that\nmay be learned I shall learn it. For Miss Lucy or from her, I have\nno fear, but that other to whom is there that she is Un-Dead, he\nhave not the power to seek her tomb and find shelter. He is\ncunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and from the way that all\nalong he have fooled us when he played with us for Miss Lucy's\nlife, and we lost, and in many ways the Un-Dead are strong. He have\nalways the strength in his hand of twenty men, even we four who\ngave our strength to Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he\ncan summon his wolf and I know not what. So if it be that he came\nthither on this night he shall find me. But none other shall, until\nit be too late. But it may be that he will not attempt the place.\nThere is no reason why he should. His hunting ground is more full\nof game than the churchyard where the Un-Dead woman sleeps, and the\none old man watch.\n\"Therefore I write this in case … Take the papers that are\nwith this, the diaries of Harker and the rest, and read them, and\nthen find this great Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn histhen find this great Un-Dead, and cut off his head and burn his\nheart or drive a stake through it, so that the world may rest from\nhim.\n\"If it be so, farewell.\n\"VAN HELSING.\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n28 September.—It is wonderful what a good night's sleep will do\nfor one. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept Van Helsing's\nmonstrous ideas, but now they seem to start out lurid before me as\noutrages on common sense. I have no doubt that he believes it all.\nI wonder if his mind can have become in any way unhinged. Surely\nthere must be some rational explanation of all these mysterious\nthings. Is it possible that the Professor can have done it himself?\nHe is so abnormally clever that if he went off his head he would\ncarry out his intent with regard to some fixed idea in a wonderful\nway. I am loathe to think it, and indeed it would be almost as\ngreat a marvel as the other to find that Van Helsing was mad, but\nanyhow I shall watch him carefully. I may get some light on the\nmystery.\n29 September.—Last night, at a little before ten o'clock, Arthur\nand Quincey came into Van Helsing's room. He told us all what he\nwanted us to do, but especially addressing himself to Arthur, as if\nall our wills were centered in his. He began by saying that he\nhoped we would all come with him too, \"for,\" he said, \"there is a\ngrave duty to be done there. You were doubtless surprised at my\nletter?\" This query was directly addressed to Lord Godalming. \"I\nwas. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so much trouble\naround my house of late that I could do without any more. I have\nbeen curious, too, as to what you mean.\n\"Quincey and I talked it over, but the more we talked, the more\npuzzled we got, till now I can say for myself that I'm about up a\ntree as to any meaning about anything.\"\n\"Me too,\" said Quincey Morris laconically.\n\"Oh,\" said the Professor, \"then you are nearer the beginning,\nboth of you, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back\nbefore he can even get so far as to begin.\""}
{"text": "before he can even get so far as to begin.\"\nIt was evident that he recognized my return to my old doubting\nframe of mind without my saying a word. Then, turning to the other\ntwo, he said with intense gravity,\n\"I want your permission to do what I think good this night. It\nis, I know, much to ask, and when you know what it is I propose to\ndo you will know, and only then how much. Therefore may I ask that\nyou promise me in the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be\nangry with me for a time, I must not disguise from myself the\npossibility that such may be, you shall not blame yourselves for\nanything.\"\n\"That's frank anyhow,\" broke in Quincey. \"I'll answer for the\nProfessor. I don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest,\nand that's good enough for me.\"\n\"I thank you, Sir,\" said Van Helsing proudly. \"I have done\nmyself the honor of counting you one trusting friend, and such\nendorsement is dear to me.\" He held out a hand, which Quincey\ntook.\nThen Arthur spoke out, \"Dr. Van Helsing, I don't quite like to\n`buy a pig in a poke', as they say in Scotland, and if it be\nanything in which my honour as a gentleman or my faith as a\nChristian is concerned, I cannot make such a promise. If you can\nassure me that what you intend does not violate either of these\ntwo, then I give my consent at once, though for the life of me, I\ncannot understand what you are driving at.\"\n\"I accept your limitation,\" said Van Helsing, \"and all I ask of\nyou is that if you feel it necessary to condemn any act of mine,\nyou will first consider it well and be satisfied that it does not\nviolate your reservations.\"\n\"Agreed!\" said Arthur. \"That is only fair. And now that the\npourparlers are over, may I ask what it is we are to do?\"\n\"I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to the\nchurchyard at Kingstead.\"\nArthur's face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way,\n\"Where poor Lucy is buried?\"\nThe Professor bowed.\nArthur went on, \"And when there?\"\n\"To enter the tomb!\"\nArthur stood up. \"Professor, are you in earnest, or is it some\"To enter the tomb!\"\nArthur stood up. \"Professor, are you in earnest, or is it some\nmonstrous joke? Pardon me, I see that you are in earnest.\" He sat\ndown again, but I could see that he sat firmly and proudly, as one\nwho is on his dignity. There was silence until he asked again, \"And\nwhen in the tomb?\"\n\"To open the coffin.\"\n\"This is too much!\" he said, angrily rising again. \"I am willing\nto be patient in all things that are reasonable, but in this, this\ndesecration of the grave, of one who … \" He fairly choked with\nindignation.\nThe Professor looked pityingly at him.\"If I could spare you one\npang, my poor friend,\" he said, \"God knows I would. But this night\nour feet must tread in thorny paths, or later, and for ever, the\nfeet you love must walk in paths of flame!\"\nArthur looked up with set white face and said, \"Take care, sir,\ntake care!\"\n\"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?\" said Van\nHelsing. \"And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose.\nShall I go on?\"\n\"That's fair enough,\" broke in Morris.\nAfter a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an effort,\n\"Miss Lucy is dead, is it not so? Yes! Then there can be no wrong\nto her. But if she be not dead… \"\nArthur jumped to his feet, \"Good God!\" he cried. \"What do you\nmean? Has there been any mistake, has she been buried alive?\"He\ngroaned in anguish that not even hope could soften.\n\"I did not say she was alive, my child. I did not think it. I go\nno further than to say that she might be Un-Dead.\"\n\"Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all a nightmare,\nor what is it?\"\n\"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by\nage they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the\nverge of one. But I have not done. May I cut off the head of dead\nMiss Lucy?\"\n\"Heavens and earth, no!\" cried Arthur in a storm of passion.\n\"Not for the wide world will I consent to any mutilation of her\ndead body. Dr. Van Helsing, you try me too far. What have I done to\nyou that you should torture me so? What did that poor, sweet girlyou that you should torture me so? What did that poor, sweet girl\ndo that you should want to cast such dishonor on her grave? Are you\nmad, that you speak of such things, or am I mad to listen to them?\nDon't dare think more of such a desecration. I shall not give my\nconsent to anything you do. I have a duty to do in protecting her\ngrave from outrage, and by God, I shall do it!\"\nVan Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been seated,\nand said, gravely and sternly, \"My Lord Godalming, I too, have a\nduty to do, a duty to others, a duty to you, a duty to the dead,\nand by God, I shall do it! All I ask you now is that you come with\nme, that you look and listen, and if when later I make the same\nrequest you do not be more eager for its fulfillment even than I\nam, then, I shall do my duty, whatever it may seem to me. And then,\nto follow your Lordship's wishes I shall hold myself at your\ndisposal to render an account to you, when and where you will.\" His\nvoice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of pity.\n\"But I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long\nlife of acts which were often not pleasant to do, and which\nsometimes did wring my heart, I have never had so heavy a task as\nnow. Believe me that if the time comes for you to change your mind\ntowards me, one look from you will wipe away all this so sad hour,\nfor I would do what a man can to save you from sorrow. Just think.\nFor why should I give myself so much labor and so much of sorrow? I\nhave come here from my own land to do what I can of good, at the\nfirst to please my friend John, and then to help a sweet young\nlady, whom too, I come to love. For her, I am ashamed to say so\nmuch, but I say it in kindness, I gave what you gave, the blood of\nmy veins. I gave it, I who was not, like you, her lover, but only\nher physician and her friend. I gave her my nights and days, before\ndeath, after death, and if my death can do her good even now, when\nshe is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely.\" He said thisshe is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely.\" He said this\nwith a very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected by\nit.\nHe took the old man's hand and said in a broken voice, \"Oh, it\nis hard to think of it, and I cannot understand, but at least I\nshall go with you and wait.\""}
{"text": "It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got into the\nchurchyard over the low wall. The night was dark with occasional\ngleams of moonlight between the dents of the heavy clouds that\nscudded across the sky. We all kept somehow close together, with\nVan Helsing slightly in front as he led the way. When we had come\nclose to the tomb I looked well at Arthur, for I feared the\nproximity to a place laden with so sorrowful a memory would upset\nhim, but he bore himself well. I took it that the very mystery of\nthe proceeding was in some way a counteractant to his grief. The\nProfessor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural hesitation\namongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty by entering\nfirst himself. The rest of us followed, and he closed the door. He\nthen lit a dark lantern and pointed to a coffin. Arthur stepped\nforward hesitatingly. Van Helsing said to me, \"You were with me\nhere yesterday. Was the body of Miss Lucy in that coffin?\"\n\"It was.\"\nThe Professor turned to the rest saying, \"You hear, and yet\nthere is no one who does not believe with me.'\nHe took his screwdriver and again took off the lid of the\ncoffin. Arthur looked on, very pale but silent. When the lid was\nremoved he stepped forward. He evidently did not know that there\nwas a leaden coffin, or at any rate, had not thought of it. When he\nsaw the rent in the lead, the blood rushed to his face for an\ninstant, but as quickly fell away again, so that he remained of a\nghastly whiteness. He was still silent. Van Helsing forced back the\nleaden flange, and we all looked in and recoiled.\nThe coffin was empty!\nFor several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence was broken\nby Quincey Morris, \"Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all\nI want. I wouldn't ask such a thing ordinarily, I wouldn't so\ndishonor you as to imply a doubt, but this is a mystery that goes\nbeyond any honor or dishonor. Is this your doing?\"\n\"I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not\nremoved or touched her. What happened was this. Two nights ago myremoved or touched her. What happened was this. Two nights ago my\nfriend Seward and I came here, with good purpose, believe me. I\nopened that coffin, which was then sealed up, and we found it as\nnow, empty. We then waited, and saw something white come through\nthe trees. The next day we came here in daytime and she lay there.\nDid she not, friend John?\n\"Yes.\"\n\"That night we were just in time. One more so small child was\nmissing, and we find it, thank God,unharmed amongst the graves.\nYesterday I came here before sundown, for at sundown the Un-Dead\ncan move. I waited here all night till the sun rose, but I saw\nnothing. It was most probable that it was because I had laid over\nthe clamps of those doors garlic, which the Un-Dead cannot bear,\nand other things which they shun. Last night there was no exodus,\nso tonight before the sundown I took away my garlic and other\nthings. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But bear with me.\nSo far there is much that is strange. Wait you with me outside,\nunseen and unheard, and things much stranger are yet to be. So,\"\nhere he shut the dark slide of his lantern,\"now to the outside.\" He\nopened the door, and we filed out, he coming last and locking the\ndoor behind him.\nOh! But it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the\nterror of that vault. How sweet it was to see the clouds race by,\nand the passing gleams of the moonlight between the scudding clouds\ncrossing and passing, like the gladness and sorrow of a man's life.\nHow sweet it was to breathe the fresh air, that had no taint of\ndeath and decay. How humanizing to see the red lighting of the sky\nbeyond the hill, and to hear far away the muffled roar that marks\nthe life of a great city. Each in his own way was solemn and\novercome. Arthur was silent, and was, I could see, striving to\ngrasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the mystery. I was\nmyself tolerably patient, and half inclined again to throw aside\ndoubt and to accept Van Helsing's conclusions. Quincey Morris wasdoubt and to accept Van Helsing's conclusions. Quincey Morris was\nphlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all things, and accepts\nthem in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all he has at\nstake. Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized plug of\ntobacco and began to chew. As to Van Helsing, he was employed in a\ndefinite way. First he took from his bag a mass of what looked like\nthin, wafer-like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white\nnapkin. Next he took out a double handful of some whitish stuff,\nlike dough or putty. He crumbled the wafer up fine and worked it\ninto the mass between his hands. This he then took, and rolling it\ninto thin strips, began to lay them into the crevices between the\ndoor and its setting in the tomb. I was somewhat puzzled at this,\nand being close, asked him what it was that he was doing. Arthur\nand Quincey drew near also, as they too were curious.\nHe answered, \"I am closing the tomb so that the Un-Dead may not\nenter.\"\n\"And is that stuff you have there going to do it?\"\n\"It Is.\"\n\"What is that which you are using?\" This time the question was\nby Arthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as he\nanswered.\n\"The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an\nIndulgence.\"\nIt was an answer that appalled the most sceptical of us, and we\nfelt individually that in the presence of such earnest purpose as\nthe Professor's, a purpose which could thus use the to him most\nsacred of things, it was impossible to distrust. In respectful\nsilence we took the places assigned to us close round the tomb, but\nhidden from the sight of any one approaching. I pitied the others,\nespecially Arthur. I had myself been apprenticed by my former\nvisits to this watching horror, and yet I, who had up to an hour\nago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink within me. Never did\ntombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper\nso seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass\nwave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously,"}
{"text": "wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously,\nand never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful\npresage through the night.\nThere was a long spell of silence, big, aching, void, and then\nfrom the Professor a keen \"S-s-s-s!\" He pointed, and far down the\navenue of yews we saw a white figure advance, a dim white figure,\nwhich held something dark at its breast. The figure stopped, and at\nthe moment a ray of moonlight fell upon the masses of driving\nclouds, and showed in startling prominence a dark-haired woman,\ndressed in the cerements of the grave. We could not see the face,\nfor it was bent down over what we saw to be a fair-haired child.\nThere was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as a child gives in\nsleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams. We were\nstarting forward, but the Professor's warning hand, seen by us as\nhe stood behind a yew tree, kept us back. And then as we looked the\nwhite figure moved forwards again. It was now near enough for us to\nsee clearly, and the moonlight still held. My own heart grew cold\nas ice, and I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as we recognized the\nfeatures of Lucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how changed. The\nsweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the\npurity to voluptuous wantonness.\nVan Helsing stepped out, and obedient to his gesture, we all\nadvanced too. The four of us ranged in a line before the door of\nthe tomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the slide. By the\nconcentrated light that fell on Lucy's face we could see that the\nlips were crimson with fresh blood, and that the stream had\ntrickled over her chin and stained the purity of her lawn death\nrobe.\nWe shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous light\nthat even Van Helsing's iron nerve had failed. Arthur was next to\nme, and if I had not seized his arm and held him up, he would have\nfallen.\nWhen Lucy, I call the thing that was before us Lucy because it\nbore her shape, saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as abore her shape, saw us she drew back with an angry snarl, such as a\ncat gives when taken unawares, then her eyes ranged over us. Lucy's\neyes in form and color, but Lucy's eyes unclean and full of hell\nfire, instead of the pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the\nremnant of my love passed into hate and loathing. Had she then to\nbe killed, I could have done it with savage delight. As she looked,\nher eyes blazed with unholy light, and the face became wreathed\nwith a voluptuous smile. Oh, God, how it made me shudder to see it!\nWith a careless motion, she flung to the ground, callous as a\ndevil, the child that up to now she had clutched strenuously to her\nbreast, growling over it as a dog growls over a bone. The child\ngave a sharp cry, and lay there moaning. There was a\ncold-bloodedness in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur. When\nshe advanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile he\nfell back and hid his face in his hands.\nShe still advanced, however, and with a languorous, voluptuous\ngrace, said, \"Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to\nme. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together.\nCome, my husband, come!\"\nThere was something diabolically sweet in her tones, something\nof the tinkling of glass when struck, which rang through the brains\neven of us who heard the words addressed to another.\nAs for Arthur, he seemed under a spell, moving his hands from\nhis face, he opened wide his arms. She was leaping for them, when\nVan Helsing sprang forward and held between them his little golden\ncrucifix. She recoiled from it, and, with a suddenly distorted\nface, full of rage, dashed past him as if to enter the tomb.\nWhen within a foot or two of the door, however,she stopped, as\nif arrested by some irresistible force. Then she turned, and her\nface was shown in the clear burst of moonlight and by the lamp,\nwhich had now no quiver from Van Helsing's nerves. Never did I see\nsuch baffled malice on a face, and never, I trust, shall such eversuch baffled malice on a face, and never, I trust, shall such ever\nbe seen again by mortal eyes. The beautiful color became livid, the\neyes seemed to throw out sparks of hell fire, the brows were\nwrinkled as though the folds of flesh were the coils of Medusa's\nsnakes, and the lovely, blood-stained mouth grew to an open square,\nas in the passion masks of the Greeks and Japanese. If ever a face\nmeant death, if looks could kill, we saw it at that moment.\nAnd so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, se\nremained between the lifted crucifix and the sacred closing of her\nmeans of entry.\nVan Helsing broke the silence by asking Arthur, \"Answer me, oh\nmy friend! Am I to proceed in my work?\"\n\"Do as you will, friend. Do as you will. There can be no horror\nlike this ever any more.\" And he groaned in spirit.\nQuincey and I simultaneously moved towards him, and took his\narms. We could hear the click of the closing lantern as Van Helsing\nheld it down. Coming close to the tomb, he began to remove from the\nchinks some of the sacred emblem which he had placed there. We all\nlooked on with horrified amazement as we saw, when he stood back,\nthe woman, with a corporeal body as real at that moment as our own,\npass through the interstice where scarce a knife blade could have\ngone. We all felt a glad sense of relief when we saw the Professor\ncalmly restoring the strings of putty to the edges of the door.\nWhen this was done, he lifted the child and said, \"Come now, my\nfriends. We can do no more till tomorrow. There is a funeral at\nnoon, so here we shall all come before long after that. The friends\nof the dead will all be gone by two, and when the sexton locks the\ngate we shall remain. Then there is more to do, but not like this\nof tonight. As for this little one, he is not much harmed, and by\ntomorrow night he shall be well. We shall leave him where the\npolice will find him, as on the other night, and then to home.\"\nComing close to Arthur, he said, \"My friend Arthur, you have had"}
{"text": "Coming close to Arthur, he said, \"My friend Arthur, you have had\na sore trial, but after, when you look back, you will see how it\nwas necessary. You are now in the bitter waters, my child. By this\ntime tomorrow you will, please God, have passed them, and have\ndrunk of the sweet waters. So do not mourn over-much. Till then I\nshall not ask you to forgive me.\"\nArthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to cheer each\nother on the way. We had left behind the child in safety, and were\ntired. So we all slept with more or less reality of sleep.\n29 September, night.—A little before twelve o'clock we three,\nArthur, Quincey Morris, and myself, called for the Professor. It\nwas odd to notice that by common consent we had all put on black\nclothes. Of course, Arthur wore black, for he was in deep mourning,\nbut the rest of us wore it by instinct. We got to the graveyard by\nhalf-past one, and strolled about, keeping out of official\nobservation, so that when the gravediggers had completed their task\nand the sexton under the belief that every one had gone, had locked\nthe gate, we had the place all to ourselves. Van Helsing, instead\nof his little black bag, had with him a long leather one,something\nlike a cricketing bag. It was manifestly of fair weight.\nWhen we were alone and had heard the last of the footsteps die\nout up the road, we silently, and as if by ordered intention,\nfollowed the Professor to the tomb. He unlocked the door, and we\nentered, closing it behind us. Then he took from his bag the\nlantern, which he lit, and also two wax candles, which, when\nlighted, he stuck by melting their own ends, on other coffins, so\nthat they might give light sufficient to work by. When he again\nlifted the lid off Lucy's coffin we all looked, Arthur trembling\nlike an aspen, and saw that the corpse lay there in all its death\nbeauty. But there was no love in my own heart, nothing but loathing\nfor the foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her soul. I\ncould see even Arthur's face grow hard as he looked. Presently hecould see even Arthur's face grow hard as he looked. Presently he\nsaid to Van Helsing, \"Is this really Lucy's body, or only a demon\nin her shape?\"\n\"It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you shall\nsee her as she was, and is.\"\nShe seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there, the\npointed teeth, the blood stained, voluptuous mouth, which made one\nshudder to see, the whole carnal and unspirited appearance, seeming\nlike a devilish mockery of Lucy's sweet purity. Van Helsing, with\nhis usual methodicalness, began taking the various contents from\nhis bag and placing them ready for use. First he took out a\nsoldering iron and some plumbing solder, and then small oil lamp,\nwhich gave out, when lit in a corner of the tomb, gas which burned\nat a fierce heat with a blue flame, then his operating knives,\nwhich he placed to hand, and last a round wooden stake, some two\nand a half or three inches thick and about three feet long. One end\nof it was hardened by charring in the fire, and was sharpened to a\nfine point. With this stake came a heavy hammer, such as in\nhouseholds is used in the coal cellar for breaking the lumps. To\nme, a doctor's preperations for work of any kind are stimulating\nand bracing, but the effect of these things on both Arthur and\nQuincey was to cause them a sort of consternation. They both,\nhowever, kept their courage, and remained silent and quiet.\nWhen all was ready, Van Helsing said,\"Before we do anything, let\nme tell you this. It is out of the lore and experience of the\nancients and of all those who have studied the powers of the\nUn-Dead. When they become such, there comes with the change the\ncurse of immortality. They cannot die, but must go on age after age\nadding new victims and multiplying the evils of the world. For all\nthat die from the preying of the Un-dead become themselves Un-dead,\nand prey on their kind. And so the circle goes on ever widening,\nlike as the ripples from a stone thrown in the water. Friend\nArthur, if you had met that kiss which you know of before poor LucyArthur, if you had met that kiss which you know of before poor Lucy\ndie, or again, last night when you open your arms to her, you would\nin time, when you had died, have become nosferatu, as they call it\nin Eastern europe, and would for all time make more of those\nUn-Deads that so have filled us with horror. The career of this so\nunhappy dear lady is but just begun. Those children whose blood she\nsucked are not as yet so much the worse, but if she lives on,\nUn-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and by her power over\nthem they come to her, and so she draw their blood with that so\nwicked mouth. But if she die in truth, then all cease. The tiny\nwounds of the throats disappear, and they go back to their play\nunknowing ever of what has been. But of the most blessed of all,\nwhen this now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul\nof the poor lady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of\nworking wickedness by night and growing more debased in the\nassimilating of it by day, she shall take her place with the other\nAngels. So that, my friend, it will be a blessed hand for her that\nshall strike the blow that sets her free. To this I am willing, but\nis there none amongst us who has a better right? Will it be no joy\nto think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep is\nnot, `It was my hand that sent her to the stars. It was the hand of\nhim that loved her best, the hand that of all she would herself\nhave chosen, had it been to her to choose?' Tell me if there be\nsuch a one amongst us?\"\nWe all looked at Arthur. He saw too, what we all did, the\ninfinite kindness which suggested that his should be the hand which\nwould restore Lucy to us as a holy, and not an unholy, memory. He\nstepped forward and said bravely, though his hand trembled, and his\nface was as pale as snow, \"My true friend, from the bottom of my\nbroken heart I thank you. Tell me what I am to do, and I shall not\nfalter!\"\nVan Helsing laid a hand on his shoulder, and said,\"Brave lad! A"}
{"text": "falter!\"\nVan Helsing laid a hand on his shoulder, and said,\"Brave lad! A\nmoment's courage, and it is done. This stake must be driven through\nher. It well be a fearful ordeal, be not deceived in that, but it\nwill be only a short time, and you will then rejoice more than your\npain was great. From this grim tomb you will emerge as though you\ntread on air. But you must not falter when once you have begun.\nOnly think that we, your true friends, are round you, and that we\npray for you all the time.\"\n\"Go on,\"said Arthur hoarsely.\"Tell me what I am to do.\"\n\"Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place to the point\nover the heart, and the hammer in your right. Then when we begin\nour prayer for the dead, I shall read him, I have here the book,\nand the others shall follow, strike in God's name, that so all may\nbe well with the dead that we love and that the Un-Dead pass away.\"\nArthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was\nset on action his hands never trembled nor even quivered. Van\nHelsing opened his missal and began to read, and Quincey and I\nfollowed as well as we could.\nArthur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could\nsee its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his\nmight.\nThe thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, bloodcurdling\nscreech came from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered\nand twisted in wild contortions. The sharp white champed together\ntill the lips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson\nfoam. But Arthur never faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as\nhis untrembling arm rose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the\nmercybearing stake, whilst the blood from the pierced heart welled\nand spurted up around it. His face was set, and high duty seemed to\nshine through it. The sight of it gave us courage so that our\nvoices seemed to ring through the little vault.\nAnd then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and\nthe teeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay\nstill. The terrible task was over.still. The terrible task was over.\nThe hammer fell from Arthur's hand. He reeled and would have\nfallen had we not caught him. The great drops of sweat sprang from\nhis forehead, and his breath came in broken gasps. It had indeed\nbeen an awful strain on him, and had he not been forced to his task\nby more than human considerations he could never have gone through\nwith it. For a few minutes we were so taken up with him that we did\nnot look towards the coffin. When we did, however, a murmur of\nstartled surprise ran from one to the other of us. We gazed so\neagerly that Arthur rose, for he had been seated on the ground, and\ncame and looked too, and then a glad strange light broke over his\nface and dispelled altogether the gloom of horror that lay upon\nit.\nThere, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we has so\ndreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was\nyielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as\nwe had seen her in life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and\npurity. True that there were there, as we had seen them in life,\nthe traces of care and pain and waste. But these were all dear to\nus, for they marked her truth to what we knew. One and all we felt\nthat the holy calm that lay like sunshine over the wasted face and\nform was only an earthly token and symbol of the calm that was to\nreign for ever.\nVan Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and\nsaid to him, \"And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not\nforgiven?\"\nThe reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old\nman's hand in his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and\nsaid, \"Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her\nsoul again, and me peace.\" He put his hands on the Professor's\nshoulder, and laying his head on his breast, cried for a while\nsilently, whilst we stood unmoving.\nWhen he raised his head Van Helsing said to him, \"And now, my\nchild, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as she\nwould have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinningwould have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning\ndevil now, not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer\nshe is the devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is\nwith Him!\"\nArthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and Quincey out\nof the tomb. The Professor and I sawed the top off the stake,\nleaving the point of it in the body. Then we cut off the head and\nfilled the mouth with garlic. We soldered up the leaden coffin,\nscrewed on the coffin lid, and gathering up our belongings, came\naway. When the Professor locked the door he gave the key to\nArthur.\nOutside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds sang,\nand it seemed as if all nature were tuned to a different pitch.\nThere was gladness and mirth and peace everywhere, for we were at\nrest ourselves on one account, and we were glad, though it was with\na tempered joy.\nBefore we moved away Van Helsing said,\"Now, my friends, one step\nor our work is done, one the most harrowing to ourselves. But there\nremains a greater task, to find out the author of all this or\nsorrow and to stamp him out. I have clues which we can follow, but\nit is a long task, and a difficult one, and there is danger in it,\nand pain. Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe,\nall of us, is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? Yes!\nAnd do we not promise to go on to the bitter end?\"\nEach in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was made. Then\nsaid the Professor as we moved off, \"Two nights hence you shall\nmeet with me and dine together at seven of the clock with friend\nJohn. I shall entreat two others, two that you know not as yet, and\nI shall be ready to all our work show and our plans unfold. Friend\nJohn, you come with me home, for I have much to consult you about,\nand you can help me. Tonight I leave for Amsterdam, but shall\nreturn tomorrow night. And then begins our great quest. But first I\nshall have much to say, so that you may know what to do and to\ndread. Then our promise shall be made to each other anew. For theredread. Then our promise shall be made to each other anew. For there\nis a terrible task before us, and once our feet are on the\nploughshare we must not draw back.\""}
{"text": "When we arrived at the Berkely Hotel, Van Helsing found a\ntelegram waiting for him.\n\"Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Important news. Mina\nHarker.\"\nThe Professor was delighted. \"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina,\" he\nsaid, \"pearl among women! She arrive, but I cannot stay. She must\ngo to your house, friend John. You must meet her at the station.\nTelegraph her en route so that she may be prepared.\"\nWhen the wire was dispatched he had a cup of tea. Over it he\ntold me of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when abroad, and gave me\na typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. Harker's diary at Whitby.\n\"Take these,\" he said,\"and study them well. When I have returned\nyou will be master of all the facts, and we can then better enter\non our inquisition. Keep them safe, for there is in them much of\ntreasure. You will need all your faith, even you who have had such\nan experience as that of today. What is here told,\" he laid his\nhand heavily and gravely on the packet of papers as he spoke, \"may\nbe the beginning of the end to you and me and many another, or it\nmay sound the knell of the Un-Dead who walk the earth. Read all, I\npray you, with the open mind, and if you can add in any way to the\nstory here told do so, for it is all important. You have kept a\ndiary of all these so strange things, is it not so? Yes! Then we\nshall go through all these together when we meet.\" He then made\nready for his departure and shortly drove off to Liverpool Street.\nI took my way to Paddington, where I arrived about fifteen minutes\nbefore the train came in.\nThe crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion common to\narrival platforms, and I was beginning to feel uneasy, lest I might\nmiss my guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty looking girl stepped up\nto me, and after a quick glance said, \"Dr. Seward, is it not?\"\n\"And you are Mrs. Harker!\" I answered at once, whereupon she\nheld out her hand.\n\"I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy, but… \" She\nstopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread her face.\nThe blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both at\nease, for it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her luggage,\nwhich included a typewriter, and we took the Underground to\nFenchurch Street, after I had sent a wire to my housekeeper to have\na sitting room and a bedroom prepared at once for Mrs. Harker.\nIn due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the place was\na lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was unable to repress a\nshudder when we entered.\nShe told me that, if she might, she would come presently to my\nstudy, as she had much to say. So here I am finishing my entry in\nmy phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet I have not had the\nchance of looking at the papers which Van Helsing left with me,\nthough they lie open before me. I must get her interested in\nsomething, so that I may have an opportunity of reading them. She\ndoes not know how precious time is, or what a task we have in hand.\nI must be careful not to frighten her. Here she is!\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n29 September.—After I had tidied myself, I went down to Dr.\nSeward's study. At the door I paused a moment, for I thought I\nheard him talking with some one. As, however, he had pressed me to\nbe quick, I knocked at the door, and on his calling out, \"Come in,\"\nI entered.\nTo my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He was quite\nalone, and on the table opposite him was what I knew at once from\nthe description to be a phonograph. I had never seen one, and was\nmuch interested.\n\"I hope I did not keep you waiting,\" I said, \"but I stayed at\nthe door as I heard you talking, and thought there was someone with\nyou.\"\n\"Oh,\" he replied with a smile, \"I was only entering my\ndiary.\"\n\"Your diary?\" I asked him in surprise.\n\"Yes,\" he answered. \"I keep it in this.\" As he spoke he laid his\nhand on the phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted\nout, \"Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say\nsomething?\"\n\"Certainly,\" he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it insomething?\"\n\"Certainly,\" he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put it in\ntrain for speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled look overspread\nhis face.\n\"The fact is,\" he began awkwardly.\"I only keep my diary in it,\nand as it is entirely, almost entirely, about my cases it may be\nawkward, that is, I mean … \" He stopped, and I tried to help\nhim out of his embarrassment.\n\"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she\ndied, for all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was\nvery, very dear to me.\"\nTo my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in his\nface, \"Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world!\"\n\"Why not?\" I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling was coming\nover me.\nAgain he paused, and I could see that he was trying to invent an\nexcuse. At length, he stammered out, \"You see, I do not know how to\npick out any particular part of the diary.\"\nEven while he was speaking an idea dawned upon him, and he said\nwith unconscious simplicity, in a different voice, and with the\nnaivete of a child, \"that's quite true, upon my honor. Honest\nIndian!\"\nI could not but smile, at which he grimaced.\"I gave myself away\nthat time!\" he said. \"But do you know that, although I have kept\nthe diary for months past, it never once struck me how I was going\nto find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look it\nup?\"\nBy this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who\nattended Lucy might have something to add to the sum of our\nknowledge of that terrible Being, and I said boldly, \"Then, Dr.\nSeward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my\ntypewriter.\"\nHe grew to a positively deathly pallor as he said, \"No! No! No!\nFor all the world. I wouldn't let you know that terrible\nstory.!\"\nThen it was terrible. My intuition was right! For a moment, I\nthought, and as my eyes ranged the room, unconsciously looking for\nsomething or some opportunity to aid me, they lit on a great batch\nof typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and"}
{"text": "of typewriting on the table. His eyes caught the look in mine, and\nwithout his thinking, followed their direction. As they saw the\nparcel he realized my meaning.\n\"You do not know me,\" I said. \"When you have read those papers,\nmy own diary and my husband's also, which I have typed, you will\nknow me better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my\nown heart in this cause. But, of course, you do not know me, yet,\nand I must not expect you to trust me so far.\"\nHe is certainly a man of noble nature. Poor dear Lucy was right\nabout him. He stood up and opened a large drawer, in which were\narranged in order a number of hollow cylinders of metal covered\nwith dark wax, and said,\n\"You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did not know\nyou. But I know you now, and let me say that I should have known\nyou long ago. I know that Lucy told you of me. She told me of you\ntoo. May I make the only atonement in my power? Take the cylinders\nand hear them. The first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and\nthey will not horrify you. Then you will know me better. Dinner\nwill by then be ready. In the meantime I shall read over some of\nthese documents, and shall be better able to understand certain\nthings.\"\nHe carried the phonograph himself up to my sitting room and\nadjusted it for me. Now I shall learn something pleasant, I am\nsure. For it will tell me the other side of a true love episode of\nwhich I know one side already.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n29 September.—I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of\nJonathan Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run\non without thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down when the maid came to\nannounce dinner, so I said, \"She is possibly tired. Let dinner wait\nan hour,\" and I went on with my work. I had just finished Mrs.\nHarker's diary, when she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but\nvery sad, and her eyes were flushed with crying. This somehow moved\nme much. Of late I have had cause for tears, God knows! But the\nrelief of them was denied me, and now the sight of those sweetrelief of them was denied me, and now the sight of those sweet\neyes, brightened by recent tears, went straight to my heart. So I\nsaid as gently as I could, \"I greatly fear I have distressed\nyou.\"\n\"Oh, no, not distressed me,\" she replied. \"But I have been more\ntouched than I can say by your grief. That is a wonderful machine,\nbut it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish\nof your heart. It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No\none must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be\nuseful. I have copied out the words on my typewriter, and none\nother need now hear your heart beat, as I did.\"\n\"No one need ever know, shall ever know,\" I said in a low voice.\nShe laid her hand on mine and said very gravely, \"Ah, but they\nmust!\"\n\"Must! but why?\" I asked.\n\"Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor\nLucy's death and all that led to it. Because in the struggle which\nwe have before us to rid the earth of this terrible monster we must\nhave all the knowledge and all the help which we can get. I think\nthat the cylinders which you gave me contained more than you\nintended me to know. But I can see that there are in your record\nmany lights to this dark mystery. You will let me help, will you\nnot? I know all up to a certain point, and I see already, though\nyour diary only took me to 7 September, how poor Lucy was beset,\nand how her terrible doom was being wrought out. Jonathan and I\nhave been working day and night since Professor Van Helsing saw us.\nHe is gone to Whitby to get more information, and he will be here\ntomorrow to help us. We need have no secrets amongst us. Working\ntogether and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger than if\nsome of us were in the dark.\"\nShe looked at me so appealingly, and at the same time manifested\nsuch courage and resolution in her bearing, that I gave in at once\nto her wishes. \"You shall,\" I said, \"do as you like in the matter.\nGod forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things yet toGod forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things yet to\nlearn of. But if you have so far traveled on the road to poor\nLucy's death, you will not be content, I know, to remain in the\ndark. Nay, the end, the very end, may give you a gleam of peace.\nCome, there is dinner. We must keep one another strong for what is\nbefore us. We have a cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten\nyou shall learn the rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask,\nif there be anything which you do not understand, though it was\napparent to us who were present.\"\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n29 September.—After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to his study.\nHe brought back the phonograph from my room, and I took a chair,\nand arranged the phonograph so that I could touch it without\ngetting up, and showed me how to stop it in case I should want to\npause. Then he very thoughtfully took a chair, with his back to me,\nso that I might be as free as possible, and began to read. I put\nthe forked metal to my ears and listened.\nWhen the terrible story of Lucy's death, and all that followed,\nwas done, I lay back in my chair powerless. Fortunately I am not of\na fainting disposition. When Dr. Seward saw me he jumped up with a\nhorrified exclamation, and hurriedly taking a case bottle from the\ncupboard, gave me some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat\nrestored me. My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came\nthrough all the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light that my\ndear Lucy was at last at peace, I do not think I could have borne\nit without making a scene. It is all so wild and mysterious, and\nstrange that if I had not known Jonathan's experience in\nTransylvania I could not have believed. As it was, I didn't know\nwhat to believe, and so got out of my difficulty by attending to\nsomething else. I took the cover off my typewriter, and said to Dr.\nSeward,\n\"Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. Van\nHelsing when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come"}
{"text": "Helsing when he comes. I have sent a telegram to Jonathan to come\non here when he arrives in London from Whitby. In this matter dates\nare everything, and I think that if we get all of our material\nready, and have every item put in chronological order, we shall\nhave done much.\n\"You tell me that Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris are coming too.\nLet us be able to tell them when they come.\"\nHe accordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to\ntypewrite from the beginning of the seventeenth cylinder. I used\nmanifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just as I had done\nwith the rest. It was late when I got through, but Dr. Seward went\nabout his work of going his round of the patients. When he had\nfinished he came back and sat near me, reading, so that I did not\nfeel too lonely whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is. The\nworld seems full of good men, even if there are monsters in it.\nBefore I left him I remembered what Jonathan put in his diary of\nthe Professor's perturbation at reading something in an evening\npaper at the station at Exeter, so, seeing that Dr. Seward keeps\nhis newspapers, I borrowed the files of `The Westminster Gazette'\nand `The Pall Mall Gazette' and took them to my room. I remember\nhow much the `Dailygraph' and `The Whitby Gazette', of which I had\nmade cuttings, had helped us to understand the terrible events at\nWhitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look through the\nevening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new light.\nI am not sleepy, and the work will help to keep me quiet.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n30 September.—Mr. Harker arrived at nine o'clock. He got his\nwife's wire just before starting. He is uncommonly clever, if one\ncan judge from his face, and full of energy. If this journal be\ntrue, and judging by one's own wonderful experiences, it must be,\nhe is also a man of great nerve. That going down to the vault a\nsecond time was a remarkable piece of daring. After reading his\naccount of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood,account of it I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood,\nbut hardly the quiet, business-like gentleman who came here\ntoday.\nLATER.—After lunch Harker and his wife went back to their own\nroom, and as I passed a while ago I heard the click of the\ntypewriter. They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says that knitting\ntogether in chronological order every scrap of evidence they have.\nHarker has got the letters between the consignee of the boxes at\nWhitby and the carriers in London who took charge of them. He is\nnow reading his wife's transcript of my diary. I wonder what they\nmake out of it. Here it is …\nStrange that it never struck me that the very next house might\nbe the Count's hiding place! Goodness knows that we had enough\nclues from the conduct of the patient Renfield! The bundle of\nletters relating to the purchase of the house were with the\ntranscript. Oh, if we had only had them earlier we might have saved\npoor Lucy! Stop! That way madness lies! Harker has gone back, and\nis again collecting material. He says that by dinner time they will\nbe able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks that in the\nmeantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he has been a sort of\nindex to the coming and going of the Count. I hardly see this yet,\nbut when I get at the dates I suppose I shall. What a good thing\nthat Mrs. Harker put my cylinders into type! We never could have\nfound the dates otherwise.\nI found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his hands\nfolded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed as sane as any\none I ever saw. I sat down and talked with him on a lot of\nsubjects, all of which he treated naturally. He then, of his own\naccord, spoke of going home, a subject he has never mentioned to my\nknowledge during his sojourn here. In fact, he spoke quite\nconfidently of getting his discharge at once. I believe that, had I\nnot had the chat with Harker and read the letters and the dates of\nhis outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after ahis outbursts, I should have been prepared to sign for him after a\nbrief time of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All\nthose outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the\nCount. What then does this absolute content mean? Can it be that\nhis instinct is satisfied as to the vampire's ultimate triumph?\nStay. He is himself zoophagous, and in his wild ravings outside the\nchapel door of the deserted house he always spoke of `master'. This\nall seems confirmation of our idea. However, after a while I came\naway. My friend is just a little too sane at present to make it\nsafe to probe him too deep with questions. He might begin to think,\nand then … So I came away. I mistrust these quiet moods of of\nhis, so I have given the attendant a hint to look closely after\nhim, and to have a strait waistcoat ready in case of need.\nJOHNATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n29 September, in train to London.—When I received Mr.\nBillington's courteous message that he would give me any\ninformation in his power I thought it best to go down to Whitby and\nmake, on the spot, such inquiries as I wanted. It was now my object\nto trace that horrid cargo of the Count's to its place in London.\nLater, we may be able to deal with it. Billington junior, a nice\nlad, met me at the station, and brought me to his father's house,\nwhere they had decided that I must spend the night. They are\nhospitable, with true Yorkshire hospitality, give a guest\neverything and leave him to do as he likes. They all knew that I\nwas busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington had ready\nin his office all the papers concerning the consignment of boxes.\nIt gave me almost a turn to see again one of the letters which I\nhad seen on the Count's table before I knew of his diabolical\nplans. Everything had been carefully thought out, and done\nsystematically and with precision. He seemed to have been prepared\nfor every obstacle which might be placed by accident in the way of\nhis intentions being carried out. To use an Americanism, he had"}
{"text": "his intentions being carried out. To use an Americanism, he had\n`taken no chances', and the absolute accuracy with which his\ninstructions were fulfilled was simply the logical result of his\ncare. I saw the invoice, and took note of it.`Fifty cases of common\nearth, to be used for experimental purposes'. Also the copy of the\nletter to Carter Paterson, and their reply. Of both these I got\ncopies. This was all the information Mr. Billington could give me,\nso I went down to the port and saw the coastguards, the Customs\nOfficers and the harbor master, who kindly put me in communication\nwith the men who had actually received the boxes. Their tally was\nexact with the list, and they had nothing to add to the simple\ndescription `fifty cases of common earth', except that the boxes\nwere `main and mortal heavy', and that shifting them was dry work.\nOne of them added that it was hard lines that there wasn't any\ngentleman `such like as like yourself, squire', to show some sort\nof appreciation of their efforts in a liquid form. Another put in a\nrider that the thirst then generated was such that even the time\nwhich had elapsed had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I\ntook care before leaving to lift, forever and adequately, this\nsource of reproach.\n30 September.—The station master was good enough to give me a\nline to his old companion the station master at King's Cross, so\nthat when I arrived there in the morning I was able to ask him\nabout the arrival of the boxes. He, too put me at once in\ncommunication with the proper officials, and I saw that their tally\nwas correct with the original invoice. The opportunities of\nacquiring an abnormal thirst had been here limited. A noble use of\nthem had, however, been made, and again I was compelled to deal\nwith the result in ex post facto manner.\nFrom thence I went to Carter Paterson's central office, where I\nmet with the utmost courtesy. They looked up the transaction in\ntheir day book and letter book, and at once telephoned to theirtheir day book and letter book, and at once telephoned to their\nKing's Cross office for more details. By good fortune, the men who\ndid the teaming were waiting for work, and the official at once\nsent them over, sending also by one of them the way-bill and all\nthe papers connected with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here\nagain I found the tally agreeing exactly. The carriers' men were\nable to supplement the paucity of the written words with a few more\ndetails. These were, I shortly found, connected almost solely with\nthe dusty nature of the job, and the consequent thirst engendered\nin the operators. On my affording an opportunity, through the\nmedium of the currency of the realm, of the allaying, at a later\nperiod, this beneficial evil, one of the men remarked,\n\"That `ere `ouse, guv'nor, is the rummiest I ever was in. Blyme!\nBut it ain't been touched sence a hundred years. There was dust\nthat thick in the place that you might have slep' on it without\n`urtin' of yer bones. An' the place was that neglected that yer\nmight `ave smelled ole Jerusalem in it. But the old chapel, that\ntook the cike, that did!Me and my mate, we thort we wouldn't never\ngit out quick enough. Lor', I wouldn't take less nor a quid a\nmoment to stay there arter dark.\"\nHaving been in the house, I could well believe him, but if he\nknew what I know, he would, I think have raised his terms.\nOf one thing I am now satisfied. That all those boxes which\narrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely deposited\nin the old chapel at Carfax. There should be fifty of them there,\nunless any have since been removed, as from Dr. Seward's diary I\nfear.\nLater.—Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put all the\npapers into order.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n30 September.—I am so glad that I hardly know how to contain\nmyself. It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunting fear which\nI have had, that this terrible affair and the reopening of his old\nwound might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave forwound might act detrimentally on Jonathan. I saw him leave for\nWhitby with as brave a face as could, but I was sick with\napprehension. The effort has, however, done him good. He was never\nso resolute, never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as\nat present. It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing\nsaid, he is true grit, and he improves under strain that would kill\na weaker nature. He came back full of life and hope and\ndetermination. We have got everything in order for tonight. I feel\nmyself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity\nanything so hunted as the Count. That is just it. This thing is not\nhuman, not even a beast. To read Dr. Seward's account of poor\nLucy's death, and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of\npity in one's heart.\nLater.—Lord Godalming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier than we\nexpected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and had taken Jonathan\nwith him, so I had to see them. It was to me a painful meeting, for\nit brought back all poor dear Lucy's hopes of only a few months\nago. Of course they had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that\nDr. Van Helsing, too, had been quite `blowing my trumpet', as Mr.\nMorris expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware that I\nknow all about the proposals they made to Lucy. They did not quite\nknow what to say or do, as they were ignorant of the amount of my\nknowledge. So they had to keep on neutral subjects. However, I\nthought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the best\nthing I could do would be to post them on affairs right up to date.\nI knew from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death,\nher real death, and that I need not fear to betray any secret\nbefore the time. So I told them, as well as I could, that I had\nread all the papers and diaries, and that my husband and I, having\ntypewritten them, had just finished putting them in order. I gave\nthem each a copy to read in the library. When Lord Godalming got\nhis and turned it over, it does make a pretty good pile, he said,"}
{"text": "his and turned it over, it does make a pretty good pile, he said,\n\"Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?\"\nI nodded, and he went on.\n\"I don't quite see the drift of it, but you people are all so\ngood and kind, and have been working so earnestly and so\nenergetically, that all I can do is to accept your ideas blindfold\nand try to help you. I have had one lesson already in accepting\nfacts that should make a man humble to the last hour of his life.\nBesides, I know you loved my Lucy … \"\nHere he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could\nhear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy,\njust laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked\nquietly out of the room. I suppose there is something in a woman's\nnature that makes a man free to break down before her and express\nhis feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling it\nderogatory to his manhood. For when Lord Godalming found himself\nalone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and\nopenly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he didn't\nthink it forward of me, and that if her ever thinks of it\nafterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him. I\nknow he never will. He is too true a gentleman. I said to him, for\nI could see that his heart was breaking, \"I loved dear Lucy, and I\nknow what she was to you, and what you were to her. She and I were\nlike sisters, and now she is gone, will you not let me be like a\nsister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have had,\nthough I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can\nhelp in your affliction, won't you let me be of some little\nservice, for Lucy's sake?\"\nIn an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief.\nIt seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in\nsilence found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical, and raising\nhis open hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of\ngrief. He stood up and then sat down again, and the tears rainedgrief. He stood up and then sat down again, and the tears rained\ndown his cheeks. I felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my\narms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and\ncried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with emotion.\nWe women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise\nabove smaller matters when the mother spirit is invoked. I felt\nthis big sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that\nof a baby that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair\nas though he were my own child. I never thought at the time how\nstrange it all was.\nAfter a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with\nan apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me\nthat for days and nights past, weary days and sleepless nights, he\nhad been unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his\ntime of sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to\nhim, or with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which\nhis sorrow was surrounded, he could speak freely.\n\"I know now how I suffered,\" he said, as he dried his eyes, \"but\nI do not know even yet, and none other can ever know, how much your\nsweet sympathy has been to me today. I shall know better in time,\nand believe me that, though I am not ungrateful now, my gratitude\nwill grow with my understanding. You will let me be like a brother,\nwill you not, for all our lives, for dear Lucy's sake?\"\n\"For dear Lucy's sake,\" I said as we clasped hands.\"Ay, and for\nyour own sake,\" he added, \"for if a man's esteem and gratitude are\never worth the winning, you have won mine today. If ever the future\nshould bring to you a time when you need a man's help, believe me,\nyou will not call in vain. God grant that no such time may ever\ncome to you to break the sunshine of your life, but if it should\never come, promise me that you will let me know.\"\nHe was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it\nwould comfort him, so I said, \"I promise.\"\nAs I came along the corridor I say Mr. Morris looking out of aAs I came along the corridor I say Mr. Morris looking out of a\nwindow. He turned as he heard my footsteps. \"How is Art?\" he said.\nThen noticing my red eyes, he went on,\"Ah, I see you have been\ncomforting him. Poor old fellow! He needs it. No one but a woman\ncan help a man when he is in trouble of the heart, and he had no\none to comfort him.\"\nHe bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for him. I\nsaw the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that when he read it he\nwould realize how much I knew, so I said to him,\"I wish I could\ncomfort all who suffer from the heart. Will you let me be your\nfriend, and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? You\nwill know later why I speak.\"\nHe saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took my hand, and\nraising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed but poor comfort to so\nbrave and unselfish a soul, and impulsively I bent over and kissed\nhim. The tears rose in his eyes, and there was a momentary choking\nin his throat. He said quite calmly,\"Little girl, you will never\nforget that true hearted kindness, so long as ever you live!\" Then\nhe went into the study to his friend.\n\"Little girl!\" The very words he had used to Lucy, and, oh, but\nhe proved himself a friend.30 September.—I got home at five o'clock, and found that\nGodalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied\nthe transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker had\nnot yet returned from his visit to the carriers' men, of whom Dr.\nHennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and\nI can honestly say that, for the first time since I have lived in\nit, this old house seemed like home. When we had finished, Mrs.\nHarker said,\n\"Dr. Seward, may I ask a favor? I want to see your patient, Mr.\nRenfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your\ndiary interests me so much!\"\nShe looked so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse\nher, and there was no possible reason why I should, so I took her\nwith me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a lady\nwould like to see him, to which he simply answered, \"Why?\"\n\"She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in\nit,\" I answered.\n\"Oh, very well,\" he said,\"let her come in, by all means, but\njust wait a minute till I tidy up the place.\"\nHis method of tidying was peculiar, he simply swallowed all the\nflies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop him. It was\nquite evident that he feared, or was jealous of, some interference.\nWhen he had got through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully,\n\"Let the lady come in,\" and sat down on the edge of his bed with\nhis head down, but with his eyelids raised so that he could see her\nas she entered. For a moment I thought that he might have some\nhomicidal intent. I remembered how quiet he had been just before he\nattacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I could\nseize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her.\nShe came into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at\nonce command the respect of any lunatic, for easiness is one of the\nqualities mad people most respect. She walked over to him, smiling\npleasantly, and held out her hand.\n\"Good evening, Mr. Renfield,\" said she. \"You see, I know you,"}
{"text": "pleasantly, and held out her hand.\n\"Good evening, Mr. Renfield,\" said she. \"You see, I know you,\nfor Dr. Seward has told me of you.\" He made no immediate reply, but\neyed her all over intently with a set frown on his face. This look\ngave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt, then to my\nintense astonishment he said, \"You're not the girl the doctor\nwanted to marry, are you? You can't be, you know, for she's\ndead.\"\nMrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied, \"Oh no! I have a\nhusband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever saw Dr.\nSeward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker.\"\n\"Then what are you doing here?\"\n\"My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.\"\n\"Then don't stay.\"\n\"But why not?\"\nI thought that this style of conversation might not be pleasant\nto Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in, \"How\ndid you know I wanted to marry anyone?\"\nHis reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which he\nturned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turning them back\nagain, \"What an asinine question!\"\n\"I don't see that at all, Mr. Renfield,\"said Mrs. Harker, at\nonce championing me.\nHe replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as he had\nshown contempt to me, \"You will, of course, understand, Mrs.\nHarker, that when a man is so loved and honored as our host is,\neverything regarding him is of interest in our little community.\nDr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but\neven by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental\nequilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects. Since I myself\nhave been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but notice that\nthe sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the\nerrors of non causa and ignoratio elenche.\"\nI positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my\nown pet lunatic, the most pronounced of his type that I had ever\nmet with, talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a\npolished gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence whichpolished gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence which\nhad touched some chord in his memory. If this new phase was\nspontaneous, or in any way due to her unconscious influence, she\nmust have some rare gift or power.\nWe continued to talk for some time, and seeing that he was\nseemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me\nquestioningly as she began, to lead him to his favorite topic. I\nwas again astonished, for he addressed himself to the question with\nthe impartiality of the completest sanity. He even took himself as\nan example when he mentioned certain things.\n\"Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief.\nIndeed, it was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted\non my being put under control. I used to fancy that life was a\npositive and perpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of\nlive things, no matter how low in the scale of creation, one might\nindefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so strongly\nthat I actually tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear\nme out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of\nstrengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body\nof his life through the medium of his blood, relying of course,\nupon the Scriptural phrase, `For the blood is the life.' Though,\nindeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarized the truism\nto the very point of contempt. Isn't that true, doctor?\"\nI nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what to\neither think or say, it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat\nup his spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my\nwatch, I saw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing,\nso I told Mrs. Harker that it was time to leave.\nShe came at once, after saying pleasantly to Mr. Renfield,\n\"Goodbye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter\nto yourself.\"\nTo which, to my astonishment, he replied, \"Goodbye, my dear. I\npray God I may never see your sweet face again. May He bless and\nkeep you!\"pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May He bless and\nkeep you!\"\nWhen I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys\nbehind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since\nLucy first took ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self\nthan he has been for many a long day.\nVan Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness\nof a boy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying, \"Ah,\nfriend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come\nhere to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I\nhave much to tell. Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine\nhusband? And Arthur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too?\nGood!\"\nAs I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of\nhow my own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker's\nsuggestion, at which the Professor interrupted me.\n\"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain, a brain\nthat a man should have were he much gifted, and a woman's heart.\nThe good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made\nthat so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made\nthat woman of help to us, after tonight she must not have to do\nwith this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so\ngreat. We men are determined, nay, are we not pledged, to destroy\nthis monster? But it is no part for a woman. Even if she be not\nharmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors and\nhereafter she may suffer, both in waking,from her nerves, and in\nsleep,from her dreams. And, besides, she is young woman and not so\nlong married, there may be other things to think of some time, if\nnot now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she must consult with\nus, but tomorrow she say goodbye to this work, and we go\nalone.\"\nI agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what we had\nfound in his absence, that the house which Dracula had bought was\nthe very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern\nseemed to come on him."}
{"text": "the very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern\nseemed to come on him.\n\"Oh that we had known it before!\" he said, \"for then we might\nhave reached him in time to save poor Lucy. However, `the milk that\nis spilt cries not out afterwards,'as you say. We shall not think\nof that, but go on our way to the end.\" Then he fell into a silence\nthat lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to\nprepare for dinner he said to Mrs. Harker, \"I am told, Madam Mina,\nby my friend John that you and your husband have put up in exact\norder all things that have been, up to this moment.\"\n\"Not up to this moment, Professor,\"she said impulsively, \"but up\nto this morning.\"\n\"But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all\nthe little things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no\none who has told is the worse for it.\"\nMrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets,\nshe said, \"Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it\nmust go in. It is my record of today. I too have seen the need of\nputting down at present everything, however trivial, but there is\nlittle in this except what is personal. Must it go in?\"\nThe Professor read it over gravely, and handed it back, saying,\n\"It need not go in if you do not wish it, but I pray that it may.\nIt can but make your husband love you the more, and all us, your\nfriends, more honor you, as well as more esteem and love.\" She took\nit back with another blush and a bright smile.\nAnd so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are\ncomplete and in order. The Professor took away one copy to study\nafter dinner, and before our meeting, which is fixed for nine\no'clock. The rest of us have already read everything, so when we\nmeet in the study we shall all be informed as to facts, and can\narrange our plan of battle with this terrible and mysterious\nenemy.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n30 September.—When we met in Dr. Seward's study two hours after\ndinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously formed adinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously formed a\nsort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of\nthe table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the\nroom. He made me sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act\nas secretary. Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord\nGodalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris, Lord Godalming being next\nthe Professor, and Dr. Seward in the center.\nThe Professor said, \"I may, I suppose, take it that we are all\nacquainted with the facts that are in these papers.\" We all\nexpressed assent, and he went on, \"Then it were, I think, good that\nI tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we have to\ndeal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of\nthis man, which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss\nhow we shall act, and can take our measure according.\n\"There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence\nthat they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy\nexperience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof\nenough for sane peoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic.\nWere it not that through long years I have trained myself to keep\nan open mind, I could not have believed until such time as that\nfact thunder on my ear.`See! See! I prove, I prove.' Alas! Had I\nknown at first what now I know, nay, had I even guess at him, one\nso precious life had been spared to many of us who did love her.\nBut that is gone, and we must so work, that other poor souls perish\nnot, whilst we can save. The nosferatu do not die like the bee when\nhe sting once. He is only stronger, and being stronger, have yet\nmore power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of\nhimself so strong in person as twenty men, he is of cunning more\nthan mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages, he have still\nthe aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the\ndivination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to\nare for him at command, he is brute, and more than brute, he isare for him at command, he is brute, and more than brute, he is\ndevil in callous, and the heart of him is not, he can, within his\nrange, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder, he can\ncommand all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat,\nthe moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small,\nand he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to\nbegin our strike to destroy him? How shall we find his where, and\nhaving found it, how can we destroy? My friends, this is much, it\nis a terrible task that we undertake, and there may be consequence\nto make the brave shudder. For if we fail in this our fight he must\nsurely win, and then where end we? Life is nothings, I heed him\nnot. But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we\nbecome as him, that we henceforward become foul things of the night\nlike him, without heart or conscience, preying on the bodies and\nthe souls of those we love best. To us forever are the gates of\nheaven shut, for who shall open them to us again? We go on for all\ntime abhorred by all, a blot on the face of God's sunshine, an\narrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face to face\nwith duty, and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say no, but\nthen I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his\nsong of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others\nare young. Some have seen sorrow, but there are fair days yet in\nstore. What say you?\"\nWhilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh\nso much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him\nwhen I saw his hand stretch out, but it was life to me to feel its\ntouch, so strong, so self reliant, so resolute. A brave man's hand\ncan speak for itself, it does not even need a woman's love to hear\nits music.\nWhen the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my\neyes, and I in his, there was no need for speaking between us.\n\"I answer for Mina and myself,\" he said.\n\"Count me in, Professor,\" said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically"}
{"text": "\"Count me in, Professor,\" said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically\nas usual.\n\"I am with you,\" said Lord Godalming, \"for Lucy's sake, if for\nno other reason.\"\nDr. Seward simply nodded.\nThe Professor stood up and, after laying his golden crucifix on\nthe table, held out his hand on either side. I took his right hand,\nand Lord Godalming his left, Jonathan held my right with his left\nand stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our\nsolemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not\neven occur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van\nHelsing went on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the\nserious work had begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as\nbusinesslike a way, as any other transaction of life.\n\"Well, you know what we have to contend against, but we too, are\nnot without strength. We have on our side power of combination, a\npower denied to the vampire kind, we have sources of science, we\nare free to act and think, and the hours of the day and the night\nare ours equally. In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are\nunfettered, and we are free to use them. We have self devotion in a\ncause and an end to achieve which is not a selfish one. These\nthings are much.\n\"Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us\nare restrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us\nconsider the limitations of the vampire in general, and of this one\nin particular.\n\"All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These\ndo not at the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and\ndeath, nay of more than either life or death. Yet must we be\nsatisfied, in the first place because we have to be, no other means\nis at our control, and secondly, because, after all these things,\ntradition and superstition, are everything. Does not the belief in\nvampires rest for others, though not, alas! for us, on them! A year\nago which of us would have received such a possibility, in the\nmidst of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenthmidst of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth\ncentury? We even scouted a belief that we saw justified under our\nvery eyes. Take it, then, that the vampire, and the belief in his\nlimitations and his cure, rest for the moment on the same base.\nFor, let me tell you, he is known everywhere that men have been. In\nold Greece, in old Rome, he flourish in Germany all over, in\nFrance, in India, even in the Chermosese, and in China, so far from\nus in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples for him at this\nday. He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the\ndevil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar.\n\"So far, then, we have all we may act upon, and let me tell you\nthat very much of the beliefs are justified by what we have seen in\nour own so unhappy experience. The vampire live on, and cannot die\nby mere passing of the time, he can flourish when that he can\nfatten on the blood of the living. Even more, we have seen amongst\nus that he can even grow younger, that his vital faculties grow\nstrenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when his\nspecial pabulum is plenty.\n\"But he cannot flourish without this diet, he eat not as others.\nEven friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see\nhim eat, never! He throws no shadow, he make in the mirror no\nreflect, as again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of\nhis hand, witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against the\nwolves, and when he help him from the diligence too. He can\ntransform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in\nWhitby, when he tear open the dog, he can be as bat, as Madam Mina\nsaw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly\nfrom this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the\nwindow of Miss Lucy.\n\"He can come in mist which he create, that noble ship's captain\nproved him of this, but, from what we know, the distance he can\nmake this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself.\n\"He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust, as again Jonathan\"He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust, as again Jonathan\nsaw those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small, we\nourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a\nhairbreadth space at the tomb door. He can, when once he find his\nway, come out from anything or into anything, no matter how close\nit be bound or even fused up with fire, solder you call it. He can\nsee in the dark, no small power this, in a world which is one half\nshut from the light. Ah, but hear me through.\n\"He can do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay, he is even\nmore prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in his\ncell. He cannot go where he lists, he who is not of nature has yet\nto obey some of nature's laws, why we know not. He may not enter\nanywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household\nwho bid him to come, though afterwards he can come as he please.\nHis power ceases, as does that of all evil things, at the coming of\nthe day.\n\"Only at certain times can he have limited freedom. If he be not\nat the place whither he is bound, he can only change himself at\nnoon or at exact sunrise or sunset. These things we are told, and\nin this record of ours we have proof by inference. Thus, whereas he\ncan do as he will within his limit, when he have his earth-home,his\ncoffin-home, his hellhome, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he\nwent to the grave of the suicide at Whitby, still at other time he\ncan only change when the time come. It is said, too, that he can\nonly pass running water at the slack or the flood of the tide. Then\nthere are things which so afflict him that he has no power, as the\ngarlic that we know of, and as for things sacred, as this symbol,\nmy crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to them\nhe is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off and\nsilent with respect. There are others, too, which I shall tell you\nof, lest in our seeking we may need them.\n\"The branch of wild rose on his coffin keep him that he move not"}
{"text": "\"The branch of wild rose on his coffin keep him that he move not\nfrom it, a sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill him so that he\nbe true dead, and as for the stake through him, we know already of\nits peace, or the cut off head that giveth rest. We have seen it\nwith our eyes.\n\"Thus when we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can\nconfine him to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know.\nBut he is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth\nUniversity, to make his record, and from all the means that are, he\ntell me of what he has been. He must, indeed, have been that\nVoivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great\nriver on the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he\nno common man, for in that time, and for centuries after, he was\nspoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the\nbravest of the sons of the `land beyond the forest.' That mighty\nbrain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave, and are\neven now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a\ngreat and noble race, though now and again were scions who were\nheld by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They\nlearned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over\nLake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his\ndue. In the records are such words as `stregoica' witch, `ordog'\nand `pokol' Satan and hell, and in one manuscript this very Dracula\nis spoken of as `wampyr,'which we all understand too well. There\nhave been from the loins of this very one great men and good women,\nand their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness\ncan dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil\nthing is rooted deep in all good, in soil barren of holy memories\nit cannot rest.\"\nWhilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the\nwindow, and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room. There\nwas a little pause, and then the Professor went on.was a little pause, and then the Professor went on.\n\"And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and\nwe must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry\nof Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of\nearth, all of which were delivered at Carfax, we also know that at\nleast some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that\nour first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain\nin the house beyond that wall where we look today, or whether any\nmore have been removed. If the latter, we must trace … \"\nHere we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the\nhouse came the sound of a pistol shot, the glass of the window was\nshattered with a bullet, which ricochetting from the top of the\nembrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at\nheart a coward, for I shrieked out. The men all jumped to their\nfeet, Lord Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash.\nAs he did so we heard Mr. Morris' voice without, \"Sorry! I fear I\nhave alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it.\"\nA minute later he came in and said, \"It was an idiotic thing of\nme to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely, I\nfear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is that\nwhilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on\nthe window sill. I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from\nrecent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a\nshot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I have\nseen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art.\"\n\"Did you hit it?\" asked Dr. Van Helsing.\n\"I don't know, I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood.\"\nWithout saying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began\nto resume his statement.\n\"We must trace each of these boxes, and when we are ready, we\nmust either capture or kill this monster in his lair, or we must,\nso to speak, sterilize the earth, so that no more he can seek\nsafety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of mansafety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man\nbetween the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when\nhe is at his most weak.\n\"And now for you, Madam Mina,this night is the end until all be\nwell. You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part\ntonight, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good\ntime. We are men and are able to bear, but you must be our star and\nour hope, and we shall act all the more free that you are not in\nthe danger, such as we are.\"\nAll the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved, but it did not seem\nto me good that they should brave danger and, perhaps lessen their\nsafety, strength being the best safety, through care of me, but\ntheir minds were made up, and though it was a bitter pill for me to\nswallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care\nof me.\nMr. Morris resumed the discussion, \"As there is no time to lose,\nI vote we have a look at his house right now. Time is everything\nwith him, and swift action on our part may save another\nvictim.\"\nI own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action\ncame so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear\nthat if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they\nmight even leave me out of their counsels altogether. They have now\ngone off to Carfax, with means to get into the house.\nManlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep, as if a woman\ncan sleep when those she loves are in danger!I shall lie down, and\npretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he\nreturns.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n1 October, 4 a. m.—Just as we were about to leave the house, an\nurgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would\nsee him at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to\nsay to me. I told the messenger to say that I would attend to his\nwishes in the morning, I was busy just at the moment.\nThe attendant added, \"He seems very importunate, sir. I have\nnever seen him so eager. I don't know but what, if you don't see"}
{"text": "never seen him so eager. I don't know but what, if you don't see\nhim soon, he will have one of his violent fits.\" I knew the man\nwould not have said this without some cause, so I said, \"All right,\nI'll go now,\" and I asked the others to wait a few minutes for me,\nas I had to go and see my patient.\n\"Take me with you, friend John,\" said the Professor.\"His case in\nyour diary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again\non our case. I should much like to see him, and especial when his\nmind is disturbed.\"\n\"May I come also?\" asked Lord Godalming.\n\"Me too?\" said Quincey Morris. \"May I come?\" said Harker. I\nnodded, and we all went down the passage together.\nWe found him in a state of considerable excitement, but far more\nrational in his speech and manner than I had ever seen him. There\nwas an unusual understanding of himself, which was unlike anything\nI had ever met with in a lunatic, and he took it for granted that\nhis reasons would prevail with others entirely sane. We all five\nwent into the room, but none of the others at first said anything.\nHis request was that I would at once release him from the asylum\nand send him home. This he backed up with arguments regarding his\ncomplete recovery, and adduced his own existing sanity.\n\"I appeal to your friends,\"he said,\"they will, perhaps, not mind\nsitting in judgement on my case. By the way, you have not\nintroduced me.\"\nI was so much astonished, that the oddness of introducing a\nmadman in an asylum did not strike me at the moment, and besides,\nthere was a certain dignity in the man's manner, so much of the\nhabit of equality, that I at once made the introduction, \"Lord\nGodalming, Professor Van Helsing, Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas, Mr.\nJonathan Harker, Mr. Renfield.\"\nHe shook hands with each of them, saying in turn, \"Lord\nGodalming, I had the honor of seconding your father at the Windham,\nI grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He\nwas a man loved and honored by all who knew him, and in his youthwas a man loved and honored by all who knew him, and in his youth\nwas, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much\npatronized on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your\ngreat state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may\nhave farreaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics\nmay hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may\nyet prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine\ntakes its true place as a political fable. What shall any man say\nof his pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for\ndropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an individual has\nrevolutionized therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous\nevolution of brain matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since\nthey would seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who\nby nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts,\nare fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I\ntake to witness that I am as sane as at least the majority of men\nwho are in full possession of their liberties. And I am sure that\nyou, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as\nscientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be\nconsidered as under exceptional circumstances.\"He made this last\nappeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its\nown charm.\nI think we were all staggered. For my own part, I was under the\nconviction, despite my knowledge of the man's character and\nhistory, that his reason had been restored, and I felt under a\nstrong impulse to tell him that I was satisfied as to his sanity,\nand would see about the necessary formalities for his release in\nthe morning. I thought it better to wait, however, before making so\ngrave a statement, for of old I knew the sudden changes to which\nthis particular patient was liable. So I contented myself with\nmaking a general statement that he appeared to be improving very\nrapidly, that I would have a longer chat with him in the morning,rapidly, that I would have a longer chat with him in the morning,\nand would then see what I could do in the direction of meeting his\nwishes.\nThis did not at all satisfy him, for he said quickly, \"But I\nfear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire to go\nat once, here, now, this very hour, this very moment, if I may.\nTime presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman\nit is of the essence of the contract. I am sure it is only\nnecessary to put before so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward\nso simple, yet so momentous a wish, to ensure its fulfilment.\"\nHe looked at me keenly, and seeing the negative in my face,\nturned to the others, and scrutinized them closely. Not meeting any\nsufficient response, he went on, \"Is it possible that I have erred\nin my supposition?\"\n\"You have,\" I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt,\nbrutally.\nThere was a considerable pause, and then he said slowly, \"Then I\nsuppose I must only shift my ground of request. Let me ask for this\nconcession, boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implore\nin such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of\nothers. I am not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons,\nbut you may, I assure you, take it from me that they are good ones,\nsound and unselfish, and spring from the highest sense of duty.\n\"Could you look, sir, into my heart, you would approve to the\nfull the sentiments which animate me. Nay, more, you would count me\namongst the best and truest of your friends.\"\nAgain he looked at us all keenly. I had a growing conviction\nthat this sudden change of his entire intellectual method was but\nyet another phase of his madness, and so determined to let him go\non a little longer, knowing from experience that he would, like all\nlunatics, give himself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at\nhim with a look of utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost\nmeeting with the fixed concentration of his look. He said to\nRenfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time, but only"}
{"text": "Renfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time, but only\nwhen I thought of it afterwards, for it was as of one addressing an\nequal, \"Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be\nfree tonight? I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me, a\nstranger, without prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open\nmind, Dr. Seward will give you, at his own risk and on his own\nresponsibility, the privilege you seek.\"\nHe shook his head sadly, and with a look of poignant regret on\nhis face. The Professor went on, \"Come, sir, bethink yourself. You\nclaim the privilege of reason in the highest degree, since you seek\nto impress us with your complete reasonableness. You do this, whose\nsanity we have reason to doubt, since you are not yet released from\nmedical treatment for this very defect. If you will not help us in\nour effort to choose the wisest course, how can we perform the duty\nwhich you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and help us, and if we can\nwe shall aid you to achieve your wish.\"\nHe still shook his head as he said, \"Dr. Van Helsing, I have\nnothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if I were free to\nspeak I should not hesitate a moment, but I am not my own master in\nthe matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the\nresponsibility does not rest with me.\"\nI thought it was now time to end the scene, which was becoming\ntoo comically grave, so I went towards the door, simply saying,\n\"Come, my friends, we have work to do. Goodnight.\"\nAs, however, I got near the door, a new change came over the\npatient. He moved towards me so quickly that for the moment I\nfeared that he was about to make another homicidal attack. My\nfears, however, were groundless, for he held up his two hands\nimploringly, and made his petition in a moving manner. As he saw\nthat the very excess of his emotion was militating against him, by\nrestoring us more to our old relations, he became still more\ndemonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing, and saw my convictiondemonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing, and saw my conviction\nreflected in his eyes, so I became a little more fixed in my\nmanner, if not more stern, and motioned to him that his efforts\nwere unavailing. I had previously seen something of the same\nconstantly growing excitement in him when he had to make some\nrequest of which at the time he had thought much, such for\ninstance, as when he wanted a cat, and I was prepared to see the\ncollapse into the same sullen acquiescence on this occasion.\nMy expectation was not realized, for when he found that his\nappeal would not be successful, he got into quite a frantic\ncondition. He threw himself on his knees, and held up his hands,\nwringing them in plaintive supplication, and poured forth a torrent\nof entreaty, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, and his whole\nface and form expressive of the deepest emotion.\n\"Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let\nme out of this house at once. Send me away how you will and where\nyou will, send keepers with me with whips and chains, let them take\nme in a strait waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to gaol,\nbut let me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me\nhere. I am speaking from the depths of my heart, of my very soul.\nYou don't know whom you wrong, or how, and I may not tell. Woe is\nme! I may not tell. By all you hold sacred, by all you hold dear,\nby your love that is lost, by your hope that lives, for the sake of\nthe Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt!\nCan't you hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn?\nDon't you know that I am sane and earnest now, that I am no lunatic\nin a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me!\nHear me! Let me go, let me go, let me go!\"\nI thought that the longer this went on the wilder he would get,\nand so would bring on a fit, so I took him by the hand and raised\nhim up.\n\"Come,\" I said sternly, \"no more of this, we have had quite\nenough already. Get to your bed and try to behave more\ndiscreetly.\"enough already. Get to your bed and try to behave more\ndiscreetly.\"\nHe suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several\nmoments. Then, without a word, he rose and moving over, sat down on\nthe side of the bed. The collapse had come, as on former occasions,\njust as I had expected.\nWhen I was leaving the room, last of our party, he said to me in\na quiet, well-bred voice, \"You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the\njustice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to\nconvince you tonight.\"1 October, 5 a. m.—I went with the party to the search with an\neasy mind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong and\nwell. I am so glad that she consented to hold back and let us men\ndo the work. Somehow, it was a dread to me that she was in this\nfearful business at all, but now that her work is done, and that it\nis due to her energy and brains and foresight that the whole story\nis put together in such a way that every point tells, she may well\nfeel that her part is finished, and that she can henceforth leave\nthe rest to us. We were, I think, all a little upset by the scene\nwith Mr. Renfield. When we came away from his room we were silent\ntill we got back to the study.\nThen Mr. Morris said to Dr. Seward, \"Say, Jack, if that man\nwasn't attempting a bluff, he is about the sanest lunatic I ever\nsaw. I'm not sure, but I believe that he had some serious purpose,\nand if he had, it was pretty rough on him not to get a chance.\"\nLord Godalming and I were silent, but Dr. Van Helsing added,\n\"Friend John, you know more lunatics than I do, and I'm glad of it,\nfor I fear that if it had been to me to decide I would before that\nlast hysterical outburst have given him free. But we live and\nlearn, and in our present task we must take no chance, as my friend\nQuincey would say. All is best as they are.\"\nDr. Seward seemed to answer them both in a dreamy kind of way,\n\"I don't know but that I agree with you. If that man had been an\nordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of trusting him, but\nhe seems so mixed up with the Count in an indexy kind of way that I\nam afraid of doing anything wrong by helping his fads. I can't\nforget how he prayed with almost equal fervor for a cat, and then\ntried to tear my throat out with his teeth. Besides, he called the\nCount `lord and master', and he may want to get out to help him in\nsome diabolical way. That horrid thing has the wolves and the rats\nand his own kind to help him, so I suppose he isn't above trying to\nuse a respectable lunatic. He certainly did seem earnest, though. I"}
{"text": "use a respectable lunatic. He certainly did seem earnest, though. I\nonly hope we have done what is best. These things, in conjunction\nwith the wild work we have in hand, help to unnerve a man.\"\nThe Professor stepped over, and laying his hand on his shoulder,\nsaid in his grave, kindly way, \"Friend John, have no fear. We are\ntrying to do our duty in a very sad and terrible case, we can only\ndo as we deem best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity\nof the good God?\"\nLord Godalming had slipped away for a few minutes, but now he\nreturned. He held up a little silver whistle, as he remarked, \"That\nold place may be full of rats, and if so, I've got an antidote on\ncall.\"\nHaving passed the wall, we took our way to the house, taking\ncare to keep in the shadows of the trees on the lawn when the\nmoonlight shone out. When we got to the porch the Professor opened\nhis bag and took out a lot of things, which he laid on the step,\nsorting them into four little groups, evidently one for each. Then\nhe spoke.\n\"My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we need\narms of many kinds. Our enemy is not merely spiritual. Remember\nthat he has the strength of twenty men, and that, though our necks\nor our windpipes are of the common kind, and therefore breakable or\ncrushable, his are not amenable to mere strength. A stronger man,\nor a body of men more strong in all than him, can at certain times\nhold him, but they cannot hurt him as we can be hurt by him. We\nmust, therefore, guard ourselves from his touch. Keep this near\nyour heart.\" As he spoke he lifted a little silver crucifix and\nheld it out to me, I being nearest to him, \"put these flowers round\nyour neck,\" here he handed to me a wreath of withered garlic\nblossoms, \"for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this\nknife, and for aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you\ncan fasten to your breast, and for all, and above all at the last,\nthis, which we must not desecrate needless.\"\nThis was a portion of Sacred Wafer, which he put in an envelopeThis was a portion of Sacred Wafer, which he put in an envelope\nand handed to me. Each of the others was similarly equipped.\n\"Now,\"he said,\"friend John, where are the skeleton keys? If so\nthat we can open the door, we need not break house by the window,\nas before at Miss Lucy's.\"\nDr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, his mechanical\ndexterity as a surgeon standing him in good stead. Presently he got\none to suit, after a little play back and forward the bolt yielded,\nand with a rusty clang, shot back. We pressed on the door, the\nrusty hinges creaked, and it slowly opened. It was startlingly like\nthe image conveyed to me in Dr. Seward's diary of the opening of\nMiss Westenra's tomb, I fancy that the same idea seemed to strike\nthe others, for with one accord they shrank back. The Professor was\nthe first to move forward, and stepped into the open door.\n\"In manus tuas, Domine!\"he said, crossing himself as he passed\nover the threshold. We closed the door behind us, lest when we\nshould have lit our lamps we should possibly attract attention from\nthe road. The Professor carefully tried the lock, lest we might not\nbe able to open it from within should we be in a hurry making our\nexit. Then we all lit our lamps and proceeded on our search.\nThe light from the tiny lamps fell in all sorts of odd forms, as\nthe rays crossed each other, or the opacity of our bodies threw\ngreat shadows. I could not for my life get away from the feeling\nthat there was someone else amongst us. I suppose it was the\nrecollection, so powerfully brought home to me by the grim\nsurroundings, of that terrible experience in Transylvania. I think\nthe feeling was common to us all, for I noticed that the others\nkept looking over their shoulders at every sound and every new\nshadow, just as I felt myself doing.\nThe whole place was thick with dust. The floor was seemingly\ninches deep, except where there were recent footsteps, in which on\nholding down my lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dustholding down my lamp I could see marks of hobnails where the dust\nwas cracked. The walls were fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the\ncorners were masses of spider's webs, whereon the dust had gathered\ntill they looked like old tattered rags as the weight had torn them\npartly down. On a table in the hall was a great bunch of keys, with\na timeyellowed label on each. They had been used several times, for\non the table were several similar rents in the blanket of dust,\nsimilar to that exposed when the Professor lifted them.\nHe turned to me and said,\"You know this place, Jonathan. You\nhave copied maps of it, and you know it at least more than we do.\nWhich is the way to the chapel?\"\nI had an idea of its direction, though on my former visit I had\nnot been able to get admission to it, so I led the way, and after a\nfew wrong turnings found myself opposite a low, arched oaken door,\nribbed with iron bands.\n\"This is the spot,\" said the Professor as he turned his lamp on\na small map of the house, copied from the file of my original\ncorrespondence regarding the purchase. With a little trouble we\nfound the key on the bunch and opened the door. We were prepared\nfor some unpleasantness, for as we were opening the door a faint,\nmalodorous air seemed to exhale through the gaps, but none of us\never expected such an odor as we encountered. None of the others\nhad met the Count at all at close quarters, and when I had seen him\nhe was either in the fasting stage of his existence in his rooms\nor, when he was bloated with fresh blood, in a ruined building open\nto the air, but here the place was small and close, and the long\ndisuse had made the air stagnant and foul. There was an earthy\nsmell, as of some dry miasma, which came through the fouler air.\nBut as to the odor itself, how shall I describe it? It was not\nalone that it was composed of all the ills of mortality and with\nthe pungent, acrid smell of blood, but it seemed as though\ncorruption had become itself corrupt. Faugh! It sickens me to think"}
{"text": "corruption had become itself corrupt. Faugh! It sickens me to think\nof it. Every breath exhaled by that monster seemed to have clung to\nthe place and intensified its loathsomeness.\nUnder ordinary circumstances such a stench would have brought\nour enterprise to an end, but this was no ordinary case, and the\nhigh and terrible purpose in which we were involved gave us a\nstrength which rose above merely physical considerations. After the\ninvoluntary shrinking consequent on the first nauseous whiff, we\none and all set about our work as though that loathsome place were\na garden of roses.\nWe made an accurate examination of the place, the Professor\nsaying as we began, \"The first thing is to see how many of the\nboxes are left, we must then examine every hole and corner and\ncranny and see if we cannot get some clue as to what has become of\nthe rest.\"\nA glance was sufficient to show how many remained, for the great\nearth chests were bulky, and there was no mistaking them.\nThere were only twenty-nine left out of the fifty! Once I got a\nfright, for, seeing Lord Godalming suddenly turn and look out of\nthe vaulted door into the dark passage beyond, I looked too, and\nfor an instant my heart stood still. Somewhere, looking out from\nthe shadow, I seemed to see the high lights of the Count's evil\nface, the ridge of the nose, the red eyes, the red lips, the awful\npallor. It was only for a moment, for, as Lord Godalming said,\"I\nthought I saw a face, but it was only the shadows,\" and resumed his\ninquiry, I turned my lamp in the direction, and stepped into the\npassage. There was no sign of anyone, and as there were no corners,\nno doors, no aperture of any kind, but only the solid walls of the\npassage, there could be no hiding place even for him. I took it\nthat fear had helped imagination, and said nothing.\nA few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly back from a\ncorner, which he was examining. We all followed his movements with\nour eyes, for undoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, andour eyes, for undoubtedly some nervousness was growing on us, and\nwe saw a whole mass of phosphorescence, which twinkled like stars.\nWe all instinctively drew back. The whole place was becoming alive\nwith rats.\nFor a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming,\nwho was seemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to\nthe great iron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described\nfrom the outside, and which I had seen myself, he turned the key in\nthe lock, drew the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then,\ntaking his little silver whistle from his pocket, he blew a low,\nshrill call. It was answered from behind Dr. Seward's house by the\nyelping of dogs, and after about a minute three terriers came\ndashing round the corner of the house. Unconsciously we had all\nmoved towards the door, and as we moved I noticed that the dust had\nbeen much disturbed. The boxes which had been taken out had been\nbrought this way. But even in the minute that had elapsed the\nnumber of the rats had vastly increased. They seemed to swarm over\nthe place all at once, till the lamplight, shining on their moving\ndark bodies and glittering, baleful eyes, made the place look like\na bank of earth set with fireflies. The dogs dashed on, but at the\nthreshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and then,simultaneously\nlifting their noses, began to howl in most lugubrious fashion. The\nrats were multiplying in thousands, and we moved out.\nLord Godalming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying him in,\nplaced him on the floor. The instant his feet touched the ground he\nseemed to recover his courage, and rushed at his natural enemies.\nThey fled before him so fast that before he had shaken the life out\nof a score, the other dogs, who had by now been lifted in the same\nmanner, had but small prey ere the whole mass had vanished.\nWith their going it seemed as if some evil presence had\ndeparted, for the dogs frisked about and barked merrily as they\nmade sudden darts at their prostrate foes, and turned them over andmade sudden darts at their prostrate foes, and turned them over and\nover and tossed them in the air with vicious shakes. We all seemed\nto find our spirits rise. Whether it was the purifying of the\ndeadly atmosphere by the opening of the chapel door, or the relief\nwhich we experienced by finding ourselves in the open I know not,\nbut most certainly the shadow of dread seemed to slip from us like\na robe, and the occasion of our coming lost something of its grim\nsignificance, though we did not slacken a whit in our resolution.\nWe closed the outer door and barred and locked it, and bringing the\ndogs with us, began our search of the house. We found nothing\nthroughout except dust in extraordinary proportions, and all\nuntouched save for my own footsteps when I had made my first visit.\nNever once did the dogs exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even\nwhen we returned to the chapel they frisked about as though they\nhad been rabbit hunting in a summer wood.\nThe morning was quickening in the east when we emerged from the\nfront. Dr. Van Helsing had taken the key of the hall door from the\nbunch, and locked the door in orthodox fashion, putting the key\ninto his pocket when he had done.\n\"So far,\" he said, \"our night has been eminently successful. No\nharm has come to us such as I feared might be and yet we have\nascertained how many boxes are missing. More than all do I rejoice\nthat this, our first, and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous,\nstep has been accomplished without the bringing thereinto our most\nsweet Madam Mina or troubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with\nsights and sounds and smells of horror which she might never\nforget. One lesson, too, we have learned, if it be allowable to\nargue a particulari, that the brute beasts which are to the Count's\ncommand are yet themselves not amenable to his spiritual power, for\nlook, these rats that would come to his call, just as from his\ncastle top he summon the wolves to your going and to that poor\nmother's cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mell from the"}
{"text": "mother's cry, though they come to him, they run pell-mell from the\nso little dogs of my friend Arthur. We have other matters before\nus, other dangers, other fears, and that monster … He has not\nused his power over the brute world for the only or the last time\ntonight. So be it that he has gone elsewhere. Good! It has given us\nopportunity to cry `check'in some ways in this chess game, which we\nplay for the stake of human souls. And now let us go home. The dawn\nis close at hand, and we have reason to be content with our first\nnight's work. It may be ordained that we have many nights and days\nto follow, if full of peril, but we must go on, and from no danger\nshall we shrink.\"\nThe house was silent when we got back, save for some poor\ncreature who was screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a\nlow, moaning sound from Renfield's room. The poor wretch was\ndoubtless torturing himself, after the manner of the insane, with\nneedless thoughts of pain.\nI came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep,\nbreathing so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She\nlooks paler than usual. I hope the meeting tonight has not upset\nher. I am truly thankful that she is to be left out of our future\nwork, and even of our deliberations. It is too great a strain for a\nwoman to bear. I did not think so at first, but I know better now.\nTherefore I am glad that it is settled. There may be things which\nwould frighten her to hear, and yet to conceal them from her might\nbe worse than to tell her if once she suspected that there was any\nconcealment. Henceforth our work is to be a sealed book to her,\ntill at least such time as we can tell her that all is finished,\nand the earth free from a monster of the nether world. I daresay it\nwill be difficult to begin to keep silence after such confidence as\nours, but I must be resolute, and tomorrow I shall keep dark over\ntonight's doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything that has\nhappened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her.happened. I rest on the sofa, so as not to disturb her.\n1 October, later.—I suppose it was natural that we should have\nall overslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and the night\nhad no rest at all. Even Mina must have felt its exhaustion, for\nthough I slept till the sun was high, I was awake before her, and\nhad to call two or three times before she awoke. Indeed, she was so\nsound asleep that for a few seconds she did not recognize me, but\nlooked at me with a sort of blank terror, as one looks who has been\nwaked out of a bad dream. She complained a little of being tired,\nand I let her rest till later in the day. We now know of twenty-one\nboxes having been removed, and if it be that several were taken in\nany of these removals we may be able to trace them all. Such will,\nof course, immensely simplify our labor, and the sooner the matter\nis attended to the better. I shall look up Thomas Snelling\ntoday.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n1 October.—It was towards noon when I was awakened by the\nProfessor walking into my room. He was more jolly and cheerful than\nusual, and it is quite evident that last night's work has helped to\ntake some of the brooding weight off his mind.\nAfter going over the adventure of the night he suddenly said,\n\"Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you I visit\nhim this morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I can go alone if\nit may be. It is a new experience to me to find a lunatic who talk\nphilosophy, and reason so sound.\"\nI had some work to do which pressed, so I told him that if he\nwould go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have to keep\nhim waiting, so I called an attendant and gave him the necessary\ninstructions. Before the Professor left the room I cautioned him\nagainst getting any false impression from my patient.\n\"But,\" he answered, \"I want him to talk of himself and of his\ndelusion as to consuming live things. He said to Madam Mina, as I\nsee in your diary of yesterday, that he had once had such a belief.\nWhy do you smile, friend John?\"see in your diary of yesterday, that he had once had such a belief.\nWhy do you smile, friend John?\"\n\"Excuse me,\" I said, \"but the answer is here.\" I laid my hand on\nthe typewritten matter.\"When our sane and learned lunatic made that\nvery statement of how he used to consume life, his mouth was\nactually nauseous with the flies and spiders which he had eaten\njust before Mrs. Harker entered the room.\"\nVan Helsing smiled in turn. \"Good!\" he said. \"Your memory is\ntrue, friend John. I should have remembered. And yet it is this\nvery obliquity of thought and memory which makes mental disease\nsuch a fascinating study. Perhaps I may gain more knowledge out of\nthe folly of this madman than I shall from the teaching of the most\nwise. Who knows?\"\nI went on with my work, and before long was through that in\nhand. It seemed that the time had been very short indeed, but there\nwas Van Helsing back in the study.\n\"Do I interrupt?\" he asked politely as he stood at the door.\n\"Not at all,\"I answered. \"Come in. My work is finished, and I am\nfree. I can go with you now, if you like.\"\n\"It is needless, I have seen him!\"\n\"Well?\"\n\"I fear that he does not appraise me at much. Our interview was\nshort. When I entered his room he was sitting on a stool in the\ncenter, with his elbows on his knees, and his face was the picture\nof sullen discontent. I spoke to him as cheerfully as I could, and\nwith such a measure of respect as I could assume. He made no reply\nwhatever. 'Don't you know me?' I asked. His answer was not\nreassuring. \"I know you well enough, you are the old fool Van\nHelsing. I wish you would take yourself and your idiotic brain\ntheories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed Dutchmen!' Not a\nword more would he say, but sat in his implacable sullenness as\nindifferent to me as though I had not been in the room at all. Thus\ndeparted for this time my chance of much learning from this so\nclever lunatic, so I shall go, if I may, and cheer myself with a\nfew happy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it"}
{"text": "few happy words with that sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it\ndoes rejoice me unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no\nmore to be worried with our terrible things. Though we shall much\nmiss her help, it is better so.\"\n\"I agree with you with all my heart,\" I answered earnestly, for\nI did not want him to weaken in this matter. \"Mrs. Harker is better\nout of it. Things are quite bad enough for us, all men of the\nworld, and who have been in many tight places in our time, but it\nis no place for a woman, and if she had remained in touch with the\naffair, it would in time infallibly have wrecked her.\"\nSo Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and Harker,\nQuincey and Art are all out following up the clues as to the earth\nboxes. I shall finish my round of work and we shall meet\ntonight.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n1 October.—It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am\ntoday, after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see\nhim manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of\nall. This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and\nthough Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me\nbefore he went out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never\nmentioned a word of what had happened in the visit to the Count's\nhouse. And yet he must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor\ndear fellow! I suppose it must have distressed him even more than\nit did me. They all agreed that it was best that I should not be\ndrawn further into this awful work, and I acquiesced. But to think\nthat he keeps anything from me! And now I am crying like a silly\nfool, when I know it comes from my husband's great love and from\nthe good, good wishes of those other strong men.\nThat has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all.\nAnd lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I\nkept anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if\nhe has feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with everyhe has feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every\nthought of my heart put down for his dear eyes to read. I feel\nstrangely sad and low-spirited today. I suppose it is the reaction\nfrom the terrible excitement.\nLast night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply because\nthey told me to. I didn't feel sleepy, and I did feel full of\ndevouring anxiety. I kept thinking over everything that has been\never since Jonathan came to see me in London, and it all seems like\na horrible tragedy, with fate pressing on relentlessly to some\ndestined end. Everything that one does seems, no matter how right\nit me be, to bring on the very thing which is most to be deplored.\nIf I hadn't gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us\nnow. She hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard till I came, and\nif she hadn't come there in the day time with me she wouldn't have\nwalked in her sleep. And if she hadn't gone there at night and\nasleep, that monster couldn't have destroyed her as he did. Oh, why\ndid I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder what has\ncome over me today. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew\nthat I had been crying twice in one morning … I, who never\ncried on my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a\ntear, the dear fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold\nface on, and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose\nit is just one of the lessons that we poor women have to\nlearn …\nI can't quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I remember\nhearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of queer sounds,\nlike praying on a very tumultuous scale, from Mr. Renfield's room,\nwhich is somewhere under this. And then there was silence over\neverything, silence so profound that it startled me, and I got up\nand looked out of the window. All was dark and silent, the black\nshadows thrown by the moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of\ntheir own. Not a thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim\nand fixed as death or fate, so that a thin streak of whiteand fixed as death or fate, so that a thin streak of white\nmist,that crept with almost imperceptible slowness across the grass\ntowards the house, seemed to have a sentience and a vitality of its\nown. I think that the digression of my thoughts must have done me\ngood, for when I got back to bed I found a lethargy creeping over\nme. I lay a while, but could not quite sleep, so I got out and\nlooked out of the window again. The mist was spreading, and was now\nclose up to the house, so that I could see it lying thick against\nthe wall, as though it were stealing up to the windows. The poor\nman was more loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a\nword he said, I could in some way recognize in his tones some\npassionate entreaty on his part. Then there was the sound of a\nstruggle, and I knew that the attendants were dealing with him. I\nwas so frightened that I crept into bed, and pulled the clothes\nover my head, putting my fingers in my ears. I was not then a bit\nsleepy, at least so I thought, but I must have fallen asleep, for\nexcept dreams, I do not remember anything until the morning, when\nJonathan woke me. I think that it took me an effort and a little\ntime to realize where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was\nbending over me. My dream was very peculiar, and was almost typical\nof the way that waking thoughts become merged in, or continued in,\ndreams.\nI thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to come\nback. I was very anxious about him, and I was powerless to act, my\nfeet, and my hands, and my brain were weighted, so that nothing\ncould proceed at the usual pace. And so I slept uneasily and\nthought. Then it began to dawn upon me that the air was heavy, and\ndank, and cold. I put back the clothes from my face, and found, to\nmy surprise, that all was dim around. The gaslight which I had left\nlit for Jonathan, but turned down, came only like a tiny red spark\nthrough the fog, which had evidently grown thicker and poured into\nthe room. Then it occurred to me that I had shut the window before"}
{"text": "the room. Then it occurred to me that I had shut the window before\nI had come to bed. I would have got out to make certain on the\npoint, but some leaden lethargy seemed to chain my limbs and even\nmy will. I lay still and endured, that was all. I closed my eyes,\nbut could still see through my eyelids. (It is wonderful what\ntricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.)\nThe mist grew thicker and thicker and I could see now how it came\nin, for I could see it like smoke, or with the white energy of\nboiling water, pouring in, not through the window, but through the\njoinings of the door. It got thicker and thicker, till it seemed as\nif it became concentrated into a sort of pillar of cloud in the\nroom, through the top of which I could see the light of the gas\nshining like a red eye. Things began to whirl through my brain just\nas the cloudy column was now whirling in the room, and through it\nall came the scriptural words \"a pillar of cloud by day and of fire\nby night.\" Was it indeed such spiritual guidance that was coming to\nme in my sleep? But the pillar was composed of both the day and the\nnight guiding, for the fire was in the red eye, which at the\nthought gat a new fascination for me, till, as I looked, the fire\ndivided, and seemed to shine on me through the fog like two red\neyes, such as Lucy told me of in her momentary mental wandering\nwhen, on the cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St.\nMary's Church. Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was thus\nthat Jonathan had seen those awful women growing into reality\nthrough the whirling mist in the moonlight, and in my dream I must\nhave fainted, for all became black darkness. The last conscious\neffort which imagination made was to show me a livid white face\nbending over me out of the mist.\nI must be careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one's\nreason if there were too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing\nor Dr. Seward to prescribe something for me which would make meor Dr. Seward to prescribe something for me which would make me\nsleep, only that I fear to alarm them. Such a dream at the present\ntime would become woven into their fears for me. Tonight I shall\nstrive hard to sleep naturally. If I do not, I shall tomorrow night\nget them to give me a dose of chloral, that cannot hurt me for\nonce, and it will give me a good night's sleep. Last night tired me\nmore than if I had not slept at all.\n2 October 10 p. m.—Last night I slept, but did not dream. I must\nhave slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jonathan coming to bed,\nbut the sleep has not refreshed me, for today I feel terribly weak\nand spiritless. I spent all yesterday trying to read, or lying down\ndozing. In the afternon, Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me.Poor\nman, he was very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and\nbade God bless me. Some way it affected me much. I am crying when I\nthink of him. This is a new weakness, of which I must be careful.\nJonathan would be miserable if he knew I had been crying. He and\nthe others were out till dinner time, and they all came in tired. I\ndid what I could to brighten them up, and I suppose that the effort\ndid me good, for I forgot how tired I was. After dinner they sent\nme to bed, and all went off to smoke together, as they said, but I\nknew that they wanted to tell each other of what had occurred to\neach during the day. I could see from Jonathan's manner that he had\nsomething important to communicate. I was not so sleepy as I should\nhave been, so before they went I asked Dr. Seward to give me a\nlittle opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the night\nbefore. He very kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave\nto me, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very\nmild … I have taken it, and am waiting for sleep, which still\nkeeps aloof. I hope I have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to\nflirt with me, a new fear comes, that I may have been foolish in\nthus depriving myself of the power of waking. I might want it. Here\ncomes sleep. Goodnight.1 October, evening.—I found Thomas Snelling in his house at\nBethnal Green, but unhappily he was not in a condition to remember\nanything. The very prospect of beer which my expected coming had\nopened to him had proved too much, and he had begun too early on\nhis expected debauch. I learned, however, from his wife, who seemed\na decent, poor soul, that he was only the assistant of Smollet, who\nof the two mates was the responsible person. So off I drove to\nWalworth, and found Mr. Joseph Smollet at home and in his\nshirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of a saucer. He is a decent,\nintelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliable type of workman,\nand with a headpiece of his own. He remembered all about the\nincident of the boxes, and from a wonderful dog-eared notebook,\nwhich he produced from some mysterious receptacle about the seat of\nhis trousers, and which had hieroglyphical entries in thick,\nhalf-obliterated pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes.\nThere were, he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax\nand left at 197 Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and another\nsix which he deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. If then the\nCount meant to scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London,\nthese places were chosen as the first of delivery, so that later he\nmight distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which this\nwas done made me think that he could not mean to confine himself to\ntwo sides of London. He was now fixed on the far east on the\nnorthern shore, on the east of the southern shore, and on the\nsouth. The north and west were surely never meant to be left out of\nhis diabolical scheme, let alone the City itself and the very heart\nof fashionable London in the south-west and west. I went back to\nSmollet, and asked him if he could tell us if any other boxes had\nbeen taken from Carfax.\nHe replied, \"Well guv'nor, you've treated me very 'an'some\", I\nhad given him half a sovereign, \"an I'll tell yer all I know. I\nheard a man by the name of Bloxam say four nights ago in the 'Are"}
{"text": "heard a man by the name of Bloxam say four nights ago in the 'Are\nan' 'Ounds, in Pincher's Alley, as 'ow he an' his mate 'ad 'ad a\nrare dusty job in a old 'ouse at Purfleet. There ain't a many such\njobs as this 'ere, an' I'm thinkin' that maybe Sam Bloxam could\ntell ye summut.\"\nI asked if he could tell me where to find him. I told him that\nif he could get me the address it would be worth another half\nsovereign to him. So he gulped down the rest of his tea and stood\nup, saying that he was going to begin the search then and\nthere.\nAt the door he stopped, and said, \"Look 'ere, guv'nor, there\nain't no sense in me a keepin' you 'ere. I may find Sam soon, or I\nmayn't, but anyhow he ain't like to be in a way to tell ye much\ntonight. Sam is a rare one when he starts on the booze. If you can\ngive me a envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address on it,\nI'll find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye tonight. But\nye'd better be up arter 'im soon in the mornin', never mind the\nbooze the night afore.\"\nThis was all practical, so one of the children went off with a\npenny to buy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep the\nchange. When she came back, I addressed the envelope and stamped\nit, and when Smollet had again faithfully promised to post the\naddress when found, I took my way to home. We're on the track\nanyhow. I am tired tonight, and I want to sleep. Mina is fast\nasleep, and looks a little too pale. Her eyes look as though she\nhad been crying. Poor dear, I've no doubt it frets her to be kept\nin the dark, and it may make her doubly anxious about me and the\nothers. But it is best as it is. It is better to be disappointed\nand worried in such a way now than to have her nerve broken. The\ndoctors were quite right to insist on her being kept out of this\ndreadful business. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden\nof silence must rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with\nher under any circumstances. Indeed, It may not be a hard task,\nafter all, for she herself has become reticent on the subject, andafter all, for she herself has become reticent on the subject, and\nhas not spoken of the Count or his doings ever since we told her of\nour decision.\n2 October, evening—A long and trying and exciting day. By the\nfirst post I got my directed envelope with a dirty scrap of paper\nenclosed, on which was written with a carpenter's pencil in a\nsprawling hand, \"Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4 Poters Cort, Bartel\nStreet, Walworth. Arsk for the depite.\"\nI got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. She\nlooked heavy and sleepy and pale, and far from well. I determined\nnot to wake her, but that when I should return from this new\nsearch, I would arrange for her going back to Exeter. I think she\nwould be happier in our own home, with her daily tasks to interest\nher, than in being here amongst us and in ignorance. I only saw Dr.\nSeward for a moment, and told him where I was off to, promising to\ncome back and tell the rest so soon as I should have found out\nanything. I drove to Walworth and found, with some difficulty,\nPotter's Court. Mr. Smollet's spelling misled me, as I asked for\nPoter's Court instead of Potter's Court. However, when I had found\nthe court, I had no difficulty in discovering Corcoran's lodging\nhouse.\nWhen I asked the man who came to the door for the \"depite,\" he\nshook his head, and said, \"I dunno 'im. There ain't no such a\nperson 'ere. I never 'eard of 'im in all my bloomin' days. Don't\nbelieve there ain't nobody of that kind livin' 'ere or\nanywheres.\"\nI took out Smollet's letter, and as I read it it seemed to me\nthat the lesson of the spelling of the name of the court might\nguide me. \"What are you?\" I asked.\n\"I'm the depity,\" he answered.\nI saw at once that I was on the right track. Phonetic spelling\nhad again misled me. A half crown tip put the deputy's knowledge at\nmy disposal, and I learned that Mr. Bloxam, who had slept off the\nremains of his beer on the previous night at Corcoran's, had left\nfor his work at Poplar at five o'clock that morning. He could notfor his work at Poplar at five o'clock that morning. He could not\ntell me where the place of work was situated, but he had a vague\nidea that it was some kind of a \"new-fangled ware'us,\" and with\nthis slender clue I had to start for Poplar. It was twelve o'clock\nbefore I got any satisfactory hint of such a building, and this I\ngot at a coffee shop, where some workmen were having their dinner.\nOne of them suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel\nStreet a new \"cold storage\" building, and as this suited the\ncondition of a \"new-fangled ware'us,\" I at once drove to it. An\ninterview with a surly gatekeeper and a surlier foreman, both of\nwhom were appeased with the coin of the realm, put me on the track\nof Bloxam. He was sent for on my suggestion that I was willing to\npay his days wages to his foreman for the privilege of asking him a\nfew questions on a private matter. He was a smart enough fellow,\nthough rough of speech and bearing. When I had promised to pay for\nhis information and given him an earnest, he told me that he had\nmade two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly, and had\ntaken from this house to the latter nine great boxes, \"main heavy\nones,\" with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose.\nI asked him if he could tell me the number of the house in\nPiccadilly, to which he replied, \"Well, guv'nor, I forgits the\nnumber, but it was only a few door from a big white church, or\nsomethink of the kind, not long built. It was a dusty old 'ouse,\ntoo, though nothin' to the dustiness of the 'ouse we tooked the\nbloomin' boxes from.\"\n\"How did you get in if both houses were empty?\"\n\"There was the old party what engaged me a waitin' in the 'ouse\nat Purfleet. He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the\ndray. Curse me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an'\nhim a old feller, with a white moustache, one that thin you would\nthink he couldn't throw a shadder.\"\nHow this phrase thrilled through me!\n\"Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of"}
{"text": "How this phrase thrilled through me!\n\"Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of\ntea, and me a puffin' an' a blowin' afore I could upend mine\nanyhow, an' I'm no chicken, neither.\"\n\"How did you get into the house in Piccadilly?\" I asked.\n\"He was there too. He must 'a started off and got there afore\nme, for when I rung of the bell he kem an' opened the door 'isself\nan' 'elped me carry the boxes into the 'all.\"\n\"The whole nine?\" I asked.\n\"Yus, there was five in the first load an' four in the second.\nIt was main dry work, an' I don't so well remember 'ow I got\n'ome.\"\nI interrupted him, \"Were the boxes left in the hall?\"\n\"Yus, it was a big 'all, an' there was nothin' else in it.\"\nI made one more attempt to further matters. \"You didn't have any\nkey?\"\n\"Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened the door\n'isself an' shut it again when I druv off. I don't remember the\nlast time, but that was the beer.\"\n\"And you can't remember the number of the house?\"\n\"No, sir. But ye needn't have no difficulty about that. It's a\n'igh 'un with a stone front with a bow on it, an' 'igh steps up to\nthe door. I know them steps, 'avin' 'ad to carry the boxes up with\nthree loafers what come round to earn a copper. The old gent give\nthem shillin's, an' they seein' they got so much, they wanted more.\nBut 'e took one of them by the shoulder and was like to throw 'im\ndown the steps, till the lot of them went away cussin'.\"\nI thought that with this description I could find the house, so\nhaving paid my friend for his information, I started off for\nPiccadilly. I had gained a new painful experience. The Count could,\nit was evident, handle the earth boxes himself. If so, time was\nprecious, for now that he had achieved a certain amount of\ndistribution, he could, by choosing his own time, complete the task\nunobserved. At Piccadilly Circus I discharged my cab, and walked\nwestward. Beyond the Junior Constitutional I came across the house\ndescribed and was satisfied that this was the next of the lairsdescribed and was satisfied that this was the next of the lairs\narranged by Dracula. The house looked as though it had been long\nuntenanted. The windows were encrusted with dust, and the shutters\nwere up. All the framework was black with time, and from the iron\nthe paint had mostly scaled away. It was evident that up to lately\nthere had been a large notice board in front of the balcony. It\nhad, however, been roughly torn away, the uprights which had\nsupported it still remaining. Behind the rails of the balcony I saw\nthere were some loose boards, whose raw edges looked white. I would\nhave given a good deal to have been able to see the notice board\nintact, as it would, perhaps, have given some clue to the ownership\nof the house. I remembered my experience of the investigation and\npurchase of Carfax, and I could not but feel that I could find the\nformer owner there might be some means discovered of gaining access\nto the house.\nThere was at present nothing to be learned from the Piccadilly\nside, and nothing could be done, so I went around to the back to\nsee if anything could be gathered from this quarter. The mews were\nactive, the Piccadilly houses being mostly in occupation. I asked\none or two of the grooms and helpers whom I saw around if they\ncould tell me anything about the empty house. One of them said that\nhe heard it had lately been taken, but he couldn't say from whom.\nHe told me, however, that up to very lately there had been a notice\nboard of \"For Sale\" up, and that perhaps Mitchell, Sons, &\nCandy the house agents could tell me something, as he thought he\nremembered seeing the name of that firm on the board. I did not\nwish to seem too eager, or to let my informant know or guess too\nmuch, so thanking him in the usual manner,I strolled away. It was\nnow growing dusk, and the autumn night was closing in, so I did not\nlose any time. Having learned the address of Mitchell, Sons, &\nCandy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office\nin Sackville Street.Candy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office\nin Sackville Street.\nThe gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in manner, but\nuncommunicative in equal proportion. Having once told me that the\nPiccadilly house, which throughout our interview he called a\n\"mansion,\" was sold, he considered my business as concluded. When I\nasked who had purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, and\npaused a few seconds before replying, \"It is sold, sir.\"\n\"Pardon me,\" I said, with equal politeness, \"but I have a\nspecial reason for wishing to know who purchased it.\"\nAgain he paused longer, and raised his eyebrows still more. \"It\nis sold, sir,\" was again his laconic reply.\n\"Surely,\" I said, \"you do not mind letting me know so much.\"\n\"But I do mind,\" he answered. \"The affairs of their clients are\nabsolutely safe in the hands of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy.\"\nThis was manifestly a prig of the first water, and there was no\nuse arguing with him. I thought I had best meet him on his own\nground, so I said, \"Your clients, sir, are happy in having so\nresolute a guardian of their confidence. I am myself a professional\nman.\"\nHere I handed him my card. \"In this instance I am not prompted\nby curiosity, I act on the part of Lord Godalming, who wishes to\nknow something of the property which was, he understood, lately for\nsale.\"\nThese words put a different complexion on affairs. He said, \"I\nwould like to oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and especially\nwould I like to oblige his lordship. We once carried out a small\nmatter of renting some chambers for him when he was the Honorable\nArthur Holmwood. If you will let me have his lordship's address I\nwill consult the House on the subject, and will, in any case,\ncommunicate with his lordship by tonight's post. It will be a\npleasure if we can so far deviate from our rules as to give the\nrequired information to his lordship.\"\nI wanted to secure a friend, and not to make an enemy, so I\nthanked him, gave the address at Dr. Seward's and came away. It was"}
{"text": "thanked him, gave the address at Dr. Seward's and came away. It was\nnow dark, and I was tired and hungry. I got a cup of tea at the\nAerated Bread Company and came down to Purfleet by the next\ntrain.\nI found all the others at home. Mina was looking tired and pale,\nbut she made a gallant effort to be bright and cheerful. It wrung\nmy heart to think that I had had to keep anything from her and so\ncaused her inquietude. Thank God, this will be the last night of\nher looking on at our conferences, and feeling the sting of our not\nshowing our confidence. It took all my courage to hold to the wise\nresolution of keeping her out of our grim task. She seems somehow\nmore reconciled, or else the very subject seems to have become\nrepugnant to her, for when any accidental allusion is made she\nactually shudders. I am glad we made our resolution in time, as\nwith such a feeling as this,our growing knowledge would be torture\nto her.\nI could not tell the others of the day's discovery till we were\nalone, so after dinner, followed by a little music to save\nappearances even amongst ourselves, I took Mina to her room and\nleft her to go to bed. The dear girl was more affectionate with me\nthan ever, and clung to me as though she would detain me, but there\nwas much to be talked of and I came away. Thank God, the ceasing of\ntelling things has made no difference between us.\nWhen I came down again I found the others all gathered round the\nfire in the study. In the train I had written my diary so far, and\nsimply read it off to them as the best means of letting them get\nabreast of my own information.\nWhen I had finished Van Helsing said, \"This has been a great\nday's work, friend Jonathan. Doubtless we are on the track of the\nmissing boxes. If we find them all in that house, then our work is\nnear the end. But if there be some missing, we must search until we\nfind them. Then shall we make our final coup, and hunt the wretch\nto his real death.\"\nWe all sat silent awhile and all at once Mr. Morris spoke, \"Say!to his real death.\"\nWe all sat silent awhile and all at once Mr. Morris spoke, \"Say!\nHow are we going to get into that house?\"\n\"We got into the other,\"answered Lord Godalming quickly.\n\"But, Art, this is different. We broke house at Carfax, but we\nhad night and a walled park to protect us. It will be a mighty\ndifferent thing to commit burglary in Piccadilly, either by day or\nnight. I confess I don't see how we are going to get in unless that\nagency duck can find us a key of some sort.\"\nLord Godalming's brows contracted, and he stood up and walked\nabout the room. By-and-by he stopped and said, turning from one to\nanother of us, \"Quincey's head is level. This burglary business is\ngetting serious. We got off once all right, but we have now a rare\njob on hand. Unless we can find the Count's key basket.\"\nAs nothing could well be done before morning, and as it would be\nat least advisable to wait till Lord Godalming should hear from\nMitchell's, we decided not to take any active step before breakfast\ntime. For a good while we sat and smoked, discussing the matter in\nits various lights and bearings. I took the opportunity of bringing\nthis diary right up to the moment. I am very sleepy and shall go to\nbed …\nJust a line. Mina sleeps soundly and her breathing is regular.\nHer forehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as though she\nthinks even in her sleep. She is still too pale, but does not look\nso haggard as she did this morning. Tomorrow will, I hope, mend all\nthis. She will be herself at home in Exeter. Oh, but I am\nsleepy!\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n1 October.—I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. His moods change\nso rapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch of them, and as\nthey always mean something more than his own well-being, they form\na more than interesting study. This morning, when I went to see him\nafter his repulse of Van Helsing, his manner was that of a man\ncommanding destiny. He was, in fact, commanding destiny,\nsubjectively. He did not really care for any of the things of meresubjectively. He did not really care for any of the things of mere\nearth, he was in the clouds and looked down on all the weaknesses\nand wants of us poor mortals.\nI thought I would improve the occasion and learn something, so I\nasked him, \"What about the flies these times?\"\nHe smiled on me in quite a superior sort of way, such a smile as\nwould have become the face of Malvolio, as he answered me, \"The\nfly, my dear sir, has one striking feature. It's wings are typical\nof the aerial powers of the psychic faculties. The ancients did\nwell when they typified the soul as a butterfly!\"\nI thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, so I\nsaid quickly, \"Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?\"\nHis madness foiled his reason, and a puzzled look spread over\nhis face as, shaking his head with a decision which I had but\nseldom seen in him.\nHe said, \"Oh, no, oh no! I want no souls. Life is all I want.\"\nHere he brightened up. \"I am pretty indifferent about it at\npresent. Life is all right. I have all I want. You must get a new\npatient, doctor, if you wish to study zoophagy!\"\nThis puzzled me a little, so I drew him on. \"Then you command\nlife. You are a god, I suppose?\"\nHe smiled with an ineffably benign superiority. \"Oh no! Far be\nit from me to arrogate to myself the attributes of the Deity. I am\nnot even concerned in His especially spiritual doings. If I may\nstate my intellectual position I am, so far as concerns things\npurely terrestrial, somewhat in the position which Enoch occupied\nspiritually!\"\nThis was a poser to me. I could not at the moment recall Enoch's\nappositeness, so I had to ask a simple question, though I felt that\nby so doing I was lowering myself in the eyes of the lunatic. \"And\nwhy with Enoch?\"\n\"Because he walked with God.\"\nI could not see the analogy, but did not like to admit it, so I\nharked back to what he had denied. \"So you don't care about life\nand you don't want souls. Why not?\" I put my question quickly and\nsomewhat sternly, on purpose to disconcert him."}
{"text": "somewhat sternly, on purpose to disconcert him.\nThe effort succeeded, for an instant he unconsciously relapsed\ninto his old servile manner, bent low before me, and actually\nfawned upon me as he replied. \"I don't want any souls, indeed,\nindeed! I don't. I couldn't use them if I had them. They would be\nno manner of use to me. I couldn't eat them or … \"\nHe suddenly stopped and the old cunning look spread over his\nface, like a wind sweep on the surface of the water.\n\"And doctor, as to life, what is it after all? When you've got\nall you require, and you know that you will never want, that is\nall. I have friends, good friends, like you, Dr. Seward.\"This was\nsaid with a leer of inexpressible cunning. \"I know that I shall\nnever lack the means of life!\"\nI think that through the cloudiness of his insanity he saw some\nantagonism in me, for he at once fell back on the last refuge of\nsuch as he, a dogged silence. After a short time I saw that for the\npresent it was useless to speak to him. He was sulky, and so I came\naway.\nLater in the day he sent for me. Ordinarily I would not have\ncome without special reason, but just at present I am so interested\nin him that I would gladly make an effort. Besides, I am glad to\nhave anything to help pass the time. Harker is out, following up\nclues, and so are Lord Godalming and Quincey. Van Helsing sits in\nmy study poring over the record prepared by the Harkers. He seems\nto think that by accurate knowledge of all details he will light up\non some clue. He does not wish to be disturbed in the work, without\ncause. I would have taken him with me to see the patient, only I\nthought that after his last repulse he might not care to go again.\nThere was also another reason. Renfield might not speak so freely\nbefore a third person as when he and I were alone.\nI found him sitting in the middle of the floor on his stool, a\npose which is generally indicative of some mental energy on his\npart. When I came in, he said at once, as though the question had\nbeen waiting on his lips. \"What about souls?\"been waiting on his lips. \"What about souls?\"\nIt was evident then that my surmise had been correct.\nUnconscious cerebration was doing its work, even with the lunatic.\nI determined to have the matter out.\n\"What about them yourself?\" I asked.\nHe did not reply for a moment but looked all around him, and up\nand down, as though he expected to find some inspiration for an\nanswer.\n\"I don't want any souls!\" He said in a feeble, apologetic way.\nThe matter seemed preying on his mind, and so I determined to use\nit, to \"be cruel only to be kind.\" So I said, \"You like life, and\nyou want life?\"\n\"Oh yes! But that is all right. You needn't worry about\nthat!\"\n\"But,\" I asked,\"how are we to get the life without getting the\nsoul also?\"\nThis seemed to puzzle him, so I followed it up, \"A nice time\nyou'll have some time when you're flying out here, with the souls\nof thousands of flies and spiders and birds and cats buzzing and\ntwittering and moaning all around you. You've got their lives, you\nknow, and you must put up with their souls!\"\nSomething seemed to affect his imagination, for he put his\nfingers to his ears and shut his eyes, screwing them up tightly\njust as a small boy does when his face is being soaped. There was\nsomething pathetic in it that touched me. It also gave me a lesson,\nfor it seemed that before me was a child, only a child, though the\nfeatures were worn, and the stubble on the jaws was white. It was\nevident that he was undergoing some process of mental disturbance,\nand knowing how his past moods had interpreted things seemingly\nforeign to himself, I thought I would enter into his mind as well\nas I could and go with him\nThe first step was to restore confidence, so I asked him,\nspeaking pretty loud so that he would hear me through his closed\nears,\"Would you like some sugar to get your flies around\nagain?\"\nHe seemed to wake up all at once, and shook his head. With a\nlaugh he replied, \"Not much! Flies are poor things, after all!\"\nAfter a pause he added, \"But I don't want their souls buzzing round\nme, all the same.\"After a pause he added, \"But I don't want their souls buzzing round\nme, all the same.\"\n\"Or spiders?\" I went on.\n\"Blow spiders! What's the use of spiders? There isn't anything\nin them to eat or … \" He stopped suddenly as though reminded\nof a forbidden topic.\n\"So, so!\" I thought to myself, \"this is the second time he has\nsuddenly stopped at the word `drink'. What does it mean?\"\nRenfield seemed himself aware of having made a lapse, for he\nhurried on, as though to distract my attention from it, \"I don't\ntake any stock at all in such matters. `Rats and mice and such\nsmall deer,' as Shakespeare has it, `chicken feed of the larder'\nthey might be called. I'm past all that sort of nonsense. You might\nas well ask a man to eat molecules with a pair of chopsticks, as to\ntry to interest me about the less carnivora, when I know of what is\nbefore me.\"\n\"I see,\" I said.\"You want big things that you can make your\nteeth meet in? How would you like to breakfast on an elephant?\"\n\"What ridiculous nonsense you are talking?\" He was getting too\nwide awake, so I thought I would press him hard.\n\"I wonder,\" I said reflectively, \"what an elephant's soul is\nlike!\"\nThe effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from his\nhigh-horse and became a child again.\n\"I don't want an elephant's soul, or any soul at all!\" he said.\nFor a few moments he sat despondently. Suddenly he jumped to his\nfeet, with his eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral\nexcitement. \"To hell with you and your souls!\" he shouted. \"Why do\nyou plague me about souls? Haven't I got enough to worry, and pain,\nto distract me already, without thinking of souls?\"\nHe looked so hostile that I thought he was in for another\nhomicidal fit, so I blew my whistle.\nThe instant, however, that I did so he became calm, and said\napologetically, \"Forgive me, Doctor. I forgot myself. You do not\nneed any help. I am so worried in my mind that I am apt to be\nirritable. If you only knew the problem I have to face, and that I"}
{"text": "irritable. If you only knew the problem I have to face, and that I\nam working out, you would pity, and tolerate, and pardon me. Pray\ndo not put me in a strait waistcoat. I want to think and I cannot\nthink freely when my body is confined. I am sure you will\nunderstand!\"\nHe had evidently self-control, so when the attendants came I\ntold them not to mind, and they withdrew. Renfield watched them go.\nWhen the door was closed he said with considerable dignity and\nsweetness, \"Dr. Seward, you have been very considerate towards me.\nBelieve me that I am very, very grateful to you!\"\nI thought it well to leave him in this mood, and so I came away.\nThere is certainly something to ponder over in this man's state.\nSeveral points seem to make what the American interviewer calls \"a\nstory,\" if one could only get them in proper order. Here they\nare:\nWill not mention \"drinking.\"\nFears the thought of being burdened with the \"soul\" of\nanything.\nHas no dread of wanting \"life\" in the future.\nDespises the meaner forms of life altogether, though he dreads\nbeing haunted by their souls.\nLogically all these things point one way! He has assurance of\nsome kind that he will acquire some higher life.\nHe dreads the consequence, the burden of a soul. Then it is a\nhuman life he looks to!\nAnd the assurance …  ?\nMerciful God! The Count has been to him, and there is some new\nscheme of terror afoot!\nLater.—I went after my round to Van Helsing and told him my\nsuspicion. He grew very grave, and after thinking the matter over\nfor a while asked me to take him to Renfield. I did so. As we came\nto the door we heard the lunatic within singing gaily, as he used\nto do in the time which now seems so long ago.\nWhen we entered we saw with amazement that he had spread out his\nsugar as of old. The flies, lethargic with the autumn, were\nbeginning to buzz into the room. We tried to make him talk of the\nsubject of our previous conversation, but he would not attend. He\nwent on with his singing, just as though we had not been present.went on with his singing, just as though we had not been present.\nHe had got a scrap of paper and was folding it into a notebook. We\nhad to come away as ignorant as we went in.\nHis is a curious case indeed. We must watch him tonight.\nLETTER, MITCHELL, SONS & CANDY TO LORD GODALMING.\n\"1 October. \"My Lord,\n\"We are at all times only too happy to meet your wishes. We beg,\nwith regard to the desire of your Lordship, expressed by Mr. Harker\non your behalf, to supply the following information concerning the\nsale and purchase of No.347,Piccadilly. The original vendors are\nthe executors of the late Mr. Archibald Winter-Suffield. The\npurchaser is a foreign nobleman, Count de Ville, who effected the\npurchase himself paying the purchase money in notes `over the\ncounter,' if your Lordship will pardon us using so vulgar an\nexpression. Beyond this we know nothing whatever of him.\n\"We are, my Lord,\n\"Your Lordship's humble servants,\n\"MITCHELL, SONS & CANDY.\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n2 October.—I placed a man in the corridor last night, and told\nhim to make an accurate note of any sound he might hear from\nRenfield's room, and gave him instructions that if there should be\nanything strange he was to call me. After dinner, when we had all\ngathered round the fire in the study, Mrs. Harker having gone to\nbed, we discussed the attempts and discoveries of the day. Harker\nwas the only one who had any result, and we are in great hopes that\nhis clue may be an important one.\nBefore going to bed I went round to the patient's room and\nlooked in through the observation trap. He was sleeping soundly,\nhis heart rose and fell with regular respiration.\nThis morning the man on duty reported to me that a little after\nmidnight he was restless and kept saying his prayers somewhat\nloudly. I asked him if that was all. He replied that it was all he\nheard. There was something about his manner, so suspicious that I\nasked him point blank if he had been asleep. He denied sleep, but\nadmitted to having \"dozed\" for a while. It is too bad that menadmitted to having \"dozed\" for a while. It is too bad that men\ncannot be trusted unless they are watched.\nToday Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and Quincey\nare looking after horses. Godalming thinks that it will be well to\nhave horses always in readiness, for when we get the information\nwhich we seek there will be no time to lose. We must sterilize all\nthe imported earth between sunrise and sunset. We shall thus catch\nthe Count at his weakest, and without a refuge to fly to. Van\nHelsing is off to the British Museum looking up some authorities on\nancient medicine. The old physicians took account of things which\ntheir followers do not accept, and the Professor is searching for\nwitch and demon cures which may be useful to us later.\nI sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to\nsanity in strait waistcoats.\nLater.—We have met again. We seem at last to be on the track,\nand our work of tomorrow may be the beginning of the end. I wonder\nif Renfield's quiet has anything to do with this. His moods have so\nfollowed the doings of the Count, that the coming destruction of\nthe monster may be carried to him some subtle way. If we could only\nget some hint as to what passed in his mind, between the time of my\nargument with him today and his resumption of fly-catching, it\nmight afford us a valuable clue. He is now seemingly quiet for a\nspell … Is he? That wild yell seemed to come from his\nroom …\nThe attendant came bursting into my room and told me that\nRenfield had somehow met with some accident. He had heard him yell,\nand when he went to him found him lying on his face on the floor,\nall covered with blood. I must go at once …"}
{"text": "3 October.—Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as\nwell as I can remember, since last I made an entry. Not a detail\nthat I can recall must be forgotten. In all calmness I must\nproceed.\nWhen I came to Renfield's room I found him lying on the floor on\nhis left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move\nhim, it became at once apparent that he had received some terrible\ninjuries. There seemed none of the unity of purpose between the\nparts of the body which marks even lethargic sanity. As the face\nwas exposed I could see that it was horribly bruised, as though it\nhad been beaten against the floor. Indeed it was from the face\nwounds that the pool of blood originated.\nThe attendant who was kneeling beside the body said to me as we\nturned him over, \"I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his\nright arm and leg and the whole side of his face are paralysed.\"\nHow such a thing could have happened puzzled the attendant beyond\nmeasure. He seemed quite bewildered, and his brows were gathered in\nas he said, \"I can't understand the two things. He could mark his\nface like that by beating his own head on the floor. I saw a young\nwoman do it once at the Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay\nhands on her. And I suppose he might have broken his neck by\nfalling out of bed, if he got in an awkward kink. But for the life\nof me I can't imagine how the two things occurred. If his back was\nbroke, he couldn't beat his head, and if his face was like that\nbefore the fall out of bed, there would be marks of it.\"\nI said to him, \"Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly\ncome here at once. I want him without an instant's delay.\"\nThe man ran off, and within a few minutes the Professor, in his\ndressing gown and slippers, appeared. When he saw Renfield on the\nground, he looked keenly at him a moment, and then turned to me. I\nthink he recognized my thought in my eyes, for he said very\nquietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant, \"Ah, a sad\naccident! He will need very careful watching, and much attention. Iaccident! He will need very careful watching, and much attention. I\nshall stay with you myself, but I shall first dress myself. If you\nwill remain I shall in a few minutes join you.\"\nThe patient was now breathing stertorously and it was easy to\nsee that he had suffered some terrible injury.\nVan Helsing returned with extraordinary celerity, bearing with\nhim a surgical case. He had evidently been thinking and had his\nmind made up, for almost before he looked at the patient, he\nwhispered to me, \"Send the attendant away. We must be alone with\nhim when he becomes conscious, after the operation.\"\nI said, \"I think that will do now, Simmons. We have done all\nthat we can at present. You had better go your round, and Dr. Van\nHelsing will operate. Let me know instantly if there be anything\nunusual anywhere.\"\nThe man withdrew, and we went into a strict examination of the\npatient. The wounds of the face were superficial. The real injury\nwas a depressed fracture of the skull, extending right up through\nthe motor area.\nThe Professor thought a moment and said,\"We must reduce the\npressure and get back to normal conditions, as far as can be. The\nrapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature of his injury.\nThe whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of the brain\nwill increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be too\nlate.\"\nAs he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I went\nover and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur and\nQuincey in pajamas and slippers, the former spoke, \"I heard your\nman call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident. So I woke\nQuincey or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Things are\nmoving too quickly and too strangely for sound sleep for any of us\nthese times. I've been thinking that tomorrow night will not see\nthings as they have been. We'll have to look back, and forward a\nlittle more than we have done. May we come in?\"\nI nodded, and held the door open till they had entered, then II nodded, and held the door open till they had entered, then I\nclosed it again. When Quincey saw the attitude and state of the\npatient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, he said softly,\n\"My God! What has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!\"\nI told him briefly, and added that we expected he would recover\nconsciousness after the operation, for a short time, at all events.\nHe went at once and sat down on the edge of the bed, with Godalming\nbeside him. We all watched in patience.\n\"We shall wait,\" said Van Helsing, \"just long enough to fix the\nbest spot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly\nremove the blood clot, for it is evident that the haemorrhage is\nincreasing.\"\nThe minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness.\nI had a horrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing's face I\ngathered that he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to\ncome. I dreaded the words Renfield might speak. I was positively\nafraid to think. But the conviction of what was coming was on me,\nas I have read of men who have heard the death watch. The poor\nman's breathing came in uncertain gasps.Each instant he seemed as\nthough he would open his eyes and speak, but then would follow a\nprolonged stertorous breath, and he would relapse into a more fixed\ninsensibility. Inured as I was to sick beds and death, this\nsuspense grew and grew upon me. I could almost hear the beating of\nmy own heart, and the blood surging through my temples sounded like\nblows from a hammer. The silence finally became agonizing. I looked\nat my companions, one after another, and saw from their flushed\nfaces and damp brows that they were enduring equal torture. There\nwas a nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead some dread\nbell would peal out powerfully when we should least expect it.\nAt last there came a time when it was evident that the patient\nwas sinking fast. He might die at any moment. I looked up at the\nProfessor and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly"}
{"text": "Professor and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly\nset as he spoke, \"There is no time to lose. His words may be worth\nmany lives. I have been thinking so, as I stood here. It may be\nthere is a soul at stake! We shall operate just above the ear.\"\nWithout another word he made the operation. For a few moments\nthe breathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath\nso prolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest.\nSuddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless\nstare. This was continued for a few moments, then it was softened\ninto a glad surprise, and from his lips came a sigh of relief. He\nmoved convulsively, and as he did so, said, \"I'll be quiet, Doctor.\nTell them to take off the strait waistcoat. I have had a terrible\ndream, and it has left me so weak that I cannot move. What's wrong\nwith my face? It feels all swollen, and it smarts dreadfully.\"\nHe tried to turn his head, but even with the effort his eyes\nseemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then Van\nHelsing said in a quiet grave tone, \"Tell us your dream, Mr.\nRenfield.\"\nAs he heard the voice his face brightened, through its\nmutilation, and he said, \"That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is\nof you to be here. Give me some water, my lips are dry, and I shall\ntry to tell you. I dreamed\" …\nHe stopped and seemed fainting. I called quietly to Quincey,\n\"The brandy, it is in my study, quick!\" He flew and returned with a\nglass, the decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened\nthe parched lips, and the patient quickly revived.\nIt seemed, however, that his poor injured brain had been working\nin the interval, for when he was quite conscious, he looked at me\npiercingly with an agonized confusion which I shall never forget,\nand said, \"I must not deceive myself. It was no dream, but all a\ngrim reality.\" Then his eyes roved round the room. As they caught\nsight of the two figures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed\nhe went on, \"If I were not sure already, I would know from\nthem.\"he went on, \"If I were not sure already, I would know from\nthem.\"\nFor an instant his eyes closed, not with pain or sleep but\nvoluntarily, as though he were bringing all his faculties to bear.\nWhen he opened them he said, hurriedly, and with more energy than\nhe had yet displayed, \"Quick, Doctor, quick, I am dying! I feel\nthat I have but a few minutes, and then I must go back to death, or\nworse! Wet my lips with brandy again. I have something that I must\nsay before I die. Or before my poor crushed brain dies anyhow.\nThank you! It was that night after you left me, when I implored you\nto let me go away. I couldn't speak then, for I felt my tongue was\ntied. But I was as sane then, except in that way, as I am now. I\nwas in an agony of despair for a long time after you left me, it\nseemed hours. Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brain seemed\nto become cool again, and I realized where I was. I heard the dogs\nbark behind our house, but not where He was!\"\nAs he spoke, Van Helsing's eyes never blinked, but his hand came\nout and met mine and gripped it hard. He did not, however, betray\nhimself. He nodded slightly and said, \"Go on,\" in a low voice.\nRenfield proceeded. \"He came up to the window in the mist, as I\nhad seen him often before, but he was solid then, not a ghost, and\nhis eyes were fierce like a man's when angry. He was laughing with\nhis red mouth, the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when\nhe turned to look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs\nwere barking. I wouldn't ask him to come in at first, though I knew\nhe wanted to, just as he had wanted all along. Then he began\npromising me things, not in words but by doing them.\"\nHe was interrupted by a word from the Professor, \"How?\"\n\"By making them happen. Just as he used to send in the flies\nwhen the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and\nsapphire on their wings. And big moths, in the night, with skull\nand cross-bones on their backs.\"\nVan Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously,and cross-bones on their backs.\"\nVan Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously,\n\"The Acherontia Atropos of the Sphinges, what you call the\n`Death's-head Moth'?\"\nThe patient went on without stopping, \"Then he began to\nwhisper.`Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands, millions of them,\nand every one a life. And dogs to eat them, and cats too. All\nlives! All red blood, with years of life in it, and not merely\nbuzzing flies!' I laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could\ndo. Then the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house.\nHe beckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He\nraised his hands,and seemed to call out without using any words. A\ndark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a\nflame of fire. And then He moved the mist to the right and left,\nand I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes\nblazing red, like His only smaller. He held up his hand, and they\nall stopped, and I thought he seemed to be saying, `All these lives\nwill I give you, ay, and many more and greater, through countless\nages, if you will fall down and worship me!' And then a red cloud,\nlike the color of blood, seemed to close over my eyes, and before I\nknew what I was doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying\nto Him, `Come in, Lord and Master!' The rats were all gone, but He\nslid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an\ninch wide, just as the Moon herself has often come in through the\ntiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size and\nsplendor.\"\nHis voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy\nagain, and he continued, but it seemed as though his memory had\ngone on working in the interval for his story was further advanced.\nI was about to call him back to the point, but Van Helsing\nwhispered to me, \"Let him go on. Do not interrupt him. He cannot go\nback, and maybe could not proceed at all if once he lost the thread\nof his thought.\"\nHe proceeded, \"All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not"}
{"text": "of his thought.\"\nHe proceeded, \"All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not\nsend me anything, not even a blowfly, and when the moon got up I\nwas pretty angry with him. When he did slide in through the window,\nthough it was shut, and did not even knock, I got mad with him. He\nsneered at me, and his white face looked out of the mist with his\nred eyes gleaming, and he went on as though he owned the whole\nplace, and I was no one. He didn't even smell the same as he went\nby me. I couldn't hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs. Harker\nhad come into the room.\"\nThe two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing\nbehind him so that he could not see them, but where they could hear\nbetter. They were both silent, but the Professor started and\nquivered. His face, however, grew grimmer and sterner still.\nRenfield went on without noticing, \"When Mrs. Harker came in to see\nme this afternoon she wasn't the same. It was like tea after the\nteapot has been watered.\" Here we all moved, but no one said a\nword.\nHe went on, \"I didn't know that she was here till she spoke, and\nshe didn't look the same. I don't care for the pale people. I like\nthem with lots of blood in them, and hers all seemed to have run\nout. I didn't think of it at the time, but when she went away I\nbegan to think, and it made me mad to know that He had been taking\nthe life out of her.\" I could feel that the rest quivered, as I\ndid. But we remained otherwise still. \"So when He came tonight I\nwas ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it\ntight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength. And as I\nknew I was a madman, at times anyhow, I resolved to use my power.\nAy, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to\nstruggle with me. I held tight, and I thought I was going to win,\nfor I didn't mean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His\neyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water. He\nslipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, He raised meslipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, He raised me\nup and flung me down. There was a red cloud before me, and a noise\nlike thunder,and the mist seemed to steal away under the door.\"\nHis voice was becoming fainter and his breath more stertorous.\nVan Helsing stood up instinctively.\n\"We know the worst now,\" he said. \"He is here, and we know his\npurpose. It may not be too late. Let us be armed, the same as we\nwere the other night, but lose no time, there is not an instant to\nspare.\"\nThere was no need to put our fear, nay our conviction, into\nwords, we shared them in common. We all hurried and took from our\nrooms the same things that we had when we entered the Count's\nhouse. The Professor had his ready, and as we met in the corridor\nhe pointed to them significantly as he said, \"They never leave me,\nand they shall not till this unhappy business is over. Be wise\nalso, my friends. It is no common enemy that we deal with Alas!\nAlas! That dear Madam Mina should suffer!\" He stopped, his voice\nwas breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated in\nmy own heart.\nOutside the Harkers' door we paused. Art and Quincey held back,\nand the latter said, \"Should we disturb her?\"\n\"We must,\" said Van Helsing grimly. \"If the door be locked, I\nshall break it in.\"\n\"May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break into a\nlady's room!\"\nVan Helsing said solemnly, \"You are always right. But this is\nlife and death. All chambers are alike to the doctor. And even were\nthey not they are all as one to me tonight. Friend John, when I\nturn the handle, if the door does not open, do you put your\nshoulder down and shove. And you too, my friends. Now!\"\nHe turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We\nthrew ourselves against it. With a crash it burst open, and we\nalmost fell headlong into the room. The Professor did actually\nfall, and I saw across him as he gathered himself up from hands and\nknees. What I saw appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles onknees. What I saw appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on\nthe back of my neck, and my heart seemed to stand still.\nThe moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind\nthe room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay\nJonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though\nin a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards\nwas the white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall,\nthin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the\ninstant we saw we all recognized the Count, in every way, even to\nthe scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs.\nHarker's hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension.\nHis right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her\nface down on his bosom. Her white night-dress was smeared with\nblood, and a thin stream trickled down the man's bare chest which\nwas shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a\nterrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten's nose into a\nsaucer of milk to compel it to drink. As we burst into the room,\nthe Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard\ndescribed seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish\npassion. The great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide\nand quivered at the edge, and the white sharp teeth, behind the\nfull lips of the blood dripping mouth, clamped together like those\nof a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his victim back upon\nthe bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us.\nBut by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding\ntowards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The\nCount suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the\ntomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we,\nlifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as\na great black cloud sailed across the sky. And when the gaslight\nsprang up under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapor."}
{"text": "sprang up under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapor.\nThis, as we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil\nfrom its bursting open, had swung back to its old position. Van\nHelsing, Art, and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time\nhad drawn her breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so\near-piercing, so despairing that it seems to me now that it will\nring in my ears till my dying day. For a few seconds she lay in her\nhelpless attitude and disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor\nwhich was accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and\ncheeks and chin. From her throat trickled a thin stream of blood.\nHer eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face her\npoor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of\nthe Count's terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate\nwail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression\nof an endless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the\ncoverlet gently over her body, whilst Art, after looking at her\nface for an instant despairingly, ran out of the room.\nVan Helsing whispered to me, \"Jonathan is in a stupor such as we\nknow the Vampire can produce. We can do nothing with poor Madam\nMina for a few moments till she recovers herself. I must wake\nhim!\"\nHe dipped the end of a towel in cold water and with it began to\nflick him on the face, his wife all the while holding her face\nbetween her hands and sobbing in a way that was heart breaking to\nhear. I raised the blind, and looked out of the window. There was\nmuch moonshine, and as I looked I could see Quincey Morris run\nacross the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a great yew tree.\nIt puzzled me to think why he was doing this. But at the instant I\nheard Harker's quick exclamation as he woke to partial\nconsciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might\nwell be, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few\nseconds, and then full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all\nat once, and he started up.seconds, and then full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all\nat once, and he started up.\nHis wife was aroused by the quick movement, and turned to him\nwith her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him. Instantly,\nhowever, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together,\nheld her hands before her face,and shuddered till the bed beneath\nher shook.\n\"In God's name what does this mean?\" Harker cried out. \"Dr.\nSeward, Dr. Van Helsing, what is it? What has happened? What is\nwrong? Mina, dear what is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my\nGod! Has it come to this!\" And, raising himself to his knees, he\nbeat his hands wildly together.\"Good God help us! Help her! Oh,\nhelp her!\"\nWith a quick movement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on\nhis clothes, all the man in him awake at the need for instant\nexertion. \"What has happened? Tell me all about it!\" he cried\nwithout pausing. \"Dr. Van Helsing you love Mina, I know. Oh, do\nsomething to save her. It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard her\nwhile I look for him!\"\nHis wife, through her terror and horror and distress, saw some\nsure danger to him. Instantly forgetting her own grief, she seized\nhold of him and cried out.\n\"No! No! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough\ntonight, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must\nstay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!\" Her\nexpression became frantic as she spoke. And, he yielding to her,\nshe pulled him down sitting on the bedside, and clung to him\nfiercely.\nVan Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up\nhis golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness, \"Do not\nfear, my dear. We are here, and whilst this is close to you no foul\nthing can approach. You are safe for tonight, and we must be calm\nand take counsel together.\"\nShe shuddered and was silent, holding down her head on her\nhusband's breast. When she raised it, his white nightrobe was\nstained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thinstained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thin\nopen wound in the neck had sent forth drops. The instant she saw it\nshe drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking\nsobs.\n\"Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh,\nthat it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom\nhe may have most cause to fear.\"\nTo this he spoke out resolutely, \"Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame\nto me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you. And I shall\nnot hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me\nwith more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or\nwill of mine anything ever come between us!\"\nHe put out his arms and folded her to his breast. And for a\nwhile she lay there sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head,\nwith eyes that blinked damply above his quivering nostrils. His\nmouth was set as steel.\nAfter a while her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and\nthen he said to me, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt\ntried his nervous power to the utmost.\n\"And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the\nbroad fact. Tell me all that has been.\"\nI told him exactly what had happened and he listened with\nseeming impassiveness, but his nostrils twitched and his eyes\nblazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his\nwife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to the\nopen wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, to\nsee that whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively\nover the bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the\nruffled hair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and Godalming knocked\nat the door. They entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing\nlooked at me questioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to\ntake advantage of their coming to divert if possible the thoughts\nof the unhappy husband and wife from each other and from\nthemselves. So on nodding acquiescence to him he asked them what"}
{"text": "themselves. So on nodding acquiescence to him he asked them what\nthey had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming answered.\n\"I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our\nrooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been there, he had\ngone. He had, however … \" He stopped suddenly, looking at the\npoor drooping figure on the bed.\nVan Helsing said gravely, \"Go on, friend Arthur. We want here no\nmore concealments. Our hope now is in knowing all. Tell\nfreely!\"\nSo Art went on, \"He had been there, and though it could only\nhave been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the\nmanuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering\namongst the white ashes. The cylinders of your phonograph too were\nthrown on the fire, and the wax had helped the flames.\"\nHere I interrupted. \"Thank God there is the other copy in the\nsafe!\"\nHis face lit for a moment, but fell again as he went on. \"I ran\ndownstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I looked into\nRenfield's room, but there was no trace there except … \" Again\nhe paused.\n\"Go on,\" said Harker hoarsely. So he bowed his head and\nmoistening his lips with his tongue, added, \"except that the poor\nfellow is dead.\"\nMrs. Harker raised her head, looking from one to the other of us\nshe said solemnly, \"God's will be done!\"\nI could not but feel that Art was keeping back something. But,\nas I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing.\nVan Helsing turned to Morris and asked,\"And you, friend Quincey,\nhave you any to tell?\"\n\"A little,\" he answered. \"It may be much eventually, but at\npresent I can't say. I thought it well to know if possible where\nthe Count would go when he left the house. I did not see him, but I\nsaw a bat rise from Renfield's window, and flap westward. I\nexpected to see him in some shape go back to Carfax, but he\nevidently sought some other lair. He will not be back tonight, for\nthe sky is reddening in the east, and the dawn is close. We must\nwork tomorrow!\"\nHe said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space ofwork tomorrow!\"\nHe said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of\nperhaps a couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy\nthat I could hear the sound of our hearts beating.\nThen Van Helsing said, placing his hand tenderly on Mrs.\nHarker's head, \"And now, Madam Mina, poor dear, dear, Madam Mina,\ntell us exactly what happened. God knows that I do not want that\nyou be pained, but it is need that we know all. For now more than\never has all work to be done quick and sharp, and in deadly\nearnest. The day is close to us that must end all, if it may be so,\nand now is the chance that we may live and learn.\"\nThe poor dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her\nnerves as she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head\nlower and lower still on his breast. Then she raised her head\nproudly, and held out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his,\nand after stooping and kissing it reverently, held it fast. The\nother hand was locked in that of her husband, who held his other\narm thrown round her protectingly. After a pause in which she was\nevidently ordering her thoughts, she began.\n\"I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me,\nbut for a long time it did not act. I seemed to become more\nwakeful, and myriads of horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my\nmind. All of them connected with death, and vampires, with blood,\nand pain, and trouble.\" Her husband involuntarily groaned as she\nturned to him and said lovingly, \"Do not fret, dear. You must be\nbrave and strong, and help me through the horrible task. If you\nonly knew what an effort it is to me to tell of this fearful thing\nat all, you would understand how much I need your help. Well, I saw\nI must try to help the medicine to its work with my will, if it was\nto do me any good, so I resolutely set myself to sleep. Sure enough\nsleep must soon have come to me, for I remember no more. Jonathan\ncoming in had not waked me, for he lay by my side when next I\nremember. There was in the room the same thin white mist that I hadremember. There was in the room the same thin white mist that I had\nbefore noticed. But I forget now if you know of this. You will find\nit in my diary which I shall show you later. I felt the same vague\nterror which had come to me before and the same sense of some\npresence. I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so\nsoundly that it seemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping\ndraught, and not I. I tried, but I could not wake him. This caused\nme a great fear, and I looked around terrified. Then indeed, my\nheart sank within me. Beside the bed, as if he had stepped out of\nthe mist, or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure, for\nit had entirely disappeared, stood a tall, thin man, all in black.\nI knew him at once from the description of the others. The waxen\nface, the high aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin\nwhite line, the parted red lips, with the sharp white teeth showing\nbetween, and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the sunset on\nthe windows of St. Mary's Church at Witby. I knew, too, the red\nscar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant\nmy heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I\nwas paralyzed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting\nwhisper, pointing as he spoke to Jonathan.\n\"`Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his\nbrains out before your very eyes.' I was appalled and was too\nbewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed\none hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat\nwith the other, saying as he did so, `First, a little refreshment\nto reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet. It is not the\nfirst time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my\nthirst!' I was bewildered, and strangely enough, I did not want to\nhinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such\nis, when his touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity\nme! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!\" Her husband groaned"}
{"text": "me! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!\" Her husband groaned\nagain. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as\nif he were the injured one, and went on.\n\"I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How\nlong this horrible thing lasted I know not, but it seemed that a\nlong time must have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering\nmouth away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!\"The remembrance\nseemed for a while to overpower her, and she drooped and would have\nsunk down but for her husband's sustaining arm. With a great effort\nshe recovered herself and went on.\n\"Then he spoke to me mockingly, `And so you, like the others,\nwould play your brains against mine. You would help these men to\nhunt me and frustrate me in my design! You know now, and they know\nin part already, and will know in full before long, what it is to\ncross my path. They should have kept their energies for use closer\nto home. Whilst they played wits against me, against me who\ncommanded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them,\nhundreds of years before they were born, I was countermining them.\nAnd you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh,\nblood of my blood, kin of my kin, my bountiful wine-press for a\nwhile, and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall\nbe avenged in turn, for not one of them but shall minister to your\nneeds. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done.\nYou have aided in thwarting me. Now you shall come to my call. When\nmy brain says \"Come!\" to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my\nbidding. And to that end this!'\nWith that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp\nnails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt\nout, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with\nthe other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that\nI must either suffocate or swallow some to the … Oh, my God!\nMy God! What have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate,My God! What have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate,\nI who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days.\nGod pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril.\nAnd in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!\" Then she began to rub\nher lips as though to cleanse them from pollution.\nAs she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky began to\nquicken, and everything became more and more clear. Harker was\nstill and quiet. But over his face, as the awful narrative went on,\ncame a grey look which deepened and deepened in the morning light,\ntill when the first red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the\nflesh stood darkly out against the whitening hair.\nWe have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the\nunhappy pair till we can meet together and arrange about taking\naction.\nOf this I am sure. The sun rises today on no more miserable\nhouse in all the great round of its daily course.3 October.—As I must do something or go mad, I write this diary.\nIt is now six o'clock, and we are to meet in the study in half an\nhour and take something to eat, for Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward\nare agreed that if we do not eat we cannot work our best. Our best\nwill be, God knows, required today. I must keep writing at every\nchance, for I dare not stop to think. All, big and little, must go\ndown. Perhaps at the end the little things may teach us most. The\nteaching, big or little, could not have landed Mina or me anywhere\nworse than we are today. However, we must trust and hope. Poor Mina\ntold me just now, with the tears running down her dear cheeks, that\nit is in trouble and trial that our faith is tested. That we must\nkeep on trusting, and that God will aid us up to the end. The end!\nOh my God! What end? … To work! To work!\nWhen Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward had come back from seeing\npoor Renfield, we went gravely into what was to be done. First, Dr.\nSeward told us that when he and Dr. Van Helsing had gone down to\nthe room below they had found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a\nheap. His face was all bruised and crushed in, and the bones of the\nneck were broken.\nDr. Seward asked the attendant who was on duty in the passage if\nhe had heard anything. He said that he had been sitting down, he\nconfessed to half dozing, when he heard loud voices in the room,\nand then Renfield had called out loudly several times, \"God! God!\nGod!\" After that there was a sound of falling, and when he entered\nthe room he found him lying on the floor, face down, just as the\ndoctors had seen him. Van Helsing asked if he had heard \"voices\" or\n\"a voice,\" and he said he could not say. That at first it had\nseemed to him as if there were two, but as there was no one in the\nroom it could have been only one. He could swear to it, if\nrequired, that the word \"God\" was spoken by the patient.\nDr. Seward said to us, when we were alone, that he did not wish\nto go into the matter. The question of an inquest had to beto go into the matter. The question of an inquest had to be\nconsidered, and it would never do to put forward the truth, as no\none would believe it. As it was, he thought that on the attendant's\nevidence he could give a certificate of death by misadventure in\nfalling from bed. In case the coroner should demand it, there would\nbe a formal inquest, necessarily to the same result.\nWhen the question began to be discussed as to what should be our\nnext step, the very first thing we decided was that Mina should be\nin full confidence. That nothing of any sort, no matter how\npainful, should be kept from her. She herself agreed as to its\nwisdom, and it was pitiful to see her so brave and yet so\nsorrowful, and in such a depth of despair.\n\"There must be no concealment,\" she said. \"Alas! We have had too\nmuch already. And besides there is nothing in all the world that\ncan give me more pain than I have already endured, than I suffer\nnow! Whatever may happen, it must be of new hope or of new courage\nto me!\"\nVan Helsing was looking at her fixedly as she spoke, and said,\nsuddenly but quietly, \"But dear Madam Mina, are you not afraid. Not\nfor yourself, but for others from yourself, after what has\nhappened?\"\nHer face grew set in its lines, but her eyes shone with the\ndevotion of a martyr as she answered, \"Ah no! For my mind is made\nup!\"\n\"To what?\" he asked gently, whilst we were all very still, for\neach in our own way we had a sort of vague idea of what she\nmeant.\nHer answer came with direct simplicity, as though she was simply\nstating a fact, \"Because if I find in myself, and I shall watch\nkeenly for it, a sign of harm to any that I love, I shall die!\"\n\"You would not kill yourself?\" he asked, hoarsely.\n\"I would. If there were no friend who loved me, who would save\nme such a pain, and so desperate an effort!\" She looked at him\nmeaningly as she spoke.\nHe was sitting down, but now he rose and came close to her and\nput his hand on her head as he said solemnly. \"My child, there is"}
{"text": "put his hand on her head as he said solemnly. \"My child, there is\nsuch an one if it were for your good. For myself I could hold it in\nmy account with God to find such an euthanasia for you, even at\nthis moment if it were best. Nay, were it safe! But my child …\n\"\nFor a moment he seemed choked, and a great sob rose in his\nthroat. He gulped it down and went on, \"There are here some who\nwould stand between you and death. You must not die. You must not\ndie by any hand, but least of all your own. Until the other, who\nhas fouled your sweet life, is true dead you must not die. For if\nhe is still with the quick Undead, your death would make you even\nas he is. No, you must live! You must struggle and strive to live,\nthough death would seem a boon unspeakable. You must fight Death\nhimself, though he come to you in pain or in joy. By the day, or\nthe night, in safety or in peril! On your living soul I charge you\nthat you do not die. Nay, nor think of death, till this great evil\nbe past.\"\nThe poor dear grew white as death, and shook and shivered, as I\nhave seen a quicksand shake and shiver at the incoming of the tide.\nWe were all silent. We could do nothing. At length she grew more\ncalm and turning to him said sweetly, but oh so sorrowfully, as she\nheld out her hand, \"I promise you, my dear friend, that if God will\nlet me live, I shall strive to do so. Till, if it may be in His\ngood time, this horror may have passed away from me.\"\nShe was so good and brave that we all felt that our hearts were\nstrengthened to work and endure for her, and we began to discuss\nwhat we were to do. I told her that she was to have all the papers\nin the safe, and all the papers or diaries and phonographs we might\nhereafter use, and was to keep the record as she had done before.\nShe was pleased with the prospect of anything to do, if \"pleased\"\ncould be used in connection with so grim an interest.\nAs usual Van Helsing had thought ahead of everyone else, and was\nprepared with an exact ordering of our work.prepared with an exact ordering of our work.\n\"It is perhaps well,\" he said, \"that at our meeting after our\nvisit to Carfax we decided not to do anything with the earth boxes\nthat lay there. Had we done so, the Count must have guessed our\npurpose, and would doubtless have taken measures in advance to\nfrustrate such an effort with regard to the others. But now he does\nnot know our intentions. Nay, more, in all probability, he does not\nknow that such a power exists to us as can sterilize his lairs, so\nthat he cannot use them as of old.\n\"We are now so much further advanced in our knowledge as to\ntheir disposition that, when we have examined the house in\nPiccadilly, we may track the very last of them. Today then, is\nours, and in it rests our hope. The sun that rose on our sorrow\nthis morning guards us in its course. Until it sets tonight, that\nmonster must retain whatever form he now has. He is confined within\nthe limitations of his earthly envelope. He cannot melt into thin\nair nor disappear through cracks or chinks or crannies. If he go\nthrough a doorway, he must open the door like a mortal. And so we\nhave this day to hunt out all his lairs and sterilize them. So we\nshall, if we have not yet catch him and destroy him, drive him to\nbay in some place where the catching and the destroying shall be,\nin time, sure.\"\nHere I started up for I could not contain myself at the thought\nthat the minutes and seconds so preciously laden with Mina's life\nand happiness were flying from us, since whilst we talked action\nwas impossible. But Van Helsing held up his hand warningly.\n\"Nay, friend Jonathan,\" he said, \"in this, the quickest way home\nis the longest way, so your proverb say. We shall all act and act\nwith desperate quick, when the time has come. But think, in all\nprobable the key of the situation is in that house in Piccadilly.\nThe Count may have many houses which he has bought. Of them he will\nhave deeds of purchase, keys and other things. He will have paper\nthat he write on. He will have his book of cheques. There are manythat he write on. He will have his book of cheques. There are many\nbelongings that he must have somewhere. Why not in this place so\ncentral, so quiet, where he come and go by the front or the back at\nall hours, when in the very vast of the traffic there is none to\nnotice. We shall go there and search that house. And when we learn\nwhat it holds, then we do what our friend Arthur call, in his\nphrases of hunt `stop the earths' and so we run down our old fox,\nso? Is it not?\"\n\"Then let us come at once,\" I cried, \"we are wasting the\nprecious, precious time!\"\nThe Professor did not move, but simply said, \"And how are we to\nget into that house in Piccadilly?\"\n\"Any way!\" I cried. \"We shall break in if need be.\"\n\"And your police? Where will they be, and what will they\nsay?\"\nI was staggered, but I knew that if he wished to delay he had a\ngood reason for it. So I said, as quietly as I could, \"Don't wait\nmore than need be. You know, I am sure, what torture I am in.\"\n\"Ah, my child, that I do. And indeed there is no wish of me to\nadd to your anguish. But just think, what can we do, until all the\nworld be at movement. Then will come our time. I have thought and\nthought, and it seems to me that the simplest way is the best of\nall. Now we wish to get into the house, but we have no key. Is it\nnot so?\"I nodded.\n\"Now suppose that you were, in truth, the owner of that house,\nand could not still get in. And think there was to you no\nconscience of the housebreaker, what would you do?\"\n\"I should get a respectable locksmith, and set him to work to\npick the lock for me.\"\n\"And your police, they would interfere, would they not?\"\n\"Oh no! Not if they knew the man was properly employed.\"\n\"Then,\" he looked at me as keenly as he spoke, \"all that is in\ndoubt is the conscience of the employer, and the belief of your\npolicemen as to whether or not that employer has a good conscience\nor a bad one. Your police must indeed be zealous men and clever, oh\nso clever, in reading the heart, that they trouble themselves in"}
{"text": "so clever, in reading the heart, that they trouble themselves in\nsuch matter. No, no, my friend Jonathan, you go take the lock off a\nhundred empty houses in this your London, or of any city in the\nworld, and if you do it as such things are rightly done, and at the\ntime such things are rightly done, no one will interfere. I have\nread of a gentleman who owned a so fine house in London, and when\nhe went for months of summer to Switzerland and lock up his house,\nsome burglar come and broke window at back and got in. Then he went\nand made open the shutters in front and walk out and in through the\ndoor, before the very eyes of the police. Then he have an auction\nin that house, and advertise it, and put up big notice. And when\nthe day come he sell off by a great auctioneer all the goods of\nthat other man who own them. Then he go to a builder, and he sell\nhim that house, making an agreement that he pull it down and take\nall away within a certain time. And your police and other authority\nhelp him all they can. And when that owner come back from his\nholiday in Switzerland he find only an empty hole where his house\nhad been. This was all done en regle, and in our work we shall be\nen regle too. We shall not go so early that the policemen who have\nthen little to think of, shall deem it strange. But we shall go\nafter ten o'clock, when there are many about, and such things would\nbe done were we indeed owners of the house.\"\nI could not but see how right he was and the terrible despair of\nMina's face became relaxed in thought. There was hope in such good\ncounsel.\nVan Helsing went on, \"When once within that house we may find\nmore clues. At any rate some of us can remain there whilst the rest\nfind the other places where there be more earth boxes, at\nBermondsey and Mile End.\"\nLord Godalming stood up. \"I can be of some use here,\" he said.\n\"I shall wire to my people to have horses and carriages where they\nwill be most convenient.\"\n\"Look here, old fellow,\" said Morris, \"it is a capital idea towill be most convenient.\"\n\"Look here, old fellow,\" said Morris, \"it is a capital idea to\nhave all ready in case we want to go horse backing, but don't you\nthink that one of your snappy carriages with its heraldic\nadornments in a byway of Walworth or Mile End would attract too\nmuch attention for our purpose? It seems to me that we ought to\ntake cabs when we go south or east. And even leave them somewhere\nnear the neighborhood we are going to.\"\n\"Friend Quincey is right!\" said the Professor. \"His head is what\nyou call in plane with the horizon. It is a difficult thing that we\ngo to do, and we do not want no peoples to watch us if so it\nmay.\"\nMina took a growing interest in everything and I was rejoiced to\nsee that the exigency of affairs was helping her to forget for a\ntime the terrible experience of the night. She was very, very pale,\nalmost ghastly, and so thin that her lips were drawn away, showing\nher teeth in somewhat of prominence. I did not mention this last,\nlest it should give her needless pain, but it made my blood run\ncold in my veins to think of what had occurred with poor Lucy when\nthe Count had sucked her blood. As yet there was no sign of the\nteeth growing sharper, but the time as yet was short, and there was\ntime for fear.\nWhen we came to the discussion of the sequence of our efforts\nand of the disposition of our forces, there were new sources of\ndoubt. It was finally agreed that before starting for Piccadilly we\nshould destroy the Count's lair close at hand. In case he should\nfind it out too soon, we should thus be still ahead of him in our\nwork of destruction. And his presence in his purely material shape,\nand at his weakest, might give us some new clue.\nAs to the disposal of forces, it was suggested by the Professor\nthat, after our visit to Carfax, we should all enter the house in\nPiccadilly. That the two doctors and I should remain there, whilst\nLord Godalming and Quincey found the lairs at Walworth and Mile End\nand destroyed them. It was possible, if not likely, the Professorand destroyed them. It was possible, if not likely, the Professor\nurged, that the Count might appear in Piccadilly during the day,\nand that if so we might be able to cope with him then and there. At\nany rate, we might be able to follow him in force. To this plan I\nstrenuously objected, and so far as my going was concerned, for I\nsaid that I intended to stay and protect Mina. I thought that my\nmind was made up on the subject, but Mina would not listen to my\nobjection. She said that there might be some law matter in which I\ncould be useful. That amongst the Count's papers might be some clue\nwhich I could understand out of my experience in Transylvania. And\nthat, as it was, all the strength we could muster was required to\ncope with the Count's extraordinary power. I had to give in, for\nMina's resolution was fixed. She said that it was the last hope for\nher that we should all work together.\n\"As for me,\" she said, \"I have no fear. Things have been as bad\nas they can be. And whatever may happen must have in it some\nelement of hope or comfort. Go, my husband! God can, if He wishes\nit, guard me as well alone as with any one present.\"\nSo I started up crying out, \"Then in God's name let us come at\nonce, for we are losing time. The Count may come to Piccadilly\nearlier than we think.\"\n\"Not so!\" said Van Helsing, holding up his hand.\n\"But why?\" I asked.\n\"Do you forget,\" he said, with actually a smile, \"that last\nnight he banqueted heavily, and will sleep late?\"\nDid I forget! Shall I ever … can I ever! Can any of us ever\nforget that terrible scene! Mina struggled hard to keep her brave\ncountenance, but the pain overmastered her and she put her hands\nbefore her face, and shuddered whilst she moaned. Van Helsing had\nnot intended to recall her frightful experience. He had simply lost\nsight of her and her part in the affair in his intellectual\neffort.\nWhen it struck him what he said, he was horrified at his\nthoughtlessness and tried to comfort her.\n\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said,\"dear, dear, Madam Mina, alas! That I"}
{"text": "\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said,\"dear, dear, Madam Mina, alas! That I\nof all who so reverence you should have said anything so forgetful.\nThese stupid old lips of mine and this stupid old head do not\ndeserve so, but you will forget it, will you not?\" He bent low\nbeside her as he spoke.\nShe took his hand, and looking at him through her tears, said\nhoarsely, \"No, I shall not forget, for it is well that I remember.\nAnd with it I have so much in memory of you that is sweet, that I\ntake it all together. Now, you must all be going soon. Breakfast is\nready, and we must all eat that we may be strong.\"\nBreakfast was a strange meal to us all. We tried to be cheerful\nand encourage each other, and Mina was the brightest and most\ncheerful of us. When it was over, Van Helsing stood up and said,\n\"Now, my dear friends, we go forth to our terrible enterprise. Are\nwe all armed, as we were on that night when first we visited our\nenemy's lair. Armed against ghostly as well as carnal attack?\"\nWe all assured him.\n\"Then it is well. Now, Madam Mina, you are in any case quite\nsafe here until the sunset. And before then we shall return …\nif … We shall return! But before we go let me see you armed\nagainst personal attack. I have myself, since you came down,\nprepared your chamber by the placing of things of which we know, so\nthat He may not enter. Now let me guard yourself. On your forehead\nI touch this piece of Sacred Wafer in the name of the Father, the\nSon, and …\nThere was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts to\nhear. As he had placed the Wafer on Mina's forehead, it had seared\nit … had burned into the flesh as though it had been a piece\nof whitehot metal. My poor darling's brain had told her the\nsignificance of the fact as quickly as her nerves received the pain\nof it, and the two so overwhelmed her that her overwrought nature\nhad its voice in that dreadful scream.\nBut the words to her thought came quickly. The echo of the\nscream had not ceased to ring on the air when there came thescream had not ceased to ring on the air when there came the\nreaction, and she sank on her knees on the floor in an agony of\nabasement. Pulling her beautiful hair over her face, as the leper\nof old his mantle, she wailed out.\n\"Unclean! Unclean! Even the Almighty shuns my polluted flesh! I\nmust bear this mark of shame upon my forehead until the Judgement\nDay.\"\nThey all paused. I had thrown myself beside her in an agony of\nhelpless grief, and putting my arms around held her tight. For a\nfew minutes our sorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends\naround us turned away their eyes that ran tears silently. Then Van\nHelsing turned and said gravely. So gravely that I could not help\nfeeling that he was in some way inspired, and was stating things\noutside himself.\n\"It may be that you may have to bear that mark till God himself\nsee fit, as He most surely shall, on the Judgement Day, to redress\nall wrongs of the earth and of His children that He has placed\nthereon. And oh, Madam Mina, my dear, my dear, may we who love you\nbe there to see, when that red scar, the sign of God's knowledge of\nwhat has been, shall pass away, and leave your forehead as pure as\nthe heart we know. For so surely as we live, that scar shall pass\naway when God sees right to lift the burden that is hard upon us.\nTill then we bear our Cross, as His Son did in obedience to His\nWill. It may be that we are chosen instruments of His good\npleasure, and that we ascend to His bidding as that other through\nstripes and shame. Through tears and blood. Through doubts and\nfear, and all that makes the difference between God and man.\"\nThere was hope in his words, and comfort. And they made for\nresignation. Mina and I both felt so, and simultaneously we each\ntook one of the old man's hands and bent over and kissed it. Then\nwithout a word we all knelt down together, and all holding hands,\nswore to be true to each other. We men pledged ourselves to raise\nthe veil of sorrow from the head of her whom, each in his own way,the veil of sorrow from the head of her whom, each in his own way,\nwe loved. And we prayed for help and guidance in the terrible task\nwhich lay before us. It was then time to start. So I said farewell\nto Mina, a parting which neither of us shall forget to our dying\nday, and we set out.\nTo one thing I have made up my mind. If we find out that Mina\nmust be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that\nunknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old\ntimes one vampire meant many. Just as their hideous bodies could\nonly rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting\nsergeant for their ghastly ranks.\nWe entered Carfax without trouble and found all things the same\nas on the first occasion. It was hard to believe that amongst so\nprosaic surroundings of neglect and dust and decay there was any\nground for such fear as already we knew. Had not our minds been\nmade up, and had there not been terrible memories to spur us on, we\ncould hardly have proceeded with our task. We found no papers, or\nany sign of use in the house. And in the old chapel the great boxes\nlooked just as we had seen them last.\nDr. Van Helsing said to us solemnly as we stood before him, \"And\nnow, my friends, we have a duty here to do. We must sterilize this\nearth, so sacred of holy memories, that he has brought from a far\ndistant land for such fell use. He has chosen this earth because it\nhas been holy. Thus we defeat him with his own weapon, for we make\nit more holy still. It was sanctified to such use of man, now we\nsanctify it to God.\"\nAs he spoke he took from his bag a screwdriver and a wrench, and\nvery soon the top of one of the cases was thrown open. The earth\nsmelled musty and close, but we did not somehow seem to mind, for\nour attention was concentrated on the Professor. Taking from his\nbox a piece of the Scared Wafer he laid it reverently on the earth,\nand then shutting down the lid began to screw it home, we aiding\nhim as he worked.\nOne by one we treated in the same way each of the great boxes,"}
{"text": "him as he worked.\nOne by one we treated in the same way each of the great boxes,\nand left them as we had found them to all appearance. But in each\nwas a portion of the Host. When we closed the door behind us, the\nProfessor said solemnly, \"So much is already done. It may be that\nwith all the others we can be so successful, then the sunset of\nthis evening may shine of Madam Mina's forehead all white as ivory\nand with no stain!\"\nAs we passed across the lawn on our way to the station to catch\nour train we could see the front of the asylum. I looked eagerly,\nand in the window of my own room saw Mina. I waved my hand to her,\nand nodded to tell that our work there was successfully\naccomplished. She nodded in reply to show that she understood. The\nlast I saw, she was waving her hand in farewell. It was with a\nheavy heart that we sought the station and just caught the train,\nwhich was steaming in as we reached the platform. I have written\nthis in the train.\nPiccadilly, 12:30 o'clock.—Just before we reached Fenchurch\nStreet Lord Godalming said to me, \"Quincey and I will find a\nlocksmith. You had better not come with us in case there should be\nany difficulty. For under the circumstances it wouldn't seem so bad\nfor us to break into an empty house. But you are a solicitor and\nthe Incorporated Law Society might tell you that you should have\nknown better.\"\nI demurred as to my not sharing any danger even of odium, but he\nwent on, \"Besides, it will attract less attention if there are not\ntoo many of us. My title will make it all right with the locksmith,\nand with any policeman that may come along. You had better go with\nJack and the Professor and stay in the Green Park. Somewhere in\nsight of the house, and when you see the door opened and the smith\nhas gone away, do you all come across. We shall be on the lookout\nfor you, and shall let you in.\"\n\"The advice is good!\" said Van Helsing, so we said no more.\nGodalming and Morris hurried off in a cab, we following in another.Godalming and Morris hurried off in a cab, we following in another.\nAt the corner of Arlington Street our contingent got out and\nstrolled into the Green Park. My heart beat as I saw the house on\nwhich so much of our hope was centered, looming up grim and silent\nin its deserted condition amongst its more lively and\nspruce-looking neighbors. We sat down on a bench within good view ,\nand began to smoke cigars so as to attract as little attention as\npossible. The minutes seemed to pass with leaden feet as we waited\nfor the coming of the others.\nAt length we saw a four-wheeler drive up. Out of it, in\nleisurely fashion, got Lord Godalming and Morris. And down from the\nbox descended a thick-set working man with his rush-woven basket of\ntools. Morris paid the cabman, who touched his hat and drove away.\nTogether the two ascended the steps, and Lord Godalming pointed out\nwhat he wanted done. The workman took off his coat leisurely and\nhung it on one of the spikes of the rail, saying something to a\npoliceman who just then sauntered along. The policeman nodded\nacquiescence, and the man kneeling down placed his bag beside him.\nAfter searching through it, he took out a selection of tools which\nhe proceeded to lay beside him in orderly fashion. Then he stood\nup, looked in the keyhole, blew into it, and turning to his\nemployers, made some remark. Lord Godalming smiled, and the man\nlifted a good sized bunch of keys. Selecting one of them, he began\nto probe the lock, as if feeling his way with it. After fumbling\nabout for a bit he tried a second, and then a third. All at once\nthe door opened under a slight push from him, and he and the two\nothers entered the hall. We sat still. My own cigar burnt\nfuriously, but Van Helsing's went cold altogether. We waited\npatiently as we saw the workman come out and bring his bag. Then he\nheld the door partly open, steadying it with his knees, whilst he\nfitted a key to the lock. This he finally handed to Lord Godalming,\nwho took out his purse and gave him something. The man touched hiswho took out his purse and gave him something. The man touched his\nhat, took his bag, put on his coat and departed. Not a soul took\nthe slightest notice of the whole transaction.\nWhen the man had fairly gone, we three crossed the street and\nknocked at the door. It was immediately opened by Quincey Morris,\nbeside whom stood Lord Godalming lighting a cigar.\n\"The place smells so vilely,\" said the latter as we came in. It\ndid indeed smell vilely. Like the old chapel at Carfax. And with\nour previous experience it was plain to us that the Count had been\nusing the place pretty freely. We moved to explore the house, all\nkeeping together in case of attack, for we knew we had a strong and\nwily enemy to deal with, and as yet we did not know whether the\nCount might not be in the house.\nIn the dining room, which lay at the back of the hall, we found\neight boxes of earth. Eight boxes only out of the nine which we\nsought! Our work was not over, and would never be until we should\nhave found the missing box.\nFirst we opened the shutters of the window which looked out\nacross a narrow stone flagged yard at the blank face of a stable,\npointed to look like the front of a miniature house. There were no\nwindows in it, so we were not afraid of being overlooked. We did\nnot lose any time in examining the chests. With the tools which we\nhad brought with us we opened them, one by one, and treated them as\nwe had treated those others in the old chapel. It was evident to us\nthat the Count was not at present in the house, and we proceeded to\nsearch for any of his effects.\nAfter a cursory glance at the rest of the rooms, from basement\nto attic, we came to the conclusion that the dining room contained\nany effects which might belong to the Count. And so we proceeded to\nminutely examine them. They lay in a sort of orderly disorder on\nthe great dining room table.\nThere were title deeds of the Piccadilly house in a great\nbundle, deeds of the purchase of the houses at Mile End and\nBermondsey, notepaper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All wereBermondsey, notepaper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All were\ncovered up in thin wrapping paper to keep them from the dust. There\nwere also a clothes brush, a brush and comb, and a jug and basin.\nThe latter containing dirty water which was reddened as if with\nblood. Last of all was a little heap of keys of all sorts and\nsizes, probably those belonging to the other houses.\nWhen we had examined this last find, Lord Godalming and Quincey\nMorris taking accurate notes of the various addresses of the houses\nin the East and the South, took with them the keys in a great\nbunch, and set out to destroy the boxes in these places. The rest\nof us are, with what patience we can, waiting their return, or the\ncoming of the Count."}
{"text": "3 October.—The time seemed teribly long whilst we were waiting\nfor the coming of Godalming and Quincey Morris. The Professor tried\nto keep our minds active by using them all the time. I could see\nhis beneficent purpose, by the side glances which he threw from\ntime to time at Harker. The poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery\nthat is appalling to see. Last night he was a frank, happy-looking\nman, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark\nbrown hair. Today he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair\nmatches well with the hollow burning eyes and griefwritten lines of\nhis face. His energy is still intact. In fact, he is like a living\nflame. This may yet be his salvation, for if all go well, it will\ntide him over the despairing period. He will then, in a kind of\nway, wake again to the realities of life. Poor fellow, I thought my\nown trouble was bad enough, but his … !\nThe Professor knows this well enough, and is doing his best to\nkeep his mind active. What he has been saying was, under the\ncircumstances, of absorbing interest. So well as I can remember,\nhere it is:\n\"I have studied, over and over again since they came into my\nhands, all the papers relating to this monster, and the more I have\nstudied, the greater seems the necessity to utterly stamp him out.\nAll through there are signs of his advance. Not only of his power,\nbut of his knowledge of it. As I learned from the researches of my\nfriend Arminius of Buda-Pesth, he was in life a most wonderful man.\nSoldier, statesman, and alchemist. Which latter was the highest\ndevelopment of the science knowledge of his time. He had a mighty\nbrain, a learning beyond compare, and a heart that knew no fear and\nno remorse. He dared even to attend the Scholomance, and there was\nno branch of knowledge of his time that he did not essay.\n\"Well, in him the brain powers survived the physical death.\nThough it would seem that memory was not all complete. In some\nfaculties of mind he has been, and is, only a child. But he isfaculties of mind he has been, and is, only a child. But he is\ngrowing, and some things that were childish at the first are now of\nman's stature. He is experimenting, and doing it well. And if it\nhad not been that we have crossed his path he would be yet, he may\nbe yet if we fail, the father or furtherer of a new order of\nbeings, whose road must lead through Death, not Life.\"\nHarker groaned and said, \"And this is all arrayed against my\ndarling! But how is he experimenting? The knowledge may help us to\ndefeat him!\"\n\"He has all along, since his coming, been trying his power,\nslowly but surely. That big child-brain of his is working. Well for\nus, it is as yet, a child-brain. For had he dared, at the first, to\nattempt certain things he would long ago have been beyond our\npower. However, he means to succeed, and a man who has centuries\nbefore him can afford to wait and to go slow. Festina lente may\nwell be his motto.\"\n\"I fail to understand,\" said Harker wearily. \"Oh, do be more\nplain to me! Perhaps grief and trouble are dulling my brain.\"\nThe Professor laid his hand tenderly on his shoulder as he\nspoke, \"Ah, my child, I will be plain. Do you not see how, of late,\nthis monster has been creeping into knowledge experimentally. How\nhe has been making use of the zoophagous patient to effect his\nentry into friend John's home. For your Vampire, though in all\nafterwards he can come when and how he will, must at the first make\nentry only when asked thereto by an inmate. But these are not his\nmost important experiments. Do we not see how at the first all\nthese so great boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but\nthat must be so. But all the time that so great child-brain of his\nwas growing, and he began to consider whether he might not himself\nmove the box. So he began to help. And then, when he found that\nthis be all right, he try to move them all alone. And so he\nprogress, and he scatter these graves of him. And none but he know\nwhere they are hidden.\n\"He may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. So thatwhere they are hidden.\n\"He may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. So that\nonly he use them in the night, or at such time as he can change his\nform, they do him equal well, and none may know these are his\nhiding place! But, my child, do not despair, this knowledge came to\nhim just too late! Already all of his lairs but one be sterilize as\nfor him. And before the sunset this shall be so. Then he have no\nplace where he can move and hide. I delayed this morning that so we\nmight be sure. Is there not more at stake for us than for him? Then\nwhy not be more careful than him? By my clock it is one hour and\nalready, if all be well, friend Arthur and Quincey are on their way\nto us. Today is our day, and we must go sure, if slow, and lose no\nchance. See! There are five of us when those absent ones\nreturn.\"\nWhilst we were speaking we were startled by a knock at the hall\ndoor, the double postman's knock of the telegraph boy. We all moved\nout to the hall with one impulse, and Van Helsing, holding up his\nhand to us to keep silence, stepped to the door and opened it. The\nboy handed in a dispatch. The Professor closed the door again, and\nafter looking at the direction, opened it and read aloud.\n\"Look out for D. He has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax\nhurriedly and hastened towards the South. He seems to be going the\nround and may want to see you: Mina.\"\nThere was a pause, broken by Jonathan Harker's voice, \"Now, God\nbe thanked, we shall soon meet!\"\nVan Helsing turned to him quickly and said, \"God will act in His\nown way and time. Do not fear, and do not rejoice as yet. For what\nwe wish for at the moment may be our own undoings.\"\n\"I care for nothing now,\" he answered hotly, \"except to wipe out\nthis brute from the face of creation. I would sell my soul to do\nit!\"\n\"Oh, hush, hush, my child!\" said Van Helsing. \"God does not\npurchase souls in this wise, and the Devil, though he may purchase,\ndoes not keep faith. But God is merciful and just, and knows your\npain and your devotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her"}
{"text": "pain and your devotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her\npain would be doubled, did she but hear your wild words. Do not\nfear any of us, we are all devoted to this cause, and today shall\nsee the end. The time is coming for action. Today this Vampire is\nlimit to the powers of man, and till sunset he may not change. It\nwill take him time to arrive here, see it is twenty minutes past\none, and there are yet some times before he can hither come, be he\nnever so quick. What we must hope for is that my Lord Arthur and\nQuincey arrive first.\"\nAbout half an hour after we had received Mrs. Harker's telegram,\nthere came a quiet, resolute knock at the hall door. It was just an\nordinary knock, such as is given hourly by thousands of gentlemen,\nbut it made the Professor's heart and mine beat loudly. We looked\nat each other, and together moved out into the hall. We each held\nready to use our various armaments, the spiritual in the left hand,\nthe mortal in the right. Van Helsing pulled back the latch, and\nholding the door half open, stood back, having both hands ready for\naction. The gladness of our hearts must have shown upon our faces\nwhen on the step, close to the door, we saw Lord Godalming and\nQuincey Morris. They came quickly in and closed the door behind\nthem, the former saying, as they moved along the hall.\n\"It is all right. We found both places. Six boxes in each and we\ndestroyed them all.\"\n\"Destroyed?\" asked the Professor.\n\"For him!\" We were silent for a minute, and then Quincey said,\n\"There's nothing to do but to wait here. If, however, he doesn't\nturn up by five o'clock, we must start off. For it won't do to\nleave Mrs. Harker alone after sunset.\"\n\"He will be here before long now,' said Van Helsing, who had\nbeen consulting his pocketbook. \"Nota bene, in Madam's telegram he\nwent south from Carfax. That means he went to cross the river, and\nhe could only do so at slack of tide, which should be something\nbefore one o'clock. That he went south has a meaning for us. He isbefore one o'clock. That he went south has a meaning for us. He is\nas yet only suspicious, and he went from Carfax first to the place\nwhere he would suspect interference least. You must have been at\nBermondsey only a short time before him. That he is not here\nalready shows that he went to Mile End next. This took him some\ntime, for he would then have to be carried over the river in some\nway. Believe me, my friends, we shall not have long to wait now. We\nshould have ready some plan of attack, so that we may throw away no\nchance. Hush, there is no time now. Have all your arms! Be ready!\"\nHe held up a warning hand as he spoke, for we all could hear a key\nsoftly inserted in the lock of the hall door.\nI could not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in which\na dominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting parties and\nadventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had\nalways been the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I\nhad been accustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the old habit\nseemed to be renewed instinctively. With a swift glance around the\nroom, he at once laid out our plan of attack, and without speaking\na word, with a gesture, placed us each in position. Van Helsing,\nHarker, and I were just behind the door, so that when it was opened\nthe Professor could guard it whilst we two stepped between the\nincomer and the door. Godalming behind and Quincey in front stood\njust out of sight ready to move in front of the window. We waited\nin a suspense that made the seconds pass with nightmare slowness.\nThe slow, careful steps came along the hall. The Count was\nevidently prepared for some surprise, at least he feared it.\nSuddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room. Winning a\nway past us before any of us could raise a hand to stay him. There\nwas something so pantherlike in the movement, something so unhuman,\nthat it seemed to sober us all from the shock of his coming. The\nfirst to act was Harker, who with a quick movement, threw himselffirst to act was Harker, who with a quick movement, threw himself\nbefore the door leading into the room in the front of the house. As\nthe Count saw us, a horrible sort of snarl passed over his face,\nshowing the eyeteeth long and pointed. But the evil smile as\nquickly passed into a cold stare of lion-like disdain. His\nexpression again changed as, with a single impulse, we all advanced\nupon him. It was a pity that we had not some better organized plan\nof attack, for even at the moment I wondered what we were to do. I\ndid not myself know whether our lethal weapons would avail us\nanything.\nHarker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had ready his\ngreat Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The blow\nwas a powerful one. Only the diabolical quickness of the Count's\nleap back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had\nshorn through his coat, making a wide gap whence a bundle of bank\nnotes and a stream of gold fell out. The expression of the Count's\nface was so hellish, that for a moment I feared for Harker, though\nI saw him throw the terrible knife aloft again for another stroke.\nInstinctively I moved forward with a protective impulse, holding\nthe Crucifix and Wafer in my left hand. I felt a mighty power fly\nalong my arm, and it was without surprise that I saw the monster\ncower back before a similar movement made spontaneously by each one\nof us. It would be impossible to describe the expression of hate\nand baffled malignity, of anger and hellish rage, which came over\nthe Count's face. His waxen hue became greenish-yellow by the\ncontrast of his burning eyes, and the red scar on the forehead\nshowed on the pallid skin like a palpitating wound. The next\ninstant, with a sinuous dive he swept under Harker's arm, ere his\nblow could fall, and grasping a handful of the money from the\nfloor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window. Amid\nthe crash and glitter of the falling glass, he tumbled into the\nflagged area below. Through the sound of the shivering glass I"}
{"text": "flagged area below. Through the sound of the shivering glass I\ncould hear the \"ting\" of the gold, as some of the sovereigns fell\non the flagging.\nWe ran over and saw him spring unhurt from the ground. He,\nrushing up the steps, crossed the flagged yard, and pushed open the\nstable door. There he turned and spoke to us.\n\"You think to baffle me, you with your pale faces all in a row,\nlike sheep in a butcher's. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you!\nYou think you have left me without a place to rest, but I have\nmore. My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and\ntime is on my side. Your girls that you all love are mine already.\nAnd through them you and others shall yet be mine, my creatures, to\ndo my bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed. Bah!\"\nWith a contemptuous sneer, he passed quickly through the door,\nand we heard the rusty bolt creak as he fastened it behind him. A\ndoor beyond opened and shut. The first of us to speak was the\nProfessor. Realizing the difficulty of following him through the\nstable, we moved toward the hall.\n\"We have learnt something … much! Notwithstanding his brave\nwords, he fears us. He fears time, he fears want! For if not, why\nhe hurry so? His very tone betray him, or my ears deceive. Why take\nthat money? You follow quick. You are hunters of the wild beast,\nand understand it so. For me, I make sure that nothing here may be\nof use to him, if so that he returns.\"\nAs he spoke he put the money remaining in his pocket, took the\ntitle deeds in the bundle as Harker had left them, and swept the\nremaining things into the open fireplace, where he set fire to them\nwith a match.\nGodalming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and Harker\nhad lowered himself from the window to follow the Count. He had,\nhowever, bolted the stable door, and by the time they had forced it\nopen there was no sign of him. Van Helsing and I tried to make\ninquiry at the back of the house. But the mews was deserted and no\none had seen him depart.inquiry at the back of the house. But the mews was deserted and no\none had seen him depart.\nIt was now late in the afternoon, and sunset was not far off. We\nhad to recognize that our game was up. With heavy hearts we agreed\nwith the Professor when he said, \"Let us go back to Madam Mina.\nPoor, poor dear Madam Mina. All we can do just now is done, and we\ncan there, at least, protect her. But we need not despair. There is\nbut one more earth box, and we must try to find it. When that is\ndone all may yet be well.\"\nI could see that he spoke as bravely as he could to comfort\nHarker. The poor fellow was quite broken down, now and again he\ngave a low groan which he could not suppress. He was thinking of\nhis wife.\nWith sad hearts we came back to my house, where we found Mrs.\nHarker waiting us, with an appearance of cheerfulness which did\nhonor to her bravery and unselfishness. When she saw our faces, her\nown became as pale as death. For a second or two her eyes were\nclosed as if she were in secret prayer.\nAnd then she said cheerfully, \"I can never thank you all enough.\nOh, my poor darling!\"\nAs she spoke, she took her husband's grey head in her hands and\nkissed it.\n\"Lay your poor head here and rest it. All will yet be well,\ndear! God will protect us if He so will it in His good intent.\" The\npoor fellow groaned. There was no place for words in his sublime\nmisery.\nWe had a sort of perfunctory supper together, and I think it\ncheered us all up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the mere animal heat\nof food to hungry people, for none of us had eaten anything since\nbreakfast, or the sense of companionship may have helped us, but\nanyhow we were all less miserable, and saw the morrow as not\naltogether without hope.\nTrue to our promise, we told Mrs. Harker everything which had\npassed. And although she grew snowy white at times when danger had\nseemed to threaten her husband, and red at others when his devotion\nto her was manifested she listened bravely and with calmness. When\nwe came to the part where Harker had rushed at the Count sowe came to the part where Harker had rushed at the Count so\nrecklessly, she clung to her husband's arm, and held it tight as\nthough her clinging could protect him from any harm that might\ncome. She said nothing, however, till the narration was all\ndone,and matters had been brought up to the present time.\nThen without letting go her husband's hand she stood up amongst\nus and spoke. Oh, that I could give any idea of the scene. Of that\nsweet, sweet, good, good woman in all the radiant beauty of her\nyouth and animation, with the red scar on her forehead, of which\nshe was conscious, and which we saw with grinding of our teeth,\nremembering whence and how it came. Her loving kindness against our\ngrim hate. Her tender faith against all our fears and doubting. And\nwe, knowing that so far as symbols went, she with all her goodness\nand purity and faith, was outcast from God.\n\"Jonathan,\" she said, and the word sounded like music on her\nlips it was so full of love and tenderness, \"Jonathan dear, and you\nall my true, true friends, I want you to bear something in mind\nthrough all this dreadful time. I know that you must fight. That\nyou must destroy even as you destroyed the false Lucy so that the\ntrue Lucy might live hereafter. But it is not a work of hate. That\npoor soul who has wrought all this misery is the saddest case of\nall. Just think what will be his joy when he, too, is destroyed in\nhis worser part that his better part may have spiritual\nimmortality. You must be pitiful to him, too,though it may not hold\nyour hands from his destruction.\"\nAs she spoke I could see her husband's face darken and draw\ntogether, as though the passion in him were shriveling his being to\nits core. Instinctively the clasp on his wife's hand grew closer,\ntill his knuckles looked white. She did not flinch from the pain\nwhich I knew she must have suffered, but looked at him with eyes\nthat were more appealing than ever.\nAs she stopped speaking he leaped to his feet, almost tearing\nhis hand from hers as he spoke."}
{"text": "As she stopped speaking he leaped to his feet, almost tearing\nhis hand from hers as he spoke.\n\"May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy\nthat earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond it I\ncould send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do\nit!\"\n\"Oh, hush! Oh, hush in the name of the good God. Don't say such\nthings, Jonathan, my husband, or you will crush me with fear and\nhorror. Just think, my dear … I have been thinking all this\nlong, long day of it … that … perhaps … some\nday … I, too, may need such pity, and that some other like\nyou, and with equal cause for anger, may deny it to me! Oh, my\nhusband! My husband, indeed I would have spared you such a thought\nhad there been another way. But I pray that God may not have\ntreasured your wild words, except as the heart-broken wail of a\nvery loving and sorely stricken man. Oh, God, let these poor white\nhairs go in evidence of what he has suffered, who all his life has\ndone no wrong, and on whom so many sorrows have come.\"\nWe men were all in tears now. There was no resisting them, and\nwe wept openly. She wept, too, to see that her sweeter counsels had\nprevailed. Her husband flung himself on his knees beside her, and\nputting his arms round her, hid his face in the folds of her dress.\nVan Helsing beckoned to us and we stole out of the room, leaving\nthe two loving hearts alone with their God.\nBefore they retired the Professor fixed up the room against any\ncoming of the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Harker that she might rest\nin peace. She tried to school herself to the belief, and manifestly\nfor her husband's sake, tried to seem content. It was a brave\nstruggle, and was, I think and believe, not without its reward. Van\nHelsing had placed at hand a bell which either of them was to sound\nin case of any emergency. When they had retired, Quincey,\nGodalming, and I arranged that we should sit up, dividing the night\nbetween us, and watch over the safety of the poor stricken lady.between us, and watch over the safety of the poor stricken lady.\nThe first watch falls to Quincey, so the rest of us shall be off to\nbed as soon as we can.\nGodalming has already turned in, for his is the second watch.\nNow that my work is done I, too, shall go to bed.\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n3-4 October, close to midnight.—I thought yesterday would never\nend. There was over me a yearning for sleep, in some sort of blind\nbelief that to wake would be to find things changed, and that any\nchange must now be for the better. Before we parted, we discussed\nwhat our next step was to be, but we could arrive at no result. All\nwe knew was that one earth box remained, and that the Count alone\nknew where it was. If he chooses to lie hidden, he may baffle us\nfor years. And in the meantime, the thought is too horrible, I dare\nnot think of it even now. This I know, that if ever there was a\nwoman who was all perfection, that one is my poor wronged darling.\nI loved her a thousand times more for her sweet pity of last night,\na pity that made my own hate of the monster seem despicable. Surely\nGod will not permit the world to be the poorer by the loss of such\na creature. This is hope to me. We are all drifting reefwards now,\nand faith is our only anchor. Thank God! Mina is sleeping, and\nsleeping without dreams. I fear what her dreams might be like, with\nsuch terrible memories to ground them in. She has not been so calm,\nwithin my seeing, since the sunset. Then, for a while, there came\nover her face a repose which was like spring after the blasts of\nMarch. I thought at the time that it was the softness of the red\nsunset on her face, but somehow now I think it has a deeper\nmeaning. I am not sleepy myself, though I am weary … weary to\ndeath. However, I must try to sleep. For there is tomorrow to think\nof, and there is no rest for me until …\nLater—I must have fallen asleep, for I was awakened by Mina, who\nwas sitting up in bed, with a startled look on her face. I could\nsee easily, for we did not leave the room in darkness. She hadsee easily, for we did not leave the room in darkness. She had\nplaced a warning hand over my mouth, and now she whispered in my\near, \"Hush! There is someone in the corridor!\" I got up softly, and\ncrossing the room, gently opened the door.\nJust outside, stretched on a mattress, lay Mr. Morris, wide\nawake. He raised a warning hand for silence as he whispered to me,\n\"Hush! Go back to bed. It is all right. One of us will be here all\nnight. We don't mean to take any chances!\"\nHis look and gesture forbade discussion, so I came back and told\nMina. She sighed and positively a shadow of a smile stole over her\npoor, pale face as she put her arms round me and said softly, \"Oh,\nthank God for good brave men!\" With a sigh she sank back again to\nsleep. I write this now as I am not sleepy, though I must try\nagain.\n4 October, morning.—Once again during the night I was wakened by\nMina. This time we had all had a good sleep, for the grey of the\ncoming dawn was making the windows into sharp oblongs, and the gas\nflame was like a speck rather than a disc of light.\nShe said to me hurriedly, \"Go, call the Professor. I want to see\nhim at once.\"\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\"I have an idea. I suppose it must have come in the night, and\nmatured without my knowing it. He must hypnotize me before the\ndawn, and then I shall be able to speak. Go quick, dearest, the\ntime is getting close.\"\nI went to the door. Dr. Seward was resting on the mattress, and\nseeing me, he sprang to his feet.\n\"Is anything wrong?\" he asked, in alarm.\n\"No,\" I replied. \"But Mina wants to see Dr. Van Helsing at\nonce.\"\n\"I will go,\" he said, and hurried into the Professor's room.\nTwo or three minutes later Van Helsing was in the room in his\ndressing gown, and Mr. Morris and Lord Godalming were with Dr.\nSeward at the door asking questions. When the Professor saw Mina a\nsmile, a positive smile ousted the anxiety of his face.\nHe rubbed his hands as he said, \"Oh, my dear Madam Mina, this is\nindeed a change. See! Friend Jonathan, we have got our dear Madam"}
{"text": "indeed a change. See! Friend Jonathan, we have got our dear Madam\nMina, as of old, back to us today!\" Then turning to her, he said\ncheerfully, \"And what am I to do for you? For at this hour you do\nnot want me for nothing.\"\n\"I want you to hypnotize me!\" she said. \"Do it before the dawn,\nfor I feel that then I can speak, and speak freely. Be quick, for\nthe time is short!\" Without a word he motioned her to sit up in\nbed.\nLooking fixedly at her, he commenced to make passes in front of\nher, from over the top of her head downward, with each hand in\nturn. Mina gazed at him fixedly for a few minutes, during which my\nown heart beat like a trip hammer, for I felt that some crisis was\nat hand. Gradually her eyes closed, and she sat, stock still. Only\nby the gentle heaving of her bosom could one know that she was\nalive. The Professor made a few more passes and then stopped, and I\ncould see that his forehead was covered with great beads of\nperspiration. Mina opened her eyes, but she did not seem the same\nwoman. There was a far-away look in her eyes, and her voice had a\nsad dreaminess which was new to me. Raising his hand to impose\nsilence, the Professor motioned to me to bring the others in. They\ncame on tiptoe, closing the door behind them, and stood at the foot\nof the bed, looking on. Mina appeared not to see them. The\nstillness was broken by Van Helsing's voice speaking in a low level\ntone which would not break the current of her thoughts.\n\"Where are you?\" The answer came in a neutral way.\n\"I do not know. Sleep has no place it can call its own.\" For\nseveral minutes there was silence. Mina sat rigid, and the\nProfessor stood staring at her fixedly.\nThe rest of us hardly dared to breathe. The room was growing\nlighter. Without taking his eyes from Mina's face, Dr. Van Helsing\nmotioned me to pull up the blind. I did so, and the day seemed just\nupon us. A red streak shot up, and a rosy light seemed to diffuse\nitself through the room. On the instant the Professor spoke\nagain.\n\"Where are you now?\"itself through the room. On the instant the Professor spoke\nagain.\n\"Where are you now?\"\nThe answer came dreamily, but with intention. It were as though\nshe were interpreting something. I have heard her use the same tone\nwhen reading her shorthand notes.\n\"I do not know. It is all strange to me!\"\n\"What do you see?\"\n\"I can see nothing. It is all dark.\"\n\"What do you hear?\" I could detect the strain in the Professor's\npatient voice.\n\"The lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and little waves leap.\nI can hear them on the outside.\"\n\"Then you are on a ship?'\"\nWe all looked at each other, trying to glean something each from\nthe other. We were afraid to think.\nThe answer came quick, \"Oh, yes!\"\n\"What else do you hear?\"\n\"The sound of men stamping overhead as they run about. There is\nthe creaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the check of the\ncapstan falls into the ratchet.\"\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\"I am still, oh so still. It is like death!\" The voice faded\naway into a deep breath as of one sleeping, and the open eyes\nclosed again.\nBy this time the sun had risen, and we were all in the full\nlight of day. Dr. Van Helsing placed his hands on Mina's shoulders,\nand laid her head down softly on her pillow. She lay like a\nsleeping child for a few moments, and then, with a long sigh, awoke\nand stared in wonder to see us all around her.\n\"Have I been talking in my sleep?\" was all she said. She seemed,\nhowever, to know the situation without telling,though she was eager\nto know what she had told. The Professor repeated the conversation,\nand she said, \"Then there is not a moment to lose. It may not be\nyet too late!\"\nMr. Morris and Lord Godalming started for the door but the\nProfessor's calm voice called them back.\n\"Stay, my friends. That ship, wherever it was, was weighing\nanchor at the moment in your so great Port of London. Which of them\nis it that you seek? God be thanked that we have once again a clue,\nthough whither it may lead us we know not. We have been blind\nsomewhat. Blind after the manner of men, since we can look back wesomewhat. Blind after the manner of men, since we can look back we\nsee what we might have seen looking forward if we had been able to\nsee what we might have seen! Alas, but that sentence is a puddle,\nis it not? We can know now what was in the Count's mind, when he\nseize that money, though Jonathan's so fierce knife put him in the\ndanger that even he dread. He meant escape. Hear me, ESCAPE! He saw\nthat with but one earth box left, and a pack of men following like\ndogs after a fox, this London was no place for him. He have take\nhis last earth box on board a ship, and he leave the land. He think\nto escape, but no! We follow him. Tally Ho! As friend Arthur would\nsay when he put on his red frock! Our old fox is wily. Oh! So wily,\nand we must follow with wile. I, too, am wily and I think his mind\nin a little while. In meantime we may rest and in peace, for there\nare between us which he do not want to pass, and which he could not\nif he would. Unless the ship were to touch the land, and then only\nat full or slack tide. See, and the sun is just rose, and all day\nto sunset is us. Let us take bath, and dress, and have breakfast\nwhich we all need, and which we can eat comfortably since he be not\nin the same land with us.\"\nMina looked at him appealingly as she asked, \"But why need we\nseek him further, when he is gone away from us?\"\nHe took her hand and patted it as he replied, \"Ask me nothing as\nyet. When we have breakfast, then I answer all questions.\" He would\nsay no more, and we separated to dress.\nAfter breakfast Mina repeated her question. He looked at her\ngravely for a minute and then said sorrowfully, \"Because my dear,\ndear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find him even if we\nhave to follow him to the jaws of Hell!\"\nShe grew paler as she asked faintly, \"Why?\"\n\"Because,\" he answered solemnly, \"he can live for centuries, and\nyou are but mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded, since once he\nput that mark upon your throat.\"\nI was just in time to catch her as she fell forward in a\nfaint."}
{"text": "SPOKEN BY VAN HELSING\nThis to Jonathan Harker.\nYou are to stay with your dear Madam Mina. We shall go to make\nour search, if I can call it so, for it is not search but knowing,\nand we seek confirmation only. But do you stay and take care of her\ntoday. This is your best and most holiest office. This day nothing\ncan find him here.\nLet me tell you that so you will know what we four know already,\nfor I have tell them. He, our enemy, have gone away. He have gone\nback to his Castle in Transylvania. I know it so well, as if a\ngreat hand of fire wrote it on the wall. He have prepare for this\nin some way, and that last earth box was ready to ship somewheres.\nFor this he took the money. For this he hurry at the last, lest we\ncatch him before the sun go down. It was his last hope, save that\nhe might hide in the tomb that he think poor Miss Lucy, being as he\nthought like him, keep open to him. But there was not of time. When\nthat fail he make straight for his last resource, his last\nearthwork I might say did I wish double entente. He is clever, oh\nso clever! He know that his game here was finish. And so he decide\nhe go back home. He find ship going by the route he came, and he go\nin it.\nWe go off now to find what ship, and whither bound. When we have\ndiscover that, we come back and tell you all. Then we will comfort\nyou and poor Madam Mina with new hope. For it will be hope when you\nthink it over, that all is not lost. This very creature that we\npursue, he take hundreds of years to get so far as London. And yet\nin one day, when we know of the disposal of him we drive him out.\nHe is finite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not\nas we do. But we are strong, each in our purpose, and we are all\nmore strong together. Take heart afresh, dear husband of Madam\nMina. This battle is but begun and in the end we shall win. So sure\nas that God sits on high to watch over His children. Therefore be\nof much comfort till we return.\nVAN HELSING.\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNALof much comfort till we return.\nVAN HELSING.\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n4 October.—When I read to Mina, Van Helsing's message in the\nphonograph, the poor girl brightened up considerably. Already the\ncertainty that the Count is out of the country has given her\ncomfort. And comfort is strength to her. For my own part, now that\nhis horrible danger is not face to face with us, it seems almost\nimpossible to believe in it. Even my own terrible experiences in\nCastle Dracula seem like a long forgotten dream. Here in the crisp\nautumn air in the bright sunlight.\nAlas! How can I disbelieve! In the midst of my thought my eye\nfell on the red scar on my poor darling's white forehead. Whilst\nthat lasts, there can be no disbelief. Mina and I fear to be idle,\nso we have been over all the diaries again and again. Somehow,\nalthough the reality seem greater each time, the pain and the fear\nseem less. There is something of a guiding purpose manifest\nthroughout, which is comforting. Mina says that perhaps we are the\ninstruments of ultimate good. It may be! I shall try to think as\nshe does. We have never spoken to each other yet of the future. It\nis better to wait till we see the Professor and the others after\ntheir investigations.\nThe day is running by more quickly than I ever thought a day\ncould run for me again. It is now three o'clock.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n5 October, 5 p. m.—Our meeting for report. Present: Professor\nVan Helsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Quincey Morris,\nJonathan Harker, Mina Harker.\nDr. Van Helsing described what steps were taken during the day\nto discover on what boat and whither bound Count Dracula made his\nescape.\n\"As I knew that he wanted to get back to Transylvania, I felt\nsure that he must go by the Danube mouth, or by somewhere in the\nBlack Sea, since by that way he come. It was a dreary blank that\nwas before us. Omme Ignotum pro magnifico. And so with heavy hearts\nwe start to find what ships leave for the Black Sea last night. He\nwas in sailing ship, since Madam Mina tell of sails being set.was in sailing ship, since Madam Mina tell of sails being set.\nThese not so important as to go in your list of the shipping in the\nTimes, and so we go, by suggestion of Lord Godalming, to your\nLloyd's, where are note of all ships that sail, however so small.\nThere we find that only one Black Sea bound ship go out with the\ntide. She is the Czarina Catherine, and she sail from Doolittle's\nWharf for Varna, and thence to other ports and up the Danube. `So!'\nsaid I, `this is the ship whereon is the Count.' So off we go to\nDoolittle's Wharf, and there we find a man in an office. From him\nwe inquire of the goings of the Czarina Catherine. He swear much,\nand he red face and loud of voice, but he good fellow all the same.\nAnd when Quincey give him something from his pocket which crackle\nas he roll it up, and put it in a so small bag which he have hid\ndeep in his clothing, he still better fellow and humble servant to\nus. He come with us, and ask many men who are rough and hot. These\nbe better fellows too when they have been no more thirsty. They say\nmuch of blood and bloom, and of others which I comprehend not,\nthough I guess what they mean. But nevertheless they tell us all\nthings which we want to know.\n\"They make known to us among them, how last afternoon at about\nfive o'clock comes a man so hurry. A tall man, thin and pale, with\nhigh nose and teeth so white, and eyes that seem to be burning.\nThat he be all in black, except that he have a hat of straw which\nsuit not him or the time. That he scatter his money in making quick\ninquiry as to what ship sails for the Black Sea and for where. Some\ntook him to the office and then to the ship, where he will not go\naboard but halt at shore end of gangplank, and ask that the captain\ncome to him. The captain come, when told that he will be pay well,\nand though he swear much at the first he agree to term. Then the\nthin man go and some one tell him where horse and cart can be\nhired. He go there and soon he come again, himself driving cart on"}
{"text": "hired. He go there and soon he come again, himself driving cart on\nwhich a great box. This he himself lift down, though it take\nseveral to put it on truck for the ship. He give much talk to\ncaptain as to how and where his box is to be place. But the captain\nlike it not and swear at him in many tongues, and tell him that if\nhe like he can come and see where it shall be. But he say `no,'\nthat he come not yet, for that he have much to do. Whereupon the\ncaptain tell him that he had better be quick, with blood, for that\nhis ship will leave the place, of blood, before the turn of the\ntide, with blood. Then the thin man smile and say that of course he\nmust go when he think fit, but he will be surprise if he go quite\nso soon. The captain swear again, polyglot, and the thin man make\nhim bow, and thank him, and say that he will so far intrude on his\nkindness as to come aboard before the sailing. Final the captain,\nmore red than ever, and in more tongues, tell him that he doesn't\nwant no Frenchmen, with bloom upon them and also with blood, in his\nship, with blood on her also. And so, after asking where he might\npurchase ship forms, he departed.\n\"No one knew where he went `or bloomin' well cared' as they\nsaid, for they had something else to think of, well with blood\nagain. For it soon became apparent to all that the Czarina\nCatherine would not sail as was expected. A thin mist began to\ncreep up from the river, and it grew, and grew. Till soon a dense\nfog enveloped the ship and all around her. The captain swore\npolyglot, very polyglot, polyglot with bloom and blood, but he\ncould do nothing. The water rose and rose, and he began to fear\nthat he would lose the tide altogether. He was in no friendly mood,\nwhen just at full tide, the thin man came up the gangplank again\nand asked to see where his box had been stowed. Then the captain\nreplied that he wished that he and his box, old and with much bloom\nand blood, were in hell. But the thin man did not be offend, andand blood, were in hell. But the thin man did not be offend, and\nwent down with the mate and saw where it was place, and came up and\nstood awhile on deck in fog. He must have come off by himself, for\nnone notice him. Indeed they thought not of him, for soon the fog\nbegin to melt away, and all was clear again. My friends of the\nthirst and the language that was of bloom and blood laughed, as\nthey told how the captain's swears exceeded even his usual\npolyglot, and was more than ever full of picturesque, when on\nquestioning other mariners who were on movement up and down the\nriver that hour, he found that few of them had seen any of fog at\nall, except where it lay round the wharf. However, the ship went\nout on the ebb tide, and was doubtless by morning far down the\nriver mouth. She was then, when they told us, well out to sea.\n\"And so, my dear Madam Mina, it is that we have to rest for a\ntime, for our enemy is on the sea, with the fog at his command, on\nhis way to the Danube mouth. To sail a ship takes time, go she\nnever so quick. And when we start to go on land more quick, and we\nmeet him there. Our best hope is to come on him when in the box\nbetween sunrise and sunset. For then he can make no struggle, and\nwe may deal with him as we should. There are days for us, in which\nwe can make ready our plan. We know all about where he go. For we\nhave seen the owner of the ship, who have shown us invoices and all\npapers that can be. The box we seek is to be landed in Varna, and\nto be given to an agent, one Ristics who will there present his\ncredentials. And so our merchant friend will have done his part.\nWhen he ask if there be any wrong, for that so, he can telegraph\nand have inquiry made at Varna, we say `no,' for what is to be done\nis not for police or of the customs. It must be done by us alone\nand in our own way.\"\nWhen Dr. Van Helsing had done speaking, I asked him if he were\ncertain that the Count had remained on board the ship. He replied,\n\"We have the best proof of that, your own evidence, when in the\"We have the best proof of that, your own evidence, when in the\nhypnotic trance this morning.\"\nI asked him again if it were really necessary that they should\npursue the Count, for oh! I dread Jonathan leaving me, and I know\nthat he would surely go if the others went. He answered in growing\npassion, at first quietly. As he went on, however, he grew more\nangry and more forceful, till in the end we could not but see\nwherein was at least some of that personal dominance which made him\nso long a master amongst men.\n\"Yes, it is necessary, necessary, necessary! For your sake in\nthe first, and then for the sake of humanity. This monster has done\nmuch harm already, in the narrow scope where he find himself, and\nin the short time when as yet he was only as a body groping his so\nsmall measure in darkness and not knowing. All this have I told\nthese others. You, my dear Madam Mina, will learn it in the\nphonograph of my friend John, or in that of your husband. I have\ntold them how the measure of leaving his own barren land, barren of\npeoples,and coming to a new land where life of man teems till they\nare like the multitude of standing corn, was the work of centuries.\nWere another of the Undead, like him, to try to do what he has\ndone, perhaps not all the centuries of the world that have been, or\nthat will be, could aid him. With this one, all the forces of\nnature that are occult and deep and strong must have worked\ntogether in some wonderous way. The very place, where he have been\nalive, Undead for all these centuries, is full of strangeness of\nthe geologic and chemical world. There are deep caverns and\nfissures that reach none know whither. There have been volcanoes,\nsome of whose openings still send out waters of strange properties,\nand gases that kill or make to vivify. Doubtless, there is\nsomething magnetic or electric in some of these combinations of\noccult forces which work for physical life in strange way, and in\nhimself were from the first some great qualities. In a hard and"}
{"text": "himself were from the first some great qualities. In a hard and\nwarlike time he was celebrate that he have more iron nerve, more\nsubtle brain, more braver heart, than any man. In him some vital\nprinciple have in strange way found their utmost. And as his body\nkeep strong and grow and thrive, so his brain grow too. All this\nwithout that diabolic aid which is surely to him. For it have to\nyield to the powers that come from, and are, symbolic of good. And\nnow this is what he is to us. He have infect you, oh forgive me, my\ndear, that I must say such, but it is for good of you that I speak.\nHe infect you in such wise, that even if he do no more, you have\nonly to live, to live in your own old, sweet way, and so in time,\ndeath, which is of man's common lot and with God's sanction, shall\nmake you like to him. This must not be! We have sworn together that\nit must not. Thus are we ministers of God's own wish. That the\nworld, and men for whom His Son die, will not be given over to\nmonsters, whose very existence would defame Him. He have allowed us\nto redeem one soul already, and we go out as the old knights of the\nCross to redeem more. Like them we shall travel towards the\nsunrise. And like them, if we fall, we fall in good cause.\"\nHe paused and I said, \"But will not the Count take his rebuff\nwisely? Since he has been driven from England, will he not avoid\nit, as a tiger does the village from which he has been hunted?\"\n\"Aha!\" he said, \"your simile of the tiger good, for me, and I\nshall adopt him. Your maneater, as they of India call the tiger who\nhas once tasted blood of the human, care no more for the other\nprey, but prowl unceasing till he get him. This that we hunt from\nour village is a tiger, too, a maneater, and he never cease to\nprowl. Nay, in himself he is not one to retire and stay afar. In\nhis life, his living life, he go over the Turkey frontier and\nattack his enemy on his own ground. He be beaten back, but did he\nstay? No! He come again, and again, and again. Look at hisstay? No! He come again, and again, and again. Look at his\npersistence and endurance. With the child-brain that was to him he\nhave long since conceive the idea of coming to a great city. What\ndoes he do? He find out the place of all the world most of promise\nfor him. Then he deliberately set himself down to prepare for the\ntask. He find in patience just how is his strength, and what are\nhis powers. He study new tongues. He learn new social life, new\nenvironment of old ways, the politics, the law, the finance, the\nscience, the habit of a new land and a new people who have come to\nbe since he was. His glimpse that he have had, whet his appetite\nonly and enkeen his desire. Nay, it help him to grow as to his\nbrain. For it all prove to him how right he was at the first in his\nsurmises. He have done this alone, all alone! From a ruin tomb in a\nforgotten land. What more may he not do when the greater world of\nthought is open to him. He that can smile at death, as we know him.\nWho can flourish in the midst of diseases that kill off whole\npeoples. Oh! If such an one was to come from God, and not the\nDevil, what a force for good might he not be in this old world of\nours. But we are pledged to set the world free. Our toil must be in\nsilence, and our efforts all in secret. For in this enlightened\nage, when men believe not even what they see, the doubting of wise\nmen would be his greatest strength. It would be at once his sheath\nand his armor, and his weapons to destroy us, his enemies, who are\nwilling to peril even our own souls for the safety of one we love.\nFor the good of mankind, and for the honor and glory of God.\"\nAfter a general discussion it was determined that for tonight\nnothing be definitely settled. That we should all sleep on the\nfacts, and try to think out the proper conclusions. Tomorrow, at\nbreakfast, we are to meet again, and after making our conclusions\nknown to one another, we shall decide on some definite cause of\naction …\nI feel a wonderful peace and rest tonight. It is as if someaction …\nI feel a wonderful peace and rest tonight. It is as if some\nhaunting presence were removed from me. Perhaps …\nMy surmise was not finished, could not be, for I caught sight in\nthe mirror of the red mark upon my forehead, and I knew that I was\nstill unclean.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n5 October.—We all arose early, and I think that sleep did much\nfor each and all of us. When we met at early breakfast there was\nmore general cheerfulness than any of us had ever expected to\nexperience again.\nIt is really wonderful how much resilience there is in human\nnature. Let any obstructing cause, no matter what, be removed in\nany way, even by death, and we fly back to first principles of hope\nand enjoyment. More than once as we sat around the table, my eyes\nopened in wonder whether the whole of the past days had not been a\ndream. It was only when I caught sight of the red blotch on Mrs.\nHarker's forehead that I was brought back to reality. Even now,\nwhen I am gravely revolving the matter, it is almost impossible to\nrealize that the cause of all our trouble is still existent. Even\nMrs. Harker seems to lose sight of her trouble for whole spells. It\nis only now and again, when something recalls it to her mind, that\nshe thinks of her terrible scar. We are to meet here in my study in\nhalf an hour and decide on our course of action. I see only one\nimmediate difficulty, I know it by instinct rather than reason. We\nshall all have to speak frankly. And yet I fear that in some\nmysterious way poor Mrs. Harker's tongue is tied. I know that she\nforms conclusions of her own, and from all that has been I can\nguess how brilliant and how true they must be. But she will not, or\ncannot, give them utterance. I have mentioned this to Van Helsing,\nand he and I are to talk it over when we are alone. I suppose it is\nsome of that horrid poison which has got into her veins beginning\nto work. The Count had his own purposes when he gave her what Van\nHelsing called \"the Vampire's baptism of blood.\" Well, there may be"}
{"text": "Helsing called \"the Vampire's baptism of blood.\" Well, there may be\na poison that distills itself out of good things. In an age when\nthe existence of ptomaines is a mystery we should not wonder at\nanything! One thing I know, that if my instinct be true regarding\npoor Mrs. Harker's silences, then there is a terrible difficulty,\nan unknown danger, in the work before us. The same power that\ncompels her silence may compel her speech. I dare not think\nfurther, for so I should in my thoughts dishonor a noble woman!\nLater.—When the Professor came in, we talked over the state of\nthings. I could see that he had something on his mind, which he\nwanted to say, but felt some hesitancy about broaching the subject.\nAfter beating about the bush a little, he said,\"Friend John, there\nis something that you and I must talk of alone, just at the first\nat any rate. Later, we may have to take the others into our\nconfidence.\"\nThen he stopped, so I waited. He went on, \"Madam Mina, our poor,\ndear Madam Mina is changing.\"\nA cold shiver ran through me to find my worst fears thus\nendorsed. Van Helsing continued.\n\"With the sad experience of Miss Lucy, we must this time be\nwarned before things go too far. Our task is now in reality more\ndifficult than ever, and this new trouble makes every hour of the\ndirest importance. I can see the characteristics of the vampire\ncoming in her face. It is now but very, very slight. But it is to\nbe seen if we have eyes to notice without prejudge. Her teeth are\nsharper, and at times her eyes are more hard. But these are not\nall, there is to her the silence now often, as so it was with Miss\nLucy. She did not speak, even when she wrote that which she wished\nto be known later. Now my fear is this. If it be that she can, by\nour hypnotic trance, tell what the Count see and hear, is it not\nmore true that he who have hypnotize her first, and who have drink\nof her very blood and make her drink of his, should if he will,\ncompel her mind to disclose to him that which she know?\"compel her mind to disclose to him that which she know?\"\nI nodded acquiescence. He went on, \"Then, what we must do is to\nprevent this. We must keep her ignorant of our intent, and so she\ncannot tell what she know not. This is a painful task! Oh, so\npainful that it heartbreak me to think of it, but it must be. When\ntoday we meet, I must tell her that for reason which we will not to\nspeak she must not more be of our council, but be simply guarded by\nus.\"\nHe wiped his forehead, which had broken out in profuse\nperspiration at the thought of the pain which he might have to\ninflict upon the poor soul already so tortured. I knew that it\nwould be some sort of comfort to him if I told him that I also had\ncome to the same conclusion. For at any rate it would take away the\npain of doubt. I told him, and the effect was as I expected.\nIt is now close to the time of our general gathering. Van\nHelsing has gone away to prepare for the meeting, and his painful\npart of it. I really believe his purpose is to be able to pray\nalone.\nLater.—At the very outset of our meeting a great personal relief\nwas experienced by both Van Helsing and myself. Mrs. Harker had\nsent a message by her husband to say that she would not join us at\npresent, as she thought it better that we should be free to discuss\nour movements without her presence to embarrass us. The Professor\nand I looked at each other for an instant, and somehow we both\nseemed relieved. For my own part, I thought that if Mrs. Harker\nrealized the danger herself, it was much pain as well as much\ndanger averted. Under the circumstances we agreed, by a questioning\nlook and answer, with finger on lip, to preserve silence in our\nsuspicions, until we should have been able to confer alone again.\nWe went at once into our Plan of Campaign.\nVan Helsing roughly put the facts before us first,\"The Czarina\nCatherine left the Thames yesterday morning. It will take her at\nthe quickest speed she has ever made at least three weeks to reachthe quickest speed she has ever made at least three weeks to reach\nVarna. But we can travel overland to the same place in three days.\nNow, if we allow for two days less for the ship's voyage, owing to\nsuch weather influences as we know that the Count can bring to\nbear, and if we allow a whole day and night for any delays which\nmay occur to us, then we have a margin of nearly two weeks.\n\"Thus, in order to be quite safe, we must leave here on 17th at\nlatest. Then we shall at any rate be in Varna a day before the ship\narrives, and able to make such preparations as may be necessary. Of\ncourse we shall all go armed, armed against evil things, spiritual\nas well as physical.\"\nHere Quincey Morris added,\"I understand that the Count comes\nfrom a wolf country, and it may be that he shall get there before\nus. I propose that we add Winchesters to our armament. I have a\nkind of belief in a Winchester when there is any trouble of that\nsort around. Do you remember, Art, when we had the pack after us at\nTobolsk? What wouldn't we have given then for a repeater\napiece!\"\n\"Good!\" said Van Helsing, \"Winchesters it shall be. Quincey's\nhead is level at times, but most so when there is to hunt, metaphor\nbe more dishonor to science than wolves be of danger to man. In the\nmeantime we can do nothing here. And as I think that Varna is not\nfamiliar to any of us, why not go there more soon? It is as long to\nwait here as there. Tonight and tomorrow we can get ready, and then\nif all be well, we four can set out on our journey.\"\n\"We four?\" said Harker interrogatively, looking from one to\nanother of us.\n\"Of course!\" answered the Professor quickly. \"You must remain to\ntake care of your so sweet wife!\"\nHarker was silent for awhile and then said in a hollow voice,\n\"Let us talk of that part of it in the morning. I want to consult\nwith Mina.\"\nI thought that now was the time for Van Helsing to warn him not\nto disclose our plan to her, but he took no notice. I looked at him\nsignificantly and coughed. For answer he put his finger to his lips"}
{"text": "significantly and coughed. For answer he put his finger to his lips\nand turned away.\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\nOctober, afternoon.—For some time after our meeting this morning\nI could not think. The new phases of things leave my mind in a\nstate of wonder which allows no room for active thought. Mina's\ndetermination not to take any part in the discussion set me\nthinking. And as I could not argue the matter with her, I could\nonly guess. I am as far as ever from a solution now. The way the\nothers received it, too puzzled me. The last time we talked of the\nsubject we agreed that there was to be no more concealment of\nanything amongst us. Mina is sleeping now, calmly and sweetly like\na little child. Her lips are curved and her face beams with\nhappiness. Thank God, there are such moments still for her.\nLater.—How strange it all is. I sat watching Mina's happy sleep,\nand I came as near to being happy myself as I suppose I shall ever\nbe. As the evening drew on, and the earth took its shadows from the\nsun sinking lower, the silence of the room grew more and more\nsolemn to me.\nAll at once Mina opened her eyes, and looking at me tenderly\nsaid, \"Jonathan, I want you to promise me something on your word of\nhonor. A promise made to me, but made holily in God's hearing, and\nnot to be broken though I should go down on my knees and implore\nyou with bitter tears. Quick, you must make it to me at once.\"\n\"Mina,\" I said, \"a promise like that, I cannot make at once. I\nmay have no right to make it.\"\n\"But, dear one,\" she said, with such spiritual intensity that\nher eyes were like pole stars, \"it is I who wish it. And it is not\nfor myself. You can ask Dr. Van Helsing if I am not right. If he\ndisagrees you may do as you will. Nay, more if you all agree, later\nyou are absolved from the promise.\"\n\"I promise!\" I said, and for a moment she looked supremely\nhappy. Though to me all happiness for her was denied by the red\nscar on her forehead.\nShe said, \"Promise me that you will not tell me anything of thescar on her forehead.\nShe said, \"Promise me that you will not tell me anything of the\nplans formed for the campaign against the Count. Not by word, or\ninference, or implication, not at any time whilst this remains to\nme!\" And she solemnly pointed to the scar. I saw that she was in\nearnest, and said solemnly, \"I promise!\" and as I said it I felt\nthat from that instant a door had been shut between us.\nLater, midnight.—Mina has been bright and cheerful all the\nevening. So much so that all the rest seemed to take courage, as if\ninfected somewhat with her gaiety. As a result even I myself felt\nas if the pall of gloom which weighs us down were somewhat lifted.\nWe all retired early. Mina is now sleeping like a little child. It\nis wonderful thing that her faculty of sleep remains to her in the\nmidst of her terrible trouble. Thank God for it, for then at least\nshe can forget her care. Perhaps her example may affect me as her\ngaiety did tonight. I shall try it. Oh! For a dreamless sleep.\n6 October, morning.—Another surprise. Mina woke me early, about\nthe same time as yesterday, and asked me to bring Dr. Van Helsing.\nI thought that it was another occassion for hypnotism, and without\nquestion went for the Professor. He had evidently expected some\nsuch call, for I found him dressed in his room. His door was ajar,\nso that he could hear the opening of the door of our room. He came\nat once. As he passed into the room, he asked Mina if the others\nmight come, too.\n\"No,\" she said quite simply, \"it will not be necessary. You can\ntell them just as well. I must go with you on your journey.\"\nDr. Van Helsing was as startled as I was. After a moment's pause\nhe asked, \"But why?\"\n\"You must take me with you. I am safer with you, and you shall\nbe safer, too.\"\n\"But why, dear Madam Mina? You know that your safety is our\nsolemnest duty. We go into danger, to which you are, or may be,\nmore liable than any of us from … from circumstances …\nthings that have been.\" He paused embarrassed.\nAs she replied, she raised her finger and pointed to herAs she replied, she raised her finger and pointed to her\nforehead. \"I know. That is why I must go. I can tell you now,\nwhilst the sun is coming up. I may not be able again. I know that\nwhen the Count wills me I must go. I know that if he tells me to\ncome in secret, I must by wile. By any device to hoodwink, even\nJonathan.\" God saw the look that she turned on me as she spoke, and\nif there be indeed a Recording Angel that look is noted to her\never-lasting honor. I could only clasp her hand. I could not speak.\nMy emotion was too great for even the relief of tears.\nShe went on. \"You men are brave and strong. You are strong in\nyour numbers, for you can defy that which would break down the\nhuman endurance of one who had to guard alone. Besides, I may be of\nservice, since you can hypnotize me and so learn that which even I\nmyself do not know.\"\nDr. Van Helsing said gravely, \"Madam Mina, you are, as always,\nmost wise. You shall with us come. And together we shall do that\nwhich we go forth to achieve.\"\nWhen he had spoken, Mina's long spell of silence made me look at\nher. She had fallen back on her pillow asleep. She did not even\nwake when I had pulled up the blind and let in the sunlight which\nflooded the room. Van Helsing motioned to me to come with him\nquietly. We went to his room, and within a minute Lord Godalming,\nDr. Seward, and Mr. Morris were with us also.\nHe told them what Mina had said, and went on. \"In the morning we\nshall leave for Varna. We have now to deal with a new factor, Madam\nMina. Oh, but her soul is true. It is to her an agony to tell us so\nmuch as she has done. But it is most right, and we are warned in\ntime. There must be no chance lost, and in Varna we must be ready\nto act the instant when that ship arrives.\"\n\"What shall we do exactly?\" asked Mr. Morris laconically.\nThe Professor paused before replying, \"We shall at the first\nboard that ship. Then, when we have identified the box, we shall\nplace a branch of the wild rose on it. This we shall fasten, for"}
{"text": "place a branch of the wild rose on it. This we shall fasten, for\nwhen it is there none can emerge, so that at least says the\nsuperstition. And to superstition must we trust at the first. It\nwas man's faith in the early, and it have its root in faith still.\nThen, when we get the opportunity that we seek, when none are near\nto see, we shall open the box, and … and all will be\nwell.\"\n\"I shall not wait for any opportunity,\" said Morris. \"When I see\nthe box I shall open it and destroy the monster, though there were\na thousand men looking on, and if I am to be wiped out for it the\nnext moment!\" I grasped his hand instinctively and found it as firm\nas a piece of steel. I think he understood my look. I hope he\ndid.\n\"Good boy,\" said Dr. Van Helsing. \"Brave boy. Quincey is all\nman. God bless him for it. My child, believe me none of us shall\nlag behind or pause from any fear. I do but say what we may\ndo … what we must do. But, indeed, indeed we cannot say what\nwe may do. There are so many things which may happen, and their\nways and their ends are so various that until the moment we may not\nsay. We shall all be armed, in all ways. And when the time for the\nend has come, our effort shall not be lack. Now let us today put\nall our affairs in order. Let all things which touch on others dear\nto us, and who on us depend, be complete. For none of us can tell\nwhat, or when, or how, the end may be. As for me, my own affairs\nare regulate, and as I have nothing else to do, I shall go make\narrangements for the travel. I shall have all tickets and so forth\nfor our journey.\"\nThere was nothing further to be said, and we parted. I shall now\nsettle up all my affairs of earth, and be ready for whatever may\ncome.\nLater.—It is done. My will is made, and all complete. Mina if\nshe survive is my sole heir. If it should not be so, then the\nothers who have been so good to us shall have remainder.\nIt is now drawing towards the sunset. Mina's uneasiness calls my\nattention to it. I am sure that there is something on her mindattention to it. I am sure that there is something on her mind\nwhich the time of exact sunset will reveal. These occasions are\nbecoming harrowing times for us all. For each sunrise and sunset\nopens up some new danger, some new pain, which however, may in\nGod's will be means to a good end. I write all these things in the\ndiary since my darling must not hear them now. But if it may be\nthat she can see them again, they shall be ready. She is calling to\nme.11 October, Evening.—Jonathan Harker has asked me to note this,\nas he says he is hardly equal to the task, and he wants an exact\nrecord kept.\nI think that none of us were surprised when we were asked to see\nMrs. Harker a little before the time of sunset. We have of late\ncome to understand that sunrise and sunset are to her times of\npeculiar freedom. When her old self can be manifest without any\ncontrolling force subduing or restraining her, or inciting her to\naction. This mood or condition begins some half hour or more before\nactual sunrise or sunset, and lasts till either the sun is high, or\nwhilst the clouds are still aglow with the rays streaming above the\nhorizon. At first there is a sort of negative condition, as if some\ntie were loosened, and then the absolute freedom quickly follows.\nWhen, however, the freedom ceases the change back or relapse comes\nquickly, preceeded only by a spell of warning silence.\nTonight, when we met, she was somewhat constrained, and bore all\nthe signs of an internal struggle. I put it down myself to her\nmaking a violent effort at the earliest instant she could do\nso.\nA very few minutes, however, gave her complete control of\nherself. Then, motioning her husband to sit beside her on the sofa\nwhere she was half reclining, she made the rest of us bring chairs\nup close.\nTaking her husband's hand in hers, she began, \"We are all here\ntogether in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I know that you\nwill always be with me to the end.\" This was to her husband whose\nhand had, as we could see, tightened upon her. \"In the morning we\ngo out upon our task, and God alone knows what may be in store for\nany of us. You are going to be so good to me to take me with you. I\nknow that all that brave earnest men can do for a poor weak woman,\nwhose soul perhaps is lost, no, no, not yet, but is at any rate at\nstake, you will do. But you must remember that I am not as you are.\nThere is a poison in my blood, in my soul, which may destroy me,\nwhich must destroy me, unless some relief comes to us. Oh, mywhich must destroy me, unless some relief comes to us. Oh, my\nfriends, you know as well as I do, that my soul is at stake. And\nthough I know there is one way out for me, you must not and I must\nnot take it!\" She looked appealingly to us all in turn, beginning\nand ending with her husband.\n\"What is that way?\" asked Van Helsing in a hoarse voice. \"What\nis that way, which we must not, may not, take?\"\n\"That I may die now, either by my own hand or that of another,\nbefore the greater evil is entirely wrought. I know, and you know,\nthat were I once dead you could and would set free my immortal\nspirit, even as you did my poor Lucy's. Were death, or the fear of\ndeath, the only thing that stood in the way I would not shrink to\ndie here now, amidst the friends who love me. But death is not all.\nI cannot believe that to die in such a case, when there is hope\nbefore us and a bitter task to be done, is God's will. Therefore, I\non my part, give up here the certainty of eternal rest, and go out\ninto the dark where may be the blackest things that the world or\nthe nether world holds!\"\nWe were all silent, for we knew instinctively that this was only\na prelude. The faces of the others were set, and Harker's grew\nashen grey. Perhaps, he guessed better than any of us what was\ncoming.\nShe continued, \"This is what I can give into the hotchpot.\" I\ncould not but note the quaint legal phrase which she used in such a\nplace, and with all seriousness. \"What will each of you give? Your\nlives I know,\" she went on quickly, \"that is easy for brave men.\nYour lives are God's, and you can give them back to Him, but what\nwill you give to me?\" She looked again questionly, but this time\navoided her husband's face. Quincey seemed to understand, he\nnodded, and her face lit up. \"Then I shall tell you plainly what I\nwant, for there must be no doubtful matter in this connection\nbetween us now. You must promise me, one and all, even you, my\nbeloved husband, that should the time come, you will kill me.\""}
{"text": "beloved husband, that should the time come, you will kill me.\"\n\"What is that time?\" The voice was Quincey's, but it was low and\nstrained.\n\"When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that it is\nbetter that I die that I may live. When I am thus dead in the\nflesh, then you will, without a moment's delay, drive a stake\nthrough me and cut off my head, or do whatever else may be wanting\nto give me rest!\"\nQuincey was the first to rise after the pause. He knelt down\nbefore her and taking her hand in his said solemnly, \"I'm only a\nrough fellow, who hasn't, perhaps, lived as a man should to win\nsuch a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold sacred\nand dear that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch from\nthe duty that you have set us. And I promise you, too, that I shall\nmake all certain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that\nthe time has come!\"\n\"My true friend!\" was all she could say amid her fastfalling\ntears, as bending over, she kissed his hand.\n\"I swear the same, my dear Madam Mina!\"said Van Helsing. \"And\nI!\" said Lord Godalming, each of them in turn kneeling to her to\ntake the oath. I followed, myself.\nThen her husband turned to her wan-eyed and with a greenish\npallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of his hair, and asked,\n\"And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?\"\n\"You too, my dearest,\"she said, with infinite yearning of pity\nin her voice and eyes. \"You must not shrink. You are nearest and\ndearest and all the world to me. Our souls are knit into one, for\nall life and all time. Think, dear, that there have been times when\nbrave men have killed their wives and their womenkind, to keep them\nfrom falling into the hands of the enemy. Their hands did not\nfalter any the more because those that they loved implored them to\nslay them. It is men's duty towards those whom they love, in such\ntimes of sore trial! And oh, my dear, if it is to be that I must\nmeet death at any hand, let it be at the hand of him that loves me\nbest. Dr. Van Helsing, I have not forgotten your mercy in poorbest. Dr. Van Helsing, I have not forgotten your mercy in poor\nLucy's case to him who loved.\" She stopped with a flying blush, and\nchanged her phrase, \"to him who had best right to give her peace.\nIf that time shall come again, I look to you to make it a happy\nmemory of my husband's life that it was his loving hand which set\nme free from the awful thrall upon me.\"\n\"Again I swear!\" came the Professor's resonant voice.\nMrs. Harker smiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh of relief\nshe leaned back and said, \"And now one word of warning, a warning\nwhich you must never forget. This time, if it ever come, may come\nquickly and unexpectedly, and in such case you must lose no time in\nusing your opportunity. At such a time I myself might be …\nnay! If the time ever come, shall be, leagued with your enemy\nagainst you.\n\"One more request,\" she became very solemn as she said this, \"it\nis not vital and necessary like the other, but I want you to do one\nthing for me, if you will.\"\nWe all acquiesced, but no one spoke. There was no need to\nspeak.\n\"I want you to read the Burial Service.\" She was interrupted by\na deep groan from her husband. Taking his hand in hers, she held it\nover her heart, and continued. \"You must read it over me some day.\nWhatever may be the issue of all this fearful state of things, it\nwill be a sweet thought to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will\nI hope read it, for then it will be in your voice in my memory\nforever, come what may!\"\n\"But oh, my dear one,\" he pleaded, \"death is afar off from\nyou.\"\n\"Nay,\" she said, holding up a warning hand. \"I am deeper in\ndeath at this moment than if the weight of an earthly grave lay\nheavy upon me!\"\n\"Oh, my wife, must I read it?\"he said, before he began.\n\"It would comfort me, my husband!\" was all she said, and he\nbegan to read when she had got the book ready.\nHow can I, how could anyone, tell of that strange scene, its\nsolemnity, its gloom,its sadness, its horror, and withal, its\nsweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but a travesty ofsweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing but a travesty of\nbitter truth in anything holy or emotional, would have been melted\nto the heart had he seen that little group of loving and devoted\nfriends kneeling round that stricken and sorrowing lady. Or heard\nthe tender passion of her husband's voice, as in tones so broken\nand emotional that often he had to pause, he read the simple and\nbeautiful service from the Burial of the Dead. I cannot go\non … words … and v-voices … f-fail m-me!\nShe was right in her instinct. Strange as it was, bizarre as it\nmay hereafter seem even to us who felt its potent influence at the\ntime, it comforted us much. And the silence, which showed Mrs.\nHarker's coming relapse from her freedom of soul, did not seem so\nfull of despair to any of us as we had dreaded.\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n15 October, Varna.—We left Charing Cross on the morning of the\n12th, got to Paris the same night, and took the places secured for\nus in the Orient Express. We traveled night and day, arriving here\nat about five o'clock. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see\nif any telegram had arrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on\nto this hotel, \"the Odessus.\" The journey may have had incidents. I\nwas, however, too eager to get on, to care for them. Until the\nCzarina Catherine comes into port there will be no interest for me\nin anything in the wide world. Thank God! Mina is well, and looks\nto be getting stronger. Her color is coming back. She sleeps a\ngreat deal. Throughout the journey she slept nearly all the time.\nBefore sunrise and sunset, however, she is very wakeful and alert.\nAnd it has become a habit for Van Helsing to hypnotize her at such\ntimes. At first, some effort was needed, and he had to make many\npasses. But now, she seems to yield at once, as if by habit, and\nscarcely any action is needed. He seems to have power at these\nparticular moments to simply will, and her thoughts obey him. He\nalways asks her what she can see and hear.\nShe answers to the first, \"Nothing, all is dark.\""}
{"text": "always asks her what she can see and hear.\nShe answers to the first, \"Nothing, all is dark.\"\nAnd to the second,\"I can hear the waves lapping against the\nship, and the water rushing by. Canvas and cordage strain and masts\nand yards creak. The wind is high … I can hear it in the\nshrouds, and the bow throws back the foam.\"\nIt is evident that the Czarina Catherine is still at sea,\nhastening on her way to Varna. Lord Godalming has just returned. He\nhad four telegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the\nsame effect. That the Czarina Catherine had not been reported to\nLloyd's from anywhere. He had arranged before leaving London that\nhis agent should send him every day a telegram saying if the ship\nhad been reported. He was to have a message even if she were not\nreported, so that he might be sure that there was a watch being\nkept at the other end of the wire.\nWe had dinner and went to bed early. Tomorrow we are to see the\nVice Consul, and to arrange, if we can, about getting on board the\nship as soon as she arrives. Van Helsing says that our chance will\nbe to get on the boat between sunrise and sunset. The Count, even\nif he takes the form of a bat, cannot cross the running water of\nhis own volition, and so cannot leave the ship. As he dare not\nchange to man's form without suspicion, which he evidently wishes\nto avoid, he must remain in the box. If, then, we can come on board\nafter sunrise, he is at our mercy, for we can open the box and make\nsure of him, as we did of poor Lucy, before he wakes. What mercy he\nshall get from us all will not count for much. We think that we\nshall not have much trouble with officials or the seamen. Thank\nGod! This is the country where bribery can do anything, and we are\nwell supplied with money. We have only to make sure that the ship\ncannot come into port between sunset and sunrise without our being\nwarned, and we shall be safe. Judge Moneybag will settle this case,\nI think!\n16 October.—Mina's report still the same. Lapping waves andI think!\n16 October.—Mina's report still the same. Lapping waves and\nrushing water, darkness and favoring winds. We are evidently in\ngood time, and when we hear of the Czarina Catherine we shall be\nready. As she must pass the Dardanelles we are sure to have some\nreport.\n17 October.—Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, to\nwelcome the Count on his return from his tour. Godalming told the\nshippers that he fancied that the box sent aboard might contain\nsomething stolen from a friend of his, and got a half consent that\nhe might open it at his own risk. The owner gave him a paper\ntelling the Captain to give him every facility in doing whatever he\nchose on board the ship, and also a similar authorization to his\nagent at Varna. We have seen the agent, who was much impressed with\nGodalming's kindly manner to him, and we are all satisfied that\nwhatever he can do to aid our wishes will be done.\nWe have already arranged what to do in case we get the box open.\nIf the Count is there, Van Helsing and Seward will cut off his head\nat once and drive a stake through his heart. Morris and Godalming\nand I shall prevent interference, even if we have to use the arms\nwhich we shall have ready. The Professor says that if we can so\ntreat the Count's body, it will soon after fall into dust. In such\ncase there would be no evidence against us, in case any suspicion\nof murder were aroused. But even if it were not, we should stand or\nfall by our act, and perhaps some day this very script may be\nevidence to come between some of us and a rope. For myself, I\nshould take the chance only too thankfully if it were to come. We\nmean to leave no stone unturned to carry out our intent. We have\narranged with certain officials that the instant the Czarina\nCatherine is seen, we are to be informed by a special\nmessenger.\n24 October.—A whole week of waiting. Daily telegrams to\nGodalming, but only the same story. \"Not yet reported.\" Mina's\nmorning and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried. Lapping waves,\nrushing water, and creaking masts.morning and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried. Lapping waves,\nrushing water, and creaking masts.\nTELEGRAM, OCTOBER 24TH RUFUS SMITH, LLOYD'S, LONDON, TO LORD\nGODALMING, CARE OF\nH. B. M. VICE CONSUL, VARNA\n\"Czarina Catherine reported this morning from Dardanelles.\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n25 October.—How I miss my phonograph! To write a diary with a\npen is irksome to me! But Van Helsing says I must. We were all wild\nwith excitement yesterday when Godalming got his telegram from\nLloyd's. I know now what men feel in battle when the call to action\nis heard. Mrs.Harker, alone of our party, did not show any signs of\nemotion. After all, it is not strange that she did not, for we took\nspecial care not to let her know anything about it, and we all\ntried not to show any excitement when we were in her presence. In\nold days she would, I am sure, have noticed, no matter how we might\nhave tried to conceal it. But in this way she is greatly changed\nduring the past three weeks. The lethargy grows upon her, and\nthough she seems strong and well, and is getting back some of her\ncolor, Van Helsing and I are not satisfied. We talk of her often.\nWe have not, however, said a word to the others. It would break\npoor Harker's heart, certainly his nerve, if he knew that we had\neven a suspicion on the subject. Van Helsing examines, he tells me,\nher teeth very carefully, whilst she is in the hypnotic condition,\nfor he says that so long as they do not begin to sharpen there is\nno active danger of a change in her. If this change should come, it\nwould be necessary to take steps! We both know what those steps\nwould have to be, though we do not mention our thoughts to each\nother. We should neither of us shrink from the task, awful though\nit be to contemplate. \"Euthanasia\" is an excellent and a comforting\nword! I am grateful to whoever invented it.\nIt is only about 24 hours' sail from the Dardanelles to here, at\nthe rate the Czarina Catherine has come from London. She should\ntherefore arrive some time in the morning, but as she cannot"}
{"text": "therefore arrive some time in the morning, but as she cannot\npossibly get in before noon, we are all about to retire early. We\nshall get up at one o'clock, so as to be ready.\n25 October, Noon.—No news yet of the ship's arrival. Mrs.\nHarker's hypnotic report this morning was the same as usual, so it\nis possible that we may get news at any moment. We men are all in a\nfever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm. His hands are cold\nas ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great\nGhoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a\nbad lookout for the Count if the edge of that \"Kukri\" ever touches\nhis throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!\nVan Helsing and I were a little alarmed about Mrs. Harker today.\nAbout noon she got into a sort of lethargy which we did not like.\nAlthough we kept silence to the others, we were neither of us happy\nabout it. She had been restless all the morning, so that we were at\nfirst glad to know that she was sleeping. When, however, her\nhusband mentioned casually that she was sleeping so soundly that he\ncould not wake her, we went to her room to see for ourselves. She\nwas breathing naturally and looked so well and peaceful that we\nagreed that the sleep was better for her than anything else. Poor\ngirl, she has so much to forget that it is no wonder that sleep, if\nit brings oblivion to her, does her good.\nLater.—Our opinion was justified, for when after a refreshing\nsleep of some hours she woke up, she seemed brighter and better\nthan she had been for days. At sunset she made the usual hypnotic\nreport. Wherever he may be in the Black Sea, the Count is hurrying\nto his destination. To his doom, I trust!\n26 October.—Another day and no tidings of the Czarina Catherine.\nShe ought to be here by now. That she is still journeying somewhere\nis apparent, for Mrs. Harker's hypnotic report at sunrise was still\nthe same. It is possible that the vessel may be lying by, at times,\nfor fog. Some of the steamers which came in last evening reportedfor fog. Some of the steamers which came in last evening reported\npatches of fog both to north and south of the port. We must\ncontinue our watching, as the ship may now be signalled any\nmoment.\n27 October, Noon.—Most strange. No news yet of the ship we wait\nfor. Mrs. Harker reported last night and this morning as usual.\n\"Lapping waves and rushing water,\" though she added that \"the waves\nwere very faint.\" The telegrams from London have been the same, \"no\nfurther report.\" Van Helsing is terribly anxious, and told me just\nnow that he fears the Count is escaping us.\nHe added significantly, \"I did not like that lethargy of Madam\nMina's. Souls and memories can do strange things during trance.\" I\nwas about to ask him more, but Harker just then came in, and he\nheld up a warning hand. We must try tonight at sunset to make her\nspeak more fully when in her hypnotic state.\n28 October.—Telegram. Rufus Smith, London, to Lord Godalming,\ncare H. B. M. Vice Consul, Varna \"Czarina Catherine reported\nentering Galatz at one o'clock today.\"\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n28 October.—When the telegram came announcing the arrival in\nGalatz I do not think it was such a shock to any of us as might\nhave been expected. True, we did not know whence, or how, or when,\nthe bolt would come. But I think we all expected that something\nstrange would happen. The day of arrival at Varna made us\nindividually satisfied that things would not be just as we had\nexpected. We only waited to learn where the change would occur.\nNone the less, however, it was a surprise. I suppose that nature\nworks on such a hopeful basis that we believe against ourselves\nthat things will be as they ought to be, not as we should know that\nthey will be. Transcendentalism is a beacon to the angels, even if\nit be a will-o'-the-wisp to man. Van Helsing raised his hand over\nhis head for a moment, as though in remonstrance with the Almighty.\nBut he said not a word, and in a few seconds stood up with his face\nsternly set.\nLord Godalming grew very pale, and sat breathing heavily. I wassternly set.\nLord Godalming grew very pale, and sat breathing heavily. I was\nmyself half stunned and looked in wonder at one after another.\nQuincey Morris tightened his belt with that quick movement which I\nknew so well. In our old wandering days it meant \"action.\" Mrs.\nHarker grew ghastly white, so that the scar on her forehead seemed\nto burn, but she folded her hands meekly and looked up in prayer.\nHarker smiled, actually smiled, the dark, bitter smile of one who\nis without hope, but at the same time his action belied his words,\nfor his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri\nknife and rested there.\n\"When does the next train start for Galatz?\" said Van Helsing to\nus generally.\n\"At 6:30 tomorrow morning!\" We all started, for the answer came\nfrom Mrs. Harker.\n\"How on earth do you know?\" said Art.\n\"You forget, or perhaps you do not know, though Jonathan does\nand so does Dr. Van Helsing, that I am the train fiend. At home in\nExeter I always used to make up the time tables, so as to be\nhelpful to my husband. I found it so useful sometimes, that I\nalways make a study of the time tables now. I knew that if anything\nwere to take us to Castle Dracula we should go by Galatz, or at any\nrate through Bucharest, so I learned the times very carefully.\nUnhappily there are not many to learn, as the only train tomorrow\nleaves as I say.\"\n\"Wonderful woman!\" murmured the Professor.\n\"Can't we get a special?\" asked Lord Godalming.\nVan Helsing shook his head, \"I fear not. This land is very\ndifferent from yours or mine. Even if we did have a special, it\nwould probably not arrive as soon as our regular train. Moreover,\nwe have something to prepare. We must think. Now let us organize.\nYou, friend Arthur, go to the train and get the tickets and arrange\nthat all be ready for us to go in the morning. Do you, friend\nJonathan, go to the agent of the ship and get from him letters to\nthe agent in Galatz, with authority to make a search of the ship\njust as it was here. Quincey Morris, you see the Vice Consul, and"}
{"text": "just as it was here. Quincey Morris, you see the Vice Consul, and\nget his aid with his fellow in Galatz and all he can do to make our\nway smooth, so that no times be lost when over the Danube. John\nwill stay with Madam Mina and me, and we shall consult. For so if\ntime be long you may be delayed. And it will not matter when the\nsun set, since I am here with Madam to make report.\"\n\"And I,\" said Mrs. Harker brightly, and more like her old self\nthan she had been for many a long day, \"shall try to be of use in\nall ways, and shall think and write for you as I used to do.\nSomething is shifting from me in some strange way, and I feel freer\nthan I have been of late!\"\nThe three younger men looked happier at the moment as they\nseemed to realize the significance of her words. But Van Helsing\nand I, turning to each other, met each a grave and troubled glance.\nWe said nothing at the time, however.\nWhen the three men had gone out to their tasks Van Helsing asked\nMrs. Harker to look up the copy of the diaries and find him the\npart of Harker's journal at the Castle. She went away to get\nit.\nWhen the door was shut upon her he said to me, \"We mean the\nsame! Speak out!\"\n\"Here is some change. It is a hope that makes me sick, for it\nmay deceive us.\"\n\"Quite so. Do you know why I asked her to get the\nmanuscript?\"\n\"No!\" said I, \"unless it was to get an opportunity of seeing me\nalone.\"\n\"You are in part right, friend John, but only in part. I want to\ntell you something. And oh, my friend, I am taking a great, a\nterrible, risk. But I believe it is right. In the moment when Madam\nMina said those words that arrest both our understanding, an\ninspiration came to me. In the trance of three days ago the Count\nsent her his spirit to read her mind. Or more like he took her to\nsee him in his earth box in the ship with water rushing, just as it\ngo free at rise and set of sun. He learn then that we are here, for\nshe have more to tell in her open life with eyes to see ears to\nhear than he, shut as he is, in his coffin box. Now he make hishear than he, shut as he is, in his coffin box. Now he make his\nmost effort to escape us. At present he want her not.\n\"He is sure with his so great knowledge that she will come at\nhis call. But he cut her off, take her, as he can do, out of his\nown power, that so she come not to him. Ah! There I have hope that\nour man brains that have been of man so long and that have not lost\nthe grace of God, will come higher than his child-brain that lie in\nhis tomb for centuries, that grow not yet to our stature, and that\ndo only work selfish and therefore small. Here comes Madam Mina.\nNot a word to her of her trance! She knows it not, and it would\noverwhelm her and make despair just when we want all her hope, all\nher courage, when most we want all her great brain which is trained\nlike man's brain, but is of sweet woman and have a special power\nwhich the Count give her, and which he may not take away\naltogether, though he think not so. Hush! Let me speak, and you\nshall learn. Oh, John, my friend, we are in awful straits. I fear,\nas I never feared before. We can only trust the good God. Silence!\nHere she comes!\"\nI thought that the Professor was going to break down and have\nhysterics, just as he had when Lucy died, but with a great effort\nhe controlled himself and was at perfect nervous poise when Mrs.\nHarker tripped into the room, bright and happy looking and, in the\ndoing of work, seemingly forgetful of her misery. As she came in,\nshe handed a number of sheets of typewriting to Van Helsing. He\nlooked over them gravely, his face brightening up as he read.\nThen holding the pages between his finger and thumb he said,\n\"Friend John, to you with so much experience already, and you too,\ndear Madam Mina, that are young, here is a lesson. Do not fear ever\nto think. A half thought has been buzzing often in my brain, but I\nfear to let him loose his wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I\ngo back to where that half thought come from and I find that he be\nno half thought at all. That be a whole thought, though so youngno half thought at all. That be a whole thought, though so young\nthat he is not yet strong to use his little wings. Nay, like the\n`Ugly Duck' of my friend Hans Andersen, he be no duck thought at\nall, but a big swan thought that sail nobly on big wings, when the\ntime come for him to try them. See I read here what Jonathan have\nwritten.\n\"That other of his race who, in a later age, again and again,\nbrought his forces over The Great River into Turkey Land, who when\nhe was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he had\nto come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being\nslaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately\ntriumph.\n\"What does this tell us? Not much? No! The Count's child thought\nsee nothing, therefore he speak so free. Your man thought see\nnothing. My man thought see nothing, till just now. No! But there\ncomes another word from some one who speak without thought because\nshe, too, know not what it mean, what it might mean. Just as there\nare elements which rest, yet when in nature's course they move on\ntheir way and they touch, the pouf! And there comes a flash of\nlight, heaven wide, that blind and kill and destroy some. But that\nshow up all earth below for leagues and leagues. Is it not so?\nWell, I shall explain. To begin, have you ever study the philosophy\nof crime? `Yes' and `No.' You, John, yes, for it is a study of\ninsanity. You, no, Madam Mina, for crime touch you not, not but\nonce. Still, your mind works true, and argues not a particulari ad\nuniversale. There is this peculiarity in criminals. It is so\nconstant, in all countries and at all times, that even police, who\nknow not much from philosophy, come to know it empirically, that it\nis. That is to be empiric. The criminal always work at one crime,\nthat is the true criminal who seems predestinate to crime, and who\nwill of none other. This criminal has not full man brain. He is\nclever and cunning and resourceful, but he be not of man stature as\nto brain. He be of child brain in much. Now this criminal of ours"}
{"text": "to brain. He be of child brain in much. Now this criminal of ours\nis pre-destinate to crime also. He, too, have child brain, and it\nis of the child to do what he have done. The little bird, the\nlittle fish, the little animal learn not by principle, but\nempirically. And when he learn to do, then there is to him the\nground to start from to do more. `Dos pou sto,' said Archimedes.\n`Give me a fulcrum, and I shall move the world!' To do once, is the\nfulcrum whereby child brain become man brain. And until he have the\npurpose to do more, he continue to do the same again every time,\njust as he have done before! Oh, my dear, I see that your eyes are\nopened, and that to you the lightning flash show all the\nleagues,\"for Mrs. Harker began to clap her hands and her eyes\nsparkled.\nHe went on, \"Now you shall speak. Tell us two dry men of science\nwhat you see with those so bright eyes.\" He took her hand and held\nit whilst he spoke. His finger and thumb closed on her pulse, as I\nthought instinctively and unconsciously, as she spoke.\n\"The Count is a criminal and of criminal type. Nordau and\nLombroso would so classify him, and qua criminal he is of an\nimperfectly formed mind. Thus, in a difficulty he has to seek\nresource in habit. His past is a clue, and the one page of it that\nwe know, and that from his own lips, tells that once before, when\nin what Mr. Morris would call a`tight place,' he went back to his\nown country from the land he had tried to invade, and thence,\nwithout losing purpose, prepared himself for a new effort. He came\nagain better equipped for his work, and won. So he came to London\nto invade a new land. He was beaten, and when all hope of success\nwas lost, and his existence in danger, he fled back over the sea to\nhis home. Just as formerly he had fled back over the Danube from\nTurkey Land.\"\n\"Good, good! Oh, you so clever lady!\" said Van Helsing,\nenthusiastically, as he stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later\nhe said to me, as calmly as though we had been having a sick roomhe said to me, as calmly as though we had been having a sick room\nconsultation, \"Seventy-two only, and in all this excitement. I have\nhope.\"\nTurning to her again, he said with keen expectation, \"But go on.\nGo on! There is more to tell if you will. Be not afraid. John and I\nknow. I do in any case, and shall tell you if you are right. Speak,\nwithout fear!\"\n\"I will try to. But you will forgive me if I seem too\negotistical.\"\n\"Nay! Fear not, you must be egotist, for it is of you that we\nthink.\"\n\"Then, as he is criminal he is selfish. And as his intellect is\nsmall and his action is based on selfishness, he confines himself\nto one purpose. That purpose is remorseless. As he fled back over\nthe Danube, leaving his forces to be cut to pieces, so now he is\nintent on being safe, careless of all. So his own selfishness frees\nmy soul somewhat from the terrible power which he acquired over me\non that dreadful night. I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for\nHis great mercy! My soul is freer than it has been since that awful\nhour. And all that haunts me is a fear lest in some trance or dream\nhe may have used my knowledge for his ends.\"\nThe Professor stood up, \"He has so used your mind, and by it he\nhas left us here in Varna, whilst the ship that carried him rushed\nthrough enveloping fog up to Galatz, where, doubtless, he had made\npreparation for escaping from us. But his child mind only saw so\nfar. And it may be that as ever is in God's Providence, the very\nthing that the evil doer most reckoned on for his selfish good,\nturns out to be his chiefest harm. The hunter is taken in his own\nsnare, as the great Psalmist says. For now that he think he is free\nfrom every trace of us all, and that he has escaped us with so many\nhours to him, then his selfish child brain will whisper him to\nsleep. He think, too, that as he cut himself off from knowing your\nmind, there can be no knowledge of him to you. There is where he\nfail! That terrible baptism of blood which he give you makes youfail! That terrible baptism of blood which he give you makes you\nfree to go to him in spirit, as you have as yet done in your times\nof freedom, when the sun rise and set. At such times you go by my\nvolition and not by his. And this power to good of you and others,\nyou have won from your suffering at his hands. This is now all more\nprecious that he know it not, and to guard himself have even cut\nhimself off from his knowledge of our where. We, however, are not\nselfish, and we believe that God is with us through all this\nblackness, and these many dark hours. We shall follow him, and we\nshall not flinch. Even if we peril ourselves that we become like\nhim. Friend John, this has been a great hour, and it have done much\nto advance us on our way. You must be scribe and write him all\ndown, so that when the others return from their work you can give\nit to them, then they shall know as we do.\"\nAnd so I have written it whilst we wait their return, and Mrs.\nHarker has written with the typewriter all since she brought the MS\nto us.29 October.—This is written in the train from Varna to Galatz.\nLast night we all assembled a little before the time of sunset.\nEach of us had done his work as well as he could, so far as\nthought, and endeavor, and opportunity go, we are prepared for the\nwhole of our journey, and for our work when we get to Galatz. When\nthe usual time came round Mrs. Harker prepared herself for her\nhypnotic effort, and after a longer and more serious effort on the\npart of Van Helsing than has been usually necessary, she sank into\nthe trance. Usually she speaks on a hint, but this time the\nProfessor had to ask her questions, and to ask them pretty\nresolutely, before we could learn anything. At last her answer\ncame.\n\"I can see nothing. We are still. There are no waves lapping,\nbut only a steady swirl of water softly running against the hawser.\nI can hear men's voices calling, near and far, and the roll and\ncreak of oars in the rowlocks. A gun is fired somewhere, the echo\nof it seems far away. There is tramping of feet overhead, and ropes\nand chains are dragged along. What is this? There is a gleam of\nlight. I can feel the air blowing upon me.\"\nHere she stopped. She had risen, as if impulsively, from where\nshe lay on the sofa, and raised both her hands, palms upwards, as\nif lifting a weight. Van Helsing and I looked at each other with\nunderstanding. Quincey raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at\nher intently, whilst Harker's hand instinctively closed round the\nhilt of his Kukri. There was a long pause. We all knew that the\ntime when she could speak was passing, but we felt that it was\nuseless to say anything.\nSuddenly she sat up, and as she opened her eyes said sweetly,\n\"Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be so\ntired!\"\nWe could only make her happy, and so acqueisced. She bustled off\nto get tea. When she had gone Van Helsing said, \"You see, my\nfriends. He is close to land. He has left his earth chest. But he\nhas yet to get on shore. In the night he may lie hidden somewhere,"}
{"text": "has yet to get on shore. In the night he may lie hidden somewhere,\nbut if he be not carried on shore, or if the ship do not touch it,\nhe cannot achieve the land. In such case he can, if it be in the\nnight, change his form and jump or fly on shore, then, unless he be\ncarried he cannot escape. And if he be carried, then the customs\nmen may discover what the box contain. Thus, in fine, if he escape\nnot on shore tonight, or before dawn, there will be the whole day\nlost to him. We may then arrive in time. For if he escape not at\nnight we shall come on him in daytime, boxed up and at our mercy.\nFor he dare not be his true self, awake and visible, lest he be\ndiscovered.\"\nThere was no more to be said, so we waited in patience until the\ndawn, at which time we might learn more from Mrs. Harker.\nEarly this morning we listened, with breathless anxiety, for her\nresponse in her trance. The hypnotic stage was even longer in\ncoming than before, and when it came the time remaining until full\nsunrise was so short that we began to despair. Van Helsing seemed\nto throw his whole soul into the effort. At last, in obedience to\nhis will she made reply.\n\"All is dark. I hear lapping water, level with me, and some\ncreaking as of wood on wood.\" She paused, and the red sun shot up.\nWe must wait till tonight.\nAnd so it is that we are travelling towards Galatz in an agony\nof expectation. We are due to arrive between two and three in the\nmorning. But already, at Bucharest, we are three hours late, so we\ncannot possibly get in till well after sunup. Thus we shall have\ntwo more hypnotic messages from Mrs. Harker! Either or both may\npossibly throw more light on what is happening.\nLater.—Sunset has come and gone. Fortunately it came at a time\nwhen there was no distraction. For had it occurred whilst we were\nat a station, we might not have secured the necessary calm and\nisolation. Mrs. Harker yielded to the hypnotic influence even less\nreadily than this morning. I am in fear that her power of readingreadily than this morning. I am in fear that her power of reading\nthe Count's sensations may die away, just when we want it most. It\nseems to me that her imagination is beginning to work. Whilst she\nhas been in the trance hitherto she has confined herself to the\nsimplest of facts. If this goes on it may ultimately mislead us. If\nI thought that the Count's power over her would die away equally\nwith her power of knowledge it would be a happy thought. But I am\nafraid that it may not be so.\nWhen she did speak, her words were enigmatical,\"Something is\ngoing out. I can feel it pass me like a cold wind. I can hear, far\noff, confused sounds, as of men talking in strange tongues, fierce\nfalling water, and the howling of wolves.\" She stopped and a\nshudder ran through her, increasing in intensity for a few seconds,\ntill at the end, she shook as though in a palsy. She said no more,\neven in answer to the Professor's imperative questioning. When she\nwoke from the trance, she was cold, and exhausted, and languid, but\nher mind was all alert. She could not remember anything, but asked\nwhat she had said. When she was told, she pondered over it deeply\nfor a long time and in silence.\n30 October, 7 a. m.—We are near Galatz now, and I may not have\ntime to write later. Sunrise this morning was anxiously looked for\nby us all. Knowing of the increasing difficulty of procuring the\nhypnotic trance, Van Helsing began his passes earlier than usual.\nThey produced no effect, however, until the regular time, when she\nyielded with a still greater difficulty, only a minute before the\nsun rose. The Professor lost no time in his questioning.\nHer answer came with equal quickness, \"All is dark. I hear water\nswirling by, level with my ears, and the creaking of wood on wood.\nCattle low far off. There is another sound, a queer one like …\n\" She stopped and grew white, and whiter still.\n\"Go on, go on! Speak, I command you!\" said Van Helsing in an\nagonized voice. At the same time there was despair in his eyes, foragonized voice. At the same time there was despair in his eyes, for\nthe risen sun was reddening even Mrs. Harker's pale face. She\nopened her eyes, and we all started as she said, sweetly and\nseemingly with the utmost unconcern.\n\"Oh, Professor, why ask me to do what you know I can't? I don't\nremember anything.\" Then, seeing the look of amazement on our\nfaces, she said, turning from one to the other with a troubled\nlook, \"What have I said? What have I done? I know nothing, only\nthat I was lying here, half asleep, and heard you say `go on!\nspeak, I command you!' It seemed so funny to hear you order me\nabout, as if I were a bad child!\"\n\"Oh, Madam Mina,\" he said, sadly, \"it is proof, if proof be\nneeded, of how I love and honor you, when a word for your good,\nspoken more earnest than ever, can seem so strange because it is to\norder her whom I am proud to obey!\"\nThe whistles are sounding. We are nearing Galatz. We are on fire\nwith anxiety and eagerness.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n30 October.—Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our rooms had\nbeen ordered by telegraph, he being the one who could best be\nspared, since he does not speak any foreign language. The forces\nwere distributed much as they had been at Varna, except that Lord\nGodalming went to the Vice Consul, as his rank might serve as an\nimmediate guarantee of some sort to the official, we being in\nextreme hurry. Jonathan and the two doctors went to the shipping\nagent to learn particulars of the arrival of the Czarina\nCatherine.\nLater.—Lord Godalming has returned. The Consul is away, and the\nVice Consul sick. So the routine work has been attended to by a\nclerk. He was very obliging, and offered to do anything in his\npower.\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n30 October.—At nine o'clock Dr. Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, and I\ncalled on Messrs. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the agents of the\nLondon firm of Hapgood. They had received a wire from London, in\nanswer to Lord Godalming's telegraphed request, asking them to show\nus any civility in their power. They were more than kind and"}
{"text": "us any civility in their power. They were more than kind and\ncourteous, and took us at once on board the Czarina Catherine,\nwhich lay at anchor out in the river harbor. There we saw the\nCaptain, Donelson by name, who told us of his voyage. He said that\nin all his life he had never had so favorable a run.\n\"Man!\" he said, \"but it made us afeard, for we expect it that we\nshould have to pay for it wi' some rare piece o' ill luck, so as to\nkeep up the average. It's no canny to run frae London to the Black\nSea wi' a wind ahint ye, as though the Deil himself were blawin' on\nyer sail for his ain purpose. An' a' the time we could no speer a\nthing. Gin we were nigh a ship, or a port, or a headland, a fog\nfell on us and travelled wi' us, till when after it had lifted and\nwe looked out, the deil a thing could we see. We ran by Gibraltar\nwi' oot bein' able to signal. An' til we came to the Dardanelles\nand had to wait to get our permit to pass, we never were within\nhail o' aught. At first I inclined to slack off sail and beat about\ntill the fog was lifted. But whiles, I thocht that if the Deil was\nminded to get us into the Black Sea quick, he was like to do it\nwhether we would or no. If we had a quick voyage it would be no to\nour miscredit wi'the owners, or no hurt to our traffic, an' the Old\nMon who had served his ain purpose wad be decently grateful to us\nfor no hinderin' him.\"\nThis mixture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition and\ncommercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said,\"Mine friend,\nthat Devil is more clever than he is thought by some, and he know\nwhen he meet his match!\"\nThe skipper was not displeased with the compliment, and went on,\n\"When we got past the Bosphorus the men began to grumble. Some o'\nthem, the Roumanians, came and asked me to heave overboard a big\nbox which had been put on board by a queer lookin' old man just\nbefore we had started frae London. I had seen them speer at the\nfellow, and put out their twa fingers when they saw him, to guardfellow, and put out their twa fingers when they saw him, to guard\nthem against the evil eye. Man! but the supersteetion of foreigners\nis pairfectly rideeculous! I sent them aboot their business pretty\nquick, but as just after a fog closed in on us I felt a wee bit as\nthey did anent something, though I wouldn't say it was again the\nbig box. Well, on we went, and as the fog didn't let up for five\ndays I joost let the wind carry us, for if the Deil wanted to get\nsomewheres, well, he would fetch it up a'reet. An' if he didn't,\nwell, we'd keep a sharp lookout anyhow. Sure eneuch, we had a fair\nway and deep water all the time. And two days ago, when the mornin'\nsun came through the fog, we found ourselves just in the river\nopposite Galatz. The Roumanians were wild, and wanted me right or\nwrong to take out the box and fling it in the river. I had to argy\nwi' them aboot it wi' a handspike. An' when the last o' them rose\noff the deck wi' his head in his hand, I had convinced them that,\nevil eye or no evil eye, the property and the trust of my owners\nwere better in my hands than in the river Danube. They had, mind\nye, taken the box on the deck ready to fling in, and as it was\nmarked Galatz via Varna, I thocht I'd let it lie till we discharged\nin the port an' get rid o't althegither. We didn't do much clearin'\nthat day, an' had to remain the nicht at anchor. But in the\nmornin', braw an' airly, an hour before sunup, a man came aboard\nwi' an order, written to him from England, to receive a box marked\nfor one Count Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was one ready to his\nhand. He had his papers a' reet, an' gla d I was to be rid o' the\ndam' thing, for I was beginnin' masel' to feel uneasy at it. If the\nDeil did have any luggage aboord the ship, I'm thinkin' it was nane\nither than that same!\"\n\"What was the name of the man who took it?\" asked Dr. Van\nHelsing with restrained eagerness.\n\"I'll be tellin' ye quick!\" he answered, and stepping down to\nhis cabin, produced a receipt signed \"Immanuel Hildesheim.\"his cabin, produced a receipt signed \"Immanuel Hildesheim.\"\nBurgen-strasse 16 was the address. We found out that this was all\nthe Captain knew, so with thanks we came away.\nWe found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew of rather the\nAdelphi Theatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. His\narguments were pointed with specie, we doing the punctuation, and\nwith a little bargaining he told us what he knew. This turned out\nto be simple but important. He had received a letter from Mr. de\nVille of London, telling him to receive, if possible before sunrise\nso as to avoid customs, a box which would arrive at Galatz in the\nCzarina Catherine. This he was to give in charge to a certain\nPetrof Skinsky, who dealt with the Slovaks who traded down the\nriver to the port. He had been paid for his work by an English bank\nnote, which had been duly cashed for gold at the Danube\nInternational Bank. When Skinsky had come to him, he had taken him\nto the ship and handed over the box, so as to save parterage. That\nwas all he knew.\nWe then sought for Skinsky, but were unable to find him. One of\nhis neighbors, who did not seem to bear him any affection, said\nthat he had gone away two days before,no one knew whither. This was\ncorroborated by his landlord, who had received by messenger the key\nof the house together with the rent due, in English money. This had\nbeen between ten and eleven o'clock last night. We were at a\nstandstill again.\nWhilst we were talking one came running and breathlessly gasped\nout that the body of Skinsky had been found inside the wall of the\nchurchyard of St. Peter, and that the throat had been torn open as\nif by some wild animal. Those we had been speaking with ran off to\nsee the horror, the women crying out. \"This is the work of a\nSlovak!\" We hurried away lest we should have been in some way drawn\ninto the affair, and so detained.\nAs we came home we could arrive at no definite conclusion. We\nwere all convinced that the box was on its way, by water, to"}
{"text": "were all convinced that the box was on its way, by water, to\nsomewhere, but where that might be we would have to discover. With\nheavy hearts we came home to the hotel to Mina.\nWhen we met together, the first thing was to consult as to\ntaking Mina again into our confidence. Things are getting\ndesperate, and it is at least a chance, though a hazardous one. As\na preliminary step, I was released from my promise to her.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n30 October, evening.—They were so tired and worn out and\ndispirited that there was nothing to be done till they had some\nrest, so I asked them all to lie down for half an hour whilst I\nshould enter everything up to the moment. I feel so grateful to the\nman who invented the \"Traveller's\" typewriter, and to Mr. Morris\nfor getting this one for me. I should have felt quite astray doing\nthe work if I had to write with a pen …\nIt is all done. Poor dear, dear Jonathan, what he must have\nsuffered, what he must be suffering now. He lies on the sofa hardly\nseeming to breathe, and his whole body appears in collapse. His\nbrows are knit. His face is drawn with pain. Poor fellow, maybe he\nis thinking, and I can see his face all wrinkled up with the\nconcentration of his thoughts. Oh! if I could only help at all. I\nshall do what I can.\nI have asked Dr. Van Helsing, and he has got me all the papers\nthat I have not yet seen. Whilst they are resting, I shall go over\nall carefully, and perhaps I may arrive at some conclusion. I shall\ntry to follow the Professor's example, and think without prejudice\non the facts before me …\nI do believe that under God's providence I have made a\ndiscovery. I shall get the maps and look over them.\nI am more than ever sure that I am right. My new conclusion is\nready, so I shall get our party together and read it. They can\njudge it. It is well to be accurate, and every minute is\nprecious.\nMINA HARKER'S MEMORANDUM\n(ENTERED IN HER JOURNAL)\nGround of inquiry.—Count Dracula's problem is to get back to his\nown place.Ground of inquiry.—Count Dracula's problem is to get back to his\nown place.\n(a) He must be brought back by some one. This is evident. For\nhad he power to move himself as he wished he could go either as\nman, or wolf, or bat, or in some other way. He evidently fears\ndiscovery or interference, in the state of helplessness in which he\nmust be, confined as he is between dawn and sunset in his wooden\nbox.\n(b) How is he to be taken?—Here a process of exclusions may help\nus. By road, by rail, by water?\n1. By Road.—There are endless difficulties, especially in\nleaving the city.\n(x) There are people. And people are curious, and investigate. A\nhint, a surmise, a doubt as to what might be in the box, would\ndestroy him.\n(y) There are, or there may be, customs and octroi officers to\npass.\n(z) His pursuers might follow. This is his highest fear. And in\norder to prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so far as he\ncan, even his victim, me!\n2. By Rail.—There is no one in charge of the box. It would have\nto take its chance of being delayed, and delay would be fatal, with\nenemies on the track. True, he might escape at night. But what\nwould he be, if left in a strange place with no refuge that he\ncould fly to? This is not what he intends, and he does not mean to\nrisk it.\n3. By Water.—Here is the safest way, in one respect, but with\nmost danger in another. On the water he is powerless except at\nnight. Even then he can only summon fog and storm and snow and his\nwolves. But were he wrecked, the living water would engulf him,\nhelpless, and he would indeed be lost. He could have the vessel\ndrive to land, but if it were unfriendly land, wherein he was not\nfree to move, his position would still be desperate.\nWe know from the record that he was on the water, so what we\nhave to do is to ascertain what water.\nThe first thing is to realize exactly what he has done as yet.\nWe may, then, get a light on what his task is to be.\nFirstly.—We must differentiate between what he did in London asFirstly.—We must differentiate between what he did in London as\npart of his general plan of action, when he was pressed for moments\nand had to arrange as best he could.\nSecondly we must see, as well as we can surmise it from the\nfacts we know of, what he has done here.\nAs to the first, he evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, and\nsent invoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascertain his\nmeans of exit from England. His immediate and sole purpose then was\nto escape. The proof of this, is the letter of instructions sent to\nImmanuel Hildesheim to clear and take away the box before sunrise.\nThere is also the instruction to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only\nguess at, but there must have been some letter or message, since\nSkinsky came to Hildesheim.\nThat, so far, his plans were successful we know. The Czarina\nCatherine made a phenomenally quick journey. So much so that\nCaptain Donelson's suspicions were aroused. But his superstition\nunited with his canniness played the Count's game for him, and he\nran with his favoring wind through fogs and all till he brought up\nblindfold at Galatz. That the Count's arrangements were well made,\nhas been proved. Hildesheim cleared the box, took it off, and gave\nit to Skinsky. Skinsky took it, and here we lose the trail. We only\nknow that the box is somewhere on the water, moving along. The\ncustoms and the octroi, if there be any, have been avoided.\nNow we come to what the Count must have done after his arrival,\non land, at Galatz.\nThe box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise the\nCount could appear in his own form. Here, we ask why Skinsky was\nchosen at all to aid in the work? In my husband's diary, Skinsky is\nmentioned as dealing with the Slovaks who trade down the river to\nthe port. And the man's remark, that the murder was the work of a\nSlovak, showed the general feeling against his class. The Count\nwanted isolation.\nMy surmise is this, that in London the Count decided to get back\nto his castle by water, as the most safe and secret way. He was"}
{"text": "to his castle by water, as the most safe and secret way. He was\nbrought from the castle by Szgany, and probably they delivered\ntheir cargo to Slovaks who took the boxes to Varna, for there they\nwere shipped to London. Thus the Count had knowledge of the persons\nwho could arrange this service. When the box was on land, before\nsunrise or after sunset, he came out from his box, met Skinsky and\ninstructed him what to do as to arranging the carriage of the box\nup some river. When this was done, and he knew that all was in\ntrain, he blotted out his traces, as he thought, by murdering his\nagent.\nI have examined the map and find that the river most suitable\nfor the Slovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth or the Sereth.\nI read in the typescript that in my trance I heard cows low and\nwater swirling level with my ears and the creaking of wood. The\nCount in his box, then, was on a river in an open boat, propelled\nprobably either by oars or poles, for the banks are near and it is\nworking against stream. There would be no such if floating down\nstream.\nOf course it may not be either the Sereth or the Pruth, but we\nmay possibly investigate further. Now of these two, the Pruth is\nthe more easily navigated, but the Sereth is, at Fundu, joined by\nthe Bistritza which runs up round the Borgo Pass. The loop it makes\nis manifestly as close to Dracula's castle as can be got by\nwater.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL—CONTINUED\nWhen I had done reading, Jonathan took me in his arms and kissed\nme. The others kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr. Van Helsing\nsaid, \"Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her eyes have\nbeen where we were blinded. Now we are on the track once again, and\nthis time we may succeed. Our enemy is at his most helpless. And if\nwe can come on him by day, on the water, our task will be over. He\nhas a start, but he is powerless to hasten, as he may not leave\nthis box lest those who carry him may suspect. For them to suspect\nwould be to prompt them to throw him in the stream where he perish.would be to prompt them to throw him in the stream where he perish.\nThis he knows, and will not. Now men, to our Council of War, for\nhere and now, we must plan what each and all shall do.\"\n\"I shall get a steam launch and follow him,\" said Lord\nGodalming.\n\"And I, horses to follow on the bank lest by chance he land,\"\nsaid Mr. Morris.\n\"Good!\" said the Professor, \"both good. But neither must go\nalone. There must be force to overcome force if need be. The Slovak\nis strong and rough, and he carries rude arms.\" All the men smiled,\nfor amongst them they carried a small arsenal.\nSaid Mr. Morris, \"I have brought some Winchesters. They are\npretty handy in a crowd, and there may be wolves. The Count, if you\nremember, took some other precautions. He made some requisitions on\nothers that Mrs. Harker could not quite hear or understand. We must\nbe ready at all points.\"\nDr. Seward said, \"I think I had better go with Quincey. We have\nbeen accustomed to hunt together, and we two, well armed, will be a\nmatch for whatever may come along. You must not be alone, Art. It\nmay be necessary to fight the Slovaks, and a chance thrust, for I\ndon't suppose these fellows carry guns, would undo all our plans.\nThere must be no chances, this time. We shall not rest until the\nCount's head and body have been separated, and we are sure that he\ncannot reincarnate.\"\nHe looked at Jonathan as he spoke, and Jonathan looked at me. I\ncould see that the poor dear was torn about in his mind. Of course\nhe wanted to be with me. But then the boat service would, most\nlikely, be the one which would destroy the … the …\nVampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the word?)\nHe was silent awhile, and during his silence Dr. Van Helsing\nspoke, \"Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice reasons. First,\nbecause you are young and brave and can fight, and all energies may\nbe needed at the last. And again that it is your right to destroy\nhim. That, which has wrought such woe to you and yours. Be not\nafraid for Madam Mina. She will be my care, if I may. I am old. Myafraid for Madam Mina. She will be my care, if I may. I am old. My\nlegs are not so quick to run as once. And I am not used to ride so\nlong or to pursue as need be, or to fight with lethal weapons. But\nI can be of other service. I can fight in other way. And I can die,\nif need be, as well as younger men. Now let me say that what I\nwould is this. While you, my Lord Godalming and friend Jonathan go\nin your so swift little steamboat up the river, and whilst John and\nQuincey guard the bank where perchance he might be landed, I will\ntake Madam Mina right into the heart of the enemy's country. Whilst\nthe old fox is tied in his box, floating on the running stream\nwhence he cannot escape to land, where he dares not raise the lid\nof his coffin box lest his Slovak carriers should in fear leave him\nto perish, we shall go in the track where Jonathan went, from\nBistritz over the Borgo, and find our way to the Castle of Dracula.\nHere, Madam Mina's hypnotic power will surely help, and we shall\nfind our way, all dark and unknown otherwise, after the first\nsunrise when we are near that fateful place. There is much to be\ndone, and other places to be made sanctify, so that that nest of\nvipers be obliterated.\"\nHere Jonathan interrupted him hotly, \"Do you mean to say,\nProfessor Van Helsing, that you would bring Mina, in her sad case\nand tainted as she is with that devil's illness, right into the\njaws of his deathtrap? Not for the world! Not for Heaven or\nHell!\"\nHe became almost speechless for a minute, and then went on, \"Do\nyou know what the place is? Have you seen that awful den of hellish\ninfamy, with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and ever\nspeck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in\nembryo? Have you felt the Vampire's lips upon your throat?\"\nHere he turned to me, and as his eyes lit on my forehead he\nthrew up his arms with a cry, \"Oh, my God, what have we done to\nhave this terror upon us?\" and he sank down on the sofa in a\ncollapse of misery."}
{"text": "have this terror upon us?\" and he sank down on the sofa in a\ncollapse of misery.\nThe Professor's voice, as he spoke in clear, sweet tones, which\nseemed to vibrate in the air, calmed us all.\n\"Oh, my friend, it is because I would save Madam Mina from that\nawful place that I would go. God forbid that I should take her into\nthat place. There is work, wild work, to be done before that place\ncan be purify. Remember that we are in terrible straits. If the\nCount escape us this time, and he is strong and subtle and cunning,\nhe may choose to sleep him for a century, and then in time our dear\none,\" he took my hand, \"would come to him to keep him company, and\nwould be as those others that you, Jonathan, saw. You have told us\nof their gloating lips. You heard their ribald laugh as they\nclutched the moving bag that the Count threw to them. You shudder,\nand well may it be. Forgive me that I make you so much pain, but it\nis necessary. My friend, is it not a dire need for that which I am\ngiving, possibly my life? If it, were that any one went into that\nplace to stay, it is I who would have to go to keep them\ncompany.\"\n\"Do as you will,\" said Jonathan, with a sob that shook him all\nover, \"we are in the hands of God!\"\nLater.—Oh, it did me good to see the way that these brave men\nworked. How can women help loving men when they are so earnest, and\nso true, and so brave! And, too, it made me think of the wonderful\npower of money! What can it not do when basely used. I felt so\nthankful that Lord Godalming is rich, and both he and Mr. Morris,\nwho also has plenty of money, are willing to spend it so freely.\nFor if they did not, our little expedition could not start,either\nso promptly or so well equipped, as it will within another hour. It\nis not three hours since it was arranged what part each of us was\nto do. And now Lord Godalming and Jonathan have a lovely steam\nlaunch, with steam up ready to start at a moment's notice. Dr.\nSeward and Mr. Morris have half a dozen good horses, wellSeward and Mr. Morris have half a dozen good horses, well\nappointed. We have all the maps and appliances of various kinds\nthat can be had. Professor Van Helsing and I are to leave by the\n11:40 train tonight for Veresti, where we are to get a carriage to\ndrive to the Borgo Pass. We are bringing a good deal of ready\nmoney, as we are to buy a carriage and horses. We shall drive\nourselves, for we have no one whom we can trust in the matter. The\nProfessor knows something of a great many languages, so we shall\nget on all right. We have all got arms, even for me a large bore\nrevolver. Jonathan would not be happy unless I was armed like the\nrest. Alas! I cannot carry one arm that the rest do, the scar on my\nforehead forbids that. Dear Dr. Van Helsing comforts me by telling\nme that I am fully armed as there may be wolves. The weather is\ngetting colder every hour, and there are snow flurries which come\nand go as warnings.\nLater.—It took all my courage to say goodby to my darling. We\nmay never meet again. Courage, Mina! The Professor is looking at\nyou keenly. His look is a warning. There must be no tears now,\nunless it may be that God will let them fall in gladness.\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n30 October, night.—I am writing this in the light from the\nfurnace door of the steam launch. Lord Godalming is firing up. He\nis an experienced hand at the work, as he has had for years a\nlaunch of his own on the Thames, and another on the Norfolk Broads.\nRegarding our plans, we finally decided that Mina's guess was\ncorrect, and that if any waterway was chosen for the Count's escape\nback to his Castle, the Sereth and then the Bistritza at its\njunction, would be the one. We took it, that somewhere about the\n47th degree, north latitude, would be the place chosen for crossing\nthe country between the river and the Carpathians. We have no fear\nin running at good speed up the river at night. There is plenty of\nwater, and the banks are wide enough apart to make steaming, even\nin the dark, easy enough. Lord Godalming tells me to sleep for ain the dark, easy enough. Lord Godalming tells me to sleep for a\nwhile, as it is enough for the present for one to be on watch. But\nI cannot sleep, how can I with the terrible danger hanging over my\ndarling, and her going out into that awful place …\nMy only comfort is that we are in the hands of God. Only for\nthat faith it would be easier to die than to live, and so be quit\nof all the trouble. Mr. Morris and Dr. Seward were off on their\nlong ride before we started. They are to keep up the right bank,\nfar enough off to get on higher lands where they can see a good\nstretch of river and avoid the following of its curves. They have,\nfor the first stages, two men to ride and lead their spare horses,\nfour in all, so as not to excite curiosity. When they dismiss the\nmen, which shall be shortly, they shall themselves look after the\nhorses. It may be necessary for us to join forces. If so they can\nmount our whole party. One of the saddles has a moveable horn, and\ncan be easily adapted for Mina, if required.\nIt is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing along\nthrough the darkness, with the cold from the river seeming to rise\nup and strike us, with all the mysterious voices of the night\naround us, it all comes home. We seem to be drifting into unknown\nplaces and unknown ways. Into a whole world of dark and dreadful\nthings. Godalming is shutting the furnace door …\n31 October.—Still hurrying along. The day has come, and\nGodalming is sleeping. I am on watch. The morning is bitterly cold,\nthe furnace heat is grateful, though we have heavy fur coats. As\nyet we have passed only a few open boats, but none of them had on\nboard any box or package of anything like the size of the one we\nseek. The men were scared every time we turned our electric lamp on\nthem, and fell on their knees and prayed.\n1 November, evening.—No news all day. We have found nothing of\nthe kind we seek. We have now passed into the Bistritza, and if we\nare wrong in our surmise our chance is gone. We have overhauled"}
{"text": "are wrong in our surmise our chance is gone. We have overhauled\nevery boat, big and little. Early this morning, one crew took us\nfor a Government boat, and treated us accordingly. We saw in this a\nway of smoothing matters, so at Fundu,where the Bistritza runs into\nthe Sereth, we got a Roumanian flag which we now fly conspicuously.\nWith every boat which we have over-hauled since then this trick has\nsucceeded. We have had every deference shown to us, and not once\nany objection to whatever we chose to ask or do. Some of the\nSlovaks tell us that a big boat passed them, going at more than\nusual speed as she had a double crew on board. This was before they\ncame to Fundu, so they could not tell us whether the boat turned\ninto the Bistritza or continued on up the Sereth. At Fundu we could\nnot hear of any such boat, so she must have passed there in the\nnight. I am feeling very sleepy. The cold is perhaps beginning to\ntell upon me, and nature must have rest some time. Godalming\ninsists that he shall keep the first watch. God bless him for all\nhis goodness to poor dear Mina and me.\n2 November, morning.—It is broad daylight. That good fellow\nwould not wake me. He says it would have been a sin to, for I slept\npeacefully and was forgetting my trouble. It seems brutally selfish\nto me to have slept so long, and let him watch all night, but he\nwas quite right. I am a new man this morning. And, as I sit here\nand watch him sleeping, I can do all that is necessary both as to\nminding the engine, steering, and keeping watch. I can feel that my\nstrength and energy are coming back to me. I wonder where Mina is\nnow, and Van Helsing. They should have got to Veresti about noon on\nWednesday. It would take them some time to get the carriage and\nhorses. So if they had started and travelled hard, they would be\nabout now at the Borgo Pass. God guide and help them! I am afraid\nto think what may happen. If we could only go faster. But we\ncannot. The engines are throbbing and doing their utmost. I wondercannot. The engines are throbbing and doing their utmost. I wonder\nhow Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris are getting on. There seem to be\nendless streams running down the mountains into this river, but as\nnone of them are very large, at present, at all events, though they\nare doubtless terrible in winter and when the snow melts, the\nhorsemen may not have met much obstruction. I hope that before we\nget to Strasba we may see them. For if by that time we have not\novertaken the Count, it may be necessary to take counsel together\nwhat to do next.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n2 November.—Three days on the road. No news, and no time to\nwrite it if there had been, for every moment is precious. We have\nhad only the rest needful for the horses. But we are both bearing\nit wonderfully. Those adventurous days of ours are turning up\nuseful. We must push on. We shall never feel happy till we get the\nlaunch in sight again.\n3 Novenber.—We heard at Fundu that the launch had gone up the\nBistritza. I wish it wasn't so cold. There are signs of snow\ncoming. And if it falls heavy it will stop us. In such case we must\nget a sledge and go on, Russian fashion.\n4 Novenber.—Today we heard of the launch having been detained by\nan accident when trying to force a way up the rapids. The Slovak\nboats get up all right, by aid of a rope and steering with\nknowledge. Some went up only a few hours before. Godalming is an\namateur fitter himself, and evidently it was he who put the launch\nin trim again.\nFinally, they got up the rapids all right, with local help, and\nare off on the chase afresh. I fear that the boat is not any better\nfor the accident, the peasantry tell us that after she got upon\nsmooth water again, she kept stopping every now and again so long\nas she was in sight. We must push on harder than ever. Our help may\nbe wanted soon.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n31 October.—Arrived at Veresti at noon. The Professor tells me\nthat this morning at dawn he could hardly hypnotize me at all, and\nthat all I could say was, \"dark and quiet.\" He is off now buying athat all I could say was, \"dark and quiet.\" He is off now buying a\ncarriage and horses. He says that he will later on try to buy\nadditional horses, so that we may be able to change them on the\nway. We have something more than 70 miles before us. The country is\nlovely, and most interesting. If only we were under different\nconditions, how delightful it would be to see it all. If Jonathan\nand I were driving through it alone what a pleasure it would be. To\nstop and see people, and learn something of their life, and to fill\nour minds and memories with all the color and picturesqueness of\nthe whole wild, beautiful country and the quaint people! But,\nalas!\nLater.—Dr. Van Helsing has returned. He has got the carriage and\nhorses. We are to have some dinner, and to start in an hour. The\nlandlady is putting us up a huge basket of provisions. It seems\nenough for a company of soldiers. The Professor encourages her, and\nwhispers to me that it may be a week before we can get any food\nagain. He has been shopping too, and has sent home such a wonderful\nlot of fur coats and wraps, and all sorts of warm things. There\nwill not be any chance of our being cold.\nWe shall soon be off. I am afraid to think what may happen to\nus. We are truly in the hands of God. He alone knows what may be,\nand I pray Him, with all the strength of my sad and humble soul,\nthat He will watch over my beloved husband. That whatever may\nhappen, Jonathan may know that I loved him and honored him more\nthan I can say, and that my latest and truest thought will be\nalways for him."}
{"text": "1 November.—All day long we have travelled, and at a good speed.\nThe horses seem to know that they are being kindly treated, for\nthey go willingly their full stage at best speed. We have now had\nso many changes and find the same thing so constantly that we are\nencouraged to think that the journey will be an easy one. Dr. Van\nHelsing is laconic, he tells the farmers that he is hurrying to\nBistritz, and pays them well to make the exchange of horses. We get\nhot soup, or coffee, or tea, and off we go. It is a lovely country.\nFull of beauties of all imaginable kinds, and the people are brave,\nand strong, and simple, and seem full of nice qualities. They are\nvery, very superstitious. In the first house where we stopped, when\nthe woman who served us saw the scar on my forehead, she crossed\nherself and put out two fingers towards me, to keep off the evil\neye. I believe they went to the trouble of putting an extra amount\nof garlic into our food, and I can't abide garlic. Ever since then\nI have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so have\nescaped their suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as we have no\ndriver with us to carry tales, we go ahead of scandal. But I\ndaresay that fear of the evil eye will follow hard behind us all\nthe way. The Professor seems tireless. All day he would not take\nany rest, though he made me sleep for a long spell. At sunset time\nhe hypnotized me, and he says I answered as usual,\"darkness,\nlapping water and creaking wood.\" So our enemy is still on the\nriver. I am afraid to think of Jonathan, but somehow I have now no\nfear for him, or for myself. I write this whilst we wait in a\nfarmhouse for the horses to be ready. Dr. Van Helsing is sleeping.\nPoor dear, he looks very tired and old and grey, but his mouth is\nset as firmly as a conqueror's. Even in his sleep he is intense\nwith resolution. When we have well started I must make him rest\nwhilst I drive. I shall tell him that we have days before us, and\nhe must not break down when most of all his strength will behe must not break down when most of all his strength will be\nneeded … All is ready. We are off shortly.\n2 November, morning.—I was successful, and we took turns driving\nall night. Now the day is on us, bright though cold. There is a\nstrange heaviness in the air. I say heaviness for want of a better\nword. I mean that it oppresses us both. It is very cold, and only\nour warm furs keep us comfortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotized\nme. He says I answered \"darkness, creaking wood and roaring water,\"\nso the river is changing as they ascend. I do hope that my darling\nwill not run any chance of danger, more than need be, but we are in\nGod's hands.\n2 November, night.—All day long driving. The country gets wilder\nas we go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, which at Veresti\nseemed so far from us and so low on the horizon, now seem to gather\nround us and tower in front. We both seem in good spirits. I think\nwe make an effort each to cheer the other, in the doing so we cheer\nourselves. Dr. Van Helsing says that by morning we shall reach the\nBorgo Pass. The houses are very few here now, and the Professor\nsays that the last horse we got will have to go on with us, as we\nmay not be able to change. He got two in addition to the two we\nchanged, so that now we have a rude four-in-hand. The dear horses\nare patient and good, and they give us no trouble. We are not\nworried with other travellers, and so even I can drive. We shall\nget to the Pass in daylight. We do not want to arrive before. So we\ntake it easy, and have each a long rest in turn. Oh, what will\ntomorrow bring to us? We go to seek the place where my poor darling\nsuffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, and that\nHe will deign to watch over my husband and those dear to us both,\nand who are in such deadly peril. As for me, I am not worthy in His\nsight. Alas! I am unclean to His eyes, and shall be until He may\ndeign to let me stand forth in His sight as one of those who have\nnot incurred His wrath.\nMEMORANDUM BY ABRAHAM VAN HELSINGnot incurred His wrath.\nMEMORANDUM BY ABRAHAM VAN HELSING\n4 November.—This to my old and true friend John Seward, M. D.,\nof Purefleet, London, in case I may not see him. It may explain. It\nis morning, and I write by a fire which all the night I have kept\nalive, Madam Mina aiding me. It is cold, cold. So cold that the\ngrey heavy sky is full of snow, which when it falls will settle for\nall winter as the ground is hardening to receive it. It seems to\nhave affected Madam Mina. She has been so heavy of head all day\nthat she was not like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps!\nShe who is usual so alert, have done literally nothing all the day.\nShe even have lost her appetite. She make no entry into her little\ndiary, she who write so faithful at every pause. Something whisper\nto me that all is not well. However, tonight she is more vif. Her\nlong sleep all day have refresh and restore her, for now she is all\nsweet and bright as ever. At sunset I try to hypnotize her, but\nalas! with no effect. The power has grown less and less with each\nday, and tonight it fail me altogether. Well, God's will be done,\nwhatever it may be, and whithersoever it may lead!\nNow to the historical, for as Madam Mina write not in her\nstenography, I must, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so each day\nof us may not go unrecorded.\nWe got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday morning.\nWhen I saw the signs of the dawn I got ready for the hypnotism. We\nstopped our carriage, and got down so that there might be no\ndisturbance. I made a couch with furs, and Madam Mina, lying down,\nyield herself as usual, but more slow and more short time than\never, to the hypnotic sleep. As before, came the answer, \"darkness\nand the swirling of water.\" Then she woke, bright and radiant and\nwe go on our way and soon reach the Pass. At this time and place,\nshe become all on fire with zeal. Some new guiding power be in her\nmanifested, for she point to a road and say, \"This is the way.\"\n\"How know you it?\" I ask."}
{"text": "manifested, for she point to a road and say, \"This is the way.\"\n\"How know you it?\" I ask.\n\"Of course I know it,' she answer, and with a pause, add, \"Have\nnot my Jonathan travelled it and wrote of his travel?\"\nAt first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there be\nonly one such byroad. It is used but little, and very different\nfrom the coach road from the Bukovina to Bistritz, which is more\nwide and hard, and more of use.\nSo we came down this road. When we meet other ways, not always\nwere we sure that they were roads at all, for they be neglect and\nlight snow have fallen, the horses know and they only. I give rein\nto them, and they go on so patient. By and by we find all the\nthings which Jonathan have note in that wonderful diary of him.\nThen we go on for long, long hours and hours. At the first, I tell\nMadam Mina to sleep. She try, and she succeed. She sleep all the\ntime, till at the last, I feel myself to suspicious grow, and\nattempt to wake her. But she sleep on, and I may not wake her\nthough I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm her. For I\nknow that she have suffer much, and sleep at times be all-in-all to\nher. I think I drowse myself, for all of sudden I feel guilt, as\nthough I have done something. I find myself bolt up, with the reins\nin my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, just as ever. I\nlook down and find Madam Mina still asleep. It is now not far off\nsunset time, and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big\nyellow flood, so that we throw great long shadow on where the\nmountain rise so steep. For we are going up, and up, and all is oh,\nso wild and rocky, as though it were the end of the world.\nThen I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with not much\ntrouble, and then I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. But she sleep\nnot, being as though I were not. Still I try and try, till all at\nonce I find her and myself in dark, so I look round, and find that\nthe sun have gone down. Madam Mina laugh, and I turn and look atthe sun have gone down. Madam Mina laugh, and I turn and look at\nher. She is now quite awake, and look so well as I never saw her\nsince that night at Carfax when we first enter the Count's house. I\nam amaze, and not at ease then. But she is so bright and tender and\nthoughtful for me that I forget all fear. I light a fire, for we\nhave brought supply of wood with us, and she prepare food while I\nundo the horses and set them, tethered in shelter, to feed. Then\nwhen I return to the fire she have my supper ready. I go to help\nher, but she smile, and tell me that she have eat already. That she\nwas so hungry that she would not wait. I like it not, and I have\ngrave doubts. But I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of it.\nShe help me and I eat alone, and then we wrap in fur and lie beside\nthe fire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But presently I\nforget all of watching. And when I sudden remember that I watch, I\nfind her lying quiet, but awake, and looking at me with so bright\neyes. Once, twice more the same occur, and I get much sleep till\nbefore morning. When I wake I try to hypnotize her, but alas!\nThough she shut her eyes obedient, she may not sleep. The sun rise\nup, and up, and up, and then sleep come to her too late, but so\nheavy that she will not wake. I have to lift her up, and place her\nsleeping in the carriage when I have harnessed the horses and made\nall ready. Madam still sleep, and she look in her sleep more\nhealthy and more redder than before. And I like it not. And I am\nafraid, afraid, afraid! I am afraid of all things, even to think\nbut I must go on my way. The stake we play for is life and death,\nor more than these, and we must not flinch.\n5 November, morning.—Let me be accurate in everything, for\nthough you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at\nthe first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad. That the many horrors\nand the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.\nAll yesterday we travel, always getting closer to the mountains,All yesterday we travel, always getting closer to the mountains,\nand moving into a more and more wild and desert land. There are\ngreat, frowning precipices and much falling water, and Nature seem\nto have held sometime her carnival. Madam Mina still sleep and\nsleep. And though I did have hunger and appeased it, I could not\nwaken her, even for food. I began to fear that the fatal spell of\nthe place was upon her, tainted as she is with that Vampire\nbaptism. \"Well,\" said I to myself, \"if it be that she sleep all the\nday, it shall also be that I do not sleep at night.\" As we travel\non the rough road, for a road of an ancient and imperfect kind\nthere was, I held down my head and slept.\nAgain I waked with a sense of guilt and of time passed, and\nfound Madam Mina still sleeping, and the sun low down. But all was\nindeed changed. The frowning mountains seemed further away, and we\nwere near the top of a steep rising hill, on summit of which was\nsuch a castle as Jonathan tell of in his diary. At once I exulted\nand feared. For now, for good or ill, the end was near.\nI woke Madam Mina, and again tried to hypnotize her, but alas!\nunavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark came upon us,\nfor even after down sun the heavens reflected the gone sun on the\nsnow, and all was for a time in a great twilight. I took out the\nhorses and fed them in what shelter I could. Then I make a fire,\nand near it I make Madam Mina, now awake and more charming than\never, sit comfortable amid her rugs. I got ready food, but she\nwould not eat, simply saying that she had not hunger. I did not\npress her, knowing her unavailingness. But I myself eat, for I must\nneeds now be strong for all. Then, with the fear on me of what\nmight be, I drew a ring so big for her comfort, round where Madam\nMina sat. And over the ring I passed some of the wafer, and I broke\nit fine so that all was well guarded. She sat still all the time,\nso still as one dead. And she grew whiter and even whiter till the"}
{"text": "so still as one dead. And she grew whiter and even whiter till the\nsnow was not more pale, and no word she said. But when I drew near,\nshe clung to me, and I could know that the poor soul shook her from\nhead to feet with a tremor that was pain to feel.\nI said to her presently, when she had grown more quiet, \"Will\nyou not come over to the fire?\" for I wished to make a test of what\nshe could. She rose obedient, but when she have made a step she\nstopped, and stood as one stricken.\n\"Why not go on?\" I asked. She shook her head, and coming back,\nsat down in her place. Then, looking at me with open eyes, as of\none waked from sleep, she said simply,\"I cannot!\" and remained\nsilent. I rejoiced, for I knew that what she could not, none of\nthose that we dreaded could. Though there might be danger to her\nbody, yet her soul was safe!\nPresently the horses began to scream, and tore at their tethers\ntill I came to them and quieted them. When they did feel my hands\non them, they whinnied low as in joy,and licked at my hands and\nwere quiet for a time. Many times through the night did I come to\nthem, till it arrive to the cold hour when all nature is at lowest,\nand every time my coming was with quiet of them. In the cold hour\nthe fire began to die, and I was about stepping forth to replenish\nit, for now the snow came in flying sweeps and with it a chill\nmist. Even in the dark there was a light of some kind, as there\never is over snow, and it seemed as though the snow flurries and\nthe wreaths of mist took shape as of women with trailing garments.\nAll was in dead, grim silence only that the horses whinnied and\ncowered, as if in terror of the worst. I began to fear, horrible\nfears. But then came to me the sense of safety in that ring wherein\nI stood. I began too, to think that my imaginings were of the\nnight, and the gloom, and the unrest that I have gone through, and\nall the terrible anxiety. It was as though my memories of all\nJonathan's horrid experience were befooling me. For the snow flakesJonathan's horrid experience were befooling me. For the snow flakes\nand the mist began to wheel and circle round, till I could get as\nthough a shadowy glimpse of those women that would have kissed him.\nAnd then the horses cowered lower and lower, and moaned in terror\nas men do in pain. Even the madness of fright was not to them, so\nthat they could break away. I feared for my dear Madam Mina when\nthese weird figures drew near and circled round. I looked at her,\nbut she sat calm, and smiled at me. When I would have stepped to\nthe fire to replenish it, she caught me and held me back, and\nwhispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so low it\nwas.\n\"No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe!\"\nI turned to her, and looking in her eyes said, \"But you? It is\nfor you that I fear!\"\nWhereat she laughed, a laugh low and unreal, and said, \"Fear for\nme! Why fear for me? None safer in all the world from them than I\nam,\"and as I wondered at the meaning of her words, a puff of wind\nmade the flame leap up, and I see the red scar on her forehead.\nThen, alas! I knew. Did I not, I would soon have learned, for the\nwheeling figures of mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever\nwithout the Holy circle. Then they began to materialize till, if\nGod have not taken away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes.\nThere were before me in actual flesh the same three women that\nJonathan saw in the room, when they would have kissed his throat. I\nknew the swaying round forms, the bright hard eyes, the white\nteeth, the ruddy color, the voluptuous lips. They smiled ever at\npoor dear Madam Mina. And as their laugh came through the silence\nof the night, they twined their arms and pointed to her, and said\nin those so sweet tingling tones that Jonathan said were of the\nintolerable sweetness of the water glasses, \"Come, sister. Come to\nus. Come!\"\nIn fear I turned to my poor Madam Mina, and my heart with\ngladness leapt like flame. For oh! the terror in her sweet eyes,\nthe repulsion, the horror, told a story to my heart that was all ofthe repulsion, the horror, told a story to my heart that was all of\nhope. God be thanked she was not, yet of them. I seized some of the\nfirewood which was by me, and holding out some of the Wafer,\nadvanced on them towards the fire. They drew back before me, and\nlaughed their low horrid laugh. I fed the fire, and feared them\nnot. For I knew that we were safe within the ring, which she could\nnot leave no more than they could enter. The horses had ceased to\nmoan, and lay still on the ground. The snow fell on them softly,\nand they grew whiter. I knew that there was for the poor beasts no\nmore of terror.\nAnd so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall\nthrough the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe\nand terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon\nlife was to me again. At the first coming of the dawn the horrid\nfigures melted in the whirling mist and snow. The wreaths of\ntransparent gloom moved away towards the castle, and were lost.\nInstinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam Mina,\nintending to hypnotize her. But she lay in a deep and sudden sleep,\nfrom which I could not wake her. I tried to hypnotize through her\nsleep, but she made no response, none at all, and the day broke. I\nfear yet to stir. I have made my fire and have seen the horses,\nthey are all dead. Today I have much to do here, and I keep waiting\ntill the sun is up high. For there may be places where I must go,\nwhere that sunlight, though snow and mist obscure it, will be to me\na safety.\nI will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will do my\nterrible work. Madam Mina still sleeps, and God be thanked! She is\ncalm in her sleep …\nJONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL\n4 November, evening.—The accident to the launch has been a\nterrible thing for us. Only for it we should have overtaken the\nboat long ago, and by now my dear Mina would have been free. I fear\nto think of her, off on the wolds near that horrid place. We have\ngot horses, and we follow on the track. I note this whilst"}
{"text": "got horses, and we follow on the track. I note this whilst\nGodalming is getting ready. We have our arms. The Szgany must look\nout if they mean to fight. Oh, if only Morris and Seward were with\nus. We must only hope! If I write no more Goodby Mina! God bless\nand keep you.\nDR. SEWARD'S DIARY\n5 November.—With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany before us\ndashing away from the river with their leiter wagon. They\nsurrounded it in a cluster, and hurried along as though beset. The\nsnow is falling lightly and there is a strange excitement in the\nair. It may be our own feelings, but the depression is strange. Far\noff I hear the howling of wolves. The snow brings them down from\nthe mountains, and there are dangers to all of us, and from all\nsides. The horses are nearly ready, and we are soon off. We ride to\ndeath of some one. God alone knows who, or where, or what, or when,\nor how it may be …\nDR. VAN HELSING'S MEMORANDUM\n5 November, afternoon.—I am at least sane. Thank God for that\nmercy at all events, though the proving it has been dreadful. When\nI left Madam Mina sleeping within the Holy circle, I took my way to\nthe castle. The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from\nVeresti was useful, though the doors were all open I broke them off\nthe rusty hinges, lest some ill intent or ill chance should close\nthem, so that being entered I might not get out. Jonathan's bitter\nexperience served me here. By memory of his diary I found my way to\nthe old chapel, for I knew that here my work lay. The air was\noppressive. It seemed as if there was some sulphurous fume, which\nat times made me dizzy. Either there was a roaring in my ears or I\nheard afar off the howl of wolves. Then I bethought me of my dear\nMadam Mina, and I was in terrible plight. The dilemma had me\nbetween his horns.\nHer, I had not dare to take into this place, but left safe from\nthe Vampire in that Holy circle. And yet even there would be the\nwolf! I resolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the wolveswolf! I resolve me that my work lay here, and that as to the wolves\nwe must submit, if it were God's will. At any rate it was only\ndeath and freedom beyond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been\nfor myself the choice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were\nbetter to rest in than the grave of the Vampire! So I make my\nchoice to go on with my work.\nI knew that there were at least three graves to find, graves\nthat are inhabit. So I search, and search, and I find one of them.\nShe lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty\nthat I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not\nthat in the old time, when such things were, many a man who set\nforth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail\nhim, and then his nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till\nthe mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Undead have\nhypnotize him. And he remain on and on, till sunset come, and the\nVampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman\nopen and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss, and\nthe man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire\nfold. One more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the\nUndead! …\nThere is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the mere\npresence of such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb fretted\nwith age and heavy with the dust of centuries, though there be that\nhorrid odor such as the lairs of the Count have had. Yes, I was\nmoved. I, Van Helsing, with all my purpose and with my motive for\nhate. I was moved to a yearning for delay which seemed to paralyze\nmy faculties and to clog my very soul. It may have been that the\nneed of natural sleep, and the strange oppression of the air were\nbeginning to overcome me. Certain it was that I was lapsing into\nsleep, the open eyed sleep of one who yields to a sweet\nfascination, when there came through the snow stilled air a long,\nlow wail, so full of woe and pity that it woke me like the sound of\na clarion. For it was the voice of my dear Madam Mina that Ia clarion. For it was the voice of my dear Madam Mina that I\nheard.\nThen I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found by\nwrenching away tomb tops one other of the sisters, the other dark\none. I dared not pause to look on her as I had on her sister, lest\nonce more I should begin to be enthrall. But I go on searching\nuntil, presently, I find in a high great tomb as if made to one\nmuch beloved that other fair sister which, like Jonathan I had seen\nto gather herself out of the atoms of the mist. She was so fair to\nlook on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that\nthe very instinct of man in me, which calls some of my sex to love\nand to protect one of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion.\nBut God be thanked, that soul wail of my dear Madam Mina had not\ndied out of my ears. And, before the spell could be wrought further\nupon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work. By this tim e I had\nsearched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as I could tell. And\nas there had been only three of these Undead phantoms around us in\nthe night, I took it that there were no more of active Undead\nexistent. There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest.\nHuge it was, and nobly proportioned. On it was but one word.\nDRACULA\nThis then was the Undead home of the King Vampire, to whom so\nmany more were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent to make certain\nwhat I knew. Before I began to restore these women to their dead\nselves through my awful work, I laid in Dracula's tomb some of the\nWafer, and so banished him from it, Undead, for ever.\nThen began my terrible task, and I dreaded it. Had it been but\none, it had been easy, comparative. But three! To begin twice more\nafter I had been through a deed of horror. For it was terrible with\nthe sweet Miss Lucy, what would it not be with these strange ones\nwho had survived through centuries, and who had been strenghtened\nby the passing of the years. Who would, if they could, have fought\nfor their foul lives …\nOh, my friend John, but it was butcher work. Had I not been"}
{"text": "for their foul lives …\nOh, my friend John, but it was butcher work. Had I not been\nnerved by thoughts of other dead, and of the living over whom hung\nsuch a pall of fear, I could not have gone on. I tremble and\ntremble even yet, though till all was over, God be thanked, my\nnerve did stand. Had I not seen the repose in the first place, and\nthe gladness that stole over it just ere the final dissolution\ncame, as realization that the soul had been won, I could not have\ngone further with my butchery. I could not have endured the horrid\nscreeching as the stake drove home, the plunging of writhing form,\nand lips of bloody foam. I should have fled in terror and left my\nwork undone. But it is over! And the poor souls, I can pity them\nnow and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full sleep of\ndeath for a short moment ere fading. For, friend John, hardly had\nmy knife severed the head of each, before the whole body began to\nmelt away and crumble into its native dust, as though the death\nthat should have come centuries agone had at last assert himself\nand say at once and loud,\"I am here!\"\nBefore I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never\nmore can the Count enter there Undead.\nWhen I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, she woke\nfrom her sleep and, seeing me, cried out in pain that I had endured\ntoo much.\n\"Come!\" she said, \"come away from this awful place! Let us go to\nmeet my husband who is, I know, coming towards us.\" She was looking\nthin and pale and weak. But her eyes were pure and glowed with\nfervor. I was glad to see her paleness and her illness, for my mind\nwas full of the fresh horror of that ruddy vampire sleep.\nAnd so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go eastward\nto meet our friends, and him, whom Madam Mina tell me that she know\nare coming to meet us.\nMINA HARKER'S JOURNAL\n6 November.—It was late in the afternoon when the Professor and\nI took our way towards the east whence I knew Jonathan was coming.\nWe did not go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for w eWe did not go fast, though the way was steeply downhill, for w e\nhad to take heavy rugs and wraps with us. We dared not face the\npossibility of being left without warmth in the cold and the snow.\nWe had to take some of our provisions too, for we were in a perfect\ndesolation, and so far as we could see through the snowfall, there\nwas not even the sign of habitation. When we had gone about a mile,\nI was tired with the heavy walking and sat down to rest. Then we\nlooked back and saw where the clear line of Dracula's castle cut\nthe sky. For we were so deep under the hill whereon it was set that\nthe angle of perspective of the Carpathian mountains was far below\nit. We saw it in all its grandeur, perched a thousand feet on the\nsummit of a sheer precipice, and with seemingly a great gap between\nit and the steep of the adjacent mountain on any side. There was\nsomething wild and uncanny about the place. We could hear the\ndistant howling of wolves. They were far off, but the sound, even\nthough coming muffled through the deadening snowfall, was full of\nterror. I knew from the way Dr. Van Helsing was searching about\nthat he was trying to seek some strategic point, where we would be\nless exposed in case of attack. The rough roadway still led\ndownwards. We could trace it through the drifted snow.\nIn a little while the Professor signalled to me, so I got up and\njoined him. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of natural hollow\nin a rock, with an entrance like a doorway between two boulders. He\ntook me by the hand and drew me in.\n\"See!\" he said,\"here you will be in shelter. And if the wolves\ndo come I can meet them one by one.\"\nHe brought in our furs, and made a snug nest for me, and got out\nsome provisions and forced them upon me. But I could not eat, to\neven try to do so was repulsive to me, and much as I would have\nliked to please him, I could not bring myself to the attempt. He\nlooked very sad, but did not reproach me. Taking his field glasses\nfrom the case, he stood on the top of the rock, and began to search\nthe horizon.from the case, he stood on the top of the rock, and began to search\nthe horizon.\nSuddenly he called out, \"Look! Madam Mina, look!Look!\"\nI sprang up and stood beside him on the rock. He handed me his\nglasses and pointed. The snow was now falling more heavily, and\nswirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginning to blow.\nHowever, there were times when there were pauses between the snow\nflurries and I could see a long way round. From the height where we\nwere it was possible to see a great distance. And far off, beyond\nthe white waste of snow, I could see the river lying like a black\nribbon in kinks and curls as it wound its way. Straight in front of\nus and not far off, in fact so near that I wondered we had not\nnoticed before, came a group of mounted men hurrying along. In the\nmidst of them was a cart, a long leiter wagon which swept from side\nto side, like a dog's tail wagging, with each stern inequality of\nthe road. Outlined against the snow as they were, I could see from\nthe men's clothes that they were peasants or gypsies of some\nkind.\nOn the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as I saw\nit, for I felt that the end was coming. The evening was now drawing\nclose, and well I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till\nthen imprisoned there, would take new freedom and could in any of\nmany forms elude pursuit. In fear I turned to the Professor. To my\nconsternation, however, he was not there. An instant later, I saw\nhim below me. Round the rock he had drawn a circle, such as we had\nfound shelter in last night.\nWhen he had completed it he stood beside me again saying, \"At\nleast you shall be safe here from him!\" He took the glasses from\nme, and at the next lull of the snow swept the whole space below\nus. \"See,\"he said,\"they come quickly. They are flogging the horses,\nand galloping as hard as they can.\"\nHe paused and went on in a hollow voice, \"They are racing for\nthe sunset. We may be too late. God's will be done!\" Down came\nanother blinding rush of driving snow, and the whole landscape was"}
{"text": "another blinding rush of driving snow, and the whole landscape was\nblotted out. It soon passed, however, and once more his glasses\nwere fixed on the plain.\nThen came a sudden cry, \"Look! Look! Look! See, two horsemen\nfollow fast, coming up from the south. It must be Quincey and John.\nTake the glass. Look before the snow blots it all out!\" I took it\nand looked. The two men might be Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris. I knew\nat all events that neither of them was Jonathan. At the same time I\nknew that Jonathan was not far off. Looking around I saw on the\nnorth side of the coming party two other men, riding at breakneck\nspeed. One of them I knew was Jonathan, and the other I took, of\ncourse, to be Lord Godalming. They too, were pursuing the party\nwith the cart. When I told the Professor he shouted in glee like a\nschoolboy, and after looking intently till a snow fall made sight\nimpossible, he laid his Winchester rifle ready for use against the\nboulder at the opening of our shelter.\n\"They are all converging,\" he said.\"When the time comes we shall\nhave gypsies on all sides.\" I got out my revolver ready to hand,\nfor whilst we were speaking the howling of wolves came louder and\ncloser. When the snow storm abated a moment we looked again. It was\nstrange to see the snow falling in such heavy flakes close to us,\nand beyond, the sun shining more and more brightly as it sank down\ntowards the far mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I\ncould see here and there dots moving singly and in twos and threes\nand larger numbers. The wolves were gathering for their prey.\nEvery instant seemed an age whilst we waited. The wind came now\nin fierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury as it swept\nupon us in circling eddies. At times we could not see an arm's\nlength before us. But at others, as the hollow sounding wind swept\nby us, it seemed to clear the air space around us so that we could\nsee afar off. We had of late been so accustomed to watch for\nsunrise and sunset, that we knew with fair accuracy when it wouldsunrise and sunset, that we knew with fair accuracy when it would\nbe. And we knew that before long the sun would set. It was hard to\nbelieve that by our watches it was less than an hour that we waited\nin that rocky shelter before the various bodies began to converge\nclose upon us. The wind came now with fiercer and more bitter\nsweeps, and more steadily from the north. It seemingly had driven\nthe snow clouds from us, for with only occasional bursts, the snow\nfell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals of each party,\nthe pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough those pursued did\nnot seem to realize, or at least to care, that they were pursued.\nThey seemed, however, to hasten with redoubled speed as the sun\ndropped lower and lower on the mountain tops.\nCloser and closer they drew. The Professor and I crouched down\nbehind our rock, and held our weapons ready. I could see that he\nwas determined that they should not pass. One and all were quite\nunaware of our presence.\nAll at once two voices shouted out to, \"Halt!\" One was my\nJonathan's, raised in a high key of passion. The other Mr. Morris'\nstrong resolute tone of quiet command. The gypsies may not have\nknown the language, but there was no mistaking the tone, in\nwhatever tongue the words were spoken. Instinctively they reined\nin, and at the instant Lord Godalming and Jonathan dashed up at one\nside and Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris on the other. The leader of the\ngypsies, a splendid looking fellow who sat his horse like a\ncentaur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to his\ncompanions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses which\nsprang forward. But the four men raised their Winchester rifles,\nand in an unmistakable way commanded them to stop. At the same\nmoment Dr. Van Helsing and I rose behind the rock and pointed our\nweapons at them. Seeing that they were surrounded the men tightened\ntheir reins and drew up. The leader turned to them and gave a word\nat which every man of the gypsy party drew what weapon he carried,at which every man of the gypsy party drew what weapon he carried,\nknife or pistol,and held himself in readiness to attack. Issue was\njoined in an instant.\nThe leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his horse\nout in front, and pointed first to the sun, now close down on the\nhill tops, and then to the castle, said something which I did not\nunderstand. For answer, all four men of our party threw themselves\nfrom their horses and dashed towards the cart. I should have felt\nterrible fear at seeing Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardor\nof battle must have been upon me as well as the rest of them. I\nfelt no fear, but only a wild, surging desire to do something.\nSeeing the quick movement of our parties, the leader of the gypsies\ngave a command. His men instantly formed round the cart in a sort\nof undisciplined endeavor, each one shouldering and pushing the\nother in his eagerness to carry out the order.\nIn the midst of this I could see that Jonathan on one side of\nthe ring of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a way to\nthe cart. It was evident that they were bent on finishing their\ntask before the sun should set. Nothing seemed to stop or even to\nhinder them.Neither the levelled weapons nor the flashing knives of\nthe gypsies in front, nor the howling of the wolves behind,\nappeared to even attract their attention. Jonathan's impetuosity,\nand the manifest singleness of his purpose, seemed to overawe those\nin front of him. Instinctively they cowered aside and let him pass.\nIn an instant he had jumped upon the cart, and with a strength\nwhich seemed incredible, raised the great box, and flung it over\nthe wheel to the ground. In the meantime, Mr. Morris had had to use\nforce to pass through his side of the ring of Szgany. All the time\nI had been breathlessly watching Jonathan I had, with the tail of\nmy eye, seen him pressing desperately forward, and had seen the\nknives of the gypsies flash as he won a way through them, and they\ncut at him. He had parried with his great bowie knife, and at first"}
{"text": "cut at him. He had parried with his great bowie knife, and at first\nI thought that he too had come through in safety. But as he sprang\nbeside Jonathan, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could see\nthat with his left hand he was clutching at his side, and that the\nblood was spurting through his fingers. He did not delay\nnotwithstanding this, for as Jonathan, with desperate energy,\nattacked one end of the chest, attempting to prize off the lid with\nhis great Kukri knife, he attacked the other frantically with his\nbowie. Under the efforts of both men the lid began to yield. The\nnails drew with a screeching sound, and the top of the box was\nthrown back.\nBy this time the gypsies, seeing themselves covered by the\nWinchesters, and at the mercy of Lord Godalming and Dr. Seward, had\ngiven in and made no further resistance. The sun was almost down on\nthe mountain tops, and the shadows of the whole group fell upon the\nsnow. I saw the Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of\nwhich the rude falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was\ndeathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with\nthe horrible vindictive look which I knew so well.\nAs I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate\nin them turned to triumph.\nBut, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's\ngreat knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat.\nWhilst at the same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the\nheart.\nIt was like a miracle, but before our very eyes, and almost in\nthe drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and\npassed from our sight.\nI shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of\nfinal dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I\nnever could have imagined might have rested there.\nThe Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, and\nevery stone of its broken battlements was articulated against the\nlight of the setting sun.\nThe gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of thelight of the setting sun.\nThe gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of the\nextraordinary disappearance of the dead man, turned, without a\nword, and rode away as if for their lives. Those who were unmounted\njumped upon the leiter wagon and shouted to the horsemen not to\ndesert them. The wolves, which had withdrawn to a safe distance,\nfollowed in their wake, leaving us alone.\nMr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on his elbow,\nholding his hand pressed to his side. The blood still gushed\nthrough his fingers. I flew to him, for the Holy circle did not now\nkeep me back, so did the two doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and\nthe wounded man laid back his head on his shoulder. With a sigh he\ntook, with a feeble effort, my hand in that of his own which was\nunstained.\nHe must have seen the anguish of my heart in my face, for he\nsmiled at me and said, \"I am only too happy to have been of\nservice! Oh, God!\" he cried suddenly, struggling to a sitting\nposture and pointing to me. \"It was worth for this to die! Look!\nLook!\"\nThe sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red\ngleams fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light. With\none impulse the men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest\n\"Amen\" broke from all as their eyes followed the pointing of his\nfinger.\nThe dying man spoke, \"Now God be thanked that all has not been\nin vain! See! The snow is not more stainless than her forehead! The\ncurse has passed away!\"\nAnd, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died,\na gallant gentleman.\nNOTE\nSeven years ago we all went through the flames. And the\nhappiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth the\npain we endured. It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our\nboy's birthday is the same day as that on which Quincey Morris\ndied. His mother holds, I know, the secret belief that some of our\nbrave friend's spirit has passed into him. His bundle of names\nlinks all our little band of men together. But we call him\nQuincey.links all our little band of men together. But we call him\nQuincey.\nIn the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania,\nand went over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of\nvivid and terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe\nthat the things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with\nour own ears were living truths. Every trace of all that had been\nwas blotted out. The castle stood as before, reared high above a\nwaste of desolation.\nWhen we got home we were talking of the old time, which we could\nall look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both\nhappily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had\nbeen ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the\nfact, that in all the mass of material of which the record is\ncomposed, there is hardly one authentic document. Nothing but a\nmass of typewriting, except the later notebooks of Mina and Seward\nand myself, and Van Helsing's memorandum. We could hardly ask any\none, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a\nstory. Van Helsing summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his\nknee.\n\"We want no proofs. We ask none to believe us! This boy will\nsome day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already\nhe knows her sweetness and loving care. Later on he will understand\nhow some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her\nsake.\nJONATHAN HARKER"}
{"text": "Beyond a bare, weather-worn wall, about a hundred paces from the\nspot where the two friends sat looking and listening as they drank\ntheir wine, was the village of the Catalans. Long ago this\nmysterious colony quitted Spain, and settled on the tongue of land\non which it is to this day. Whence it came no one knew, and it\nspoke an unknown tongue. One of its chiefs, who understood\nProvencal, begged the commune of Marseilles to give them this bare\nand barren promontory, where, like the sailors of old, they had run\ntheir boats ashore. The request was granted; and three months\nafterwards, around the twelve or fifteen small vessels which had\nbrought these gypsies of the sea, a small village sprang up. This\nvillage, constructed in a singular and picturesque manner, half\nMoorish, half Spanish, still remains, and is inhabited by\ndescendants of the first comers, who speak the language of their\nfathers. For three or four centuries they have remained upon this\nsmall promontory, on which they had settled like a flight of\nseabirds, without mixing with the Marseillaise population,\nintermarrying, and preserving their original customs and the\ncostume of their mother-country as they have preserved its\nlanguage.\nOur readers will follow us along the only street of this little\nvillage, and enter with us one of the houses, which is sunburned to\nthe beautiful dead-leaf color peculiar to the buildings of the\ncountry, and within coated with whitewash, like a Spanish posada. A\nyoung and beautiful girl, with hair as black as jet, her eyes as\nvelvety as the gazelle's, was leaning with her back against the\nwainscot, rubbing in her slender delicately moulded fingers a bunch\nof heath blossoms, the flowers of which she was picking off and\nstrewing on the floor; her arms, bare to the elbow, brown, and\nmodelled after those of the Arlesian Venus, moved with a kind of\nrestless impatience, and she tapped the earth with her arched and\nsupple foot, so as to display the pure and full shape of her\nwell-turned leg, in its red cotton, gray and blue clocked,well-turned leg, in its red cotton, gray and blue clocked,\nstocking. At three paces from her, seated in a chair which he\nbalanced on two legs, leaning his elbow on an old worm-eaten table,\nwas a tall young man of twenty, or two-and-twenty, who was looking\nat her with an air in which vexation and uneasiness were mingled.\nHe questioned her with his eyes, but the firm and steady gaze of\nthe young girl controlled his look.\n\"You see, Mercedes,\" said the young man, \"here is Easter come\nround again; tell me, is this the moment for a wedding?\"\n\"I have answered you a hundred times, Fernand, and really you\nmust be very stupid to ask me again.\"\n\"Well, repeat it, — repeat it, I beg of you, that I may at last\nbelieve it! Tell me for the hundredth time that you refuse my love,\nwhich had your mother's sanction. Make me understand once for all\nthat you are trifling with my happiness, that my life or death are\nnothing to you. Ah, to have dreamed for ten years of being your\nhusband, Mercedes, and to lose that hope, which was the only stay\nof my existence!\"\n\"At least it was not I who ever encouraged you in that hope,\nFernand,\" replied Mercedes; \"you cannot reproach me with the\nslightest coquetry. I have always said to you, `I love you as a\nbrother; but do not ask from me more than sisterly affection, for\nmy heart is another's.' Is not this true, Fernand?\"\n\"Yes, that is very true, Mercedes,\" replied the young man, \"Yes,\nyou have been cruelly frank with me; but do you forget that it is\namong the Catalans a sacred law to intermarry?\"\n\"You mistake, Fernand; it is not a law, but merely a custom,\nand, I pray of you, do not cite this custom in your favor. You are\nincluded in the conscription, Fernand, and are only at liberty on\nsufferance, liable at any moment to be called upon to take up arms.\nOnce a soldier, what would you do with me, a poor orphan, forlorn,\nwithout fortune, with nothing but a half-ruined hut and a few\nragged nets, the miserable inheritance left by my father to myragged nets, the miserable inheritance left by my father to my\nmother, and by my mother to me? She has been dead a year, and you\nknow, Fernand, I have subsisted almost entirely on public charity.\nSometimes you pretend I am useful to you, and that is an excuse to\nshare with me the produce of your fishing, and I accept it,\nFernand, because you are the son of my father's brother, because we\nwere brought up together, and still more because it would give you\nso much pain if I refuse. But I feel very deeply that this fish\nwhich I go and sell, and with the produce of which I buy the flax I\nspin, — I feel very keenly, Fernand, that this is charity.\"\n\"And if it were, Mercedes, poor and lone as you are, you suit me\nas well as the daughter of the first shipowner or the richest\nbanker of Marseilles! What do such as we desire but a good wife and\ncareful housekeeper, and where can I look for these better than in\nyou?\"\n\"Fernand,\" answered Mercedes, shaking her head, \"a woman becomes\na bad manager, and who shall say she will remain an honest woman,\nwhen she loves another man better than her husband? Rest content\nwith my friendship, for I say once more that is all I can promise,\nand I will promise no more than I can bestow.\"\n\"I understand,\" replied Fernand, \"you can endure your own\nwretchedness patiently, but you are afraid to share mine. Well,\nMercedes, beloved by you, I would tempt fortune; you would bring me\ngood luck, and I should become rich. I could extend my occupation\nas a fisherman, might get a place as clerk in a warehouse, and\nbecome in time a dealer myself.\"\n\"You could do no such thing, Fernand; you are a soldier, and if\nyou remain at the Catalans it is because there is no war; so remain\na fisherman, and contented with my friendship, as I cannot give you\nmore.\"\n\"Well, I will do better, Mercedes. I will be a sailor; instead\nof the costume of our fathers, which you despise, I will wear a\nvarnished hat, a striped shirt, and a blue jacket, with an anchor\non the buttons. Would not that dress please you?\""}
{"text": "on the buttons. Would not that dress please you?\"\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Mercedes, with an angry glance, —\n\"what do you mean? I do not understand you?\"\n\"I mean, Mercedes, that you are thus harsh and cruel with me,\nbecause you are expecting some one who is thus attired; but perhaps\nhe whom you await is inconstant, or if he is not, the sea is so to\nhim.\"\n\"Fernand,\" cried Mercedes, \"I believed you were good-hearted,\nand I was mistaken! Fernand, you are wicked to call to your aid\njealousy and the anger of God! Yes, I will not deny it, I do await,\nand I do love him of whom you speak; and, if he does not return,\ninstead of accusing him of the inconstancy which you insinuate, I\nwill tell you that he died loving me and me only.\" The young girl\nmade a gesture of rage. \"I understand you, Fernand; you would be\nrevenged on him because I do not love you; you would cross your\nCatalan knife with his dirk. What end would that answer? To lose\nyou my friendship if he were conquered, and see that friendship\nchanged into hate if you were victor. Believe me, to seek a quarrel\nwith a man is a bad method of pleasing the woman who loves that\nman. No, Fernand, you will not thus give way to evil thoughts.\nUnable to have me for your wife, you will content yourself with\nhaving me for your friend and sister; and besides,\" she added, her\neyes troubled and moistened with tears, \"wait, wait, Fernand; you\nsaid just now that the sea was treacherous, and he has been gone\nfour months, and during these four months there have been some\nterrible storms.\"\nFernand made no reply, nor did he attempt to check the tears\nwhich flowed down the cheeks of Mercedes, although for each of\nthese tears he would have shed his heart's blood; but these tears\nflowed for another. He arose, paced a while up and down the hut,\nand then, suddenly stopping before Mercedes, with his eyes glowing\nand his hands clinched, — \"Say, Mercedes,\" he said, \"once for all,\nis this your final determination?\"\n\"I love Edmond Dantes,\" the young girl calmly replied, \"and noneis this your final determination?\"\n\"I love Edmond Dantes,\" the young girl calmly replied, \"and none\nbut Edmond shall ever be my husband.\"\n\"And you will always love him?\"\n\"As long as I live.\"\nFernand let fall his head like a defeated man, heaved a sigh\nthat was like a groan, and then suddenly looking her full in the\nface, with clinched teeth and expanded nostrils, said, — \"But if he\nis dead\" —\n\"If he is dead, I shall die too.\"\n\"If he has forgotten you\" —\n\"Mercedes!\" called a joyous voice from without, —\n\"Mercedes!\"\n\"Ah,\" exclaimed the young girl, blushing with delight, and\nfairly leaping in excess of love, \"you see he has not forgotten me,\nfor here he is!\" And rushing towards the door, she opened it,\nsaying, \"Here, Edmond, here I am!\"\nFernand, pale and trembling, drew back, like a traveller at the\nsight of a serpent, and fell into a chair beside him. Edmond and\nMercedes were clasped in each other's arms. The burning Marseilles\nsun, which shot into the room through the open door, covered them\nwith a flood of light. At first they saw nothing around them. Their\nintense happiness isolated them from all the rest of the world, and\nthey only spoke in broken words, which are the tokens of a joy so\nextreme that they seem rather the expression of sorrow. Suddenly\nEdmond saw the gloomy, pale, and threatening countenance of\nFernand, as it was defined in the shadow. By a movement for which\nhe could scarcely account to himself, the young Catalan placed his\nhand on the knife at his belt.\n\"Ah, your pardon,\" said Dantes, frowning in his turn; \"I did not\nperceive that there were three of us.\" Then, turning to Mercedes,\nhe inquired, \"Who is this gentleman?\"\n\"One who will be your best friend, Dantes, for he is my friend,\nmy cousin, my brother; it is Fernand — the man whom, after you,\nEdmond, I love the best in the world. Do you not remember him?\"\n\"Yes!\" said Dantes, and without relinquishing Mercedes hand\nclasped in one of his own, he extended the other to the Catalan\nwith a cordial air. But Fernand, instead of responding to thiswith a cordial air. But Fernand, instead of responding to this\namiable gesture, remained mute and trembling. Edmond then cast his\neyes scrutinizingly at the agitated and embarrassed Mercedes, and\nthen again on the gloomy and menacing Fernand. This look told him\nall, and his anger waxed hot.\n\"I did not know, when I came with such haste to you, that I was\nto meet an enemy here.\"\n\"An enemy!\" cried Mercedes, with an angry look at her cousin.\n\"An enemy in my house, do you say, Edmond! If I believed that, I\nwould place my arm under yours and go with you to Marseilles,\nleaving the house to return to it no more.\"\nFernand's eye darted lightning. \"And should any misfortune occur\nto you, dear Edmond,\" she continued with the same calmness which\nproved to Fernand that the young girl had read the very innermost\ndepths of his sinister thought, \"if misfortune should occur to you,\nI would ascend the highest point of the Cape de Morgion and cast\nmyself headlong from it.\"\nFernand became deadly pale. \"But you are deceived, Edmond,\" she\ncontinued. \"You have no enemy here — there is no one but Fernand,\nmy brother, who will grasp your hand as a devoted friend.\"\nAnd at these words the young girl fixed her imperious look on\nthe Catalan, who, as if fascinated by it, came slowly towards\nEdmond, and offered him his hand. His hatred, like a powerless\nthough furious wave, was broken against the strong ascendancy which\nMercedes exercised over him. Scarcely, however, had he touched\nEdmond's hand than he felt he had done all he could do, and rushed\nhastily out of the house.\n\"Oh,\" he exclaimed, running furiously and tearing his hair —\n\"Oh, who will deliver me from this man? Wretched — wretched that I\nam!\"\n\"Hallo, Catalan! Hallo, Fernand! where are you running to?\"\nexclaimed a voice.\nThe young man stopped suddenly, looked around him, and perceived\nCaderousse sitting at table with Danglars, under an arbor.\n\"Well\", said Caderousse, \"why don't you come? Are you really in\nsuch a hurry that you have no time to pass the time of day with\nyour friends?\""}
{"text": "such a hurry that you have no time to pass the time of day with\nyour friends?\"\n\"Particularly when they have still a full bottle before them,\"\nadded Danglars. Fernand looked at them both with a stupefied air,\nbut did not say a word.\n\"He seems besotted,\" said Danglars, pushing Caderousse with his\nknee. \"Are we mistaken, and is Dantes triumphant in spite of all we\nhave believed?\"\n\"Why, we must inquire into that,\" was Caderousse's reply; and\nturning towards the young man, said, \"Well, Catalan, can't you make\nup your mind?\"\nFernand wiped away the perspiration steaming from his brow, and\nslowly entered the arbor, whose shade seemed to restore somewhat of\ncalmness to his senses, and whose coolness somewhat of refreshment\nto his exhausted body.\n\"Good-day,\" said he. \"You called me, didn't you?\" And he fell,\nrather than sat down, on one of the seats which surrounded the\ntable.\n\"I called you because you were running like a madman, and I was\nafraid you would throw yourself into the sea,\" said Caderousse,\nlaughing. \"Why, when a man has friends, they are not only to offer\nhim a glass of wine, but, moreover, to prevent his swallowing three\nor four pints of water unnecessarily!\"\nFernand gave a groan, which resembled a sob, and dropped his\nhead into his hands, his elbows leaning on the table.\n\"Well, Fernand, I must say,\" said Caderousse, beginning the\nconversation, with that brutality of the common people in which\ncuriosity destroys all diplomacy, \"you look uncommonly like a\nrejected lover;\" and he burst into a hoarse laugh.\n\"Bah!\" said Danglars, \"a lad of his make was not born to be\nunhappy in love. You are laughing at him, Caderousse.\"\n\"No,\" he replied, \"only hark how he sighs! Come, come, Fernand,\"\nsaid Caderousse, \"hold up your head, and answer us. It's not polite\nnot to reply to friends who ask news of your health.\"\n\"My health is well enough,\" said Fernand, clinching his hands\nwithout raising his head.\n\"Ah, you see, Danglars,\" said Caderousse, winking at his friend,without raising his head.\n\"Ah, you see, Danglars,\" said Caderousse, winking at his friend,\n\"this is how it is; Fernand, whom you see here, is a good and brave\nCatalan, one of the best fishermen in Marseilles, and he is in love\nwith a very fine girl, named Mercedes; but it appears,\nunfortunately, that the fine girl is in love with the mate of the\nPharaon; and as the Pharaon arrived to-day — why, you\nunderstand!\"\n\"No; I do not understand,\" said Danglars.\n\"Poor Fernand has been dismissed,\" continued Caderousse.\n\"Well, and what then?\" said Fernand, lifting up his head, and\nlooking at Caderousse like a man who looks for some one on whom to\nvent his anger; \"Mercedes is not accountable to any person, is she?\nIs she not free to love whomsoever she will?\"\n\"Oh, if you take it in that sense,\" said Caderousse, \"it is\nanother thing. But I thought you were a Catalan, and they told me\nthe Catalans were not men to allow themselves to be supplanted by a\nrival. It was even told me that Fernand, especially, was terrible\nin his vengeance.\"\nFernand smiled piteously. \"A lover is never terrible,\" he\nsaid.\n\"Poor fellow!\" remarked Danglars, affecting to pity the young\nman from the bottom of his heart. \"Why, you see, he did not expect\nto see Dantes return so suddenly — he thought he was dead, perhaps;\nor perchance faithless! These things always come on us more\nseverely when they come suddenly.\"\n\"Ah, ma foi, under any circumstances,\" said Caderousse, who\ndrank as he spoke, and on whom the fumes of the wine began to take\neffect, — \"under any circumstances Fernand is not the only person\nput out by the fortunate arrival of Dantes; is he, Danglars?\"\n\"No, you are right — and I should say that would bring him\nill-luck.\"\n\"Well, never mind,\" answered Caderousse, pouring out a glass of\nwine for Fernand, and filling his own for the eighth or ninth time,\nwhile Danglars had merely sipped his. \"Never mind — in the meantime\nhe marries Mercedes — the lovely Mercedes — at least he returns to\ndo that.\"he marries Mercedes — the lovely Mercedes — at least he returns to\ndo that.\"\nDuring this time Danglars fixed his piercing glance on the young\nman, on whose heart Caderousse's words fell like molten lead.\n\"And when is the wedding to be?\" he asked.\n\"Oh, it is not yet fixed!\" murmured Fernand.\n\"No, but it will be,\" said Caderousse, \"as surely as Dantes will\nbe captain of the Pharaon — eh, Danglars?\"\nDanglars shuddered at this unexpected attack, and turned to\nCaderousse, whose countenance he scrutinized, to try and detect\nwhether the blow was premeditated; but he read nothing but envy in\na countenance already rendered brutal and stupid by\ndrunkenness.\n\"Well,\" said he, filling the glasses, \"let us drink to Captain\nEdmond Dantes, husband of the beautiful Catalane!\"\nCaderousse raised his glass to his mouth with unsteady hand, and\nswallowed the contents at a gulp. Fernand dashed his on the\nground.\n\"Eh, eh, eh!\" stammered Caderousse. \"What do I see down there by\nthe wall, in the direction of the Catalans? Look, Fernand, your\neyes are better than mine. I believe I see double. You know wine is\na deceiver; but I should say it was two lovers walking side by\nside, and hand in hand. Heaven forgive me, they do not know that we\ncan see them, and they are actually embracing!\"\nDanglars did not lose one pang that Fernand endured.\n\"Do you know them, Fernand?\" he said.\n\"Yes,\" was the reply, in a low voice. \"It is Edmond and\nMercedes!\"\n\"Ah, see there, now!\" said Caderousse; \"and I did not recognize\nthem! Hallo, Dantes! hello, lovely damsel! Come this way, and let\nus know when the wedding is to be, for Fernand here is so obstinate\nhe will not tell us.\"\n\"Hold your tongue, will you?\" said Danglars, pretending to\nrestrain Caderousse, who, with the tenacity of drunkards, leaned\nout of the arbor. \"Try to stand upright, and let the lovers make\nlove without interruption. See, look at Fernand, and follow his\nexample; he is well-behaved!\"\nFernand, probably excited beyond bearing, pricked by Danglars,"}
{"text": "example; he is well-behaved!\"\nFernand, probably excited beyond bearing, pricked by Danglars,\nas the bull is by the bandilleros, was about to rush out; for he\nhad risen from his seat, and seemed to be collecting himself to\ndash headlong upon his rival, when Mercedes, smiling and graceful,\nlifted up her lovely head, and looked at them with her clear and\nbright eyes. At this Fernand recollected her threat of dying if\nEdmond died, and dropped again heavily on his seat. Danglars looked\nat the two men, one after the other, the one brutalized by liquor,\nthe other overwhelmed with love.\n\"I shall get nothing from these fools,\" he muttered; \"and I am\nvery much afraid of being here between a drunkard and a coward.\nHere's an envious fellow making himself boozy on wine when he ought\nto be nursing his wrath, and here is a fool who sees the woman he\nloves stolen from under his nose and takes on like a big baby. Yet\nthis Catalan has eyes that glisten like those of the vengeful\nSpaniards, Sicilians, and Calabrians, and the other has fists big\nenough to crush an ox at one blow. Unquestionably, Edmond's star is\nin the ascendant, and he will marry the splendid girl — he will be\ncaptain, too, and laugh at us all, unless\" — a sinister smile\npassed over Danglars' lips — \"unless I take a hand in the affair,\"\nhe added.\n\"Hallo!\" continued Caderousse, half-rising, and with his fist on\nthe table, \"hallo, Edmond! do you not see your friends, or are you\ntoo proud to speak to them?\"\n\"No, my dear fellow!\" replied Dantes, \"I am not proud, but I am\nhappy, and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride.\"\n\"Ah, very well, that's an explanation!\" said Caderousse. \"How do\nyou do, Madame Dantes?\"\nMercedes courtesied gravely, and said — \"That is not my name,\nand in my country it bodes ill fortune, they say, to call a young\ngirl by the name of her betrothed before he becomes her husband. So\ncall me Mercedes, if you please.\"\n\"We must excuse our worthy neighbor, Caderousse,\" said Dantes,\n\"he is so easily mistaken.\"\"We must excuse our worthy neighbor, Caderousse,\" said Dantes,\n\"he is so easily mistaken.\"\n\"So, then, the wedding is to take place immediately, M. Dantes,\"\nsaid Danglars, bowing to the young couple.\n\"As soon as possible, M. Danglars; to-day all preliminaries will\nbe arranged at my father's, and to-morrow, or next day at latest,\nthe wedding festival here at La Reserve. My friends will be there,\nI hope; that is to say, you are invited, M. Danglars, and you,\nCaderousse.\"\n\"And Fernand,\" said Caderousse with a chuckle; \"Fernand, too, is\ninvited!\"\n\"My wife's brother is my brother,\" said Edmond; \"and we,\nMercedes and I, should be very sorry if he were absent at such a\ntime.\"\nFernand opened his mouth to reply, but his voice died on his\nlips, and he could not utter a word.\n\"To-day the preliminaries, to-morrow or next day the ceremony!\nYou are in a hurry, captain!\"\n\"Danglars,\" said Edmond, smiling, \"I will say to you as Mercedes\nsaid just now to Caderousse, `Do not give me a title which does not\nbelong to me'; that may bring me bad luck.\"\n\"Your pardon,\" replied Danglars, \"I merely said you seemed in a\nhurry, and we have lots of time; the Pharaon cannot be under weigh\nagain in less than three months.\"\n\"We are always in a hurry to be happy, M. Danglars; for when we\nhave suffered a long time, we have great difficulty in believing in\ngood fortune. But it is not selfishness alone that makes me thus in\nhaste; I must go to Paris.\"\n\"Ah, really? — to Paris! and will it be the first time you have\never been there, Dantes?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Have you business there?\"\n\"Not of my own; the last commission of poor Captain Leclere; you\nknow to what I allude, Danglars — it is sacred. Besides, I shall\nonly take the time to go and return.\"\n\"Yes, yes, I understand,\" said Danglars, and then in a low tone,\nhe added, \"To Paris, no doubt to deliver the letter which the grand\nmarshal gave him. Ah, this letter gives me an idea — a capital\nidea! Ah; Dantes, my friend, you are not yet registered number oneidea! Ah; Dantes, my friend, you are not yet registered number one\non board the good ship Pharaon;\" then turning towards Edmond, who\nwas walking away, \"A pleasant journey,\" he cried.\n\"Thank you,\" said Edmond with a friendly nod, and the two lovers\ncontinued on their way, as calm and joyous as if they were the very\nelect of heaven.In one of the aristocratic mansions built by Puget in the Rue du\nGrand Cours opposite the Medusa fountain, a second marriage feast\nwas being celebrated, almost at the same hour with the nuptial\nrepast given by Dantes. In this case, however, although the\noccasion of the entertainment was similar, the company was\nstrikingly dissimilar. Instead of a rude mixture of sailors,\nsoldiers, and those belonging to the humblest grade of life, the\npresent assembly was composed of the very flower of Marseilles\nsociety, — magistrates who had resigned their office during the\nusurper's reign; officers who had deserted from the imperial army\nand joined forces with Conde; and younger members of families,\nbrought up to hate and execrate the man whom five years of exile\nwould convert into a martyr, and fifteen of restoration elevate to\nthe rank of a god.\nThe guests were still at table, and the heated and energetic\nconversation that prevailed betrayed the violent and vindictive\npassions that then agitated each dweller of the South, where\nunhappily, for five centuries religious strife had long given\nincreased bitterness to the violence of party feeling.\nThe emperor, now king of the petty Island of Elba, after having\nheld sovereign sway over one-half of the world, counting as his\nsubjects a small population of five or six thousand souls, — after\nhaving been accustomed to hear the \"Vive Napoleons\" of a hundred\nand twenty millions of human beings, uttered in ten different\nlanguages, — was looked upon here as a ruined man, separated\nforever from any fresh connection with France or claim to her\nthrone.\nThe magistrates freely discussed their political views; the\nmilitary part of the company talked unreservedly of Moscow and\nLeipsic, while the women commented on the divorce of Josephine. It\nwas not over the downfall of the man, but over the defeat of the\nNapoleonic idea, that they rejoiced, and in this they foresaw for\nthemselves the bright and cheering prospect of a revivified\npolitical existence."}
{"text": "themselves the bright and cheering prospect of a revivified\npolitical existence.\nAn old man, decorated with the cross of Saint Louis, now rose\nand proposed the health of King Louis XVIII. It was the Marquis de\nSaint-Meran. This toast, recalling at once the patient exile of\nHartwell and the peace-loving King of France, excited universal\nenthusiasm; glasses were elevated in the air a l'Anglais, and the\nladies, snatching their bouquets from their fair bosoms, strewed\nthe table with their floral treasures. In a word, an almost\npoetical fervor prevailed.\n\"Ah,\" said the Marquise de Saint-Meran, a woman with a stern,\nforbidding eye, though still noble and distinguished in appearance,\ndespite her fifty years — \"ah, these revolutionists, who have\ndriven us from those very possessions they afterwards purchased for\na mere trifle during the Reign of Terror, would be compelled to\nown, were they here, that all true devotion was on our side, since\nwe were content to follow the fortunes of a falling monarch, while\nthey, on the contrary, made their fortune by worshipping the rising\nsun; yes, yes, they could not help admitting that the king, for\nwhom we sacrificed rank, wealth, and station was truly our `Louis\nthe well-beloved,' while their wretched usurper his been, and ever\nwill be, to them their evil genius, their `Napoleon the accursed.'\nAm I not right, Villefort?\"\n\"I beg your pardon, madame. I really must pray you to excuse me,\nbut — in truth — I was not attending to the conversation.\"\n\"Marquise, marquise!\" interposed the old nobleman who had\nproposed the toast, \"let the young people alone; let me tell you,\non one's wedding day there are more agreeable subjects of\nconversation than dry politics.\"\n\"Never mind, dearest mother,\" said a young and lovely girl, with\na profusion of light brown hair, and eyes that seemed to float in\nliquid crystal, \"'tis all my fault for seizing upon M. de\nVillefort, so as to prevent his listening to what you said. But\nthere — now take him — he is your own for as long as you like. M.there — now take him — he is your own for as long as you like. M.\nVillefort, I beg to remind you my mother speaks to you.\"\n\"If the marquise will deign to repeat the words I but\nimperfectly caught, I shall be delighted to answer,\" said M. de\nVillefort.\n\"Never mind, Renee,\" replied the marquise, with a look of\ntenderness that seemed out of keeping with her harsh dry features;\nbut, however all other feelings may be withered in a woman's\nnature, there is always one bright smiling spot in the desert of\nher heart, and that is the shrine of maternal love. \"I forgive you.\nWhat I was saying, Villefort, was, that the Bonapartists had not\nour sincerity, enthusiasm, or devotion.\"\n\"They had, however, what supplied the place of those fine\nqualities,\" replied the young man, \"and that was fanaticism.\nNapoleon is the Mahomet of the West, and is worshipped by his\ncommonplace but ambitions followers, not only as a leader and\nlawgiver, but also as the personification of equality.\"\n\"He!\" cried the marquise: \"Napoleon the type of equality! For\nmercy's sake, then, what would you call Robespierre? Come, come, do\nnot strip the latter of his just rights to bestow them on the\nCorsican, who, to my mind, has usurped quite enough.\"\n\"Nay, madame; I would place each of these heroes on his right\npedestal — that of Robespierre on his scaffold in the Place Louis\nQuinze; that of Napoleon on the column of the Place Vendome. The\nonly difference consists in the opposite character of the equality\nadvocated by these two men; one is the equality that elevates, the\nother is the equality that degrades; one brings a king within reach\nof the guillotine, the other elevates the people to a level with\nthe throne. Observe,\" said Villefort, smiling, \"I do not mean to\ndeny that both these men were revolutionary scoundrels, and that\nthe 9th Thermidor and the 4th of April, in the year 1814, were\nlucky days for France, worthy of being gratefully remembered by\nevery friend to monarchy and civil order; and that explains how itevery friend to monarchy and civil order; and that explains how it\ncomes to pass that, fallen, as I trust he is forever, Napoleon has\nstill retained a train of parasitical satellites. Still, marquise,\nit has been so with other usurpers — Cromwell, for instance, who\nwas not half so bad as Napoleon, had his partisans and\nadvocates.\"\n\"Do you know, Villefort, that you are talking in a most\ndreadfully revolutionary strain? But I excuse it, it is impossible\nto expect the son of a Girondin to be free from a small spice of\nthe old leaven.\" A deep crimson suffused the countenance of\nVillefort.\n\"'Tis true, madame,\" answered he, \"that my father was a\nGirondin, but he was not among the number of those who voted for\nthe king's death; he was an equal sufferer with yourself during the\nReign of Terror, and had well-nigh lost his head on the same\nscaffold on which your father perished.\"\n\"True,\" replied the marquise, without wincing in the slightest\ndegree at the tragic remembrance thus called up; \"but bear in mind,\nif you please, that our respective parents underwent persecution\nand proscription from diametrically opposite principles; in proof\nof which I may remark, that while my family remained among the\nstanchest adherents of the exiled princes, your father lost no time\nin joining the new government; and that while the Citizen Noirtier\nwas a Girondin, the Count Noirtier became a senator.\"\n\"Dear mother,\" interposed Renee, \"you know very well it was\nagreed that all these disagreeable reminiscences should forever be\nlaid aside.\"\n\"Suffer me, also, madame,\" replied Villefort, \"to add my earnest\nrequest to Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran's, that you will kindly\nallow the veil of oblivion to cover and conceal the past. What\navails recrimination over matters wholly past recall? For my own\npart, I have laid aside even the name of my father, and altogether\ndisown his political principles. He was — nay, probably may still\nbe — a Bonapartist, and is called Noirtier; I, on the contrary, am"}
{"text": "be — a Bonapartist, and is called Noirtier; I, on the contrary, am\na stanch royalist, and style myself de Villefort. Let what may\nremain of revolutionary sap exhaust itself and die away with the\nold trunk, and condescend only to regard the young shoot which has\nstarted up at a distance from the parent tree, without having the\npower, any more than the wish, to separate entirely from the stock\nfrom which it sprung.\"\n\"Bravo, Villefort!\" cried the marquis; \"excellently well said!\nCome, now, I have hopes of obtaining what I have been for years\nendeavoring to persuade the marquise to promise; namely, a perfect\namnesty and forgetfulness of the past.\"\n\"With all my heart,\" replied the marquise; \"let the past be\nforever forgotten. I promise you it affords me as little pleasure\nto revive it as it does you. All I ask is, that Villefort will be\nfirm and inflexible for the future in his political principles.\nRemember, also, Villefort, that we have pledged ourselves to his\nmajesty for your fealty and strict loyalty, and that at our\nrecommendation the king consented to forget the past, as I do\" (and\nhere she extended to him her hand) — \"as I now do at your entreaty.\nBut bear in mind, that should there fall in your way any one guilty\nof conspiring against the government, you will be so much the more\nbound to visit the offence with rigorous punishment, as it is known\nyou belong to a suspected family.\"\n\"Alas, madame,\" returned Villefort, \"my profession, as well as\nthe times in which we live, compels me to be severe. I have already\nsuccessfully conducted several public prosecutions, and brought the\noffenders to merited punishment. But we have not done with the\nthing yet.\"\n\"Do you, indeed, think so?\" inquired the marquise.\n\"I am, at least, fearful of it. Napoleon, in the Island of Elba,\nis too near France, and his proximity keeps up the hopes of his\npartisans. Marseilles is filled with half-pay officers, who are\ndaily, under one frivolous pretext or other, getting up quarrelsdaily, under one frivolous pretext or other, getting up quarrels\nwith the royalists; from hence arise continual and fatal duels\namong the higher classes of persons, and assassinations in the\nlower.\"\n\"You have heard, perhaps,\" said the Comte de Salvieux, one of M.\nde Saint-Meran's oldest friends, and chamberlain to the Comte\nd'Artois, \"that the Holy Alliance purpose removing him from\nthence?\"\n\"Yes; they were talking about it when we left Paris,\" said M. de\nSaint-Meran; \"and where is it decided to transfer him?\"\n\"To Saint Helena.\"\n\"For heaven's sake, where is that?\" asked the marquise.\n\"An island situated on the other side of the equator, at least\ntwo thousand leagues from here,\" replied the count.\n\"So much the better. As Villefort observes, it is a great act of\nfolly to have left such a man between Corsica, where he was born,\nand Naples, of which his brother-in-law is king, and face to face\nwith Italy, the sovereignty of which he coveted for his son.\"\n\"Unfortunately,\" said Villefort, \"there are the treaties of\n1814, and we cannot molest Napoleon without breaking those\ncompacts.\"\n\"Oh, well, we shall find some way out of it,\" responded M. de\nSalvieux. \"There wasn't any trouble over treaties when it was a\nquestion of shooting the poor Duc d'Enghien.\"\n\"Well,\" said the marquise, \"it seems probable that, by the aid\nof the Holy Alliance, we shall be rid of Napoleon; and we must\ntrust to the vigilance of M. de Villefort to purify Marseilles of\nhis partisans. The king is either a king or no king; if he be\nacknowledged as sovereign of France, he should be upheld in peace\nand tranquillity; and this can best be effected by employing the\nmost inflexible agents to put down every attempt at conspiracy —\n'tis the best and surest means of preventing mischief.\"\n\"Unfortunately, madame,\" answered Villefort, \"the strong arm of\nthe law is not called upon to interfere until the evil has taken\nplace.\"\n\"Then all he has got to do is to endeavor to repair it.\"\n\"Nay, madame, the law is frequently powerless to effect this;\"Nay, madame, the law is frequently powerless to effect this;\nall it can do is to avenge the wrong done.\"\n\"Oh, M. de Villefort,\" cried a beautiful young creature,\ndaughter to the Comte de Salvieux, and the cherished friend of\nMademoiselle de Saint-Meran, \"do try and get up some famous trial\nwhile we are at Marseilles. I never was in a law-court; I am told\nit is so very amusing!\"\n\"Amusing, certainly,\" replied the young man, \"inasmuch as,\ninstead of shedding tears as at the fictitious tale of woe produced\nat a theatre, you behold in a law-court a case of real and genuine\ndistress — a drama of life. The prisoner whom you there see pale,\nagitated, and alarmed, instead of — as is the case when a curtain\nfalls on a tragedy — going home to sup peacefully with his family,\nand then retiring to rest, that he may recommence his mimic woes on\nthe morrow, — is removed from your sight merely to be reconducted\nto his prison and delivered up to the executioner. I leave you to\njudge how far your nerves are calculated to bear you through such a\nscene. Of this, however, be assured, that should any favorable\nopportunity present itself, I will not fail to offer you the choice\nof being present.\"\n\"For shame, M. de Villefort!\" said Renee, becoming quite pale;\n\"don't you see how you are frightening us? — and yet you\nlaugh.\"\n\"What would you have? 'Tis like a duel. I have already recorded\nsentence of death, five or six times, against the movers of\npolitical conspiracies, and who can say how many daggers may be\nready sharpened, and only waiting a favorable opportunity to be\nburied in my heart?\"\n\"Gracious heavens, M. de Villefort,\" said Renee, becoming more\nand more terrified; \"you surely are not in earnest.\"\n\"Indeed I am,\" replied the young magistrate with a smile; \"and\nin the interesting trial that young lady is anxious to witness, the\ncase would only be still more aggravated. Suppose, for instance,\nthe prisoner, as is more than probable, to have served under\nNapoleon — well, can you expect for an instant, that one"}
{"text": "Napoleon — well, can you expect for an instant, that one\naccustomed, at the word of his commander, to rush fearlessly on the\nvery bayonets of his foe, will scruple more to drive a stiletto\ninto the heart of one he knows to be his personal enemy, than to\nslaughter his fellow-creatures, merely because bidden to do so by\none he is bound to obey? Besides, one requires the excitement of\nbeing hateful in the eyes of the accused, in order to lash one's\nself into a state of sufficient vehemence and power. I would not\nchoose to see the man against whom I pleaded smile, as though in\nmockery of my words. No; my pride is to see the accused pale,\nagitated, and as though beaten out of all composure by the fire of\nmy eloquence.\" Renee uttered a smothered exclamation.\n\"Bravo!\" cried one of the guests; \"that is what I call talking\nto some purpose.\"\n\"Just the person we require at a time like the present,\" said a\nsecond.\n\"What a splendid business that last case of yours was, my dear\nVillefort!\" remarked a third; \"I mean the trial of the man for\nmurdering his father. Upon my word, you killed him ere the\nexecutioner had laid his hand upon him.\"\n\"Oh, as for parricides, and such dreadful people as that,\"\ninterposed Renee, \"it matters very little what is done to them; but\nas regards poor unfortunate creatures whose only crime consists in\nhaving mixed themselves up in political intrigues\" —\n\"Why, that is the very worst offence they could possibly commit;\nfor, don't you see, Renee, the king is the father of his people,\nand he who shall plot or contrive aught against the life and safety\nof the parent of thirty-two millions of souls, is a parricide upon\na fearfully great scale?\"\n\"I don't know anything about that,\" replied Renee; \"but, M. de\nVillefort, you have promised me — have you not? — always to show\nmercy to those I plead for.\"\n\"Make yourself quite easy on that point,\" answered Villefort,\nwith one of his sweetest smiles; \"you and I will always consult\nupon our verdicts.\"\n\"My love,\" said the marquise, \"attend to your doves, yourupon our verdicts.\"\n\"My love,\" said the marquise, \"attend to your doves, your\nlap-dogs, and embroidery, but do not meddle with what you do not\nunderstand. Nowadays the military profession is in abeyance and the\nmagisterial robe is the badge of honor. There is a wise Latin\nproverb that is very much in point.\"\n\"Cedant arma togae,\" said Villefort with a bow.\n\"I cannot speak Latin,\" responded the marquise.\n\"Well,\" said Renee, \"I cannot help regretting you had not chosen\nsome other profession than your own — a physician, for instance. Do\nyou know I always felt a shudder at the idea of even a destroying\nangel?\"\n\"Dear, good Renee,\" whispered Villefort, as he gazed with\nunutterable tenderness on the lovely speaker.\n\"Let us hope, my child,\" cried the marquis, \"that M. de\nVillefort may prove the moral and political physician of this\nprovince; if so, he will have achieved a noble work.\"\n\"And one which will go far to efface the recollection of his\nfather's conduct,\" added the incorrigible marquise.\n\"Madame,\" replied Villefort, with a mournful smile, \"I have\nalready had the honor to observe that my father has — at least, I\nhope so — abjured his past errors, and that he is, at the present\nmoment, a firm and zealous friend to religion and order — a better\nroyalist, possibly, than his son; for he has to atone for past\ndereliction, while I have no other impulse than warm, decided\npreference and conviction.\" Having made this well-turned speech,\nVillefort looked carefully around to mark the effect of his\noratory, much as he would have done had he been addressing the\nbench in open court.\n\"Do you know, my dear Villefort,\" cried the Comte de Salvieux,\n\"that is exactly what I myself said the other day at the Tuileries,\nwhen questioned by his majesty's principal chamberlain touching the\nsingularity of an alliance between the son of a Girondin and the\ndaughter of an officer of the Duc de Conde; and I assure you he\nseemed fully to comprehend that this mode of reconciling politicalseemed fully to comprehend that this mode of reconciling political\ndifferences was based upon sound and excellent principles. Then the\nking, who, without our suspecting it, had overheard our\nconversation, interrupted us by saying, `Villefort' — observe that\nthe king did not pronounce the word Noirtier, but, on the contrary,\nplaced considerable emphasis on that of Villefort — `Villefort,'\nsaid his majesty, `is a young man of great judgment and discretion,\nwho will be sure to make a figure in his profession; I like him\nmuch, and it gave me great pleasure to hear that he was about to\nbecome the son-in-law of the Marquis and Marquise de Saint-Meran. I\nshould myself have recommended the match, had not the noble marquis\nanticipated my wishes by requesting my consent to it.'\"\n\"Is it possible the king could have condescended so far as to\nexpress himself so favorably of me?\" asked the enraptured\nVillefort.\n\"I give you his very words; and if the marquis chooses to be\ncandid, he will confess that they perfectly agree with what his\nmajesty said to him, when he went six months ago to consult him\nupon the subject of your espousing his daughter.\"\n\"That is true,\" answered the marquis.\n\"How much do I owe this gracious prince! What is there I would\nnot do to evince my earnest gratitude!\"\n\"That is right,\" cried the marquise. \"I love to see you thus.\nNow, then, were a conspirator to fall into your hands, he would be\nmost welcome.\"\n\"For my part, dear mother.\" interposed Renee, \"I trust your\nwishes will not prosper, and that Providence will only permit petty\noffenders, poor debtors, and miserable cheats to fall into M. de\nVillefort's hands, — then I shall be contented.\"\n\"Just the same as though you prayed that a physician might only\nbe called upon to prescribe for headaches, measles, and the stings\nof wasps, or any other slight affection of the epidermis. If you\nwish to see me the king's attorney, you must desire for me some of\nthose violent and dangerous diseases from the cure of which so much\nhonor redounds to the physician.\""}
{"text": "honor redounds to the physician.\"\nAt this moment, and as though the utterance of Villefort's wish\nhad sufficed to effect its accomplishment, a servant entered the\nroom, and whispered a few words in his ear. Villefort immediately\nrose from table and quitted the room upon the plea of urgent\nbusiness; he soon, however, returned, his whole face beaming with\ndelight. Renee regarded him with fond affection; and certainly his\nhandsome features, lit up as they then were with more than usual\nfire and animation, seemed formed to excite the innocent admiration\nwith which she gazed on her graceful and intelligent lover.\n\"You were wishing just now,\" said Villefort, addressing her,\n\"that I were a doctor instead of a lawyer. Well, I at least\nresemble the disciples of Esculapius in one thing — that of not\nbeing able to call a day my own, not even that of my\nbetrothal.\"\n\"And wherefore were you called away just now?\" asked\nMademoiselle de Saint-Meran, with an air of deep interest.\n\"For a very serious matter, which bids fair to make work for the\nexecutioner.\"\n\"How dreadful!\" exclaimed Renee, turning pale.\n\"Is it possible?\" burst simultaneously from all who were near\nenough to the magistrate to hear his words.\n\"Why, if my information prove correct, a sort of Bonaparte\nconspiracy has just been discovered.\"\n\"Can I believe my ears?\" cried the marquise.\n\"I will read you the letter containing the accusation, at\nleast,\" said Villefort: —\n\"`The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and\nthe religions institutions of his country, that one named Edmond\nDantes, mate of the ship Pharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna,\nafter having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, has been the\nbearer of a letter from Murat to the usurper, and again taken\ncharge of another letter from the usurper to the Bonapartist club\nin Paris. Ample corroboration of this statement may be obtained by\narresting the above-mentioned Edmond Dantes, who either carries the\nletter for Paris about with him, or has it at his father's abode.letter for Paris about with him, or has it at his father's abode.\nShould it not be found in the possession of father or son, then it\nwill assuredly be discovered in the cabin belonging to the said\nDantes on board the Pharaon.'\"\n\"But,\" said Renee, \"this letter, which, after all, is but an\nanonymous scrawl, is not even addressed to you, but to the king's\nattorney.\"\n\"True; but that gentleman being absent, his secretary, by his\norders, opened his letters; thinking this one of importance, he\nsent for me, but not finding me, took upon himself to give the\nnecessary orders for arresting the accused party.\"\n\"Then the guilty person is absolutely in custody?\" said the\nmarquise.\n\"Nay, dear mother, say the accused person. You know we cannot\nyet pronounce him guilty.\"\n\"He is in safe custody,\" answered Villefort; \"and rely upon it,\nif the letter is found, he will not be likely to be trusted abroad\nagain, unless he goes forth under the especial protection of the\nheadsman.\"\n\"And where is the unfortunate being?\" asked Renee.\n\"He is at my house.\"\n\"Come, come, my friend,\" interrupted the marquise, \"do not\nneglect your duty to linger with us. You are the king's servant,\nand must go wherever that service calls you.\"\n\"O Villefort!\" cried Renee, clasping her hands, and looking\ntowards her lover with piteous earnestness, \"be merciful on this\nthe day of our betrothal.\"\nThe young man passed round to the side of the table where the\nfair pleader sat, and leaning over her chair said tenderly, —\n\"To give you pleasure, my sweet Renee, I promise to show all the\nlenity in my power; but if the charges brought against this\nBonapartist hero prove correct, why, then, you really must give me\nleave to order his head to be cut off.\" Renee shuddered.\n\"Never mind that foolish girl, Villefort,\" said the marquise.\n\"She will soon get over these things.\" So saying, Madame de\nSaint-Meran extended her dry bony hand to Villefort, who, while\nimprinting a son-in-law's respectful salute on it, looked at Renee,imprinting a son-in-law's respectful salute on it, looked at Renee,\nas much as to say, \"I must try and fancy 'tis your dear hand I\nkiss, as it should have been.\"\n\"These are mournful auspices to accompany a betrothal,\" sighed\npoor Renee.\n\"Upon my word, child!\" exclaimed the angry marquise, \"your folly\nexceeds all bounds. I should be glad to know what connection there\ncan possibly be between your sickly sentimentality and the affairs\nof the state!\"\n\"O mother!\" murmured Renee.\n\"Nay, madame, I pray you pardon this little traitor. I promise\nyou that to make up for her want of loyalty, I will be most\ninflexibly severe;\" then casting an expressive glance at his\nbetrothed, which seemed to say, \"Fear not, for your dear sake my\njustice shall be tempered with mercy,\" and receiving a sweet and\napproving smile in return, Villefort quitted the room.Dantes passed through all the stages of torture natural to\nprisoners in suspense. He was sustained at first by that pride of\nconscious innocence which is the sequence to hope; then he began to\ndoubt his own innocence, which justified in some measure the\ngovernor's belief in his mental alienation; and then, relaxing his\nsentiment of pride, he addressed his supplications, not to God, but\nto man. God is always the last resource. Unfortunates, who ought to\nbegin with God, do not have any hope in him till they have\nexhausted all other means of deliverance.\nDantes asked to be removed from his present dungeon into\nanother; for a change, however disadvantageous, was still a change,\nand would afford him some amusement. He entreated to be allowed to\nwalk about, to have fresh air, books, and writing materials. His\nrequests were not granted, but he went on asking all the same. He\naccustomed himself to speaking to the new jailer, although the\nlatter was, if possible, more taciturn than the old one; but still,\nto speak to a man, even though mute, was something. Dantes spoke\nfor the sake of hearing his own voice; he had tried to speak when\nalone, but the sound of his voice terrified him. Often, before his\ncaptivity, Dantes' mind had revolted at the idea of assemblages of\nprisoners, made up of thieves, vagabonds, and murderers. He now\nwished to be amongst them, in order to see some other face besides\nthat of his jailer; he sighed for the galleys, with the infamous\ncostume, the chain, and the brand on the shoulder. The\ngalley-slaves breathed the fresh air of heaven, and saw each other.\nThey were very happy. He besought the jailer one day to let him\nhave a companion, were it even the mad abbe.\nThe jailer, though rough and hardened by the constant sight of\nso much suffering, was yet a man. At the bottom of his heart he had\noften had a feeling of pity for this unhappy young man who suffered\nso; and he laid the request of number 34 before the governor; but\nthe latter sapiently imagined that Dantes wished to conspire or"}
{"text": "the latter sapiently imagined that Dantes wished to conspire or\nattempt an escape, and refused his request. Dantes had exhausted\nall human resources, and he then turned to God.\nAll the pious ideas that had been so long forgotten, returned;\nhe recollected the prayers his mother had taught him, and\ndiscovered a new meaning in every word; for in prosperity prayers\nseem but a mere medley of words, until misfortune comes and the\nunhappy sufferer first understands the meaning of the sublime\nlanguage in which he invokes the pity of heaven! He prayed, and\nprayed aloud, no longer terrified at the sound of his own voice,\nfor he fell into a sort of ecstasy. He laid every action of his\nlife before the Almighty, proposed tasks to accomplish, and at the\nend of every prayer introduced the entreaty oftener addressed to\nman than to God: \"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that\ntrespass against us.\" Yet in spite of his earnest prayers, Dantes\nremained a prisoner.\nThen gloom settled heavily upon him. Dantes was a man of great\nsimplicity of thought, and without education; he could not,\ntherefore, in the solitude of his dungeon, traverse in mental\nvision the history of the ages, bring to life the nations that had\nperished, and rebuild the ancient cities so vast and stupendous in\nthe light of the imagination, and that pass before the eye glowing\nwith celestial colors in Martin's Babylonian pictures. He could not\ndo this, he whose past life was so short, whose present so\nmelancholy, and his future so doubtful. Nineteen years of light to\nreflect upon in eternal darkness! No distraction could come to his\naid; his energetic spirit, that would have exalted in thus\nrevisiting the past, was imprisoned like an eagle in a cage. He\nclung to one idea — that of his happiness, destroyed, without\napparent cause, by an unheard-of fatality; he considered and\nreconsidered this idea, devoured it (so to speak), as the\nimplacable Ugolino devours the skull of Archbishop Roger in the\nInferno of Dante.implacable Ugolino devours the skull of Archbishop Roger in the\nInferno of Dante.\nRage supplanted religious fervor. Dantes uttered blasphemies\nthat made his jailer recoil with horror, dashed himself furiously\nagainst the walls of his prison, wreaked his anger upon everything,\nand chiefly upon himself, so that the least thing, — a grain of\nsand, a straw, or a breath of air that annoyed him, led to\nparoxysms of fury. Then the letter that Villefort had showed to him\nrecurred to his mind, and every line gleamed forth in fiery letters\non the wall like the mene tekel upharsin of Belshazzar. He told\nhimself that it was the enmity of man, and not the vengeance of\nheaven, that had thus plunged him into the deepest misery. He\nconsigned his unknown persecutors to the most horrible tortures he\ncould imagine, and found them all insufficient, because after\ntorture came death, and after death, if not repose, at least the\nboon of unconsciousness.\nBy dint of constantly dwelling on the idea that tranquillity was\ndeath, and if punishment were the end in view other tortures than\ndeath must be invented, he began to reflect on suicide. Unhappy he,\nwho, on the brink of misfortune, broods over ideas like these!\nBefore him is a dead sea that stretches in azure calm before the\neye; but he who unwarily ventures within its embrace finds himself\nstruggling with a monster that would drag him down to perdition.\nOnce thus ensnared, unless the protecting hand of God snatch him\nthence, all is over, and his struggles but tend to hasten his\ndestruction. This state of mental anguish is, however, less\nterrible than the sufferings that precede or the punishment that\npossibly will follow. There is a sort of consolation at the\ncontemplation of the yawning abyss, at the bottom of which lie\ndarkness and obscurity.\nEdmond found some solace in these ideas. All his sorrows, all\nhis sufferings, with their train of gloomy spectres, fled from his\ncell when the angel of death seemed about to enter. Dantes reviewedcell when the angel of death seemed about to enter. Dantes reviewed\nhis past life with composure, and, looking forward with terror to\nhis future existence, chose that middle line that seemed to afford\nhim a refuge.\n\"Sometimes,\" said he, \"in my voyages, when I was a man and\ncommanded other men, I have seen the heavens overcast, the sea rage\nand foam, the storm arise, and, like a monstrous bird, beating the\ntwo horizons with its wings. Then I felt that my vessel was a vain\nrefuge, that trembled and shook before the tempest. Soon the fury\nof the waves and the sight of the sharp rocks announced the\napproach of death, and death then terrified me, and I used all my\nskill and intelligence as a man and a sailor to struggle against\nthe wrath of God. But I did so because I was happy, because I had\nnot courted death, because to be cast upon a bed of rocks and\nseaweed seemed terrible, because I was unwilling that I, a creature\nmade for the service of God, should serve for food to the gulls and\nravens. But now it is different; I have lost all that bound me to\nlife, death smiles and invites me to repose; I die after my own\nmanner, I die exhausted and broken-spirited, as I fall asleep when\nI have paced three thousand times round my cell.\"\nNo sooner had this idea taken possession of him than he became\nmore composed, arranged his couch to the best of his power, ate\nlittle and slept less, and found existence almost supportable,\nbecause he felt that he could throw it off at pleasure, like a\nworn-out garment. Two methods of self-destruction were at his\ndisposal. He could hang himself with his handkerchief to the window\nbars, or refuse food and die of starvation. But the first was\nrepugnant to him. Dantes had always entertained the greatest horror\nof pirates, who are hung up to the yard-arm; he would not die by\nwhat seemed an infamous death. He resolved to adopt the second, and\nbegan that day to carry out his resolve. Nearly four years had\npassed away; at the end of the second he had ceased to mark the\nlapse of time."}
{"text": "passed away; at the end of the second he had ceased to mark the\nlapse of time.\nDantes said, \"I wish to die,\" and had chosen the manner of his\ndeath, and fearful of changing his mind, he had taken an oath to\ndie. \"When my morning and evening meals are brought,\" thought he,\n\"I will cast them out of the window, and they will think that I\nhave eaten them.\"\nHe kept his word; twice a day he cast out, through the barred\naperture, the provisions his jailer brought him — at first gayly,\nthen with deliberation, and at last with regret. Nothing but the\nrecollection of his oath gave him strength to proceed. Hunger made\nviands once repugnant, now acceptable; he held the plate in his\nhand for an hour at a time, and gazed thoughtfully at the morsel of\nbad meat, of tainted fish, of black and mouldy bread. It was the\nlast yearning for life contending with the resolution of despair;\nthen his dungeon seemed less sombre, his prospects less desperate.\nHe was still young — he was only four or five and twenty — he had\nnearly fifty years to live. What unforseen events might not open\nhis prison door, and restore him to liberty? Then he raised to his\nlips the repast that, like a voluntary Tantalus, he refused\nhimself; but he thought of his oath, and he would not break it. He\npersisted until, at last, he had not sufficient strength to rise\nand cast his supper out of the loophole. The next morning he could\nnot see or hear; the jailer feared he was dangerously ill. Edmond\nhoped he was dying.\nThus the day passed away. Edmond felt a sort of stupor creeping\nover him which brought with it a feeling almost of content; the\ngnawing pain at his stomach had ceased; his thirst had abated; when\nhe closed his eyes he saw myriads of lights dancing before them\nlike the will-o'-the-wisps that play about the marshes. It was the\ntwilight of that mysterious country called Death!\nSuddenly, about nine o'clock in the evening, Edmond heard a\nhollow sound in the wall against which he was lying.\nSo many loathsome animals inhabited the prison, that their noiseSo many loathsome animals inhabited the prison, that their noise\ndid not, in general, awake him; but whether abstinence had\nquickened his faculties, or whether the noise was really louder\nthan usual, Edmond raised his head and listened. It was a continual\nscratching, as if made by a huge claw, a powerful tooth, or some\niron instrument attacking the stones.\nAlthough weakened, the young man's brain instantly responded to\nthe idea that haunts all prisoners — liberty! It seemed to him that\nheaven had at length taken pity on him, and had sent this noise to\nwarn him on the very brink of the abyss. Perhaps one of those\nbeloved ones he had so often thought of was thinking of him, and\nstriving to diminish the distance that separated them.\nNo, no, doubtless he was deceived, and it was but one of those\ndreams that forerun death!\nEdmond still heard the sound. It lasted nearly three hours; he\nthen heard a noise of something falling, and all was silent.\nSome hours afterwards it began again, nearer and more distinct.\nEdmond was intensely interested. Suddenly the jailer entered.\nFor a week since he had resolved to die, and during the four\ndays that he had been carrying out his purpose, Edmond had not\nspoken to the attendant, had not answered him when he inquired what\nwas the matter with him, and turned his face to the wall when he\nlooked too curiously at him; but now the jailer might hear the\nnoise and put an end to it, and so destroy a ray of something like\nhope that soothed his last moments.\nThe jailer brought him his breakfast. Dantes raised himself up\nand began to talk about everything; about the bad quality of the\nfood, about the coldness of his dungeon, grumbling and complaining,\nin order to have an excuse for speaking louder, and wearying the\npatience of his jailer, who out of kindness of heart had brought\nbroth and white bread for his prisoner.\nFortunately, he fancied that Dantes was delirious; and placing\nthe food on the rickety table, he withdrew. Edmond listened, and\nthe sound became more and more distinct.the sound became more and more distinct.\n\"There can be no doubt about it,\" thought he; \"it is some\nprisoner who is striving to obtain his freedom. Oh, if I were only\nthere to help him!\" Suddenly another idea took possession of his\nmind, so used to misfortune, that it was scarcely capable of hope —\nthe idea that the noise was made by workmen the governor had\nordered to repair the neighboring dungeon.\nIt was easy to ascertain this; but how could he risk the\nquestion? It was easy to call his jailer's attention to the noise,\nand watch his countenance as he listened; but might he not by this\nmeans destroy hopes far more important than the short-lived\nsatisfaction of his own curiosity? Unfortunately, Edmond's brain\nwas still so feeble that he could not bend his thoughts to anything\nin particular.\nHe saw but one means of restoring lucidity and clearness to his\njudgment. He turned his eyes towards the soup which the jailer had\nbrought, rose, staggered towards it, raised the vessel to his lips,\nand drank off the contents with a feeling of indescribable\npleasure. He had often heard that shipwrecked persons had died\nthrough having eagerly devoured too much food. Edmond replaced on\nthe table the bread he was about to devour, and returned to his\ncouch — he did not wish to die. He soon felt that his ideas became\nagain collected — he could think, and strengthen his thoughts by\nreasoning. Then he said to himself, \"I must put this to the test,\nbut without compromising anybody. If it is a workman, I need but\nknock against the wall, and he will cease to work, in order to find\nout who is knocking, and why he does so; but as his occupation is\nsanctioned by the governor, he will soon resume it. If, on the\ncontrary, it is a prisoner, the noise I make will alarm him, he\nwill cease, and not begin again until he thinks every one is\nasleep.\"\nEdmond rose again, but this time his legs did not tremble, and\nhis sight was clear; he went to a corner of his dungeon, detached a\nstone, and with it knocked against the wall where the sound came."}
{"text": "stone, and with it knocked against the wall where the sound came.\nHe struck thrice. At the first blow the sound ceased, as if by\nmagic.\nEdmond listened intently; an hour passed, two hours passed, and\nno sound was heard from the wall — all was silent there.\nFull of hope, Edmond swallowed a few mouthfuls of bread and\nwater, and, thanks to the vigor of his constitution, found himself\nwell-nigh recovered.\nThe day passed away in utter silence — night came without\nrecurrence of the noise.\n\"It is a prisoner,\" said Edmond joyfully. The night passed in\nperfect silence. Edmond did not close his eyes.\nIn the morning the jailer brought him fresh provisions — he had\nalready devoured those of the previous day; he ate these listening\nanxiously for the sound, walking round and round his cell, shaking\nthe iron bars of the loophole, restoring vigor and agility to his\nlimbs by exercise, and so preparing himself for his future destiny.\nAt intervals he listened to learn if the noise had not begun again,\nand grew impatient at the prudence of the prisoner, who did not\nguess he had been disturbed by a captive as anxious for liberty as\nhimself.\nThree days passed — seventy-two long tedious hours which he\ncounted off by minutes!\nAt length one evening, as the jailer was visiting him for the\nlast time that night, Dantes, with his ear for the hundredth time\nat the wall, fancied he heard an almost imperceptible movement\namong the stones. He moved away, walked up and down his cell to\ncollect his thoughts, and then went back and listened.\nThe matter was no longer doubtful. Something was at work on the\nother side of the wall; the prisoner had discovered the danger, and\nhad substituted a lever for a chisel.\nEncouraged by this discovery, Edmond determined to assist the\nindefatigable laborer. He began by moving his bed, and looked\naround for anything with which he could pierce the wall, penetrate\nthe moist cement, and displace a stone.\nHe saw nothing, he had no knife or sharp instrument, the windowHe saw nothing, he had no knife or sharp instrument, the window\ngrating was of iron, but he had too often assured himself of its\nsolidity. All his furniture consisted of a bed, a chair, a table, a\npail, and a jug. The bed had iron clamps, but they were screwed to\nthe wood, and it would have required a screw-driver to take them\noff. The table and chair had nothing, the pail had once possessed a\nhandle, but that had been removed.\nDantes had but one resource, which was to break the jug, and\nwith one of the sharp fragments attack the wall. He let the jug\nfall on the floor, and it broke in pieces.\nDantes concealed two or three of the sharpest fragments in his\nbed, leaving the rest on the floor. The breaking of his jug was too\nnatural an accident to excite suspicion. Edmond had all the night\nto work in, but in the darkness he could not do much, and he soon\nfelt that he was working against something very hard; he pushed\nback his bed, and waited for day.\nAll night he heard the subterranean workman, who continued to\nmine his way. Day came, the jailer entered. Dantes told him that\nthe jug had fallen from his hands while he was drinking, and the\njailer went grumblingly to fetch another, without giving himself\nthe trouble to remove the fragments of the broken one. He returned\nspeedily, advised the prisoner to be more careful, and\ndeparted.\nDantes heard joyfully the key grate in the lock; he listened\nuntil the sound of steps died away, and then, hastily displacing\nhis bed, saw by the faint light that penetrated into his cell, that\nhe had labored uselessly the previous evening in attacking the\nstone instead of removing the plaster that surrounded it.\nThe damp had rendered it friable, and Dantes was able to break\nit off — in small morsels, it is true, but at the end of half an\nhour he had scraped off a handful; a mathematician might have\ncalculated that in two years, supposing that the rock was not\nencountered, a passage twenty feet long and two feet broad, might\nbe formed.encountered, a passage twenty feet long and two feet broad, might\nbe formed.\nThe prisoner reproached himself with not having thus employed\nthe hours he had passed in vain hopes, prayer, and despondency.\nDuring the six years that he had been imprisoned, what might he not\nhave accomplished?\nIn three days he had succeeded, with the utmost precaution, in\nremoving the cement, and exposing the stone-work. The wall was\nbuilt of rough stones, among which, to give strength to the\nstructure, blocks of hewn stone were at intervals imbedded. It was\none of these he had uncovered, and which he must remove from its\nsocket.\nDantes strove to do this with his nails, but they were too weak.\nThe fragments of the jug broke, and after an hour of useless toil,\nhe paused.\nWas he to be thus stopped at the beginning, and was he to wait\ninactive until his fellow workman had completed his task? Suddenly\nan idea occurred to him — he smiled, and the perspiration dried on\nhis forehead.\nThe jailer always brought Dantes' soup in an iron saucepan; this\nsaucepan contained soup for both prisoners, for Dantes had noticed\nthat it was either quite full, or half empty, according as the\nturnkey gave it to him or to his companion first.\nThe handle of this saucepan was of iron; Dantes would have given\nten years of his life in exchange for it.\nThe jailer was accustomed to pour the contents of the saucepan\ninto Dantes' plate, and Dantes, after eating his soup with a wooden\nspoon, washed the plate, which thus served for every day. Now when\nevening came Dantes put his plate on the ground near the door; the\njailer, as he entered, stepped on it and broke it.\nThis time he could not blame Dantes. He was wrong to leave it\nthere, but the jailer was wrong not to have looked before him.\nThe jailer, therefore, only grumbled. Then he looked about for\nsomething to pour the soup into; Dantes' entire dinner service\nconsisted of one plate — there was no alternative.\n\"Leave the saucepan,\" said Dantes; \"you can take it away when"}
{"text": "\"Leave the saucepan,\" said Dantes; \"you can take it away when\nyou bring me my breakfast.\" This advice was to the jailer's taste,\nas it spared him the necessity of making another trip. He left the\nsaucepan.\nDantes was beside himself with joy. He rapidly devoured his\nfood, and after waiting an hour, lest the jailer should change his\nmind and return, he removed his bed, took the handle of the\nsaucepan, inserted the point between the hewn stone and rough\nstones of the wall, and employed it as a lever. A slight\noscillation showed Dantes that all went well. At the end of an hour\nthe stone was extricated from the wall, leaving a cavity a foot and\na half in diameter.\nDantes carefully collected the plaster, carried it into the\ncorner of his cell, and covered it with earth. Then, wishing to\nmake the best use of his time while he had the means of labor, he\ncontinued to work without ceasing. At the dawn of day he replaced\nthe stone, pushed his bed against the wall, and lay down. The\nbreakfast consisted of a piece of bread; the jailer entered and\nplaced the bread on the table.\n\"Well, don't you intend to bring me another plate?\" said\nDantes.\n\"No,\" replied the turnkey; \"you destroy everything. First you\nbreak your jug, then you make me break your plate; if all the\nprisoners followed your example, the government would be ruined. I\nshall leave you the saucepan, and pour your soup into that. So for\nthe future I hope you will not be so destructive.\"\nDantes raised his eyes to heaven and clasped his hands beneath\nthe coverlet. He felt more gratitude for the possession of this\npiece of iron than he had ever felt for anything. He had noticed,\nhowever, that the prisoner on the other side had ceased to labor;\nno matter, this was a greater reason for proceeding — if his\nneighbor would not come to him, he would go to his neighbor. All\nday he toiled on untiringly, and by the evening he had succeeded in\nextracting ten handfuls of plaster and fragments of stone. When the\nhour for his jailer's visit arrived, Dantes straightened the handlehour for his jailer's visit arrived, Dantes straightened the handle\nof the saucepan as well as he could, and placed it in its\naccustomed place. The turnkey poured his ration of soup into it,\ntogether with the fish — for thrice a week the prisoners were\ndeprived of meat. This would have been a method of reckoning time,\nhad not Dantes long ceased to do so. Having poured out the soup,\nthe turnkey retired. Dantes wished to ascertain whether his\nneighbor had really ceased to work. He listened — all was silent,\nas it had been for the last three days. Dantes sighed; it was\nevident that his neighbor distrusted him. However, he toiled on all\nthe night without being discouraged; but after two or three hours\nhe encountered an obstacle. The iron made no impression, but met\nwith a smooth surface; Dantes touched it, and found that it was a\nbeam. This beam crossed, or rather blocked up, the hole Dantes had\nmade; it was necessary, therefore, to dig above or under it. The\nunhappy young man had not thought of this. \"O my God, my God!\"\nmurmured he, \"I have so earnestly prayed to you, that I hoped my\nprayers had been heard. After having deprived me of my liberty,\nafter having deprived me of death, after having recalled me to\nexistence, my God, have pity on me, and do not let me die in\ndespair!\"\n\"Who talks of God and despair at the same time?\" said a voice\nthat seemed to come from beneath the earth, and, deadened by the\ndistance, sounded hollow and sepulchral in the young man's ears.\nEdmond's hair stood on end, and he rose to his knees.\n\"Ah,\" said he, \"I hear a human voice.\" Edmond had not heard any\none speak save his jailer for four or five years; and a jailer is\nno man to a prisoner — he is a living door, a barrier of flesh and\nblood adding strength to restraints of oak and iron.\n\"In the name of heaven,\" cried Dantes, \"speak again, though the\nsound of your voice terrifies me. Who are you?\"\n\"Who are you?\" said the voice.\n\"An unhappy prisoner,\" replied Dantes, who made no hesitation in\nanswering.\n\"Of what country?\"\n\"A Frenchman.\"answering.\n\"Of what country?\"\n\"A Frenchman.\"\n\"Your name?\"\n\"Edmond Dantes.\"\n\"Your profession?\"\n\"A sailor.\"\n\"How long have you been here?\"\n\"Since the 28th of February, 1815.\"\n\"Your crime?\"\n\"I am innocent.\"\n\"But of what are you accused?\"\n\"Of having conspired to aid the emperor's return.\"\n\"What! For the emperor's return? — the emperor is no longer on\nthe throne, then?\"\n\"He abdicated at Fontainebleau in 1814, and was sent to the\nIsland of Elba. But how long have you been here that you are\nignorant of all this?\"\n\"Since 1811.\"\nDantes shuddered; this man had been four years longer than\nhimself in prison.\n\"Do not dig any more,\" said the voice; \"only tell me how high up\nis your excavation?\"\n\"On a level with the floor.\"\n\"How is it concealed?\"\n\"Behind my bed.\"\n\"Has your bed been moved since you have been a prisoner?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"What does your chamber open on?\"\n\"A corridor.\"\n\"And the corridor?\"\n\"On a court.\"\n\"Alas!\" murmured the voice.\n\"Oh, what is the matter?\" cried Dantes.\n\"I have made a mistake owing to an error in my plans. I took the\nwrong angle, and have come out fifteen feet from where I intended.\nI took the wall you are mining for the outer wall of the\nfortress.\"\n\"But then you would be close to the sea?\"\n\"That is what I hoped.\"\n\"And supposing you had succeeded?\"\n\"I should have thrown myself into the sea, gained one of the\nislands near here — the Isle de Daume or the Isle de Tiboulen — and\nthen I should have been safe.\"\n\"Could you have swum so far?\"\n\"Heaven would have given me strength; but now all is lost.\"\n\"All?\"\n\"Yes; stop up your excavation carefully, do not work any more,\nand wait until you hear from me.\"\n\"Tell me, at least, who you are?\"\n\"I am — I am No. 27.\"\n\"You mistrust me, then,\" said Dantes. Edmond fancied he heard a\nbitter laugh resounding from the depths.\n\"Oh, I am a Christian,\" cried Dantes, guessing instinctively\nthat this man meant to abandon him. \"I swear to you by him who died\nfor us that naught shall induce me to breathe one syllable to my"}
{"text": "for us that naught shall induce me to breathe one syllable to my\njailers; but I conjure you do not abandon me. If you do, I swear to\nyou, for I have got to the end of my strength, that I will dash my\nbrains out against the wall, and you will have my death to reproach\nyourself with.\"\n\"How old are you? Your voice is that of a young man.\"\n\"I do not know my age, for I have not counted the years I have\nbeen here. All I do know is, that I was just nineteen when I was\narrested, the 28th of February, 1815.\"\n\"Not quite twenty-six!\" murmured the voice; \"at that age he\ncannot be a traitor.\"\n\"Oh, no, no,\" cried Dantes. \"I swear to you again, rather than\nbetray you, I would allow myself to be hacked in pieces!\"\n\"You have done well to speak to me, and ask for my assistance,\nfor I was about to form another plan, and leave you; but your age\nreassures me. I will not forget you. Wait.\"\n\"How long?\"\n\"I must calculate our chances; I will give you the signal.\"\n\"But you will not leave me; you will come to me, or you will let\nme come to you. We will escape, and if we cannot escape we will\ntalk; you of those whom you love, and I of those whom I love. You\nmust love somebody?\"\n\"No, I am alone in the world.\"\n\"Then you will love me. If you are young, I will be your\ncomrade; if you are old, I will be your son. I have a father who is\nseventy if he yet lives; I only love him and a young girl called\nMercedes. My father has not yet forgotten me, I am sure, but God\nalone knows if she loves me still; I shall love you as I loved my\nfather.\"\n\"It is well,\" returned the voice; \"to-morrow.\"\nThese few words were uttered with an accent that left no doubt\nof his sincerity; Dantes rose, dispersed the fragments with the\nsame precaution as before, and pushed his bed back against the\nwall. He then gave himself up to his happiness. He would no longer\nbe alone. He was, perhaps, about to regain his liberty; at the\nworst, he would have a companion, and captivity that is shared is\nbut half captivity. Plaints made in common are almost prayers, andbut half captivity. Plaints made in common are almost prayers, and\nprayers where two or three are gathered together invoke the mercy\nof heaven.\nAll day Dantes walked up and down his cell. He sat down\noccasionally on his bed, pressing his hand on his heart. At the\nslightest noise he bounded towards the door. Once or twice the\nthought crossed his mind that he might be separated from this\nunknown, whom he loved already; and then his mind was made up —\nwhen the jailer moved his bed and stooped to examine the opening,\nhe would kill him with his water jug. He would be condemned to die,\nbut he was about to die of grief and despair when this miraculous\nnoise recalled him to life.\nThe jailer came in the evening. Dantes was on his bed. It seemed\nto him that thus he better guarded the unfinished opening.\nDoubtless there was a strange expression in his eyes, for the\njailer said, \"Come, are you going mad again?\"\nDantes did not answer; he feared that the emotion of his voice\nwould betray him. The jailer went away shaking his head. Night\ncame; Dantes hoped that his neighbor would profit by the silence to\naddress him, but he was mistaken. The next morning, however, just\nas he removed his bed from the wall, he heard three knocks; he\nthrew himself on his knees.\n\"Is it you?\" said he; \"I am here.\"\n\"Is your jailer gone?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Dantes; \"he will not return until the evening; so\nthat we have twelve hours before us.\"\n\"I can work, then?\" said the voice.\n\"Oh, yes, yes; this instant, I entreat you.\"\nIn a moment that part of the floor on which Dantes was resting\nhis two hands, as he knelt with his head in the opening, suddenly\ngave way; he drew back smartly, while a mass of stones and earth\ndisappeared in a hole that opened beneath the aperture he himself\nhad formed. Then from the bottom of this passage, the depth of\nwhich it was impossible to measure, he saw appear, first the head,\nthen the shoulders, and lastly the body of a man, who sprang\nlightly into his cell.Seizing in his arms the friend so long and ardently desired,\nDantes almost carried him towards the window, in order to obtain a\nbetter view of his features by the aid of the imperfect light that\nstruggled through the grating.\nHe was a man of small stature, with hair blanched rather by\nsuffering and sorrow than by age. He had a deep-set, penetrating\neye, almost buried beneath the thick gray eyebrow, and a long (and\nstill black) beard reaching down to his breast. His thin face,\ndeeply furrowed by care, and the bold outline of his strongly\nmarked features, betokened a man more accustomed to exercise his\nmental faculties than his physical strength. Large drops of\nperspiration were now standing on his brow, while the garments that\nhung about him were so ragged that one could only guess at the\npattern upon which they had originally been fashioned.\nThe stranger might have numbered sixty or sixty-five years; but\na certain briskness and appearance of vigor in his movements made\nit probable that he was aged more from captivity than the course of\ntime. He received the enthusiastic greeting of his young\nacquaintance with evident pleasure, as though his chilled\naffections were rekindled and invigorated by his contact with one\nso warm and ardent. He thanked him with grateful cordiality for his\nkindly welcome, although he must at that moment have been suffering\nbitterly to find another dungeon where he had fondly reckoned on\ndiscovering a means of regaining his liberty.\n\"Let us first see,\" said he, \"whether it is possible to remove\nthe traces of my entrance here — our future tranquillity depends\nupon our jailers being entirely ignorant of it.\" Advancing to the\nopening, he stooped and raised the stone easily in spite of its\nweight; then, fitting it into its place, he said, —\n\"You removed this stone very carelessly; but I suppose you had\nno tools to aid you.\"\n\"Why,\" exclaimed Dantes, with astonishment, \"do you possess\nany?\"\n\"I made myself some; and with the exception of a file, I have"}
{"text": "any?\"\n\"I made myself some; and with the exception of a file, I have\nall that are necessary, — a chisel, pincers, and lever.\"\n\"Oh, how I should like to see these products of your industry\nand patience.\"\n\"Well, in the first place, here is my chisel.\" So saying, he\ndisplayed a sharp strong blade, with a handle made of\nbeechwood.\n\"And with what did you contrive to make that?\" inquired\nDantes.\n\"With one of the clamps of my bedstead; and this very tool has\nsufficed me to hollow out the road by which I came hither, a\ndistance of about fifty feet.\"\n\"Fifty feet!\" responded Dantes, almost terrified.\n\"Do not speak so loud, young man — don't speak so loud. It\nfrequently occurs in a state prison like this, that persons are\nstationed outside the doors of the cells purposely to overhear the\nconversation of the prisoners.\"\n\"But they believe I am shut up alone here.\"\n\"That makes no difference.\"\n\"And you say that you dug your way a distance of fifty feet to\nget here?\"\n\"I do; that is about the distance that separates your chamber\nfrom mine; only, unfortunately, I did not curve aright; for want of\nthe necessary geometrical instruments to calculate my scale of\nproportion, instead of taking an ellipsis of forty feet, I made it\nfifty. I expected, as I told you, to reach the outer wall, pierce\nthrough it, and throw myself into the sea; I have, however, kept\nalong the corridor on which your chamber opens, instead of going\nbeneath it. My labor is all in vain, for I find that the corridor\nlooks into a courtyard filled with soldiers.\"\n\"That's true,\" said Dantes; \"but the corridor you speak of only\nbounds one side of my cell; there are three others — do you know\nanything of their situation?\"\n\"This one is built against the solid rock, and it would take ten\nexperienced miners, duly furnished with the requisite tools, as\nmany years to perforate it. This adjoins the lower part of the\ngovernor's apartments, and were we to work our way through, we\nshould only get into some lock-up cellars, where we mustshould only get into some lock-up cellars, where we must\nnecessarily be recaptured. The fourth and last side of your cell\nfaces on — faces on — stop a minute, now where does it face?\"\nThe wall of which he spoke was the one in which was fixed the\nloophole by which light was admitted to the chamber. This loophole,\nwhich gradually diminished in size as it approached the outside, to\nan opening through which a child could not have passed, was, for\nbetter security, furnished with three iron bars, so as to quiet all\napprehensions even in the mind of the most suspicious jailer as to\nthe possibility of a prisoner's escape. As the stranger asked the\nquestion, he dragged the table beneath the window.\n\"Climb up,\" said he to Dantes. The young man obeyed, mounted on\nthe table, and, divining the wishes of his companion, placed his\nback securely against the wall and held out both hands. The\nstranger, whom as yet Dantes knew only by the number of his cell,\nsprang up with an agility by no means to be expected in a person of\nhis years, and, light and steady on his feet as a cat or a lizard,\nclimbed from the table to the outstretched hands of Dantes, and\nfrom them to his shoulders; then, bending double, for the ceiling\nof the dungeon prevented him from holding himself erect, he managed\nto slip his head between the upper bars of the window, so as to be\nable to command a perfect view from top to bottom.\nAn instant afterwards he hastily drew back his head, saying, \"I\nthought so!\" and sliding from the shoulders of Dantes as dextrously\nas he had ascended, he nimbly leaped from the table to the\nground.\n\"What was it that you thought?\" asked the young man anxiously,\nin his turn descending from the table.\nThe elder prisoner pondered the matter. \"Yes,\" said he at\nlength, \"it is so. This side of your chamber looks out upon a kind\nof open gallery, where patrols are continually passing, and\nsentries keep watch day and night.\"\n\"Are you quite sure of that?\"\n\"Certain. I saw the soldier's shape and the top of his musket;\"Are you quite sure of that?\"\n\"Certain. I saw the soldier's shape and the top of his musket;\nthat made me draw in my head so quickly, for I was fearful he might\nalso see me.\"\n\"Well?\" inquired Dantes.\n\"You perceive then the utter impossibility of escaping through\nyour dungeon?\"\n\"Then,\" pursued the young man eagerly —\n\"Then,\" answered the elder prisoner, \"the will of God be done!\"\nand as the old man slowly pronounced those words, an air of\nprofound resignation spread itself over his careworn countenance.\nDantes gazed on the man who could thus philosophically resign hopes\nso long and ardently nourished with an astonishment mingled with\nadmiration.\n\"Tell me, I entreat of you, who and what you are?\" said he at\nlength; \"never have I met with so remarkable a person as\nyourself.\"\n\"Willingly,\" answered the stranger; \"if, indeed, you feel any\ncuriosity respecting one, now, alas, powerless to aid you in any\nway.\"\n\"Say not so; you can console and support me by the strength of\nyour own powerful mind. Pray let me know who you really are?\"\nThe stranger smiled a melancholy smile. \"Then listen,\" said he.\n\"I am the Abbe Faria, and have been imprisoned as you know in this\nChateau d'If since the year 1811; previously to which I had been\nconfined for three years in the fortress of Fenestrelle. In the\nyear 1811 I was transferred to Piedmont in France. It was at this\nperiod I learned that the destiny which seemed subservient to every\nwish formed by Napoleon, had bestowed on him a son, named king of\nRome even in his cradle. I was very far then from expecting the\nchange you have just informed me of; namely, that four years\nafterwards, this colossus of power would be overthrown. Then who\nreigns in France at this moment — Napoleon II.?\"\n\"No, Louis XVIII.\"\n\"The brother of Louis XVII.! How inscrutable are the ways of\nprovidence — for what great and mysterious purpose has it pleased\nheaven to abase the man once so elevated, and raise up him who was\nso abased?\"\nDantes' whole attention was riveted on a man who could thus"}
{"text": "so abased?\"\nDantes' whole attention was riveted on a man who could thus\nforget his own misfortunes while occupying himself with the\ndestinies of others.\n\"Yes, yes,\" continued he, \"'Twill be the same as it was in\nEngland. After Charles I., Cromwell; after Cromwell, Charles II.,\nand then James II., and then some son-in-law or relation, some\nPrince of Orange, a stadtholder who becomes a king. Then new\nconcessions to the people, then a constitution, then liberty. Ah,\nmy friend!\" said the abbe, turning towards Dantes, and surveying\nhim with the kindling gaze of a prophet, \"you are young, you will\nsee all this come to pass.\"\n\"Probably, if ever I get out of prison!\"\n\"True,\" replied Faria, \"we are prisoners; but I forget this\nsometimes, and there are even moments when my mental vision\ntransports me beyond these walls, and I fancy myself at\nliberty.\"\n\"But wherefore are you here?\"\n\"Because in 1807 I dreamed of the very plan Napoleon tried to\nrealize in 1811; because, like Machiavelli, I desired to alter the\npolitical face of Italy, and instead of allowing it to be split up\ninto a quantity of petty principalities, each held by some weak or\ntyrannical ruler, I sought to form one large, compact, and powerful\nempire; and, lastly, because I fancied I had found my Caesar Borgia\nin a crowned simpleton, who feigned to enter into my views only to\nbetray me. It was the plan of Alexander VI. and Clement VII., but\nit will never succeed now, for they attempted it fruitlessly, and\nNapoleon was unable to complete his work. Italy seems fated to\nmisfortune.\" And the old man bowed his head.\nDantes could not understand a man risking his life for such\nmatters. Napoleon certainly he knew something of, inasmuch as he\nhad seen and spoken with him; but of Clement VII. and Alexander VI.\nhe knew nothing.\n\"Are you not,\" he asked, \"the priest who here in the Chateau\nd'If is generally thought to be — ill?\"\n\"Mad, you mean, don't you?\"\n\"I did not like to say so,\" answered Dantes, smiling.\n\"Well, then,\" resumed Faria with a bitter smile, \"let me answer\"Well, then,\" resumed Faria with a bitter smile, \"let me answer\nyour question in full, by acknowledging that I am the poor mad\nprisoner of the Chateau d'If, for many years permitted to amuse the\ndifferent visitors with what is said to be my insanity; and, in all\nprobability, I should be promoted to the honor of making sport for\nthe children, if such innocent beings could be found in an abode\ndevoted like this to suffering and despair.\"\nDantes remained for a short time mute and motionless; at length\nhe said, — \"Then you abandon all hope of escape?\"\n\"I perceive its utter impossibility; and I consider it impious\nto attempt that which the Almighty evidently does not approve.\"\n\"Nay, be not discouraged. Would it not be expecting too much to\nhope to succeed at your first attempt? Why not try to find an\nopening in another direction from that which has so unfortunately\nfailed?\"\n\"Alas, it shows how little notion you can have of all it has\ncost me to effect a purpose so unexpectedly frustrated, that you\ntalk of beginning over again. In the first place, I was four years\nmaking the tools I possess, and have been two years scraping and\ndigging out earth, hard as granite itself; then what toil and\nfatigue has it not been to remove huge stones I should once have\ndeemed impossible to loosen. Whole days have I passed in these\nTitanic efforts, considering my labor well repaid if, by night-time\nI had contrived to carry away a square inch of this hard-bound\ncement, changed by ages into a substance unyielding as the stones\nthemselves; then to conceal the mass of earth and rubbish I dug up,\nI was compelled to break through a staircase, and throw the fruits\nof my labor into the hollow part of it; but the well is now so\ncompletely choked up, that I scarcely think it would be possible to\nadd another handful of dust without leading to discovery. Consider\nalso that I fully believed I had accomplished the end and aim of my\nundertaking, for which I had so exactly husbanded my strength as toundertaking, for which I had so exactly husbanded my strength as to\nmake it just hold out to the termination of my enterprise; and now,\nat the moment when I reckoned upon success, my hopes are forever\ndashed from me. No, I repeat again, that nothing shall induce me to\nrenew attempts evidently at variance with the Almighty's\npleasure.\"\nDantes held down his head, that the other might not see how joy\nat the thought of having a companion outweighed the sympathy he\nfelt for the failure of the abbe's plans.\nThe abbe sank upon Edmond's bed, while Edmond himself remained\nstanding. Escape had never once occurred to him. There are, indeed,\nsome things which appear so impossible that the mind does not dwell\non them for an instant. To undermine the ground for fifty feet — to\ndevote three years to a labor which, if successful, would conduct\nyou to a precipice overhanging the sea — to plunge into the waves\nfrom the height of fifty, sixty, perhaps a hundred feet, at the\nrisk of being dashed to pieces against the rocks, should you have\nbeen fortunate enough to have escaped the fire of the sentinels;\nand even, supposing all these perils past, then to have to swim for\nyour life a distance of at least three miles ere you could reach\nthe shore — were difficulties so startling and formidable that\nDantes had never even dreamed of such a scheme, resigning himself\nrather to death. But the sight of an old man clinging to life with\nso desperate a courage, gave a fresh turn to his ideas, and\ninspired him with new courage. Another, older and less strong than\nhe, had attempted what he had not had sufficient resolution to\nundertake, and had failed only because of an error in calculation.\nThis same person, with almost incredible patience and perseverance,\nhad contrived to provide himself with tools requisite for so\nunparalleled an attempt. Another had done all this; why, then, was\nit impossible to Dantes? Faria had dug his way through fifty feet,\nDantes would dig a hundred; Faria, at the age of fifty, had devoted"}
{"text": "Dantes would dig a hundred; Faria, at the age of fifty, had devoted\nthree years to the task; he, who was but half as old, would\nsacrifice six; Faria, a priest and savant, had not shrunk from the\nidea of risking his life by trying to swim a distance of three\nmiles to one of the islands — Daume, Rattonneau, or Lemaire; should\na hardy sailer, an experienced diver, like himself, shrink from a\nsimilar task; should he, who had so often for mere amusement's sake\nplunged to the bottom of the sea to fetch up the bright coral\nbranch, hesitate to entertain the same project? He could do it in\nan hour, and how many times had he, for pure pastime, continued in\nthe water for more than twice as long! At once Dantes resolved to\nfollow the brave example of his energetic companion, and to\nremember that what has once been done may be done again.\nAfter continuing some time in profound meditation, the young man\nsuddenly exclaimed, \"I have found what you were in search of!\"\nFaria started: \"Have you, indeed?\" cried he, raising his head\nwith quick anxiety; \"pray, let me know what it is you have\ndiscovered?\"\n\"The corridor through which you have bored your way from the\ncell you occupy here, extends in the same direction as the outer\ngallery, does it not?\"\n\"It does.\"\n\"And is not above fifteen feet from it?\"\n\"About that.\"\n\"Well, then, I will tell you what we must do. We must pierce\nthrough the corridor by forming a side opening about the middle, as\nit were the top part of a cross. This time you will lay your plans\nmore accurately; we shall get out into the gallery you have\ndescribed; kill the sentinel who guards it, and make our escape.\nAll we require to insure success is courage, and that you possess,\nand strength, which I am not deficient in; as for patience, you\nhave abundantly proved yours — you shall now see me prove\nmine.\"\n\"One instant, my dear friend,\" replied the abbe; \"it is clear\nyou do not understand the nature of the courage with which I am\nendowed, and what use I intend making of my strength. As forendowed, and what use I intend making of my strength. As for\npatience, I consider that I have abundantly exercised that in\nbeginning every morning the task of the night before, and every\nnight renewing the task of the day. But then, young man (and I pray\nof you to give me your full attention), then I thought I could not\nbe doing anything displeasing to the Almighty in trying to set an\ninnocent being at liberty — one who had committed no offence, and\nmerited not condemnation.\"\n\"And have your notions changed?\" asked Dantes with much\nsurprise; \"do you think yourself more guilty in making the attempt\nsince you have encountered me?\"\n\"No; neither do I wish to incur guilt. Hitherto I have fancied\nmyself merely waging war against circumstances, not men. I have\nthought it no sin to bore through a wall, or destroy a staircase;\nbut I cannot so easily persuade myself to pierce a heart or take\naway a life.\" A slight movement of surprise escaped Dantes.\n\"Is it possible,\" said he, \"that where your liberty is at stake\nyou can allow any such scruple to deter you from obtaining it?\"\n\"Tell me,\" replied Faria, \"what has hindered you from knocking\ndown your jailer with a piece of wood torn from your bedstead,\ndressing yourself in his clothes, and endeavoring to escape?\"\n\"Simply the fact that the idea never occurred to me,\" answered\nDantes.\n\"Because,\" said the old man, \"the natural repugnance to the\ncommission of such a crime prevented you from thinking of it; and\nso it ever is because in simple and allowable things our natural\ninstincts keep us from deviating from the strict line of duty. The\ntiger, whose nature teaches him to delight in shedding blood, needs\nbut the sense of smell to show him when his prey is within his\nreach, and by following this instinct he is enabled to measure the\nleap necessary to permit him to spring on his victim; but man, on\nthe contrary, loathes the idea of blood — it is not alone that the\nlaws of social life inspire him with a shrinking dread of takinglaws of social life inspire him with a shrinking dread of taking\nlife; his natural construction and physiological formation\" —\nDantes was confused and silent at this explanation of the\nthoughts which had unconsciously been working in his mind, or\nrather soul; for there are two distinct sorts of ideas, those that\nproceed from the head and those that emanate from the heart.\n\"Since my imprisonment,\" said Faria, \"I have thought over all\nthe most celebrated cases of escape on record. They have rarely\nbeen successful. Those that have been crowned with full success\nhave been long meditated upon, and carefully arranged; such, for\ninstance, as the escape of the Duc de Beaufort from the Chateau de\nVincennes, that of the Abbe Dubuquoi from For l'Eveque; of Latude\nfrom the Bastille. Then there are those for which chance sometimes\naffords opportunity, and those are the best of all. Let us,\ntherefore, wait patiently for some favorable moment, and when it\npresents itself, profit by it.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Dantes, \"you might well endure the tedious delay; you\nwere constantly employed in the task you set yourself, and when\nweary with toil, you had your hopes to refresh and encourage\nyou.\"\n\"I assure you,\" replied the old man, \"I did not turn to that\nsource for recreation or support.\"\n\"What did you do then?\"\n\"I wrote or studied.\"\n\"Were you then permitted the use of pens, ink, and paper?\"\n\"Oh, no,\" answered the abbe; \"I had none but what I made for\nmyself.\"\n\"You made paper, pens and ink?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nDantes gazed with admiration, but he had some difficulty in\nbelieving. Faria saw this.\n\"When you pay me a visit in my cell, my young friend,\" said he,\n\"I will show you an entire work, the fruits of the thoughts and\nreflections of my whole life; many of them meditated over in the\nshades of the Coloseum at Rome, at the foot of St. Mark's column at\nVenice, and on the borders of the Arno at Florence, little\nimagining at the time that they would be arranged in order within\nthe walls of the Chateau d'If. The work I speak of is called `A"}
{"text": "the walls of the Chateau d'If. The work I speak of is called `A\nTreatise on the Possibility of a General Monarchy in Italy,' and\nwill make one large quarto volume.\"\n\"And on what have you written all this?\"\n\"On two of my shirts. I invented a preparation that makes linen\nas smooth and as easy to write on as parchment.\"\n\"You are, then, a chemist?\"\n\"Somewhat; I know Lavoisier, and was the intimate friend of\nCabanis.\"\n\"But for such a work you must have needed books — had you\nany?\"\n\"I had nearly five thousand volumes in my library at Rome; but\nafter reading them over many times, I found out that with one\nhundred and fifty well-chosen books a man possesses, if not a\ncomplete summary of all human knowledge, at least all that a man\nneed really know. I devoted three years of my life to reading and\nstudying these one hundred and fifty volumes, till I knew them\nnearly by heart; so that since I have been in prison, a very slight\neffort of memory has enabled me to recall their contents as readily\nas though the pages were open before me. I could recite you the\nwhole of Thucydides, Xenophon, Plutarch, Titus Livius, Tacitus,\nStrada, Jornandes, Dante, Montaigne, Shaksepeare, Spinoza,\nMachiavelli, and Bossuet. I name only the most important.\"\n\"You are, doubtless, acquainted with a variety of languages, so\nas to have been able to read all these?\"\n\"Yes, I speak five of the modern tongues — that is to say,\nGerman, French, Italian, English, and Spanish; by the aid of\nancient Greek I learned modern Greek — I don't speak it so well as\nI could wish, but I am still trying to improve myself.\"\n\"Improve yourself!\" repeated Dantes; \"why, how can you manage to\ndo so?\"\n\"Why, I made a vocabulary of the words I knew; turned, returned,\nand arranged them, so as to enable me to express my thoughts\nthrough their medium. I know nearly one thousand words, which is\nall that is absolutely necessary, although I believe there are\nnearly one hundred thousand in the dictionaries. I cannot hope to\nbe very fluent, but I certainly should have no difficulty inbe very fluent, but I certainly should have no difficulty in\nexplaining my wants and wishes; and that would be quite as much as\nI should ever require.\"\nStronger grew the wonder of Dantes, who almost fancied he had to\ndo with one gifted with supernatural powers; still hoping to find\nsome imperfection which might bring him down to a level with human\nbeings, he added, \"Then if you were not furnished with pens, how\ndid you manage to write the work you speak of?\"\n\"I made myself some excellent ones, which would be universally\npreferred to all others if once known. You are aware what huge\nwhitings are served to us on maigre days. Well, I selected the\ncartilages of the heads of these fishes, and you can scarcely\nimagine the delight with which I welcomed the arrival of each\nWednesday, Friday, and Saturday, as affording me the means of\nincreasing my stock of pens; for I will freely confess that my\nhistorical labors have been my greatest solace and relief. While\nretracing the past, I forget the present; and traversing at will\nthe path of history I cease to remember that I am myself a\nprisoner.\"\n\"But the ink,\" said Dantes; \"of what did you make your ink?\"\n\"There was formerly a fireplace in my dungeon,\" replied Faria,\n\"but it was closed up long ere I became an occupant of this prison.\nStill, it must have been many years in use, for it was thickly\ncovered with a coating of soot; this soot I dissolved in a portion\nof the wine brought to me every Sunday, and I assure you a better\nink cannot be desired. For very important notes, for which closer\nattention is required, I pricked one of my fingers, and wrote with\nmy own blood.\"\n\"And when,\" asked Dantes, \"may I see all this?\"\n\"Whenever you please,\" replied the abbe.\n\"Oh, then let it be directly!\" exclaimed the young man.\n\"Follow me, then,\" said the abbe, as he re-entered the\nsubterranean passage, in which he soon disappeared, followed by\nDantes.When Dantes returned next morning to the chamber of his\ncompanion in captivity, he found Faria seated and looking composed.\nIn the ray of light which entered by the narrow window of his cell,\nhe held open in his left hand, of which alone, it will be\nrecollected, he retained the use, a sheet of paper, which, from\nbeing constantly rolled into a small compass, had the form of a\ncylinder, and was not easily kept open. He did not speak, but\nshowed the paper to Dantes.\n\"What is that?\" he inquired.\n\"Look at it,\" said the abbe with a smile.\n\"I have looked at it with all possible attention,\" said Dantes,\n\"and I only see a half-burnt paper, on which are traces of Gothic\ncharacters inscribed with a peculiar kind of ink.\"\n\"This paper, my friend,\" said Faria, \"I may now avow to you,\nsince I have the proof of your fidelity — this paper is my\ntreasure, of which, from this day forth, one-half belongs to\nyou.\"\nThe sweat started forth on Dantes brow. Until this day and for\nhow long a time! — he had refrained from talking of the treasure,\nwhich had brought upon the abbe the accusation of madness. With his\ninstinctive delicacy Edmond had preferred avoiding any touch on\nthis painful chord, and Faria had been equally silent. He had taken\nthe silence of the old man for a return to reason; and now these\nfew words uttered by Faria, after so painful a crisis, seemed to\nindicate a serious relapse into mental alienation.\n\"Your treasure?\" stammered Dantes. Faria smiled.\n\"Yes,\" said he. \"You have, indeed, a noble nature, Edmond, and I\nsee by your paleness and agitation what is passing in your heart at\nthis moment. No, be assured, I am not mad. This treasure exists,\nDantes, and if I have not been allowed to possess it, you will. Yes\n— you. No one would listen or believe me, because everyone thought\nme mad; but you, who must know that I am not, listen to me, and\nbelieve me so afterwards if you will.\"\n\"Alas,\" murmured Edmond to himself, \"this is a terrible relapse!\nThere was only this blow wanting.\" Then he said aloud, \"My dear"}
{"text": "There was only this blow wanting.\" Then he said aloud, \"My dear\nfriend, your attack has, perhaps, fatigued you; had you not better\nrepose awhile? To-morrow, if you will, I will hear your narrative;\nbut to-day I wish to nurse you carefully. Besides,\" he said, \"a\ntreasure is not a thing we need hurry about.\"\n\"On the contrary, it is a matter of the utmost importance,\nEdmond!\" replied the old man. \"Who knows if to-morrow, or the next\nday after, the third attack may not come on? and then must not all\nbe over? Yes, indeed, I have often thought with a bitter joy that\nthese riches, which would make the wealth of a dozen families, will\nbe forever lost to those men who persecute me. This idea was one of\nvengeance to me, and I tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon\nand the despair of my captivity. But now I have forgiven the world\nfor the love of you; now that I see you, young and with a promising\nfuture, — now that I think of all that may result to you in the\ngood fortune of such a disclosure, I shudder at any delay, and\ntremble lest I should not assure to one as worthy as yourself the\npossession of so vast an amount of hidden wealth.\" Edmond turned\naway his head with a sigh.\n\"You persist in your incredulity, Edmond,\" continued Faria. \"My\nwords have not convinced you. I see you require proofs. Well, then,\nread this paper, which I have never shown to any one.\"\n\"To-morrow, my dear friend,\" said Edmond, desirous of not\nyielding to the old man's madness. \"I thought it was understood\nthat we should not talk of that until to-morrow.\"\n\"Then we will not talk of it until to-morrow; but read this\npaper to-day.\"\n\"I will not irritate him,\" thought Edmond, and taking the paper,\nof which half was wanting, — having been burnt, no doubt, by some\naccident, — he read: —\n\"This treasure, which may amount to two… of Roman crowns in the\nmost distant a… of the second opening wh… declare to belong to him\nalo… heir. \"25th April, l49\"\n\"Well!\" said Faria, when the young man had finished reading\nit.alo… heir. \"25th April, l49\"\n\"Well!\" said Faria, when the young man had finished reading\nit.\n\"Why,\" replied Dantes, \"I see nothing but broken lines and\nunconnected words, which are rendered illegible by fire.\"\n\"Yes, to you, my friend, who read them for the first time; but\nnot for me, who have grown pale over them by many nights' study,\nand have reconstructed every phrase, completed every thought.\"\n\"And do you believe you have discovered the hidden meaning?\"\n\"I am sure I have, and you shall judge for yourself; but first\nlisten to the history of this paper.\"\n\"Silence!\" exclaimed Dantes. \"Steps approach — I go —\nadieu.\"\nAnd Dantes, happy to escape the history and explanation which\nwould be sure to confirm his belief in his friend's mental\ninstability, glided like a snake along the narrow passage; while\nFaria, restored by his alarm to a certain amount of activity,\npushed the stone into place with his foot, and covered it with a\nmat in order the more effectually to avoid discovery.\nIt was the governor, who, hearing of Faria's illness from the\njailer, had come in person to see him.\nFaria sat up to receive him, avoiding all gestures in order that\nhe might conceal from the governor the paralysis that had already\nhalf stricken him with death. His fear was lest the governor,\ntouched with pity, might order him to be removed to better\nquarters, and thus separate him from his young companion. But\nfortunately this was not the case, and the governor left him,\nconvinced that the poor madman, for whom in his heart he felt a\nkind of affection, was only troubled with a slight\nindisposition.\nDuring this time, Edmond, seated on his bed with his head in his\nhands, tried to collect his scattered thoughts. Faria, since their\nfirst acquaintance, had been on all points so rational and logical,\nso wonderfully sagacious, in fact, that he could not understand how\nso much wisdom on all points could be allied with madness. Was\nFaria deceived as to his treasure, or was all the world deceived as\nto Faria?Faria deceived as to his treasure, or was all the world deceived as\nto Faria?\nDantes remained in his cell all day, not daring to return to his\nfriend, thinking thus to defer the moment when he should be\nconvinced, once for all, that the abbe was mad — such a conviction\nwould be so terrible!\nBut, towards the evening after the hour for the customary visit\nhad gone by, Faria, not seeing the young man appear, tried to move\nand get over the distance which separated them. Edmond shuddered\nwhen he heard the painful efforts which the old man made to drag\nhimself along; his leg was inert, and he could no longer make use\nof one arm. Edmond was obliged to assist him, for otherwise he\nwould not have been able to enter by the small aperture which led\nto Dantes' chamber.\n\"Here I am, pursuing you remorselessly,\" he said with a\nbenignant smile. \"You thought to escape my munificence, but it is\nin vain. Listen to me.\"\nEdmond saw there was no escape, and placing the old man on his\nbed, he seated himself on the stool beside him.\n\"You know,\" said the abbe, \"that I was the secretary and\nintimate friend of Cardinal Spada, the last of the princes of that\nname. I owe to this worthy lord all the happiness I ever knew. He\nwas not rich, although the wealth of his family had passed into a\nproverb, and I heard the phrase very often, `As rich as a Spada.'\nBut he, like public rumor, lived on this reputation for wealth; his\npalace was my paradise. I was tutor to his nephews, who are dead;\nand when he was alone in the world, I tried by absolute devotion to\nhis will, to make up to him all he had done for me during ten years\nof unremitting kindness. The cardinal's house had no secrets for\nme. I had often seen my noble patron annotating ancient volumes,\nand eagerly searching amongst dusty family manuscripts. One day\nwhen I was reproaching him for his unavailing searches, and\ndeploring the prostration of mind that followed them, he looked at\nme, and, smiling bitterly, opened a volume relating to the History"}
{"text": "me, and, smiling bitterly, opened a volume relating to the History\nof the City of Rome. There, in the twentieth chapter of the Life of\nPope Alexander VI., were the following lines, which I can never\nforget: —\n\"`The great wars of Romagna had ended; Caesar Borgia, who had\ncompleted his conquest, had need of money to purchase all Italy.\nThe pope had also need of money to bring matters to an end with\nLouis XII. King of France, who was formidable still in spite of his\nrecent reverses; and it was necessary, therefore, to have recourse\nto some profitable scheme, which was a matter of great difficulty\nin the impoverished condition of exhausted Italy. His holiness had\nan idea. He determined to make two cardinals.'\n\"By choosing two of the greatest personages of Rome, especially\nrich men — this was the return the holy father looked for. In the\nfirst place, he could sell the great appointments and splendid\noffices which the cardinals already held; and then he had the two\nhats to sell besides. There was a third point in view, which will\nappear hereafter. The pope and Caesar Borgia first found the two\nfuture cardinals; they were Giovanni Rospigliosi, who held four of\nthe highest dignities of the Holy See, and Caesar Spada, one of the\nnoblest and richest of the Roman nobility; both felt the high honor\nof such a favor from the pope. They were ambitious, and Caesar\nBorgia soon found purchasers for their appointments. The result\nwas, that Rospigliosi and Spada paid for being cardinals, and eight\nother persons paid for the offices the cardinals held before their\nelevation, and thus eight hundred thousand crowns entered into the\ncoffers of the speculators.\n\"It is time now to proceed to the last part of the speculation.\nThe pope heaped attentions upon Rospigliosi and Spada, conferred\nupon them the insignia of the cardinalate, and induced them to\narrange their affairs and take up their residence at Rome. Then the\npope and Caesar Borgia invited the two cardinals to dinner. Thispope and Caesar Borgia invited the two cardinals to dinner. This\nwas a matter of dispute between the holy father and his son. Caesar\nthought they could make use of one of the means which he always had\nready for his friends, that is to say, in the first place, the\nfamous key which was given to certain persons with the request that\nthey go and open a designated cupboard. This key was furnished with\na small iron point, — a negligence on the part of the locksmith.\nWhen this was pressed to effect the opening of the cupboard, of\nwhich the lock was difficult, the person was pricked by this small\npoint, and died next day. Then there was the ring with the lion's\nhead, which Caesar wore when he wanted to greet his friends with a\nclasp of the hand. The lion bit the hand thus favored, and at the\nend of twenty-four hours, the bite was mortal. Caesar proposed to\nhis father, that they should either ask the cardinals to open the\ncupboard, or shake hands with them; but Alexander VI., replied:\n`Now as to the worthy cardinals, Spada and Rospigliosi, let us ask\nboth of them to dinner, something tells me that we shall get that\nmoney back. Besides, you forget, Caesar, an indigestion declares\nitself immediately, while a prick or a bite occasions a delay of a\nday or two.' Caesar gave way before such cogent reasoning, and the\ncardinals were consequently invited to dinner.\n\"The table was laid in a vineyard belonging to the pope, near\nSan Pierdarena, a charming retreat which the cardinals knew very\nwell by report. Rospigliosi, quite set up with his new dignities,\nwent with a good appetite and his most ingratiating manner. Spada,\na prudent man, and greatly attached to his only nephew, a young\ncaptain of the highest promise, took paper and pen, and made his\nwill. He then sent word to his nephew to wait for him near the\nvineyard; but it appeared the servant did not find him.\n\"Spada knew what these invitations meant; since Christianity, so\neminently civilizing, had made progress in Rome, it was no longer aeminently civilizing, had made progress in Rome, it was no longer a\ncenturion who came from the tyrant with a message, `Caesar wills\nthat you die.' but it was a legate a latere, who came with a smile\non his lips to say from the pope, `His holiness requests you to\ndine with him.'\n\"Spada set out about two o'clock to San Pierdarena. The pope\nawaited him. The first sight that attracted the eyes of Spada was\nthat of his nephew, in full costume, and Caesar Borgia paying him\nmost marked attentions. Spada turned pale, as Caesar looked at him\nwith an ironical air, which proved that he had anticipated all, and\nthat the snare was well spread. They began dinner and Spada was\nonly able to inquire of his nephew if he had received his message.\nThe nephew replied no; perfectly comprehending the meaning of the\nquestion. It was too late, for he had already drunk a glass of\nexcellent wine, placed for him expressly by the pope's butler.\nSpada at the same moment saw another bottle approach him, which he\nwas pressed to taste. An hour afterwards a physician declared they\nwere both poisoned through eating mushrooms. Spada died on the\nthreshold of the vineyard; the nephew expired at his own door,\nmaking signs which his wife could not comprehend.\n\"Then Caesar and the pope hastened to lay hands on the heritage,\nunder presence of seeking for the papers of the dead man. But the\ninheritance consisted in this only, a scrap of paper on which Spada\nhad written: — `I bequeath to my beloved nephew my coffers, my\nbooks, and, amongst others, my breviary with the gold corners,\nwhich I beg he will preserve in remembrance of his affectionate\nuncle.'\n\"The heirs sought everywhere, admired the breviary, laid hands\non the furniture, and were greatly astonished that Spada, the rich\nman, was really the most miserable of uncles — no treasures —\nunless they were those of science, contained in the library and\nlaboratories. That was all. Caesar and his father searched,\nexamined, scrutinized, but found nothing, or at least very little;"}
{"text": "examined, scrutinized, but found nothing, or at least very little;\nnot exceeding a few thousand crowns in plate, and about the same in\nready money; but the nephew had time to say to his wife before he\nexpired: `Look well among my uncle's papers; there is a will.'\n\"They sought even more thoroughly than the august heirs had\ndone, but it was fruitless. There were two palaces and a vineyard\nbehind the Palatine Hill; but in these days landed property had not\nmuch value, and the two palaces and the vineyard remained to the\nfamily since they were beneath the rapacity of the pope and his\nson. Months and years rolled on. Alexander VI. died, poisoned, —\nyou know by what mistake. Caesar, poisoned at the same time,\nescaped by shedding his skin like a snake; but the new skin was\nspotted by the poison till it looked like a tiger's. Then,\ncompelled to quit Rome, he went and got himself obscurely killed in\na night skirmish, scarcely noticed in history. After the pope's\ndeath and his son's exile, it was supposed that the Spada family\nwould resume the splendid position they had held before the\ncardinal's time; but this was not the case. The Spadas remained in\ndoubtful ease, a mystery hung over this dark affair, and the public\nrumor was, that Caesar, a better politician than his father, had\ncarried off from the pope the fortune of the two cardinals. I say\nthe two, because Cardinal Rospigliosi, who had not taken any\nprecaution, was completely despoiled.\n\"Up to this point,\" said Faria, interrupting the thread of his\nnarrative, \"this seems to you very meaningless, no doubt, eh?\"\n\"Oh, my friend,\" cried Dantes, \"on the contrary, it seems as if\nI were reading a most interesting narrative; go on, I beg of\nyou.\"\n\"I will.\"\n\"The family began to get accustomed to their obscurity. Years\nrolled on, and amongst the descendants some were soldiers, others\ndiplomatists; some churchmen, some bankers; some grew rich, and\nsome were ruined. I come now to the last of the family, whose\nsecretary I was — the Count of Spada. I had often heard himsecretary I was — the Count of Spada. I had often heard him\ncomplain of the disproportion of his rank with his fortune; and I\nadvised him to invest all he had in an annuity. He did so, and thus\ndoubled his income. The celebrated breviary remained in the family,\nand was in the count's possession. It had been handed down from\nfather to son; for the singular clause of the only will that had\nbeen found, had caused it to be regarded as a genuine relic,\npreserved in the family with superstitious veneration. It was an\nilluminated book, with beautiful Gothic characters, and so weighty\nwith gold, that a servant always carried it before the cardinal on\ndays of great solemnity.\n\"At the sight of papers of all sorts, — titles, contracts,\nparchments, which were kept in the archives of the family, all\ndescending from the poisoned cardinal, I in my turn examined the\nimmense bundles of documents, like twenty servitors, stewards,\nsecretaries before me; but in spite of the most exhaustive\nresearches, I found — nothing. Yet I had read, I had even written a\nprecise history of the Borgia family, for the sole purpose of\nassuring myself whether any increase of fortune had occurred to\nthem on the death of the Cardinal Caesar Spada; but could only\ntrace the acquisition of the property of the Cardinal Rospigliosi,\nhis companion in misfortune.\n\"I was then almost assured that the inheritance had neither\nprofited the Borgias nor the family, but had remained unpossessed\nlike the treasures of the Arabian Nights, which slept in the bosom\nof the earth under the eyes of the genie. I searched, ransacked,\ncounted, calculated a thousand and a thousand times the income and\nexpenditure of the family for three hundred years. It was useless.\nI remained in my ignorance, and the Count of Spada in his poverty.\nMy patron died. He had reserved from his annuity his family papers,\nhis library, composed of five thousand volumes, and his famous\nbreviary. All these he bequeathed to me, with a thousand Romanbreviary. All these he bequeathed to me, with a thousand Roman\ncrowns, which he had in ready money, on condition that I would have\nanniversary masses said for the repose of his soul, and that I\nwould draw up a genealogical tree and history of his house. All\nthis I did scrupulously. Be easy, my dear Edmond, we are near the\nconclusion.\n\"In 1807, a month before I was arrested, and a fortnight after\nthe death of the Count of Spada, on the 25th of December (you will\nsee presently how the date became fixed in my memory), I was\nreading, for the thousandth time, the papers I was arranging, for\nthe palace was sold to a stranger, and I was going to leave Rome\nand settle at Florence, intending to take with me twelve thousand\nfrancs I possessed, my library, and the famous breviary, when,\ntired with my constant labor at the same thing, and overcome by a\nheavy dinner I had eaten, my head dropped on my hands, and I fell\nasleep about three o'clock in the afternoon. I awoke as the clock\nwas striking six. I raised my head; I was in utter darkness. I rang\nfor a light, but as no one came, I determined to find one for\nmyself. It was indeed but anticipating the simple manners which I\nshould soon be under the necessity of adopting. I took a wax-candle\nin one hand, and with the other groped about for a piece of paper\n(my match-box being empty), with which I proposed to get a light\nfrom the small flame still playing on the embers. Fearing, however,\nto make use of any valuable piece of paper, I hesitated for a\nmoment, then recollected that I had seen in the famous breviary,\nwhich was on the table beside me, an old paper quite yellow with\nage, and which had served as a marker for centuries, kept there by\nthe request of the heirs. I felt for it, found it, twisted it up\ntogether, and putting it into the expiring flame, set light to\nit.\n\"But beneath my fingers, as if by magic, in proportion as the\nfire ascended, I saw yellowish characters appear on the paper. I\ngrasped it in my hand, put out the flame as quickly as I could,"}
{"text": "grasped it in my hand, put out the flame as quickly as I could,\nlighted my taper in the fire itself, and opened the crumpled paper\nwith inexpressible emotion, recognizing, when I had done so, that\nthese characters had been traced in mysterious and sympathetic ink,\nonly appearing when exposed to the fire; nearly one-third of the\npaper had been consumed by the flame. It was that paper you read\nthis morning; read it again, Dantes, and then I will complete for\nyou the incomplete words and unconnected sense.\"\nFaria, with an air of triumph, offered the paper to Dantes, who\nthis time read the following words, traced with an ink of a reddish\ncolor resembling rust: —\n\"This 25th day of April, 1498, be… Alexander VI., and fearing\nthat not… he may desire to become my heir, and re… and Bentivoglio,\nwho were poisoned,… my sole heir, that I have bu… and has visited\nwith me, that is, in… Island of Monte Cristo, all I poss… jewels,\ndiamonds, gems; that I alone… may amount to nearly two mil… will\nfind on raising the twentieth ro… creek to the east in a right\nline. Two open… in these caves; the treasure is in the furthest a…\nwhich treasure I bequeath and leave en… as my sole heir. \"25th\nApril, 1498. \"Caes…\n\"And now,\" said the abbe, \"read this other paper;\" and he\npresented to Dantes a second leaf with fragments of lines written\non it, which Edmond read as follows: —\n\"… ing invited to dine by his Holiness … content with\nmaking me pay for my hat, … serves for me the fate of\nCardinals Caprara … I declare to my nephew, Guido Spada …\nried in a place he knows … the caves of the small … essed\nof ingots, gold, money, … know of the existence of this\ntreasure, which … lions of Roman crowns, and which he …\nck from the small … ings have been made … ngle in the\nsecond; … tire to him … ar Spada.\"\nFaria followed him with an excited look. \"and now,\" he said,\nwhen he saw that Dantes had read the last line, \"put the two\nfragments together, and judge for yourself.\" Dantes obeyed, and the\nconjointed pieces gave the following: —conjointed pieces gave the following: —\n\"This 25th day of April, 1498, be… ing invited to dine by his\nHoliness Alexander VI., and fearing that not… content with making\nme pay for my hat, he may desire to become my heir, and re… serves\nfor me the fate of Cardinals Caprara and Bentivoglio, who were\npoisoned… I declare to my nephew, Guido Spada, my sole heir, that I\nhave bu… ried in a place he knows and has visited with me, that is,\nin… the caves of the small Island of Monte Cristo all I poss… ssed\nof ingots, gold, money, jewels, diamonds, gems; that I alone… know\nof the existence of this treasure, which may amount to nearly two\nmil… lions of Roman crowns, and which he will find on raising the\ntwentieth ro… ck from the small creek to the east in a right line.\nTwo open… ings have been made in these caves; the treasure is in\nthe furthest a… ngle in the second; which treasure I bequeath and\nleave en… tire to him as my sole heir. \"25th April, 1498. \"Caes… ar\nSpada.\"\n\"Well, do you comprehend now?\" inquired Faria.\n\"It is the declaration of Cardinal Spada, and the will so long\nsought for,\" replied Edmond, still incredulous.\n\"Yes; a thousand times, yes!\"\n\"And who completed it as it now is?\"\n\"I did. Aided by the remaining fragment, I guessed the rest;\nmeasuring the length of the lines by those of the paper, and\ndivining the hidden meaning by means of what was in part revealed,\nas we are guided in a cavern by the small ray of light above\nus.\"\n\"And what did you do when you arrived at this conclusion?\"\n\"I resolved to set out, and did set out at that very instant,\ncarrying with me the beginning of my great work, the unity of the\nItalian kingdom; but for some time the imperial police (who at this\nperiod, quite contrary to what Napoleon desired so soon as he had a\nson born to him, wished for a partition of provinces) had their\neyes on me; and my hasty departure, the cause of which they were\nunable to guess, having aroused their suspicions, I was arrested at\nthe very moment I was leaving Piombino.the very moment I was leaving Piombino.\n\"Now,\" continued Faria, addressing Dantes with an almost\npaternal expression, \"now, my dear fellow, you know as much as I do\nmyself. If we ever escape together, half this treasure is yours; if\nI die here, and you escape alone, the whole belongs to you.\"\n\"But,\" inquired Dantes hesitating, \"has this treasure no more\nlegitimate possessor in the world than ourselves?\"\n\"No, no, be easy on that score; the family is extinct. The last\nCount of Spada, moreover, made me his heir, bequeathing to me this\nsymbolic breviary, he bequeathed to me all it contained; no, no,\nmake your mind satisfied on that point. If we lay hands on this\nfortune, we may enjoy it without remorse.\"\n\"And you say this treasure amounts to\" —\n\"Two millions of Roman crowns; nearly thirteen millions of our\nmoney.\"*\n(* $2,600,000 in 1894.)\n\"Impossible!\" said Dantes, staggered at the enormous amount.\n\"Impossible? and why?\" asked the old man. \"The Spada family was\none of the oldest and most powerful families of the fifteenth\ncentury; and in those times, when other opportunities for\ninvestment were wanting, such accumulations of gold and jewels were\nby no means rare; there are at this day Roman families perishing of\nhunger, though possessed of nearly a million in diamonds and\njewels, handed down by entail, and which they cannot touch.\" Edmond\nthought he was in a dream — he wavered between incredulity and\njoy.\n\"I have only kept this secret so long from you,\" continued\nFaria, \"that I might test your character, and then surprise you.\nHad we escaped before my attack of catalepsy, I should have\nconducted you to Monte Cristo; now,\" he added, with a sigh, \"it is\nyou who will conduct me thither. Well, Dantes, you do not thank\nme?\"\n\"This treasure belongs to you, my dear friend,\" replied Dantes,\n\"and to you only. I have no right to it. I am no relation of\nyours.\"\n\"You are my son, Dantes,\" exclaimed the old man. \"You are the\nchild of my captivity. My profession condemns me to celibacy. Godchild of my captivity. My profession condemns me to celibacy. God\nhas sent you to me to console, at one and the same time, the man\nwho could not be a father, and the prisoner who could not get\nfree.\" And Faria extended the arm of which alone the use remained\nto him to the young man who threw himself upon his neck and\nwept."}
{"text": "Now that this treasure, which had so long been the object of the\nabbe's meditations, could insure the future happiness of him whom\nFaria really loved as a son, it had doubled its value in his eyes,\nand every day he expatiated on the amount, explaining to Dantes all\nthe good which, with thirteen or fourteen millions of francs, a man\ncould do in these days to his friends; and then Dantes' countenance\nbecame gloomy, for the oath of vengeance he had taken recurred to\nhis memory, and he reflected how much ill, in these times, a man\nwith thirteen or fourteen millions could do to his enemies.\nThe abbe did not know the Island of Monte Cristo; but Dantes\nknew it, and had often passed it, situated twenty-five miles from\nPianosa, between Corsica and the Island of Elba, and had once\ntouched there. This island was, always had been, and still is,\ncompletely deserted. It is a rock of almost conical form, which\nlooks as though it had been thrust up by volcanic force from the\ndepth to the surface of the ocean. Dantes drew a plan of the island\nfor Faria, and Faria gave Dantes advice as to the means he should\nemploy to recover the treasure. But Dantes was far from being as\nenthusiastic and confident as the old man. It was past a question\nnow that Faria was not a lunatic, and the way in which he had\nachieved the discovery, which had given rise to the suspicion of\nhis madness, increased Edmond's admiration of him; but at the same\ntime Dantes could not believe that the deposit, supposing it had\never existed, still existed; and though he considered the treasure\nas by no means chimerical, he yet believed it was no longer\nthere.\nHowever, as if fate resolved on depriving the prisoners of their\nlast chance, and making them understand that they were condemned to\nperpetual imprisonment, a new misfortune befell them; the gallery\non the sea side, which had long been in ruins, was rebuilt. They\nhad repaired it completely, and stopped up with vast masses of\nstone the hole Dantes had partly filled in. But for thisstone the hole Dantes had partly filled in. But for this\nprecaution, which, it will be remembered, the abbe had made to\nEdmond, the misfortune would have been still greater, for their\nattempt to escape would have been detected, and they would\nundoubtedly have been separated. Thus a new, a stronger, and more\ninexorable barrier was interposed to cut off the realization of\ntheir hopes.\n\"You see,\" said the young man, with an air of sorrowful\nresignation, to Faria, \"that God deems it right to take from me any\nclaim to merit for what you call my devotion to you. I have\npromised to remain forever with you, and now I could not break my\npromise if I would. The treasure will be no more mine than yours,\nand neither of us will quit this prison. But my real treasure is\nnot that, my dear friend, which awaits me beneath the sombre rocks\nof Monte Cristo, it is your presence, our living together five or\nsix hours a day, in spite of our jailers; it is the rays of\nintelligence you have elicited from my brain, the languages you\nhave implanted in my memory, and which have taken root there with\nall their philological ramifications. These different sciences that\nyou have made so easy to me by the depth of the knowledge you\npossess of them, and the clearness of the principles to which you\nhave reduced them — this is my treasure, my beloved friend, and\nwith this you have made me rich and happy. Believe me, and take\ncomfort, this is better for me than tons of gold and cases of\ndiamonds, even were they not as problematical as the clouds we see\nin the morning floating over the sea, which we take for terra\nfirma, and which evaporate and vanish as we draw near to them. To\nhave you as long as possible near me, to hear your eloquent speech,\n— which embellishes my mind, strengthens my soul, and makes my\nwhole frame capable of great and terrible things, if I should ever\nbe free, — so fills my whole existence, that the despair to which I\nwas just on the point of yielding when I knew you, has no longerwas just on the point of yielding when I knew you, has no longer\nany hold over me; and this — this is my fortune — not chimerical,\nbut actual. I owe you my real good, my present happiness; and all\nthe sovereigns of the earth, even Caesar Borgia himself, could not\ndeprive me of this.\"\nThus, if not actually happy, yet the days these two unfortunates\npassed together went quickly. Faria, who for so long a time had\nkept silence as to the treasure, now perpetually talked of it. As\nhe had prophesied would be the case, he remained paralyzed in the\nright arm and the left leg, and had given up all hope of ever\nenjoying it himself. But he was continually thinking over some\nmeans of escape for his young companion, and anticipating the\npleasure he would enjoy. For fear the letter might be some day lost\nor stolen, he compelled Dantes to learn it by heart; and Dantes\nknew it from the first to the last word. Then he destroyed the\nsecond portion, assured that if the first were seized, no one would\nbe able to discover its real meaning. Whole hours sometimes passed\nwhile Faria was giving instructions to Dantes, — instructions which\nwere to serve him when he was at liberty. Then, once free, from the\nday and hour and moment when he was so, he could have but one only\nthought, which was, to gain Monte Cristo by some means, and remain\nthere alone under some pretext which would arouse no suspicions;\nand once there, to endeavor to find the wonderful caverns, and\nsearch in the appointed spot, — the appointed spot, be it\nremembered, being the farthest angle in the second opening.\nIn the meanwhile the hours passed, if not rapidly, at least\ntolerably. Faria, as we have said, without having recovered the use\nof his hand and foot, had regained all the clearness of his\nunderstanding, and had gradually, besides the moral instructions we\nhave detailed, taught his youthful companion the patient and\nsublime duty of a prisoner, who learns to make something from\nnothing. They were thus perpetually employed, — Faria, that he"}
{"text": "nothing. They were thus perpetually employed, — Faria, that he\nmight not see himself grow old; Dantes, for fear of recalling the\nalmost extinct past which now only floated in his memory like a\ndistant light wandering in the night. So life went on for them as\nit does for those who are not victims of misfortune and whose\nactivities glide along mechanically and tranquilly beneath the eye\nof providence.\nBut beneath this superficial calm there were in the heart of the\nyoung man, and perhaps in that of the old man, many repressed\ndesires, many stifled sighs, which found vent when Faria was left\nalone, and when Edmond returned to his cell. One night Edmond awoke\nsuddenly, believing that he heard some one calling him. He opened\nhis eyes upon utter darkness. His name, or rather a plaintive voice\nwhich essayed to pronounce his name, reached him. He sat up in bed\nand a cold sweat broke out upon his brow. Undoubtedly the call came\nfrom Faria's dungeon. \"Alas,\" murmured Edmond; \"can it be?\"\nHe moved his bed, drew up the stone, rushed into the passage,\nand reached the opposite extremity; the secret entrance was open.\nBy the light of the wretched and wavering lamp, of which we have\nspoken, Dantes saw the old man, pale, but yet erect, clinging to\nthe bedstead. His features were writhing with those horrible\nsymptoms which he already knew, and which had so seriously alarmed\nhim when he saw them for the first time.\n\"Alas, my dear friend,\" said Faria in a resigned tone, \"you\nunderstand, do you not, and I need not attempt to explain to\nyou?\"\nEdmond uttered a cry of agony, and, quite out of his senses,\nrushed towards the door, exclaiming, \"Help, help!\" Faria had just\nsufficient strength to restrain him.\n\"Silence,\" he said, \"or you are lost. We must now only think of\nyou, my dear friend, and so act as to render your captivity\nsupportable or your flight possible. It would require years to do\nagain what I have done here, and the results would be instantly\ndestroyed if our jailers knew we had communicated with each other.destroyed if our jailers knew we had communicated with each other.\nBesides, be assured, my dear Edmond, the dungeon I am about to\nleave will not long remain empty; some other unfortunate being will\nsoon take my place, and to him you will appear like an angel of\nsalvation. Perhaps he will be young, strong, and enduring, like\nyourself, and will aid you in your escape, while I have been but a\nhindrance. You will no longer have half a dead body tied to you as\na drag to all your movements. At length providence has done\nsomething for you; he restores to you more than he takes away, and\nit was time I should die.\"\nEdmond could only clasp his hands and exclaim, \"Oh, my friend,\nmy friend, speak not thus!\" and then resuming all his presence of\nmind, which had for a moment staggered under this blow, and his\nstrength, which had failed at the words of the old man, he said,\n\"Oh, I have saved you once, and I will save you a second time!\" And\nraising the foot of the bed, he drew out the phial, still a third\nfilled with the red liquor.\n\"See,\" he exclaimed, \"there remains still some of the magic\ndraught. Quick, quick! tell me what I must do this time; are there\nany fresh instructions? Speak, my friend; I listen.\"\n\"There is not a hope,\" replied Faria, shaking his head, \"but no\nmatter; God wills it that man whom he has created, and in whose\nheart he has so profoundly rooted the love of life, should do all\nin his power to preserve that existence, which, however painful it\nmay be, is yet always so dear.\"\n\"Oh, yes, yes!\" exclaimed Dantes; \"and I tell you that I will\nsave you yet.\"\n\"Well, then, try. The cold gains upon me. I feel the blood\nflowing towards my brain. These horrible chills, which make my\nteeth chatter and seem to dislocate my bones, begin to pervade my\nwhole frame; in five minutes the malady will reach its height, and\nin a quarter of an hour there will be nothing left of me but a\ncorpse.\"\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Dantes, his heart wrung with anguish.\n\"Do as you did before, only do not wait so long, all the springs\"Do as you did before, only do not wait so long, all the springs\nof life are now exhausted in me, and death,\" he continued, looking\nat his paralyzed arm and leg, \"has but half its work to do. If,\nafter having made me swallow twelve drops instead of ten, you see\nthat I do not recover, then pour the rest down my throat. Now lift\nme on my bed, for I can no longer support myself.\"\nEdmond took the old man in his arms, and laid him on the\nbed.\n\"And now, my dear friend,\" said Faria, \"sole consolation of my\nwretched existence, — you whom heaven gave me somewhat late, but\nstill gave me, a priceless gift, and for which I am most grateful,\n— at the moment of separating from you forever, I wish you all the\nhappiness and all the prosperity you so well deserve. My son, I\nbless thee!\" The young man cast himself on his knees, leaning his\nhead against the old man's bed.\n\"Listen, now, to what I say in this my dying moment. The\ntreasure of the Spadas exists. God grants me the boon of vision\nunrestricted by time or space. I see it in the depths of the inner\ncavern. My eyes pierce the inmost recesses of the earth, and are\ndazzled at the sight of so much riches. If you do escape, remember\nthat the poor abbe, whom all the world called mad, was not so.\nHasten to Monte Cristo — avail yourself of the fortune — for you\nhave indeed suffered long enough.\" A violent convulsion attacked\nthe old man. Dantes raised his head and saw Faria's eyes injected\nwith blood. It seemed as if a flow of blood had ascended from the\nchest to the head.\n\"Adieu, adieu!\" murmured the old man, clasping Edmond's hand\nconvulsively — \"adieu!\"\n\"Oh, no, — no, not yet,\" he cried; \"do not forsake me! Oh,\nsuccor him! Help — help — help!\"\n\"Hush — hush!\" murmured the dying man, \"that they may not\nseparate us if you save me!\"\n\"You are right. Oh, yes, yes; be assured I shall save you!\nBesides, although you suffer much, you do not seem to be in such\nagony as you were before.\"\n\"Do not mistake. I suffer less because there is in me less"}
{"text": "agony as you were before.\"\n\"Do not mistake. I suffer less because there is in me less\nstrength to endure. At your age we have faith in life; it is the\nprivilege of youth to believe and hope, but old men see death more\nclearly. Oh, 'tis here — 'tis here — 'tis over — my sight is gone —\nmy senses fail! Your hand, Dantes! Adieu — adieu!\" And raising\nhimself by a final effort, in which he summoned all his faculties,\nhe said, — \"Monte Cristo, forget not Monte Cristo!\" And he fell\nback on the bed. The crisis was terrible, and a rigid form with\ntwisted limbs, swollen eyelids, and lips flecked with bloody foam,\nlay on the bed of torture, in place of the intellectual being who\nso lately rested there.\nDantes took the lamp, placed it on a projecting stone above the\nbed, whence its tremulous light fell with strange and fantastic ray\non the distorted countenance and motionless, stiffened body. With\nsteady gaze he awaited confidently the moment for administering the\nrestorative.\nWhen he believed that the right moment had arrived, he took the\nknife, pried open the teeth, which offered less resistance than\nbefore, counted one after the other twelve drops, and watched; the\nphial contained, perhaps, twice as much more. He waited ten\nminutes, a quarter of an hour, half an hour, — no change took\nplace. Trembling, his hair erect, his brow bathed with\nperspiration, he counted the seconds by the beating of his heart.\nThen he thought it was time to make the last trial, and he put the\nphial to the purple lips of Faria, and without having occasion to\nforce open his jaws, which had remained extended, he poured the\nwhole of the liquid down his throat.\nThe draught produced a galvanic effect, a violent trembling\npervaded the old man's limbs, his eyes opened until it was fearful\nto gaze upon them, he heaved a sigh which resembled a shriek, and\nthen his convulsed body returned gradually to its former\nimmobility, the eyes remaining open.\nHalf an hour, an hour, an hour and a half elapsed, and duringimmobility, the eyes remaining open.\nHalf an hour, an hour, an hour and a half elapsed, and during\nthis period of anguish, Edmond leaned over his friend, his hand\napplied to his heart, and felt the body gradually grow cold, and\nthe heart's pulsation become more and more deep and dull, until at\nlength it stopped; the last movement of the heart ceased, the face\nbecame livid, the eyes remained open, but the eyeballs were glazed.\nIt was six o'clock in the morning, the dawn was just breaking, and\nits feeble ray came into the dungeon, and paled the ineffectual\nlight of the lamp. Strange shadows passed over the countenance of\nthe dead man, and at times gave it the appearance of life. While\nthe struggle between day and night lasted, Dantes still doubted;\nbut as soon as the daylight gained the pre-eminence, he saw that he\nwas alone with a corpse. Then an invincible and extreme terror\nseized upon him, and he dared not again press the hand that hung\nout of bed, he dared no longer to gaze on those fixed and vacant\neyes, which he tried many times to close, but in vain — they opened\nagain as soon as shut. He extinguished the lamp, carefully\nconcealed it, and then went away, closing as well as he could the\nentrance to the secret passage by the large stone as he\ndescended.\nIt was time, for the jailer was coming. On this occasion he\nbegan his rounds at Dantes' cell, and on leaving him he went on to\nFaria's dungeon, taking thither breakfast and some linen. Nothing\nbetokened that the man know anything of what had occurred. He went\non his way.\nDantes was then seized with an indescribable desire to know what\nwas going on in the dungeon of his unfortunate friend. He therefore\nreturned by the subterraneous gallery, and arrived in time to hear\nthe exclamations of the turnkey, who called out for help. Other\nturnkeys came, and then was heard the regular tramp of soldiers.\nLast of all came the governor.\nEdmond heard the creaking of the bed as they moved the corpse,\nheard the voice of the governor, who asked them to throw water onheard the voice of the governor, who asked them to throw water on\nthe dead man's face; and seeing that, in spite of this application,\nthe prisoner did not recover, they sent for the doctor. The\ngovernor then went out, and words of pity fell on Dantes' listening\nears, mingled with brutal laughter.\n\"Well, well,\" said one, \"the madman has gone to look after his\ntreasure. Good journey to him!\"\n\"With all his millions, he will not have enough to pay for his\nshroud!\" said another.\n\"Oh,\" added a third voice, \"the shrouds of the Chateau d'If are\nnot dear!\"\n\"Perhaps,\" said one of the previous speakers, \"as he was a\nchurchman, they may go to some expense in his behalf.\"\n\"They may give him the honors of the sack.\"\nEdmond did not lose a word, but comprehended very little of what\nwas said. The voices soon ceased, and it seemed to him as if every\none had left the cell. Still he dared not to enter, as they might\nhave left some turnkey to watch the dead. He remained, therefore,\nmute and motionless, hardly venturing to breathe. At the end of an\nhour, he heard a faint noise, which increased. It was the governor\nwho returned, followed by the doctor and other attendants. There\nwas a moment's silence, — it was evident that the doctor was\nexamining the dead body. The inquiries soon commenced.\nThe doctor analyzed the symptoms of the malady to which the\nprisoner had succumbed, and declared that he was dead. Questions\nand answers followed in a nonchalant manner that made Dantes\nindignant, for he felt that all the world should have for the poor\nabbe a love and respect equal to his own.\n\"I am very sorry for what you tell me,\" said the governor,\nreplying to the assurance of the doctor, \"that the old man is\nreally dead; for he was a quiet, inoffensive prisoner, happy in his\nfolly, and required no watching.\"\n\"Ah,\" added the turnkey, \"there was no occasion for watching\nhim: he would have stayed here fifty years, I'll answer for it,\nwithout any attempt to escape.\"\n\"Still,\" said the governor, \"I believe it will be requisite,"}
{"text": "without any attempt to escape.\"\n\"Still,\" said the governor, \"I believe it will be requisite,\nnotwithstanding your certainty, and not that I doubt your science,\nbut in discharge of my official duty, that we should be perfectly\nassured that the prisoner is dead.\" There was a moment of complete\nsilence, during which Dantes, still listening, knew that the doctor\nwas examining the corpse a second time.\n\"You may make your mind easy,\" said the doctor; \"he is dead. I\nwill answer for that.\"\n\"You know, sir,\" said the governor, persisting, \"that we are not\ncontent in such cases as this with such a simple examination. In\nspite of all appearances, be so kind, therefore, as to finish your\nduty by fulfilling the formalities described by law.\"\n\"Let the irons be heated,\" said the doctor; \"but really it is a\nuseless precaution.\" This order to heat the irons made Dantes\nshudder. He heard hasty steps, the creaking of a door, people going\nand coming, and some minutes afterwards a turnkey entered, saying,\n—\n\"Here is the brazier, lighted.\" There was a moment's silence,\nand then was heard the crackling of burning flesh, of which the\npeculiar and nauseous smell penetrated even behind the wall where\nDantes was listening in horror. The perspiration poured forth upon\nthe young man's brow, and he felt as if he should faint.\n\"You see, sir, he is really dead,\" said the doctor; \"this burn\nin the heel is decisive. The poor fool is cured of his folly, and\ndelivered from his captivity.\"\n\"Wasn't his name Faria?\" inquired one of the officers who\naccompanied the governor.\n\"Yes, sir; and, as he said, it was an ancient name. He was, too,\nvery learned, and rational enough on all points which did not\nrelate to his treasure; but on that, indeed, he was\nintractable.\"\n\"It is the sort of malady which we call monomania,\" said the\ndoctor.\n\"You had never anything to complain of?\" said the governor to\nthe jailer who had charge of the abbe.\n\"Never, sir,\" replied the jailer, \"never; on the contrary, he\"Never, sir,\" replied the jailer, \"never; on the contrary, he\nsometimes amused me very much by telling me stories. One day, too,\nwhen my wife was ill, he gave me a prescription which cured\nher.\"\n\"Ah, ah!\" said the doctor, \"I did not know that I had a rival;\nbut I hope, governor, that you will show him all proper\nrespect.\"\n\"Yes, yes, make your mind easy, he shall be decently interred in\nthe newest sack we can find. Will that satisfy you?\"\n\"Must this last formality take place in your presence, sir?\"\ninquired a turnkey.\n\"Certainly. But make haste — I cannot stay here all day.\" Other\nfootsteps, going and coming, were now heard, and a moment\nafterwards the noise of rustling canvas reached Dantes' ears, the\nbed creaked, and the heavy footfall of a man who lifts a weight\nsounded on the floor; then the bed again creaked under the weight\ndeposited upon it.\n\"This evening,\" said the governor.\n\"Will there be any mass?\" asked one of the attendants.\n\"That is impossible,\" replied the governor. \"The chaplain of the\nchateau came to me yesterday to beg for leave of absence, in order\nto take a trip to Hyeres for a week. I told him I would attend to\nthe prisoners in his absence. If the poor abbe had not been in such\na hurry, he might have had his requiem.\"\n\"Pooh, pooh;\" said the doctor, with the impiety usual in persons\nof his profession; \"he is a churchman. God will respect his\nprofession, and not give the devil the wicked delight of sending\nhim a priest.\" A shout of laughter followed this brutal jest.\nMeanwhile the operation of putting the body in the sack was going\non.\n\"This evening,\" said the governor, when the task was ended.\n\"At what hour?\" inquired a turnkey.\n\"Why, about ten or eleven o'clock.\"\n\"Shall we watch by the corpse?\"\n\"Of what use would it be? Shut the dungeon as if he were alive —\nthat is all.\" Then the steps retreated, and the voices died away in\nthe distance; the noise of the door, with its creaking hinges and\nbolts ceased, and a silence more sombre than that of solitudebolts ceased, and a silence more sombre than that of solitude\nensued, — the silence of death, which was all-pervasive, and struck\nits icy chill to the very soul of Dantes. Then he raised the\nflag-stone cautiously with his head, and looked carefully around\nthe chamber. It was empty, and Dantes emerged from the tunnel.On the bed, at full length, and faintly illuminated by the pale\nlight that came from the window, lay a sack of canvas, and under\nits rude folds was stretched a long and stiffened form; it was\nFaria's last winding-sheet, — a winding-sheet which, as the turnkey\nsaid, cost so little. Everything was in readiness. A barrier had\nbeen placed between Dantes and his old friend. No longer could\nEdmond look into those wide-open eyes which had seemed to be\npenetrating the mysteries of death; no longer could he clasp the\nhand which had done so much to make his existence blessed. Faria,\nthe beneficent and cheerful companion, with whom he was accustomed\nto live so intimately, no longer breathed. He seated himself on the\nedge of that terrible bed, and fell into melancholy and gloomy\nrevery.\nAlone — he was alone again — again condemned to silence — again\nface to face with nothingness! Alone! — never again to see the\nface, never again to hear the voice of the only human being who\nunited him to earth! Was not Faria's fate the better, after all —\nto solve the problem of life at its source, even at the risk of\nhorrible suffering? The idea of suicide, which his friend had\ndriven away and kept away by his cheerful presence, now hovered\nlike a phantom over the abbe's dead body.\n\"If I could die,\" he said, \"I should go where he goes, and\nshould assuredly find him again. But how to die? It is very easy,\"\nhe went on with a smile; \"I will remain here, rush on the first\nperson that opens the door, strangle him, and then they will\nguillotine me.\" But excessive grief is like a storm at sea, where\nthe frail bark is tossed from the depths to the top of the wave.\nDantes recoiled from the idea of so infamous a death, and passed\nsuddenly from despair to an ardent desire for life and liberty.\n\"Die? oh, no,\" he exclaimed — \"not die now, after having lived\nand suffered so long and so much! Die? yes, had I died years ago;\nbut now to die would be, indeed, to give way to the sarcasm of\ndestiny. No, I want to live; I shall struggle to the very last; I"}
{"text": "destiny. No, I want to live; I shall struggle to the very last; I\nwill yet win back the happiness of which I have been deprived.\nBefore I die I must not forget that I have my executioners to\npunish, and perhaps, too, who knows, some friends to reward. Yet\nthey will forget me here, and I shall die in my dungeon like\nFaria.\" As he said this, he became silent and gazed straight before\nhim like one overwhelmed with a strange and amazing thought.\nSuddenly he arose, lifted his hand to his brow as if his brain wore\ngiddy, paced twice or thrice round the dungeon, and then paused\nabruptly by the bed.\n\"Just God!\" he muttered, \"whence comes this thought? Is it from\nthee? Since none but the dead pass freely from this dungeon, let me\ntake the place of the dead!\" Without giving himself time to\nreconsider his decision, and, indeed, that he might not allow his\nthoughts to be distracted from his desperate resolution, he bent\nover the appalling shroud, opened it with the knife which Faria had\nmade, drew the corpse from the sack, and bore it along the tunnel\nto his own chamber, laid it on his couch, tied around its head the\nrag he wore at night around his own, covered it with his\ncounterpane, once again kissed the ice-cold brow, and tried vainly\nto close the resisting eyes, which glared horribly, turned the head\ntowards the wall, so that the jailer might, when he brought the\nevening meal, believe that he was asleep, as was his frequent\ncustom; entered the tunnel again, drew the bed against the wall,\nreturned to the other cell, took from the hiding-place the needle\nand thread, flung off his rags, that they might feel only naked\nflesh beneath the coarse canvas, and getting inside the sack,\nplaced himself in the posture in which the dead body had been laid,\nand sewed up the mouth of the sack from the inside.\nHe would have been discovered by the beating of his heart, if by\nany mischance the jailers had entered at that moment. Dantes might\nhave waited until the evening visit was over, but he was afraidhave waited until the evening visit was over, but he was afraid\nthat the governor would change his mind, and order the dead body to\nbe removed earlier. In that case his last hope would have been\ndestroyed. Now his plans were fully made, and this is what he\nintended to do. If while he was being carried out the grave-diggers\nshould discover that they were bearing a live instead of a dead\nbody, Dantes did not intend to give them time to recognize him, but\nwith a sudden cut of the knife, he meant to open the sack from top\nto bottom, and, profiting by their alarm, escape; if they tried to\ncatch him, he would use his knife to better purpose.\nIf they took him to the cemetery and laid him in a grave, he\nwould allow himself to be covered with earth, and then, as it was\nnight, the grave-diggers could scarcely have turned their backs\nbefore he would have worked his way through the yielding soil and\nescaped. He hoped that the weight of earth would not be so great\nthat he could not overcome it. If he was detected in this and the\nearth proved too heavy, he would be stifled, and then — so much the\nbetter, all would be over. Dantes had not eaten since the preceding\nevening, but he had not thought of hunger, nor did he think of it\nnow. His situation was too precarious to allow him even time to\nreflect on any thought but one.\nThe first risk that Dantes ran was, that the jailer, when he\nbrought him his supper at seven o'clock, might perceive the change\nthat had been made; fortunately, twenty times at least, from\nmisanthropy or fatigue, Dantes had received his jailer in bed, and\nthen the man placed his bread and soup on the table, and went away\nwithout saying a word. This time the jailer might not be as silent\nas usual, but speak to Dantes, and seeing that he received no\nreply, go to the bed, and thus discover all.\nWhen seven o'clock came, Dantes' agony really began. His hand\nplaced upon his heart was unable to redress its throbbings, while,\nwith the other he wiped the perspiration from his temples. Fromwith the other he wiped the perspiration from his temples. From\ntime to time chills ran through his whole body, and clutched his\nheart in a grasp of ice. Then he thought he was going to die. Yet\nthe hours passed on without any unusual disturbance, and Dantes\nknew that he had escaped the first peril. It was a good augury. At\nlength, about the hour the governor had appointed, footsteps were\nheard on the stairs. Edmond felt that the moment had arrived,\nsummoned up all his courage, held his breath, and would have been\nhappy if at the same time he could have repressed the throbbing of\nhis veins. The footsteps — they were double — paused at the door —\nand Dantes guessed that the two grave-diggers had come to seek him\n— this idea was soon converted into certainty, when he heard the\nnoise they made in putting down the hand-bier. The door opened, and\na dim light reached Dantes' eyes through the coarse sack that\ncovered him; he saw two shadows approach his bed, a third remaining\nat the door with a torch in its hand. The two men, approaching the\nends of the bed, took the sack by its extremities.\n\"He's heavy though for an old and thin man,\" said one, as he\nraised the head.\n\"They say every year adds half a pound to the weight of the\nbones,\" said another, lifting the feet.\n\"Have you tied the knot?\" inquired the first speaker.\n\"What would be the use of carrying so much more weight?\" was the\nreply, \"I can do that when we get there.\"\n\"Yes, you're right,\" replied the companion.\n\"What's the knot for?\" thought Dantes.\nThey deposited the supposed corpse on the bier. Edmond stiffened\nhimself in order to play the part of a dead man, and then the\nparty, lighted by the man with the torch, who went first, ascended\nthe stairs. Suddenly he felt the fresh and sharp night air, and\nDantes knew that the mistral was blowing. It was a sensation in\nwhich pleasure and pain were strangely mingled. The bearers went on\nfor twenty paces, then stopped, putting the bier down on the\nground. One of them went away, and Dantes heard his shoes striking"}
{"text": "ground. One of them went away, and Dantes heard his shoes striking\non the pavement.\n\"Where am I?\" he asked himself.\n\"Really, he is by no means a light load!\" said the other bearer,\nsitting on the edge of the hand-barrow. Dantes' first impulse was\nto escape, but fortunately he did not attempt it.\n\"Give us a light,\" said the other bearer, \"or I shall never find\nwhat I am looking for.\" The man with the torch complied, although\nnot asked in the most polite terms.\n\"What can he be looking for?\" thought Edmond. \"The spade,\nperhaps.\" An exclamation of satisfaction indicated that the\ngrave-digger had found the object of his search. \"Here it is at\nlast,\" he said, \"not without some trouble though.\"\n\"Yes,\" was the answer, \"but it has lost nothing by waiting.\"\nAs he said this, the man came towards Edmond, who heard a heavy\nmetallic substance laid down beside him, and at the same moment a\ncord was fastened round his feet with sudden and painful\nviolence.\n\"Well, have you tied the knot?\" inquired the grave-digger, who\nwas looking on.\n\"Yes, and pretty tight too, I can tell you,\" was the answer.\n\"Move on, then.\" And the bier was lifted once more, and they\nproceeded.\nThey advanced fifty paces farther, and then stopped to open a\ndoor, then went forward again. The noise of the waves dashing\nagainst the rocks on which the chateau is built, reached Dantes'\near distinctly as they went forward.\n\"Bad weather!\" observed one of the bearers; \"not a pleasant\nnight for a dip in the sea.\"\n\"Why, yes, the abbe runs a chance of being wet,\" said the other;\nand then there was a burst of brutal laughter. Dantes did not\ncomprehend the jest, but his hair stood erect on his head.\n\"Well, here we are at last,\" said one of them. \"A little farther\n— a little farther,\" said the other. \"You know very well that the\nlast was stopped on his way, dashed on the rocks, and the governor\ntold us next day that we were careless fellows.\"\nThey ascended five or six more steps, and then Dantes felt that\nthey took him, one by the head and the other by the heels, andthey took him, one by the head and the other by the heels, and\nswung him to and fro. \"One!\" said the grave-diggers, \"two! three!\"\nAnd at the same instant Dantes felt himself flung into the air like\na wounded bird, falling, falling, with a rapidity that made his\nblood curdle. Although drawn downwards by the heavy weight which\nhastened his rapid descent, it seemed to him as if the fall lasted\nfor a century.\nAt last, with a horrible splash, he darted like an arrow into\nthe ice-cold water, and as he did so he uttered a shrill cry,\nstifled in a moment by his immersion beneath the waves.\nDantes had been flung into the sea, and was dragged into its\ndepths by a thirty-six pound shot tied to his feet. The sea is the\ncemetery of the Chateau d'If.Dantes, although stunned and almost suffocated, had sufficient\npresence of mind to hold his breath, and as his right hand\n(prepared as he was for every chance) held his knife open, he\nrapidly ripped up the sack, extricated his arm, and then his body;\nbut in spite of all his efforts to free himself from the shot, he\nfelt it dragging him down still lower. He then bent his body, and\nby a desperate effort severed the cord that bound his legs, at the\nmoment when it seemed as if he were actually strangled. With a\nmighty leap he rose to the surface of the sea, while the shot\ndragged down to the depths the sack that had so nearly become his\nshroud.\nDantes waited only to get breath, and then dived, in order to\navoid being seen. When he arose a second time, he was fifty paces\nfrom where he had first sunk. He saw overhead a black and\ntempestuous sky, across which the wind was driving clouds that\noccasionally suffered a twinkling star to appear; before him was\nthe vast expanse of waters, sombre and terrible, whose waves foamed\nand roared as if before the approach of a storm. Behind him,\nblacker than the sea, blacker than the sky, rose phantom-like the\nvast stone structure, whose projecting crags seemed like arms\nextended to seize their prey, and on the highest rock was a torch\nlighting two figures. He fancied that these two forms were looking\nat the sea; doubtless these strange grave-diggers had heard his\ncry. Dantes dived again, and remained a long time beneath the\nwater. This was an easy feat to him, for he usually attracted a\ncrowd of spectators in the bay before the lighthouse at Marseilles\nwhen he swam there, and was unanimously declared to be the best\nswimmer in the port. When he came up again the light had\ndisappeared.\nHe must now get his bearings. Ratonneau and Pomegue are the\nnearest islands of all those that surround the Chateau d'If, but\nRatonneau and Pomegue are inhabited, as is also the islet of Daume.\nTiboulen and Lemaire were therefore the safest for Dantes' venture.Tiboulen and Lemaire were therefore the safest for Dantes' venture.\nThe islands of Tiboulen and Lemaire are a league from the Chateau\nd'If; Dantes, nevertheless, determined to make for them. But how\ncould he find his way in the darkness of the night? At this moment\nhe saw the light of Planier, gleaming in front of him like a star.\nBy leaving this light on the right, he kept the Island of Tiboulen\na little on the left; by turning to the left, therefore, he would\nfind it. But, as we have said, it was at least a league from the\nChateau d'If to this island. Often in prison Faria had said to him,\nwhen he saw him idle and inactive, \"Dantes, you must not give way\nto this listlessness; you will be drowned if you seek to escape,\nand your strength has not been properly exercised and prepared for\nexertion.\" These words rang in Dantes' ears, even beneath the\nwaves; he hastened to cleave his way through them to see if he had\nnot lost his strength. He found with pleasure that his captivity\nhad taken away nothing of his power, and that he was still master\nof that element on whose bosom he had so often sported as a\nboy.\nFear, that relentless pursuer, clogged Dantes' efforts. He\nlistened for any sound that might be audible, and every time that\nhe rose to the top of a wave he scanned the horizon, and strove to\npenetrate the darkness. He fancied that every wave behind him was a\npursuing boat, and he redoubled his exertions, increasing rapidly\nhis distance from the chateau, but exhausting his strength. He swam\non still, and already the terrible chateau had disappeared in the\ndarkness. He could not see it, but he felt its presence. An hour\npassed, during which Dantes, excited by the feeling of freedom,\ncontinued to cleave the waves. \"Let us see,\" said he, \"I have swum\nabove an hour, but as the wind is against me, that has retarded my\nspeed; however, if I am not mistaken, I must be close to Tiboulen.\nBut what if I were mistaken?\" A shudder passed over him. He sought\nto tread water, in order to rest himself; but the sea was too"}
{"text": "to tread water, in order to rest himself; but the sea was too\nviolent, and he felt that he could not make use of this means of\nrecuperation.\n\"Well,\" said he, \"I will swim on until I am worn out, or the\ncramp seizes me, and then I shall sink;\" and he struck out with the\nenergy of despair.\nSuddenly the sky seemed to him to become still darker and more\ndense, and heavy clouds seemed to sweep down towards him; at the\nsame time he felt a sharp pain in his knee. He fancied for a moment\nthat he had been shot, and listened for the report; but he heard\nnothing. Then he put out his hand, and encountered an obstacle and\nwith another stroke knew that he had gained the shore.\nBefore him rose a grotesque mass of rocks, that resembled\nnothing so much as a vast fire petrified at the moment of its most\nfervent combustion. It was the Island of Tiboulen. Dantes rose,\nadvanced a few steps, and, with a fervent prayer of gratitude,\nstretched himself on the granite, which seemed to him softer than\ndown. Then, in spite of the wind and rain, he fell into the deep,\nsweet sleep of utter exhaustion. At the expiration of an hour\nEdmond was awakened by the roar of thunder. The tempest was let\nloose and beating the atmosphere with its mighty wings; from time\nto time a flash of lightning stretched across the heavens like a\nfiery serpent, lighting up the clouds that rolled on in vast\nchaotic waves.\nDantes had not been deceived — he had reached the first of the\ntwo islands, which was, in fact, Tiboulen. He knew that it was\nbarren and without shelter; but when the sea became more calm, he\nresolved to plunge into its waves again, and swim to Lemaire,\nequally arid, but larger, and consequently better adapted for\nconcealment.\nAn overhanging rock offered him a temporary shelter, and\nscarcely had he availed himself of it when the tempest burst forth\nin all its fury. Edmond felt the trembling of the rock beneath\nwhich he lay; the waves, dashing themselves against it, wetted him\nwith their spray. He was safely sheltered, and yet he felt dizzy inwith their spray. He was safely sheltered, and yet he felt dizzy in\nthe midst of the warring of the elements and the dazzling\nbrightness of the lightning. It seemed to him that the island\ntrembled to its base, and that it would, like a vessel at anchor,\nbreak moorings, and bear him off into the centre of the storm. He\nthen recollected that he had not eaten or drunk for four-and-twenty\nhours. He extended his hands, and drank greedily of the rainwater\nthat had lodged in a hollow of the rock.\nAs he rose, a flash of lightning, that seemed to rive the\nremotest heights of heaven, illumined the darkness. By its light,\nbetween the Island of Lemaire and Cape Croiselle, a quarter of a\nleague distant, Dantes saw a fishing-boat driven rapidly like a\nspectre before the power of winds and waves. A second after, he saw\nit again, approaching with frightful rapidity. Dantes cried at the\ntop of his voice to warn them of their danger, but they saw it\nthemselves. Another flash showed him four men clinging to the\nshattered mast and the rigging, while a fifth clung to the broken\nrudder.\nThe men he beheld saw him undoubtedly, for their cries were\ncarried to his ears by the wind. Above the splintered mast a sail\nrent to tatters was waving; suddenly the ropes that still held it\ngave way, and it disappeared in the darkness of the night like a\nvast sea-bird. At the same moment a violent crash was heard, and\ncries of distress. Dantes from his rocky perch saw the shattered\nvessel, and among the fragments the floating forms of the hapless\nsailors. Then all was dark again.\nDantes ran down the rocks at the risk of being himself dashed to\npieces; he listened, he groped about, but he heard and saw nothing\n— the cries had ceased, and the tempest continued to rage. By\ndegrees the wind abated, vast gray clouds rolled towards the west,\nand the blue firmament appeared studded with bright stars. Soon a\nred streak became visible in the horizon, the waves whitened, a\nlight played over them, and gilded their foaming crests with gold.\nIt was day.light played over them, and gilded their foaming crests with gold.\nIt was day.\nDantes stood mute and motionless before this majestic spectacle,\nas if he now beheld it for the first time; and indeed since his\ncaptivity in the Chateau d'If he had forgotten that such scenes\nwere ever to be witnessed. He turned towards the fortress, and\nlooked at both sea and land. The gloomy building rose from the\nbosom of the ocean with imposing majesty and seemed to dominate the\nscene. It was about five o'clock. The sea continued to get\ncalmer.\n\"In two or three hours,\" thought Dantes, \"the turnkey will enter\nmy chamber, find the body of my poor friend, recognize it, seek for\nme in vain, and give the alarm. Then the tunnel will be discovered;\nthe men who cast me into the sea and who must have heard the cry I\nuttered, will be questioned. Then boats filled with armed soldiers\nwill pursue the wretched fugitive. The cannon will warn every one\nto refuse shelter to a man wandering about naked and famished. The\npolice of Marseilles will be on the alert by land, whilst the\ngovernor pursues me by sea. I am cold, I am hungry. I have lost\neven the knife that saved me. O my God, I have suffered enough\nsurely! Have pity on me, and do for me what I am unable to do for\nmyself.\"\nAs Dantes (his eyes turned in the direction of the Chateau d'If)\nuttered this prayer, he saw off the farther point of the Island of\nPomegue a small vessel with lateen sail skimming the sea like a\ngull in search of prey; and with his sailor's eye he knew it to be\na Genoese tartan. She was coming out of Marseilles harbor, and was\nstanding out to sea rapidly, her sharp prow cleaving through the\nwaves. \"Oh,\" cried Edmond, \"to think that in half an hour I could\njoin her, did I not fear being questioned, detected, and conveyed\nback to Marseilles! What can I do? What story can I invent? under\npretext of trading along the coast, these men, who are in reality\nsmugglers, will prefer selling me to doing a good action. I must"}
{"text": "smugglers, will prefer selling me to doing a good action. I must\nwait. But I cannot —-I am starving. In a few hours my strength will\nbe utterly exhausted; besides, perhaps I have not been missed at\nthe fortress. I can pass as one of the sailors wrecked last night.\nMy story will be accepted, for there is no one left to contradict\nme.\"\nAs he spoke, Dantes looked toward the spot where the\nfishing-vessel had been wrecked, and started. The red cap of one of\nthe sailors hung to a point of the rock and some timbers that had\nformed part of the vessel's keel, floated at the foot of the crag.\nIn an instant Dantes' plan was formed. He swam to the cap, placed\nit on his head, seized one of the timbers, and struck out so as to\ncut across the course the vessel was taking.\n\"I am saved!\" murmured he. And this conviction restored his\nstrength.\nHe soon saw that the vessel, with the wind dead ahead, was\ntacking between the Chateau d'If and the tower of Planier. For an\ninstant he feared lest, instead of keeping in shore, she should\nstand out to sea; but he soon saw that she would pass, like most\nvessels bound for Italy, between the islands of Jaros and\nCalaseraigne. However, the vessel and the swimmer insensibly neared\none another, and in one of its tacks the tartan bore down within a\nquarter of a mile of him. He rose on the waves, making signs of\ndistress; but no one on board saw him, and the vessel stood on\nanother tack. Dantes would have shouted, but he knew that the wind\nwould drown his voice.\nIt was then he rejoiced at his precaution in taking the timber,\nfor without it he would have been unable, perhaps, to reach the\nvessel — certainly to return to shore, should he be unsuccessful in\nattracting attention.\nDantes, though almost sure as to what course the vessel would\ntake, had yet watched it anxiously until it tacked and stood\ntowards him. Then he advanced; but before they could meet, the\nvessel again changed her course. By a violent effort he rose half\nout of the water, waving his cap, and uttering a loud shoutout of the water, waving his cap, and uttering a loud shout\npeculiar to sailers. This time he was both seen and heard, and the\ntartan instantly steered towards him. At the same time, he saw they\nwere about to lower the boat.\nAn instant after, the boat, rowed by two men, advanced rapidly\ntowards him. Dantes let go of the timber, which he now thought to\nbe useless, and swam vigorously to meet them. But he had reckoned\ntoo much upon his strength, and then he realized how serviceable\nthe timber had been to him. His arms became stiff, his legs lost\ntheir flexibility, and he was almost breathless.\nHe shouted again. The two sailors redoubled their efforts, and\none of them cried in Italian, \"Courage!\"\nThe word reached his ear as a wave which he no longer had the\nstrength to surmount passed over his head. He rose again to the\nsurface, struggled with the last desperate effort of a drowning\nman, uttered a third cry, and felt himself sinking, as if the fatal\ncannon shot were again tied to his feet. The water passed over his\nhead, and the sky turned gray. A convulsive movement again brought\nhim to the surface. He felt himself seized by the hair, then he saw\nand heard nothing. He had fainted.\nWhen he opened his eyes Dantes found himself on the deck of the\ntartan. His first care was to see what course they were taking.\nThey were rapidly leaving the Chateau d'If behind. Dantes was so\nexhausted that the exclamation of joy he uttered was mistaken for a\nsigh.\nAs we have said, he was lying on the deck. A sailor was rubbing\nhis limbs with a woollen cloth; another, whom he recognized as the\none who had cried out \"Courage!\" held a gourd full of rum to his\nmouth; while the third, an old sailer, at once the pilot and\ncaptain, looked on with that egotistical pity men feel for a\nmisfortune that they have escaped yesterday, and which may overtake\nthem to-morrow.\nA few drops of the rum restored suspended animation, while the\nfriction of his limbs restored their elasticity.\n\"Who are you?\" said the pilot in bad French.friction of his limbs restored their elasticity.\n\"Who are you?\" said the pilot in bad French.\n\"I am,\" replied Dantes, in bad Italian, \"a Maltese sailor. We\nwere coming from Syracuse laden with grain. The storm of last night\novertook us at Cape Morgion, and we were wrecked on these\nrocks.\"\n\"Where do you come from?\"\n\"From these rocks that I had the good luck to cling to while our\ncaptain and the rest of the crew were all lost. I saw your vessel,\nand fearful of being left to perish on the desolate island, I swam\noff on a piece of wreckage to try and intercept your course. You\nhave saved my life, and I thank you,\" continued Dantes. \"I was lost\nwhen one of your sailors caught hold of my hair.\"\n\"It was I,\" said a sailor of a frank and manly appearance; \"and\nit was time, for you were sinking.\"\n\"Yes,\" returned Dantes, holding out his hand, \"I thank you\nagain.\"\n\"I almost hesitated, though,\" replied the sailor; \"you looked\nmore like a brigand than an honest man, with your beard six inches,\nand your hair a foot long.\" Dantes recollected that his hair and\nbeard had not been cut all the time he was at the Chateau d'If.\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"I made a vow, to our Lady of the Grotto not to\ncut my hair or beard for ten years if I were saved in a moment of\ndanger; but to-day the vow expires.\"\n\"Now what are we to do with you?\" said the captain.\n\"Alas, anything you please. My captain is dead; I have barely\nescaped; but I am a good sailor. Leave me at the first port you\nmake; I shall be sure to find employment.\"\n\"Do you know the Mediterranean?\"\n\"I have sailed over it since my childhood.\"\n\"You know the best harbors?\"\n\"There are few ports that I could not enter or leave with a\nbandage over my eyes.\"\n\"I say, captain,\" said the sailor who had cried \"Courage!\" to\nDantes, \"if what he says is true, what hinders his staying with\nus?\"\n\"If he says true,\" said the captain doubtingly. \"But in his\npresent condition he will promise anything, and take his chance of\nkeeping it afterwards.\"\n\"I will do more than I promise,\" said Dantes."}
{"text": "keeping it afterwards.\"\n\"I will do more than I promise,\" said Dantes.\n\"We shall see,\" returned the other, smiling.\n\"Where are you going?\" asked Dantes.\n\"To Leghorn.\"\n\"Then why, instead of tacking so frequently, do you not sail\nnearer the wind?\"\n\"Because we should run straight on to the Island of Rion.\"\n\"You shall pass it by twenty fathoms.\"\n\"Take the helm, and let us see what you know.\" The young man\ntook the helm, felt to see if the vessel answered the rudder\npromptly and seeing that, without being a first-rate sailer, she\nyet was tolerably obedient, —\n\"To the sheets,\" said he. The four seamen, who composed the\ncrew, obeyed, while the pilot looked on. \"Haul taut.\" — They\nobeyed.\n\"Belay.\" This order was also executed; and the vessel passed, as\nDantes had predicted, twenty fathoms to windward.\n\"Bravo!\" said the captain.\n\"Bravo!\" repeated the sailors. And they all looked with\nastonishment at this man whose eye now disclosed an intelligence\nand his body a vigor they had not thought him capable of\nshowing.\n\"You see,\" said Dantes, quitting the helm, \"I shall be of some\nuse to you, at least during the voyage. If you do not want me at\nLeghorn, you can leave me there, and I will pay you out of the\nfirst wages I get, for my food and the clothes you lend me.\"\n\"Ah,\" said the captain, \"we can agree very well, if you are\nreasonable.\"\n\"Give me what you give the others, and it will be all right,\"\nreturned Dantes.\n\"That's not fair,\" said the seaman who had saved Dantes; \"for\nyou know more than we do.\"\n\"What is that to you, Jacopo?\" returned the Captain. \"Every one\nis free to ask what he pleases.\"\n\"That's true,\" replied Jacopo; \"I only make a remark.\"\n\"Well, you would do much better to find him a jacket and a pair\nof trousers, if you have them.\"\n\"No,\" said Jacopo; \"but I have a shirt and a pair of\ntrousers.\"\n\"That is all I want,\" interrupted Dantes. Jacopo dived into the\nhold and soon returned with what Edmond wanted.\n\"Now, then, do you wish for anything else?\" said the patron.\"Now, then, do you wish for anything else?\" said the patron.\n\"A piece of bread and another glass of the capital rum I tasted,\nfor I have not eaten or drunk for a long time.\" He had not tasted\nfood for forty hours. A piece of bread was brought, and Jacopo\noffered him the gourd.\n\"Larboard your helm,\" cried the captain to the steersman. Dantes\nglanced that way as he lifted the gourd to his mouth; then paused\nwith hand in mid-air.\n\"Hollo! what's the matter at the Chateau d'If?\" said the\ncaptain.\nA small white cloud, which had attracted Dantes' attention,\ncrowned the summit of the bastion of the Chateau d'If. At the same\nmoment the faint report of a gun was heard. The sailors looked at\none another.\n\"What is this?\" asked the captain.\n\"A prisoner has escaped from the Chateau d'If, and they are\nfiring the alarm gun,\" replied Dantes. The captain glanced at him,\nbut he had lifted the rum to his lips and was drinking it with so\nmuch composure, that suspicions, if the captain had any, died\naway.\n\"At any rate,\" murmured he, \"if it be, so much the better, for I\nhave made a rare acquisition.\" Under pretence of being fatigued,\nDantes asked to take the helm; the steersman, glad to be relieved,\nlooked at the captain, and the latter by a sign indicated that he\nmight abandon it to his new comrade. Dantes could thus keep his\neyes on Marseilles.\n\"What is the day of the month?\" asked he of Jacopo, who sat down\nbeside him.\n\"The 28th of February.\"\n\"In what year?\"\n\"In what year — you ask me in what year?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied the young man, \"I ask you in what year!\"\n\"You have forgotten then?\"\n\"I got such a fright last night,\" replied Dantes, smiling, \"that\nI have almost lost my memory. I ask you what year is it?\"\n\"The year 1829,\" returned Jacopo. It was fourteen years day for\nday since Dantes' arrest. He was nineteen when he entered the\nChateau d'If; he was thirty-three when he escaped. A sorrowful\nsmile passed over his face; he asked himself what had become of\nMercedes, who must believe him dead. Then his eyes lighted up withMercedes, who must believe him dead. Then his eyes lighted up with\nhatred as he thought of the three men who had caused him so long\nand wretched a captivity. He renewed against Danglars, Fernand, and\nVillefort the oath of implacable vengeance he had made in his\ndungeon. This oath was no longer a vain menace; for the fastest\nsailer in the Mediterranean would have been unable to overtake the\nlittle tartan, that with every stitch of canvas set was flying\nbefore the wind to Leghorn.Dantes had not been a day on board before he had a very clear\nidea of the men with whom his lot had been cast. Without having\nbeen in the school of the Abbe Faria, the worthy master of The\nYoung Amelia (the name of the Genoese tartan) knew a smattering of\nall the tongues spoken on the shores of that large lake called the\nMediterranean, from the Arabic to the Provencal, and this, while it\nspared him interpreters, persons always troublesome and frequently\nindiscreet, gave him great facilities of communication, either with\nthe vessels he met at sea, with the small boats sailing along the\ncoast, or with the people without name, country, or occupation, who\nare always seen on the quays of seaports, and who live by hidden\nand mysterious means which we must suppose to be a direct gift of\nprovidence, as they have no visible means of support. It is fair to\nassume that Dantes was on board a smuggler.\nAt first the captain had received Dantes on board with a certain\ndegree of distrust. He was very well known to the customs officers\nof the coast; and as there was between these worthies and himself a\nperpetual battle of wits, he had at first thought that Dantes might\nbe an emissary of these industrious guardians of rights and duties,\nwho perhaps employed this ingenious means of learning some of the\nsecrets of his trade. But the skilful manner in which Dantes had\nhandled the lugger had entirely reassured him; and then, when he\nsaw the light plume of smoke floating above the bastion of the\nChateau d'If, and heard the distant report, he was instantly struck\nwith the idea that he had on board his vessel one whose coming and\ngoing, like that of kings, was accompanied with salutes of\nartillery. This made him less uneasy, it must be owned, than if the\nnew-comer had proved to be a customs officer; but this supposition\nalso disappeared like the first, when he beheld the perfect\ntranquillity of his recruit.\nEdmond thus had the advantage of knowing what the owner was,\nwithout the owner knowing who he was; and however the old sailor"}
{"text": "without the owner knowing who he was; and however the old sailor\nand his crew tried to \"pump\" him, they extracted nothing more from\nhim; he gave accurate descriptions of Naples and Malta, which he\nknew as well as Marseilles, and held stoutly to his first story.\nThus the Genoese, subtle as he was, was duped by Edmond, in whose\nfavor his mild demeanor, his nautical skill, and his admirable\ndissimulation, pleaded. Moreover, it is possible that the Genoese\nwas one of those shrewd persons who know nothing but what they\nshould know, and believe nothing but what they should believe.\nIn this state of mutual understanding, they reached Leghorn.\nHere Edmond was to undergo another trial; he was to find out\nwhether he could recognize himself, as he had not seen his own face\nfor fourteen years. He had preserved a tolerably good remembrance\nof what the youth had been, and was now to find out what the man\nhad become. His comrades believed that his vow was fulfilled. As he\nhad twenty times touched at Leghorn, he remembered a barber in St.\nFerdinand Street; he went there to have his beard and hair cut. The\nbarber gazed in amazement at this man with the long, thick and\nblack hair and beard, which gave his head the appearance of one of\nTitian's portraits. At this period it was not the fashion to wear\nso large a beard and hair so long; now a barber would only be\nsurprised if a man gifted with such advantages should consent\nvoluntarily to deprive himself of them. The Leghorn barber said\nnothing and went to work.\nWhen the operation was concluded, and Edmond felt that his chin\nwas completely smooth, and his hair reduced to its usual length, he\nasked for a hand-glass. He was now, as we have said,\nthree-and-thirty years of age, and his fourteen years' imprisonment\nhad produced a great transformation in his appearance. Dantes had\nentered the Chateau d'If with the round, open, smiling face of a\nyoung and happy man, with whom the early paths of life have been\nsmooth, and who anticipates a future corresponding with his past.smooth, and who anticipates a future corresponding with his past.\nThis was now all changed. The oval face was lengthened, his smiling\nmouth had assumed the firm and marked lines which betoken\nresolution; his eyebrows were arched beneath a brow furrowed with\nthought; his eyes were full of melancholy, and from their depths\noccasionally sparkled gloomy fires of misanthropy and hatred; his\ncomplexion, so long kept from the sun, had now that pale color\nwhich produces, when the features are encircled with black hair,\nthe aristocratic beauty of the man of the north; the profound\nlearning he had acquired had besides diffused over his features a\nrefined intellectual expression; and he had also acquired, being\nnaturally of a goodly stature, that vigor which a frame possesses\nwhich has so long concentrated all its force within itself.\nTo the elegance of a nervous and slight form had succeeded the\nsolidity of a rounded and muscular figure. As to his voice,\nprayers, sobs, and imprecations had changed it so that at times it\nwas of a singularly penetrating sweetness, and at others rough and\nalmost hoarse. Moreover, from being so long in twilight or\ndarkness, his eyes had acquired the faculty of distinguishing\nobjects in the night, common to the hyena and the wolf. Edmond\nsmiled when he beheld himself: it was impossible that his best\nfriend — if, indeed, he had any friend left — could recognize him;\nhe could not recognize himself.\nThe master of The Young Amelia, who was very desirous of\nretaining amongst his crew a man of Edmond's value, had offered to\nadvance him funds out of his future profits, which Edmond had\naccepted. His next care on leaving the barber's who had achieved\nhis first metamorphosis was to enter a shop and buy a complete\nsailor's suit — a garb, as we all know, very simple, and consisting\nof white trousers, a striped shirt, and a cap. It was in this\ncostume, and bringing back to Jacopo the shirt and trousers he had\nlent him, that Edmond reappeared before the captain of the lugger,lent him, that Edmond reappeared before the captain of the lugger,\nwho had made him tell his story over and over again before he could\nbelieve him, or recognize in the neat and trim sailor the man with\nthick and matted beard, hair tangled with seaweed, and body soaking\nin seabrine, whom he had picked up naked and nearly drowned.\nAttracted by his prepossessing appearance, he renewed his offers of\nan engagement to Dantes; but Dantes, who had his own projects,\nwould not agree for a longer time than three months.\nThe Young Amelia had a very active crew, very obedient to their\ncaptain, who lost as little time as possible. He had scarcely been\na week at Leghorn before the hold of his vessel was filled with\nprinted muslins, contraband cottons, English powder, and tobacco on\nwhich the excise had forgotten to put its mark. The master was to\nget all this out of Leghorn free of duties, and land it on the\nshores of Corsica, where certain speculators undertook to forward\nthe cargo to France. They sailed; Edmond was again cleaving the\nazure sea which had been the first horizon of his youth, and which\nhe had so often dreamed of in prison. He left Gorgone on his right\nand La Pianosa on his left, and went towards the country of Paoli\nand Napoleon. The next morning going on deck, as he always did at\nan early hour, the patron found Dantes leaning against the bulwarks\ngazing with intense earnestness at a pile of granite rocks, which\nthe rising sun tinged with rosy light. It was the Island of Monte\nCristo. The Young Amelia left it three-quarters of a league to the\nlarboard, and kept on for Corsica.\nDantes thought, as they passed so closely to the island whose\nname was so interesting to him, that he had only to leap into the\nsea and in half an hour be at the promised land. But then what\ncould he do without instruments to discover his treasure, without\narms to defend himself? Besides, what would the sailors say? What\nwould the patron think? He must wait.\nFortunately, Dantes had learned how to wait; he had waited"}
{"text": "would the patron think? He must wait.\nFortunately, Dantes had learned how to wait; he had waited\nfourteen years for his liberty, and now he was free he could wait\nat least six months or a year for wealth. Would he not have\naccepted liberty without riches if it had been offered to him?\nBesides, were not those riches chimerical? — offspring of the brain\nof the poor Abbe Faria, had they not died with him? It is true, the\nletter of the Cardinal Spada was singularly circumstantial, and\nDantes repeated it to himself, from one end to the other, for he\nhad not forgotten a word.\nEvening came, and Edmond saw the island tinged with the shades\nof twilight, and then disappear in the darkness from all eyes but\nhis own, for he, with vision accustomed to the gloom of a prison,\ncontinued to behold it last of all, for he remained alone upon\ndeck. The next morn broke off the coast of Aleria; all day they\ncoasted, and in the evening saw fires lighted on land; the position\nof these was no doubt a signal for landing, for a ship's lantern\nwas hung up at the mast-head instead of the streamer, and they came\nto within a gunshot of the shore. Dantes noticed that the captain\nof The Young Amelia had, as he neared the land, mounted two small\nculverins, which, without making much noise, can throw a four ounce\nball a thousand paces or so.\nBut on this occasion the precaution was superfluous, and\neverything proceeded with the utmost smoothness and politeness.\nFour shallops came off with very little noise alongside the lugger,\nwhich, no doubt, in acknowledgement of the compliment, lowered her\nown shallop into the sea, and the five boats worked so well that by\ntwo o'clock in the morning all the cargo was out of The Young\nAmelia and on terra firma. The same night, such a man of regularity\nwas the patron of The Young Amelia, the profits were divided, and\neach man had a hundred Tuscan livres, or about eighty francs. But\nthe voyage was not ended. They turned the bowsprit towards\nSardinia, where they intended to take in a cargo, which was toSardinia, where they intended to take in a cargo, which was to\nreplace what had been discharged. The second operation was as\nsuccessful as the first, The Young Amelia was in luck. This new\ncargo was destined for the coast of the Duchy of Lucca, and\nconsisted almost entirely of Havana cigars, sherry, and Malaga\nwines.\nThere they had a bit of a skirmish in getting rid of the duties;\nthe excise was, in truth, the everlasting enemy of the patron of\nThe Young Amelia. A customs officer was laid low, and two sailors\nwounded; Dantes was one of the latter, a ball having touched him in\nthe left shoulder. Dantes was almost glad of this affray, and\nalmost pleased at being wounded, for they were rude lessons which\ntaught him with what eye he could view danger, and with what\nendurance he could bear suffering. He had contemplated danger with\na smile, and when wounded had exclaimed with the great philosopher,\n\"Pain, thou art not an evil.\" He had, moreover, looked upon the\ncustoms officer wounded to death, and, whether from heat of blood\nproduced by the encounter, or the chill of human sentiment, this\nsight had made but slight impression upon him. Dantes was on the\nway he desired to follow, and was moving towards the end he wished\nto achieve; his heart was in a fair way of petrifying in his bosom.\nJacopo, seeing him fall, had believed him killed, and rushing\ntowards him raised him up, and then attended to him with all the\nkindness of a devoted comrade.\nThis world was not then so good as Doctor Pangloss believed it,\nneither was it so wicked as Dantes thought it, since this man, who\nhad nothing to expect from his comrade but the inheritance of his\nshare of the prize-money, manifested so much sorrow when he saw him\nfall. Fortunately, as we have said, Edmond was only wounded, and\nwith certain herbs gathered at certain seasons, and sold to the\nsmugglers by the old Sardinian women, the wound soon closed. Edmond\nthen resolved to try Jacopo, and offered him in return for his\nattention a share of his prize-money, but Jacopo refused itattention a share of his prize-money, but Jacopo refused it\nindignantly.\nAs a result of the sympathetic devotion which Jacopo had from\nthe first bestowed on Edmond, the latter was moved to a certain\ndegree of affection. But this sufficed for Jacopo, who\ninstinctively felt that Edmond had a right to superiority of\nposition — a superiority which Edmond had concealed from all\nothers. And from this time the kindness which Edmond showed him was\nenough for the brave seaman.\nThen in the long days on board ship, when the vessel, gliding on\nwith security over the azure sea, required no care but the hand of\nthe helmsman, thanks to the favorable winds that swelled her sails,\nEdmond, with a chart in his hand, became the instructor of Jacopo,\nas the poor Abbe Faria had been his tutor. He pointed out to him\nthe bearings of the coast, explained to him the variations of the\ncompass, and taught him to read in that vast book opened over our\nheads which they call heaven, and where God writes in azure with\nletters of diamonds. And when Jacopo inquired of him, \"What is the\nuse of teaching all these things to a poor sailor like me?\" Edmond\nreplied, \"Who knows? You may one day be the captain of a vessel.\nYour fellow-countryman, Bonaparte, became emperor.\" We had\nforgotten to say that Jacopo was a Corsican.\nTwo months and a half elapsed in these trips, and Edmond had\nbecome as skilful a coaster as he had been a hardy seaman; he had\nformed an acquaintance with all the smugglers on the coast, and\nlearned all the Masonic signs by which these half pirates recognize\neach other. He had passed and re-passed his Island of Monte Cristo\ntwenty times, but not once had he found an opportunity of landing\nthere. He then formed a resolution. As soon as his engagement with\nthe patron of The Young Amelia ended, he would hire a small vessel\non his own account — for in his several voyages he had amassed a\nhundred piastres — and under some pretext land at the Island of\nMonte Cristo. Then he would be free to make his researches, not"}
{"text": "Monte Cristo. Then he would be free to make his researches, not\nperhaps entirely at liberty, for he would be doubtless watched by\nthose who accompanied him. But in this world we must risk\nsomething. Prison had made Edmond prudent, and he was desirous of\nrunning no risk whatever. But in vain did he rack his imagination;\nfertile as it was, he could not devise any plan for reaching the\nisland without companionship.\nDantes was tossed about on these doubts and wishes, when the\npatron, who had great confidence in him, and was very desirous of\nretaining him in his service, took him by the arm one evening and\nled him to a tavern on the Via del' Oglio, where the leading\nsmugglers of Leghorn used to congregate and discuss affairs\nconnected with their trade. Already Dantes had visited this\nmaritime Bourse two or three times, and seeing all these hardy\nfree-traders, who supplied the whole coast for nearly two hundred\nleagues in extent, he had asked himself what power might not that\nman attain who should give the impulse of his will to all these\ncontrary and diverging minds. This time it was a great matter that\nwas under discussion, connected with a vessel laden with Turkey\ncarpets, stuffs of the Levant, and cashmeres. It was necessary to\nfind some neutral ground on which an exchange could be made, and\nthen to try and land these goods on the coast of France. If the\nventure was successful the profit would be enormous, there would be\na gain of fifty or sixty piastres each for the crew.\nThe patron of The Young Amelia proposed as a place of landing\nthe Island of Monte Cristo, which being completely deserted, and\nhaving neither soldiers nor revenue officers, seemed to have been\nplaced in the midst of the ocean since the time of the heathen\nOlympus by Mercury, the god of merchants and robbers, classes of\nmankind which we in modern times have separated if not made\ndistinct, but which antiquity appears to have included in the same\ncategory. At the mention of Monte Cristo Dantes started with joy;category. At the mention of Monte Cristo Dantes started with joy;\nhe rose to conceal his emotion, and took a turn around the smoky\ntavern, where all the languages of the known world were jumbled in\na lingua franca. When he again joined the two persons who had been\ndiscussing the matter, it had been decided that they should touch\nat Monte Cristo and set out on the following night. Edmond, being\nconsulted, was of opinion that the island afforded every possible\nsecurity, and that great enterprises to be well done should be done\nquickly. Nothing then was altered in the plan, and orders were\ngiven to get under weigh next night, and, wind and weather\npermitting, to make the neutral island by the following day.Thus, at length, by one of the unexpected strokes of fortune\nwhich sometimes befall those who have for a long time been the\nvictims of an evil destiny, Dantes was about to secure the\nopportunity he wished for, by simple and natural means, and land on\nthe island without incurring any suspicion. One night more and he\nwould be on his way.\nThe night was one of feverish distraction, and in its progress\nvisions good and evil passed through Dantes' mind. If he closed his\neyes, he saw Cardinal Spada's letter written on the wall in\ncharacters of flame — if he slept for a moment the wildest dreams\nhaunted his brain. He ascended into grottos paved with emeralds,\nwith panels of rubies, and the roof glowing with diamond\nstalactites. Pearls fell drop by drop, as subterranean waters\nfilter in their caves. Edmond, amazed, wonderstruck, filled his\npockets with the radiant gems and then returned to daylight, when\nbe discovered that his prizes had all changed into common pebbles.\nHe then endeavored to re-enter the marvellous grottos, but they had\nsuddenly receded, and now the path became a labyrinth, and then the\nentrance vanished, and in vain did he tax his memory for the magic\nand mysterious word which opened the splendid caverns of Ali Baba\nto the Arabian fisherman. All was useless, the treasure\ndisappeared, and had again reverted to the genii from whom for a\nmoment he had hoped to carry it off. The day came at length, and\nwas almost as feverish as the night had been, but it brought reason\nto the aid of imagination, and Dantes was then enabled to arrange a\nplan which had hitherto been vague and unsettled in his brain.\nNight came, and with it the preparation for departure, and these\npreparations served to conceal Dantes' agitation. He had by degrees\nassumed such authority over his companions that he was almost like\na commander on board; and as his orders were always clear,\ndistinct, and easy of execution, his comrades obeyed him with\ncelerity and pleasure.\nThe old patron did not interfere, for he too had recognized thecelerity and pleasure.\nThe old patron did not interfere, for he too had recognized the\nsuperiority of Dantes over the crew and himself. He saw in the\nyoung man his natural successor, and regretted that he had not a\ndaughter, that he might have bound Edmond to him by a more secure\nalliance. At seven o'clock in the evening all was ready, and at ten\nminutes past seven they doubled the lighthouse just as the beacon\nwas kindled. The sea was calm, and, with a fresh breeze from the\nsouth-east, they sailed beneath a bright blue sky, in which God\nalso lighted up in turn his beacon lights, each of which is a\nworld. Dantes told them that all hands might turn in, and he would\ntake the helm. When the Maltese (for so they called Dantes) had\nsaid this, it was sufficient, and all went to their bunks\ncontentedly. This frequently happened. Dantes, cast from solitude\ninto the world, frequently experienced an imperious desire for\nsolitude; and what solitude is more complete, or more poetical,\nthan that of a ship floating in isolation on the sea during the\nobscurity of the night, in the silence of immensity, and under the\neye of heaven?\nNow this solitude was peopled with his thoughts, the night\nlighted up by his illusions, and the silence animated by his\nanticipations. When the patron awoke, the vessel was hurrying on\nwith every sail set, and every sail full with the breeze. They were\nmaking nearly ten knots an hour. The Island of Monte Cristo loomed\nlarge in the horizon. Edmond resigned the lugger to the master's\ncare, and went and lay down in his hammock; but, in spite of a\nsleepless night, he could not close his eyes for a moment. Two\nhours afterwards he came on deck, as the boat was about to double\nthe Island of Elba. They were just abreast of Mareciana, and beyond\nthe flat but verdant Island of La Pianosa. The peak of Monte Cristo\nreddened by the burning sun, was seen against the azure sky. Dantes\nordered the helmsman to put down his helm, in order to leave La\nPianosa to starboard, as he knew that he should shorten his course"}
{"text": "Pianosa to starboard, as he knew that he should shorten his course\nby two or three knots. About five o'clock in the evening the island\nwas distinct, and everything on it was plainly perceptible, owing\nto that clearness of the atmosphere peculiar to the light which the\nrays of the sun cast at its setting.\nEdmond gazed very earnestly at the mass of rocks which gave out\nall the variety of twilight colors, from the brightest pink to the\ndeepest blue; and from time to time his cheeks flushed, his brow\ndarkened, and a mist passed over his eyes. Never did gamester,\nwhose whole fortune is staked on one cast of the die, experience\nthe anguish which Edmond felt in his paroxysms of hope. Night came,\nand at ten o'clock they anchored. The Young Amelia was first at the\nrendezvous. In spite of his usual command over himself, Dantes\ncould not restrain his impetuosity. He was the first to jump on\nshore; and had he dared, he would, like Lucius Brutus, have \"kissed\nhis mother earth.\" It was dark, but at eleven o'clock the moon rose\nin the midst of the ocean, whose every wave she silvered, and then,\n\"ascending high,\" played in floods of pale light on the rocky hills\nof this second Pelion.\nThe island was familiar to the crew of The Young Amelia, — it\nwas one of her regular haunts. As to Dantes, he had passed it on\nhis voyage to and from the Levant, but never touched at it. He\nquestioned Jacopo. \"Where shall we pass the night?\" he\ninquired.\n\"Why, on board the tartan,\" replied the sailor.\n\"Should we not do better in the grottos?\"\n\"What grottos?\"\n\"Why, the grottos — caves of the island.\"\n\"I do not know of any grottos,\" replied Jacopo. The cold sweat\nsprang forth on Dantes' brow.\n\"What, are there no grottos at Monte Cristo?\" he asked.\n\"None.\"\nFor a moment Dantes was speechless; then he remembered that\nthese caves might have been filled up by some accident, or even\nstopped up, for the sake of greater security, by Cardinal Spada.\nThe point was, then, to discover the hidden entrance. It wasThe point was, then, to discover the hidden entrance. It was\nuseless to search at night, and Dantes therefore delayed all\ninvestigation until the morning. Besides, a signal made half a\nleague out at sea, and to which The Young Amelia replied by a\nsimilar signal, indicated that the moment for business had come.\nThe boat that now arrived, assured by the answering signal that all\nwas well, soon came in sight, white and silent as a phantom, and\ncast anchor within a cable's length of shore.\nThen the landing began. Dantes reflected, as he worked, on the\nshout of joy which, with a single word, he could evoke from all\nthese men, if he gave utterance to the one unchanging thought that\npervaded his heart; but, far from disclosing this precious secret,\nhe almost feared that he had already said too much, and by his\nrestlessness and continual questions, his minute observations and\nevident pre-occupation, aroused suspicions. Fortunately, as\nregarded this circumstance at least, his painful past gave to his\ncountenance an indelible sadness, and the glimmerings of gayety\nseen beneath this cloud were indeed but transitory.\nNo one had the slightest suspicion; and when next day, taking a\nfowling-piece, powder, and shot, Dantes declared his intention to\ngo and kill some of the wild goats that were seen springing from\nrock to rock, his wish was construed into a love of sport, or a\ndesire for solitude. However, Jacopo insisted on following him, and\nDantes did not oppose this, fearing if he did so that he might\nincur distrust. Scarcely, however, had they gone a quarter of a\nleague when, having killed a kid, he begged Jacopo to take it to\nhis comrades, and request them to cook it, and when ready to let\nhim know by firing a gun. This and some dried fruits and a flask of\nMonte Pulciano, was the bill of fare. Dantes went on, looking from\ntime to time behind and around about him. Having reached the summit\nof a rock, he saw, a thousand feet beneath him, his companions,\nwhom Jacopo had rejoined, and who were all busy preparing thewhom Jacopo had rejoined, and who were all busy preparing the\nrepast which Edmond's skill as a marksman had augmented with a\ncapital dish.\nEdmond looked at them for a moment with the sad and gentle smile\nof a man superior to his fellows. \"In two hours' time,\" said he,\n\"these persons will depart richer by fifty piastres each, to go and\nrisk their lives again by endeavoring to gain fifty more; then they\nwill return with a fortune of six hundred francs, and waste this\ntreasure in some city with the pride of sultans and the insolence\nof nabobs. At this moment hope makes me despise their riches, which\nseem to me contemptible. Yet perchance to-morrow deception will so\nact on me, that I shall, on compulsion, consider such a\ncontemptible possession as the utmost happiness. Oh, no!\" exclaimed\nEdmond, \"that will not be. The wise, unerring Faria could not be\nmistaken in this one thing. Besides, it were better to die than to\ncontinue to lead this low and wretched life.\" Thus Dantes, who but\nthree months before had no desire but liberty had now not liberty\nenough, and panted for wealth. The cause was not in Dantes, but in\nprovidence, who, while limiting the power of man, has filled him\nwith boundless desires.\nMeanwhile, by a cleft between two walls of rock, following a\npath worn by a torrent, and which, in all human probability, human\nfoot had never before trod, Dantes approached the spot where he\nsupposed the grottos must have existed. Keeping along the shore,\nand examining the smallest object with serious attention, he\nthought he could trace, on certain rocks, marks made by the hand of\nman.\nTime, which encrusts all physical substances with its mossy\nmantle, as it invests all things of the mind with forgetfulness,\nseemed to have respected these signs, which apparently had been\nmade with some degree of regularity, and probably with a definite\npurpose. Occasionally the marks were hidden under tufts of myrtle,\nwhich spread into large bushes laden with blossoms, or beneath"}
{"text": "which spread into large bushes laden with blossoms, or beneath\nparasitical lichen. So Edmond had to separate the branches or brush\naway the moss to know where the guide-marks were. The sight of\nmarks renewed Edmond fondest hopes. Might it not have been the\ncardinal himself who had first traced them, in order that they\nmight serve as a guide for his nephew in the event of a\ncatastrophe, which he could not foresee would have been so\ncomplete. This solitary place was precisely suited to the\nrequirements of a man desirous of burying treasure. Only, might not\nthese betraying marks have attracted other eyes than those for whom\nthey were made? and had the dark and wondrous island indeed\nfaithfully guarded its precious secret?\nIt seemed, however, to Edmond, who was hidden from his comrades\nby the inequalities of the ground, that at sixty paces from the\nharbor the marks ceased; nor did they terminate at any grotto. A\nlarge round rock, placed solidly on its base, was the only spot to\nwhich they seemed to lead. Edmond concluded that perhaps instead of\nhaving reached the end of the route he had only explored its\nbeginning, and he therefore turned round and retraced his\nsteps.\nMeanwhile his comrades had prepared the repast, had got some\nwater from a spring, spread out the fruit and bread, and cooked the\nkid. Just at the moment when they were taking the dainty animal\nfrom the spit, they saw Edmond springing with the boldness of a\nchamois from rock to rock, and they fired the signal agreed upon.\nThe sportsman instantly changed his direction, and ran quickly\ntowards them. But even while they watched his daring progress,\nEdmond's foot slipped, and they saw him stagger on the edge of a\nrock and disappear. They all rushed towards him, for all loved\nEdmond in spite of his superiority; yet Jacopo reached him\nfirst.\nHe found Edmond lying prone, bleeding, and almost senseless. He\nhad rolled down a declivity of twelve or fifteen feet. They poured\na little rum down his throat, and this remedy which had before beena little rum down his throat, and this remedy which had before been\nso beneficial to him, produced the same effect as formerly. Edmond\nopened his eyes, complained of great pain in his knee, a feeling of\nheaviness in his head, and severe pains in his loins. They wished\nto carry him to the shore; but when they touched him, although\nunder Jacopo's directions, he declared, with heavy groans, that he\ncould not bear to be moved.\nIt may be supposed that Dantes did not now think of his dinner,\nbut he insisted that his comrades, who had not his reasons for\nfasting, should have their meal. As for himself, he declared that\nhe had only need of a little rest, and that when they returned he\nshould be easier. The sailors did not require much urging. They\nwere hungry, and the smell of the roasted kid was very savory, and\nyour tars are not very ceremonious. An hour afterwards they\nreturned. All that Edmond had been able to do was to drag himself\nabout a dozen paces forward to lean against a moss-grown rock.\nBut, instead of growing easier, Dantes' pains appeared to\nincrease in violence. The old patron, who was obliged to sail in\nthe morning in order to land his cargo on the frontiers of Piedmont\nand France, between Nice and Frejus, urged Dantes to try and rise.\nEdmond made great exertions in order to comply; but at each effort\nhe fell back, moaning and turning pale.\n\"He has broken his ribs,\" said the commander, in a low voice.\n\"No matter; he is an excellent fellow, and we must not leave him.\nWe will try and carry him on board the tartan.\" Dantes declared,\nhowever, that he would rather die where he was than undergo the\nagony which the slightest movement cost him. \"Well,\" said the\npatron, \"let what may happen, it shall never be said that we\ndeserted a good comrade like you. We will not go till evening.\"\nThis very much astonished the sailors, although, not one opposed\nit. The patron was so strict that this was the first time they had\never seen him give up an enterprise, or even delay in itsever seen him give up an enterprise, or even delay in its\nexecution. Dantes would not allow that any such infraction of\nregular and proper rules should be made in his favor. \"No, no,\" he\nsaid to the patron, \"I was awkward, and it is just that I pay the\npenalty of my clumsiness. Leave me a small supply of biscuit, a\ngun, powder, and balls, to kill the kids or defend myself at need,\nand a pickaxe, that I may build a shelter if you delay in coming\nback for me.\"\n\"But you'll die of hunger,\" said the patron.\n\"I would rather do so,\" was Edmond reply, \"than suffer the\ninexpressible agonies which the slightest movement causes me.\" The\npatron turned towards his vessel, which was rolling on the swell in\nthe little harbor, and, with sails partly set, would be ready for\nsea when her toilet should be completed.\n\"What are we to do, Maltese?\" asked the captain. \"We cannot\nleave you here so, and yet we cannot stay.\"\n\"Go, go!\" exclaimed Dantes.\n\"We shall be absent at least a week,\" said the patron, \"and then\nwe must run out of our course to come here and take you up\nagain.\"\n\"Why,\" said Dantes, \"if in two or three days you hail any\nfishing-boat, desire them to come here to me. I will pay\ntwenty-five piastres for my passage back to Leghorn. If you do not\ncome across one, return for me.\" The patron shook his head.\n\"Listen, Captain Baldi; there's one way of settling this,\" said\nJacopo. \"Do you go, and I will stay and take care of the wounded\nman.\"\n\"And give up your share of the venture,\" said Edmond, \"to remain\nwith me?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Jacopo, \"and without any hesitation.\"\n\"You are a good fellow and a kind-hearted messmate,\" replied\nEdmond, \"and heaven will recompense you for your generous\nintentions; but I do not wish any one to stay with me. A day or two\nof rest will set me up, and I hope I shall find among the rocks\ncertain herbs most excellent for bruises.\"\nA peculiar smile passed over Dantes' lips; he squeezed Jacopo's\nhand warmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain —hand warmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain —\nand remain alone. The smugglers left with Edmond what he had\nrequested and set sail, but not without turning about several\ntimes, and each time making signs of a cordial farewell, to which\nEdmond replied with his hand only, as if he could not move the rest\nof his body. Then, when they had disappeared, he said with a smile,\n— \"'Tis strange that it should be among such men that we find\nproofs of friendship and devotion.\" Then he dragged himself\ncautiously to the top of a rock, from which he had a full view of\nthe sea, and thence he saw the tartan complete her preparations for\nsailing, weigh anchor, and, balancing herself as gracefully as a\nwater-fowl ere it takes to the wing, set sail. At the end of an\nhour she was completely out of sight; at least, it was impossible\nfor the wounded man to see her any longer from the spot where he\nwas. Then Dantes rose more agile and light than the kid among the\nmyrtles and shrubs of these wild rocks, took his gun in one hand,\nhis pickaxe in the other, and hastened towards the rock on which\nthe marks he had noted terminated. \"And now,\" he exclaimed,\nremembering the tale of the Arabian fisherman, which Faria had\nrelated to him, \"now, open sesame!\""}
{"text": "The sun had nearly reached the meridian, and his scorching rays\nfell full on the rocks, which seemed themselves sensible of the\nheat. Thousands of grasshoppers, hidden in the bushes, chirped with\na monotonous and dull note; the leaves of the myrtle and olive\ntrees waved and rustled in the wind. At every step that Edmond took\nhe disturbed the lizards glittering with the hues of the emerald;\nafar off he saw the wild goats bounding from crag to crag. In a\nword, the island was inhabited, yet Edmond felt himself alone,\nguided by the hand of God. He felt an indescribable sensation\nsomewhat akin to dread — that dread of the daylight which even in\nthe desert makes us fear we are watched and observed. This feeling\nwas so strong that at the moment when Edmond was about to begin his\nlabor, he stopped, laid down his pickaxe, seized his gun, mounted\nto the summit of the highest rock, and from thence gazed round in\nevery direction.\nBut it was not upon Corsica, the very houses of which he could\ndistinguish; or on Sardinia; or on the Island of Elba, with its\nhistorical associations; or upon the almost imperceptible line that\nto the experienced eye of a sailor alone revealed the coast of\nGenoa the proud, and Leghorn the commercial, that he gazed. It was\nat the brigantine that had left in the morning, and the tartan that\nhad just set sail, that Edmond fixed his eyes. The first was just\ndisappearing in the straits of Bonifacio; the other, following an\nopposite direction, was about to round the Island of Corsica. This\nsight reassured him. He then looked at the objects near him. He saw\nthat he was on the highest point of the island, — a statue on this\nvast pedestal of granite, nothing human appearing in sight, while\nthe blue ocean beat against the base of the island, and covered it\nwith a fringe of foam. Then he descended with cautious and slow\nstep, for he dreaded lest an accident similar to that he had so\nadroitly feigned should happen in reality.\nDantes, as we have said, had traced the marks along the rocks,Dantes, as we have said, had traced the marks along the rocks,\nand he had noticed that they led to a small creek. which was hidden\nlike the bath of some ancient nymph. This creek was sufficiently\nwide at its mouth, and deep in the centre, to admit of the entrance\nof a small vessel of the lugger class, which would be perfectly\nconcealed from observation.\nThen following the clew that, in the hands of the Abbe Faria,\nhad been so skilfully used to guide him through the Daedalian\nlabyrinth of probabilities, he thought that the Cardinal Spada,\nanxious not to be watched, had entered the creek, concealed his\nlittle barque, followed the line marked by the notches in the rock,\nand at the end of it had buried his treasure. It was this idea that\nhad brought Dantes back to the circular rock. One thing only\nperplexed Edmond, and destroyed his theory. How could this rock,\nwhich weighed several tons, have been lifted to this spot, without\nthe aid of many men? Suddenly an idea flashed across his mind.\nInstead of raising it, thought he, they have lowered it. And he\nsprang from the rock in order to inspect the base on which it had\nformerly stood. He soon perceived that a slope had been formed, and\nthe rock had slid along this until it stopped at the spot it now\noccupied. A large stone had served as a wedge; flints and pebbles\nhad been inserted around it, so as to conceal the orifice; this\nspecies of masonry had been covered with earth, and grass and weeds\nhad grown there, moss had clung to the stones, myrtle-bushes had\ntaken root, and the old rock seemed fixed to the earth.\nDantes dug away the earth carefully, and detected, or fancied he\ndetected, the ingenious artifice. He attacked this wall, cemented\nby the hand of time, with his pickaxe. After ten minutes' labor the\nwall gave way, and a hole large enough to insert the arm was\nopened. Dantes went and cut the strongest olive-tree he could find,\nstripped off its branches, inserted it in the hole, and used it as\na lever. But the rock was too heavy, and too firmly wedged, to bea lever. But the rock was too heavy, and too firmly wedged, to be\nmoved by any one man, were he Hercules himself. Dantes saw that he\nmust attack the wedge. But how? He cast his eyes around, and saw\nthe horn full of powder which his friend Jacopo had left him. He\nsmiled; the infernal invention would serve him for this purpose.\nWith the aid of his pickaxe, Dantes, after the manner of a\nlabor-saving pioneer, dug a mine between the upper rock and the one\nthat supported it, filled it with powder, then made a match by\nrolling his handkerchief in saltpetre. He lighted it and retired.\nThe explosion soon followed; the upper rock was lifted from its\nbase by the terrific force of the powder; the lower one flew into\npieces; thousands of insects escaped from the aperture Dantes had\npreviously formed, and a huge snake, like the guardian demon of the\ntreasure, rolled himself along in darkening coils, and\ndisappeared.\nDantes approached the upper rock, which now, without any\nsupport, leaned towards the sea. The intrepid treasure-seeker\nwalked round it, and, selecting the spot from whence it appeared\nmost susceptible to attack, placed his lever in one of the\ncrevices, and strained every nerve to move the mass. The rock,\nalready shaken by the explosion, tottered on its base. Dantes\nredoubled his efforts; he seemed like one of the ancient Titans,\nwho uprooted the mountains to hurl against the father of the gods.\nThe rock yielded, rolled over, bounded from point to point, and\nfinally disappeared in the ocean.\nOn the spot it had occupied was a circular space, exposing an\niron ring let into a square flag-stone. Dantes uttered a cry of joy\nand surprise; never had a first attempt been crowned with more\nperfect success. He would fain have continued, but his knees\ntrembled, and his heart beat so violently, and his sight became so\ndim, that he was forced to pause. This feeling lasted but for a\nmoment. Edmond inserted his lever in the ring and exerted all his\nstrength; the flag-stone yielded, and disclosed steps that"}
{"text": "strength; the flag-stone yielded, and disclosed steps that\ndescended until they were lost in the obscurity of a subterraneous\ngrotto. Any one else would have rushed on with a cry of joy. Dantes\nturned pale, hesitated, and reflected. \"Come,\" said he to himself,\n\"be a man. I am accustomed to adversity. I must not be cast down by\nthe discovery that I have been deceived. What, then, would be the\nuse of all I have suffered? The heart breaks when, after having\nbeen elated by flattering hopes, it sees all its illusions\ndestroyed. Faria has dreamed this; the Cardinal Spada buried no\ntreasure here; perhaps he never came here, or if he did, Caesar\nBorgia, the intrepid adventurer, the stealthy and indefatigable\nplunderer, has followed him, discovered his traces, pursued them as\nI have done, raised the stone, and descending before me, has left\nme nothing.\" He remained motionless and pensive, his eyes fixed on\nthe gloomy aperture that was open at his feet.\n\"Now that I expect nothing, now that I no longer entertain the\nslightest hopes, the end of this adventure becomes simply a matter\nof curiosity.\" And he remained again motionless and thoughtful.\n\"Yes, yes; this is an adventure worthy a place in the varied\ncareer of that royal bandit. This fabulous event formed but a link\nin a long chain of marvels. Yes, Borgia has been here, a torch in\none hand, a sword in the other, and within twenty paces, at the\nfoot of this rock, perhaps two guards kept watch on land and sea,\nwhile their master descended, as I am about to descend, dispelling\nthe darkness before his awe-inspiring progress.\"\n\"But what was the fate of the guards who thus possessed his\nsecret?\" asked Dantes of himself.\n\"The fate,\" replied he, smiling, \"of those who buried\nAlaric.\"\n\"Yet, had he come,\" thought Dantes, \"he would have found the\ntreasure, and Borgia, he who compared Italy to an artichoke, which\nhe could devour leaf by leaf, knew too well the value of time to\nwaste it in replacing this rock. I will go down.\"waste it in replacing this rock. I will go down.\"\nThen he descended, a smile on his lips, and murmuring that last\nword of human philosophy, \"Perhaps!\" But instead of the darkness,\nand the thick and mephitic atmosphere he had expected to find,\nDantes saw a dim and bluish light, which, as well as the air,\nentered, not merely by the aperture he had just formed, but by the\ninterstices and crevices of the rock which were visible from\nwithout, and through which he could distinguish the blue sky and\nthe waving branches of the evergreen oaks, and the tendrils of the\ncreepers that grew from the rocks. After having stood a few minutes\nin the cavern, the atmosphere of which was rather warm than damp,\nDantes' eye, habituated as it was to darkness, could pierce even to\nthe remotest angles of the cavern, which was of granite that\nsparkled like diamonds. \"Alas,\" said Edmond, smiling, \"these are\nthe treasures the cardinal has left; and the good abbe, seeing in a\ndream these glittering walls, has indulged in fallacious\nhopes.\"\nBut he called to mind the words of the will, which he knew by\nheart. \"In the farthest angle of the second opening,\" said the\ncardinal's will. He had only found the first grotto; he had now to\nseek the second. Dantes continued his search. He reflected that\nthis second grotto must penetrate deeper into the island; he\nexamined the stones, and sounded one part of the wall where he\nfancied the opening existed, masked for precaution's sake. The\npickaxe struck for a moment with a dull sound that drew out of\nDantes' forehead large drops of perspiration. At last it seemed to\nhim that one part of the wall gave forth a more hollow and deeper\necho; he eagerly advanced, and with the quickness of perception\nthat no one but a prisoner possesses, saw that there, in all\nprobability, the opening must be.\nHowever, he, like Caesar Borgia, knew the value of time; and, in\norder to avoid fruitless toil, he sounded all the other walls with\nhis pickaxe, struck the earth with the butt of his gun, and findinghis pickaxe, struck the earth with the butt of his gun, and finding\nnothing that appeared suspicious, returned to that part of the wall\nwhence issued the consoling sound he had before heard. He again\nstruck it, and with greater force. Then a singular thing occurred.\nAs he struck the wall, pieces of stucco similar to that used in the\nground work of arabesques broke off, and fell to the ground in\nflakes, exposing a large white stone. The aperture of the rock had\nbeen closed with stones, then this stucco had been applied, and\npainted to imitate granite. Dantes struck with the sharp end of his\npickaxe, which entered someway between the interstices. It was\nthere he must dig. But by some strange play of emotion, in\nproportion as the proofs that Faria, had not been deceived became\nstronger, so did his heart give way, and a feeling of\ndiscouragement stole over him. This last proof, instead of giving\nhim fresh strength, deprived him of it; the pickaxe descended, or\nrather fell; he placed it on the ground, passed his hand over his\nbrow, and remounted the stairs, alleging to himself, as an excuse,\na desire to be assured that no one was watching him, but in reality\nbecause he felt that he was about to faint. The island was\ndeserted, and the sun seemed to cover it with its fiery glance;\nafar off, a few small fishing boats studded the bosom of the blue\nocean.\nDantes had tasted nothing, but he thought not of hunger at such\na moment; he hastily swallowed a few drops of rum, and again\nentered the cavern. The pickaxe that had seemed so heavy, was now\nlike a feather in his grasp; he seized it, and attacked the wall.\nAfter several blows he perceived that the stones were not cemented,\nbut had been merely placed one upon the other, and covered with\nstucco; he inserted the point of his pickaxe, and using the handle\nas a lever, with joy soon saw the stone turn as if on hinges, and\nfall at his feet. He had nothing more to do now, but with the iron\ntooth of the pickaxe to draw the stones towards him one by one. The"}
{"text": "tooth of the pickaxe to draw the stones towards him one by one. The\naperture was already sufficiently large for him to enter, but by\nwaiting, he could still cling to hope, and retard the certainty of\ndeception. At last, after renewed hesitation, Dantes entered the\nsecond grotto. The second grotto was lower and more gloomy than the\nfirst; the air that could only enter by the newly formed opening\nhad the mephitic smell Dantes was surprised not to find in the\nouter cavern. He waited in order to allow pure air to displace the\nfoul atmosphere, and then went on. At the left of the opening was a\ndark and deep angle. But to Dantes' eye there was no darkness. He\nglanced around this second grotto; it was, like the first,\nempty.\nThe treasure, if it existed, was buried in this corner. The time\nhad at length arrived; two feet of earth removed, and Dantes' fate\nwould be decided. He advanced towards the angle, and summoning all\nhis resolution, attacked the ground with the pickaxe. At the fifth\nor sixth blow the pickaxe struck against an iron substance. Never\ndid funeral knell, never did alarm-bell, produce a greater effect\non the hearer. Had Dantes found nothing he could not have become\nmore ghastly pale. He again struck his pickaxe into the earth, and\nencountered the same resistance, but not the same sound. \"It is a\ncasket of wood bound with iron,\" thought he. At this moment a\nshadow passed rapidly before the opening; Dantes seized his gun,\nsprang through the opening, and mounted the stair. A wild goat had\npassed before the mouth of the cave, and was feeding at a little\ndistance. This would have been a favorable occasion to secure his\ndinner; but Dantes feared lest the report of his gun should attract\nattention.\nHe thought a moment, cut a branch of a resinous tree, lighted it\nat the fire at which the smugglers had prepared their breakfast,\nand descended with this torch. He wished to see everything. He\napproached the hole he had dug, and now, with the aid of the torch,approached the hole he had dug, and now, with the aid of the torch,\nsaw that his pickaxe had in reality struck against iron and wood.\nHe planted his torch in the ground and resumed his labor. In an\ninstant a space three feet long by two feet broad was cleared, and\nDantes could see an oaken coffer, bound with cut steel; in the\nmiddle of the lid he saw engraved on a silver plate, which was\nstill untarnished, the arms of the Spada family — viz., a sword,\npale, on an oval shield, like all the Italian armorial bearings,\nand surmounted by a cardinal's hat; Dantes easily recognized them,\nFaria had so often drawn them for him. There was no longer any\ndoubt: the treasure was there — no one would have been at such\npains to conceal an empty casket. In an instant he had cleared\nevery obstacle away, and he saw successively the lock, placed\nbetween two padlocks, and the two handles at each end, all carved\nas things were carved at that epoch, when art rendered the\ncommonest metals precious. Dantes seized the handles, and strove to\nlift the coffer; it was impossible. He sought to open it; lock and\npadlock were fastened; these faithful guardians seemed unwilling to\nsurrender their trust. Dantes inserted the sharp end of the pickaxe\nbetween the coffer and the lid, and pressing with all his force on\nthe handle, burst open the fastenings. The hinges yielded in their\nturn and fell, still holding in their grasp fragments of the wood,\nand the chest was open.\nEdmond was seized with vertigo; he cocked his gun and laid it\nbeside him. He then closed his eyes as children do in order that\nthey may see in the resplendent night of their own imagination more\nstars than are visible in the firmament; then he re-opened them,\nand stood motionless with amazement. Three compartments divided the\ncoffer. In the first, blazed piles of golden coin; in the second,\nwere ranged bars of unpolished gold, which possessed nothing\nattractive save their value; in the third, Edmond grasped handfuls\nof diamonds, pearls, and rubies, which, as they fell on oneof diamonds, pearls, and rubies, which, as they fell on one\nanother, sounded like hail against glass. After having touched,\nfelt, examined these treasures, Edmond rushed through the caverns\nlike a man seized with frenzy; he leaped on a rock, from whence he\ncould behold the sea. He was alone — alone with these countless,\nthese unheard-of treasures! was he awake, or was it but a\ndream?\nHe would fain have gazed upon his gold, and yet he had not\nstrength enough; for an instant he leaned his head in his hands as\nif to prevent his senses from leaving him, and then rushed madly\nabout the rocks of Monte Cristo, terrifying the wild goats and\nscaring the sea-fowls with his wild cries and gestures; then he\nreturned, and, still unable to believe the evidence of his senses,\nrushed into the grotto, and found himself before this mine of gold\nand jewels. This time he fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands\nconvulsively, uttered a prayer intelligible to God alone. He soon\nbecame calmer and more happy, for only now did he begin to realize\nhis felicity. He then set himself to work to count his fortune.\nThere were a thousand ingots of gold, each weighing from two to\nthree pounds; then he piled up twenty-five thousand crowns, each\nworth about eighty francs of our money, and bearing the effigies of\nAlexander VI. and his predecessors; and he saw that the complement\nwas not half empty. And he measured ten double handfuls of pearls,\ndiamonds, and other gems, many of which, mounted by the most famous\nworkmen, were valuable beyond their intrinsic worth. Dantes saw the\nlight gradually disappear, and fearing to be surprised in the\ncavern, left it, his gun in his hand. A piece of biscuit and a\nsmall quantity of rum formed his supper, and he snatched a few\nhours' sleep, lying over the mouth of the cave.\nIt was a night of joy and terror, such as this man of stupendous\nemotions had already experienced twice or thrice in his\nlifetime."}
{"text": "Day, for which Dantes had so eagerly and impatiently waited with\nopen eyes, again dawned. With the first light Dantes resumed his\nsearch. Again he climbed the rocky height he had ascended the\nprevious evening, and strained his view to catch every peculiarity\nof the landscape; but it wore the same wild, barren aspect when\nseen by the rays of the morning sun which it had done when surveyed\nby the fading glimmer of eve. Descending into the grotto, he lifted\nthe stone, filled his pockets with gems, put the box together as\nwell and securely as he could, sprinkled fresh sand over the spot\nfrom which it had been taken, and then carefully trod down the\nearth to give it everywhere a uniform appearance; then, quitting\nthe grotto, he replaced the stone, heaping on it broken masses of\nrocks and rough fragments of crumbling granite, filling the\ninterstices with earth, into which he deftly inserted rapidly\ngrowing plants, such as the wild myrtle and flowering thorn, then\ncarefully watering these new plantations, he scrupulously effaced\nevery trace of footsteps, leaving the approach to the cavern as\nsavage-looking and untrodden as he had found it. This done, he\nimpatiently awaited the return of his companions. To wait at Monte\nCristo for the purpose of watching like a dragon over the almost\nincalculable riches that had thus fallen into his possession\nsatisfied not the cravings of his heart, which yearned to return to\ndwell among mankind, and to assume the rank, power, and influence\nwhich are always accorded to wealth — that first and greatest of\nall the forces within the grasp of man.\nOn the sixth day, the smugglers returned. From a distance Dantes\nrecognized the rig and handling of The Young Amelia, and dragging\nhimself with affected difficulty towards the landing-place, he met\nhis companions with an assurance that, although considerably better\nthan when they quitted him, he still suffered acutely from his late\naccident. He then inquired how they had fared in their trip. Toaccident. He then inquired how they had fared in their trip. To\nthis question the smugglers replied that, although successful in\nlanding their cargo in safety, they had scarcely done so when they\nreceived intelligence that a guard-ship had just quitted the port\nof Toulon and was crowding all sail towards them. This obliged them\nto make all the speed they could to evade the enemy, when they\ncould but lament the absence of Dantes, whose superior skill in the\nmanagement of a vessel would have availed them so materially. In\nfact, the pursuing vessel had almost overtaken them when,\nfortunately, night came on, and enabled them to double the Cape of\nCorsica, and so elude all further pursuit. Upon the whole, however,\nthe trip had been sufficiently successful to satisfy all concerned;\nwhile the crew, and particularly Jacopo, expressed great regrets\nthat Dantes had not been an equal sharer with themselves in the\nprofits, which amounted to no less a sum than fifty piastres\neach.\nEdmond preserved the most admirable self-command, not suffering\nthe faintest indication of a smile to escape him at the enumeration\nof all the benefits he would have reaped had he been able to quit\nthe island; but as The Young Amelia had merely come to Monte Cristo\nto fetch him away, he embarked that same evening, and proceeded\nwith the captain to Leghorn. Arrived at Leghorn, he repaired to the\nhouse of a Jew, a dealer in precious stones, to whom he disposed of\nfour of his smallest diamonds for five thousand francs each. Dantes\nhalf feared that such valuable jewels in the hands of a poor sailor\nlike himself might excite suspicion; but the cunning purchaser\nasked no troublesome questions concerning a bargain by which he\ngained a round profit of at least eighty per cent.\nThe following day Dantes presented Jacopo with an entirely new\nvessel, accompanying the gift by a donation of one hundred\npiastres, that he might provide himself with a suitable crew and\nother requisites for his outfit, upon condition that he would go atother requisites for his outfit, upon condition that he would go at\nonce to Marseilles for the purpose of inquiring after an old man\nnamed Louis Dantes, residing in the Allees de Meillan, and also a\nyoung woman called Mercedes, an inhabitant of the Catalan village.\nJacopo could scarcely believe his senses at receiving this\nmagnificent present, which Dantes hastened to account for by saying\nthat he had merely been a sailor from whim and a desire to spite\nhis family, who did not allow him as much money as he liked to\nspend; but that on his arrival at Leghorn he had come into\npossession of a large fortune, left him by an uncle, whose sole\nheir he was. The superior education of Dantes gave an air of such\nextreme probability to this statement that it never once occurred\nto Jacopo to doubt its accuracy. The term for which Edmond had\nengaged to serve on board The Young Amelia having expired, Dantes\ntook leave of the captain, who at first tried all his powers of\npersuasion to induce him to remain as one of the crew, but having\nbeen told the history of the legacy, he ceased to importune him\nfurther. The following morning Jacopo set sail for Marseilles, with\ndirections from Dantes to join him at the Island of Monte\nCristo.\nHaving seen Jacopo fairly out of the harbor, Dantes proceeded to\nmake his final adieus on board The Young Amelia, distributing so\nliberal a gratuity among her crew as to secure for him the good\nwishes of all, and expressions of cordial interest in all that\nconcerned him. To the captain he promised to write when he had made\nup his mind as to his future plans. Then Dantes departed for Genoa.\nAt the moment of his arrival a small yacht was under trial in the\nbay; this yacht had been built by order of an Englishman, who,\nhaving heard that the Genoese excelled all other builders along the\nshores of the Mediterranean in the construction of fast-sailing\nvessels, was desirous of possessing a specimen of their skill; the\nprice agreed upon between the Englishman and the Genoese builderprice agreed upon between the Englishman and the Genoese builder\nwas forty thousand francs. Dantes, struck with the beauty and\ncapability of the little vessel, applied to its owner to transfer\nit to him, offering sixty thousand francs, upon condition that he\nshould be allowed to take immediate possession. The proposal was\ntoo advantageous to be refused, the more so as the person for whom\nthe yacht was intended had gone upon a tour through Switzerland,\nand was not expected back in less than three weeks or a month, by\nwhich time the builder reckoned upon being able to complete\nanother. A bargain was therefore struck. Dantes led the owner of\nthe yacht to the dwelling of a Jew; retired with the latter for a\nfew minutes to a small back parlor, and upon their return the Jew\ncounted out to the shipbuilder the sum of sixty thousand francs in\nbright gold pieces.\nThe delighted builder then offered his services in providing a\nsuitable crew for the little vessel, but this Dantes declined with\nmany thanks, saying he was accustomed to cruise about quite alone,\nand his principal pleasure consisted in managing his yacht himself;\nthe only thing the builder could oblige him in would be to contrive\na sort of secret closet in the cabin at his bed's head, the closet\nto contain three divisions, so constructed as to be concealed from\nall but himself. The builder cheerfully undertook the commission,\nand promised to have these secret places completed by the next day,\nDantes furnishing the dimensions and plan in accordance with which\nthey were to be constructed.\nThe following day Dantes sailed with his yacht from Genoa, under\nthe inspection of an immense crowd drawn together by curiosity to\nsee the rich Spanish nobleman who preferred managing his own yacht.\nBut their wonder was soon changed to admiration at seeing the\nperfect skill with which Dantes handled the helm. The boat, indeed,\nseemed to be animated with almost human intelligence, so promptly\ndid it obey the slightest touch; and Dantes required but a short"}
{"text": "did it obey the slightest touch; and Dantes required but a short\ntrial of his beautiful craft to acknowledge that the Genoese had\nnot without reason attained their high reputation in the art of\nshipbuilding. The spectators followed the little vessel with their\neyes as long as it remained visible; they then turned their\nconjectures upon her probable destination. Some insisted she was\nmaking for Corsica, others the Island of Elba; bets were offered to\nany amount that she was bound for Spain; while Africa was\npositively reported by many persons as her intended course; but no\none thought of Monte Cristo. Yet thither it was that Dantes guided\nhis vessel, and at Monte Cristo he arrived at the close of the\nsecond day; his boat had proved herself a first-class sailer, and\nhad come the distance from Genoa in thirty-five hours. Dantes had\ncarefully noted the general appearance of the shore, and, instead\nof landing at the usual place, he dropped anchor in the little\ncreek. The island was utterly deserted, and bore no evidence of\nhaving been visited since he went away; his treasure was just as he\nhad left it. Early on the following morning he commenced the\nremoval of his riches, and ere nightfall the whole of his immense\nwealth was safely deposited in the compartments of the secret\nlocker.\nA week passed by. Dantes employed it in manoeuvring his yacht\nround the island, studying it as a skilful horseman would the\nanimal he destined for some important service, till at the end of\nthat time he was perfectly conversant with its good and bad\nqualities. The former Dantes proposed to augment, the latter to\nremedy.\nUpon the eighth day he discerned a small vessel under full sail\napproaching Monte Cristo. As it drew near, he recognized it as the\nboat he had given to Jacopo. He immediately signalled it. His\nsignal was returned, and in two hours afterwards the newcomer lay\nat anchor beside the yacht. A mournful answer awaited each of\nEdmond's eager inquiries as to the information Jacopo had obtained.Edmond's eager inquiries as to the information Jacopo had obtained.\nOld Dantes was dead, and Mercedes had disappeared. Dantes listened\nto these melancholy tidings with outward calmness; but, leaping\nlightly ashore, he signified his desire to be quite alone. In a\ncouple of hours he returned. Two of the men from Jacopo's boat came\non board the yacht to assist in navigating it, and he gave orders\nthat she should be steered direct to Marseilles. For his father's\ndeath he was in some manner prepared; but he knew not how to\naccount for the mysterious disappearance of Mercedes.\nWithout divulging his secret, Dantes could not give sufficiently\nclear instructions to an agent. There were, besides, other\nparticulars he was desirous of ascertaining, and those were of a\nnature he alone could investigate in a manner satisfactory to\nhimself. His looking-glass had assured him, during his stay at\nLeghorn, that he ran no risk of recognition; moreover, he had now\nthe means of adopting any disguise he thought proper. One fine\nmorning, then, his yacht, followed by the little fishing-boat,\nboldly entered the port of Marseilles, and anchored exactly\nopposite the spot from whence, on the never-to-be-forgotten night\nof his departure for the Chateau d'If, he had been put on board the\nboat destined to convey him thither. Still Dantes could not view\nwithout a shudder the approach of a gendarme who accompanied the\nofficers deputed to demand his bill of health ere the yacht was\npermitted to hold communication with the shore; but with that\nperfect self-possession he had acquired during his acquaintance\nwith Faria, Dantes coolly presented an English passport he had\nobtained from Leghorn, and as this gave him a standing which a\nFrench passport would not have afforded, he was informed that there\nexisted no obstacle to his immediate debarkation.\nThe first person to attract the attention of Dantes, as he\nlanded on the Canebiere, was one of the crew belonging to the\nPharaon. Edmond welcomed the meeting with this fellow — who hadPharaon. Edmond welcomed the meeting with this fellow — who had\nbeen one of his own sailors — as a sure means of testing the extent\nof the change which time had worked in his own appearance. Going\nstraight towards him, he propounded a variety of questions on\ndifferent subjects, carefully watching the man's countenance as he\ndid so; but not a word or look implied that he had the slightest\nidea of ever having seen before the person with whom he was then\nconversing. Giving the sailor a piece of money in return for his\ncivility, Dantes proceeded onwards; but ere he had gone many steps\nhe heard the man loudly calling him to stop. Dantes instantly\nturned to meet him. \"I beg your pardon, sir,\" said the honest\nfellow, in almost breathless haste, \"but I believe you made a\nmistake; you intended to give me a two-franc piece, and see, you\ngave me a double Napoleon.\"\n\"Thank you, my good friend. I see that I have made a trifling\nmistake, as you say; but by way of rewarding your honesty I give\nyou another double Napoleon, that you may drink to my health, and\nbe able to ask your messmates to join you.\"\nSo extreme was the surprise of the sailor, that he was unable\neven to thank Edmond, whose receding figure he continued to gaze\nafter in speechless astonishment. \"Some nabob from India,\" was his\ncomment.\nDantes, meanwhile, went on his way. Each step he trod oppressed\nhis heart with fresh emotion; his first and most indelible\nrecollections were there; not a tree, not a street, that he passed\nbut seemed filled with dear and cherished memories. And thus he\nproceeded onwards till he arrived at the end of the Rue de\nNoailles, from whence a full view of the Allees de Meillan was\nobtained. At this spot, so pregnant with fond and filial\nremembrances, his heart beat almost to bursting, his knees tottered\nunder him, a mist floated over his sight, and had he not clung for\nsupport to one of the trees, he would inevitably have fallen to the\nground and been crushed beneath the many vehicles continually"}
{"text": "ground and been crushed beneath the many vehicles continually\npassing there. Recovering himself, however, he wiped the\nperspiration from his brows, and stopped not again till he found\nhimself at the door of the house in which his father had lived.\nThe nasturtiums and other plants, which his father had delighted\nto train before his window, had all disappeared from the upper part\nof the house. Leaning against the tree, he gazed thoughtfully for a\ntime at the upper stories of the shabby little house. Then he\nadvanced to the door, and asked whether there were any rooms to be\nlet. Though answered in the negative, he begged so earnestly to be\npermitted to visit those on the fifth floor, that, in despite of\nthe oft-repeated assurance of the concierge that they were\noccupied, Dantes succeeded in inducing the man to go up to the\ntenants, and ask permission for a gentleman to be allowed to look\nat them.\nThe tenants of the humble lodging were a young couple who had\nbeen scarcely married a week; and seeing them, Dantes sighed\nheavily. Nothing in the two small chambers forming the apartments\nremained as it had been in the time of the elder Dantes; the very\npaper was different, while the articles of antiquated furniture\nwith which the rooms had been filled in Edmond's time had all\ndisappeared; the four walls alone remained as he had left them. The\nbed belonging to the present occupants was placed as the former\nowner of the chamber had been accustomed to have his; and, in spite\nof his efforts to prevent it, the eyes of Edmond were suffused in\ntears as he reflected that on that spot the old man had breathed\nhis last, vainly calling for his son. The young couple gazed with\nastonishment at the sight of their visitor's emotion, and wondered\nto see the large tears silently chasing each other down his\notherwise stern and immovable features; but they felt the\nsacredness of his grief, and kindly refrained from questioning him\nas to its cause, while, with instinctive delicacy, they left him toas to its cause, while, with instinctive delicacy, they left him to\nindulge his sorrow alone. When he withdrew from the scene of his\npainful recollections, they both accompanied him downstairs,\nreiterating their hope that he would come again whenever he\npleased, and assuring him that their poor dwelling would ever be\nopen to him. As Edmond passed the door on the fourth floor, he\npaused to inquire whether Caderousse the tailor still dwelt there;\nbut he received, for reply, that the person in question had got\ninto difficulties, and at the present time kept a small inn on the\nroute from Bellegarde to Beaucaire.\nHaving obtained the address of the person to whom the house in\nthe Allees de Meillan belonged, Dantes next proceeded thither, and,\nunder the name of Lord Wilmore (the name and title inscribed on his\npassport), purchased the small dwelling for the sum of twenty-five\nthousand francs, at least ten thousand more than it was worth; but\nhad its owner asked half a million, it would unhesitatingly have\nbeen given. The very same day the occupants of the apartments on\nthe fifth floor of the house, now become the property of Dantes,\nwere duly informed by the notary who had arranged the necessary\ntransfer of deeds, etc., that the new landlord gave them their\nchoice of any of the rooms in the house, without the least\naugmentation of rent, upon condition of their giving instant\npossession of the two small chambers they at present inhabited.\nThis strange event aroused great wonder and curiosity in the\nneighborhood of the Allees de Meillan, and a multitude of theories\nwere afloat, none of which was anywhere near the truth. But what\nraised public astonishment to a climax, and set all conjecture at\ndefiance, was the knowledge that the same stranger who had in the\nmorning visited the Allees de Meillan had been seen in the evening\nwalking in the little village of the Catalans, and afterwards\nobserved to enter a poor fisherman's hut, and to pass more than an\nhour in inquiring after persons who had either been dead or gonehour in inquiring after persons who had either been dead or gone\naway for more than fifteen or sixteen years. But on the following\nday the family from whom all these particulars had been asked\nreceived a handsome present, consisting of an entirely new\nfishing-boat, with two seines and a tender. The delighted\nrecipients of these munificent gifts would gladly have poured out\ntheir thanks to their generous benefactor, but they had seen him,\nupon quitting the hut, merely give some orders to a sailor, and\nthen springing lightly on horseback, leave Marseilles by the Porte\nd'Aix.\"First, sir,\" said Caderousse, \"you must make me a promise.\"\n\"What is that?\" inquired the abbe.\n\"Why, if you ever make use of the details I am about to give\nyou, that you will never let any one know that it was I who\nsupplied them; for the persons of whom I am about to talk are rich\nand powerful, and if they only laid the tips of their fingers on\nme, I should break to pieces like glass.\"\n\"Make yourself easy, my friend,\" replied the abbe. \"I am a\npriest, and confessions die in my breast. Recollect, our only\ndesire is to carry out, in a fitting manner, the last wishes of our\nfriend. Speak, then, without reserve, as without hatred; tell the\ntruth, the whole truth; I do not know, never may know, the persons\nof whom you are about to speak; besides, I am an Italian, and not a\nFrenchman, and belong to God, and not to man, and I shall shortly\nretire to my convent, which I have only quitted to fulfil the last\nwishes of a dying man.\" This positive assurance seemed to give\nCaderousse a little courage.\n\"Well, then, under these circumstances,\" said Caderousse, \"I\nwill, I even believe I ought to undeceive you as to the friendship\nwhich poor Edmond thought so sincere and unquestionable.\"\n\"Begin with his father, if you please.\" said the abbe; \"Edmond\ntalked to me a great deal about the old man for whom he had the\ndeepest love.\"\n\"The history is a sad one, sir,\" said Caderousse, shaking his\nhead; \"perhaps you know all the earlier part of it?\"\n\"Yes.\" answered the abbe; \"Edmond related to me everything until\nthe moment when he was arrested in a small cabaret close to\nMarseilles.\"\n\"At La Reserve! Oh, yes; I can see it all before me this\nmoment.\"\n\"Was it not his betrothal feast?\"\n\"It was and the feast that began so gayly had a very sorrowful\nending; a police commissary, followed by four soldiers, entered,\nand Dantes was arrested.\"\n\"Yes, and up to this point I know all,\" said the priest. \"Dantes\nhimself only knew that which personally concerned him, for he never\nbeheld again the five persons I have named to you, or heard mention"}
{"text": "beheld again the five persons I have named to you, or heard mention\nof any one of them.\"\n\"Well, when Dantes was arrested, Monsieur Morrel hastened to\nobtain the particulars, and they were very sad. The old man\nreturned alone to his home, folded up his wedding suit with tears\nin his eyes, and paced up and down his chamber the whole day, and\nwould not go to bed at all, for I was underneath him and heard him\nwalking the whole night; and for myself, I assure you I could not\nsleep either, for the grief of the poor father gave me great\nuneasiness, and every step he took went to my heart as really as if\nhis foot had pressed against my breast. The next day Mercedes came\nto implore the protection of M. de Villefort; she did not obtain\nit, however, and went to visit the old man; when she saw him so\nmiserable and heart-broken, having passed a sleepless night, and\nnot touched food since the previous day, she wished him to go with\nher that she might take care of him; but the old man would not\nconsent. `No,' was the old man's reply, `I will not leave this\nhouse, for my poor dear boy loves me better than anything in the\nworld; and if he gets out of prison he will come and see me the\nfirst thing, and what would he think if I did not wait here for\nhim?' I heard all this from the window, for I was anxious that\nMercedes should persuade the old man to accompany her, for his\nfootsteps over my head night and day did not leave me a moment's\nrepose.\"\n\"But did you not go up-stairs and try to console the poor old\nman?\" asked the abbe.\n\"Ah, sir,\" replied Caderousse, \"we cannot console those who will\nnot be consoled, and he was one of these; besides, I know not why,\nbut he seemed to dislike seeing me. One night, however, I heard his\nsobs, and I could not resist my desire to go up to him, but when I\nreached his door he was no longer weeping but praying. I cannot now\nrepeat to you, sir, all the eloquent words and imploring language\nhe made use of; it was more than piety, it was more than grief, andhe made use of; it was more than piety, it was more than grief, and\nI, who am no canter, and hate the Jesuits, said then to myself, `It\nis really well, and I am very glad that I have not any children;\nfor if I were a father and felt such excessive grief as the old man\ndoes, and did not find in my memory or heart all he is now saying,\nI should throw myself into the sea at once, for I could not bear\nit.'\"\n\"Poor father!\" murmured the priest.\n\"From day to day he lived on alone, and more and more solitary.\nM. Morrel and Mercedes came to see him, but his door was closed;\nand, although I was certain he was at home, he would not make any\nanswer. One day, when, contrary to his custom, he had admitted\nMercedes, and the poor girl, in spite of her own grief and despair,\nendeavored to console him, he said to her, — `Be assured, my dear\ndaughter, he is dead; and instead of expecting him, it is he who is\nawaiting us; I am quite happy, for I am the oldest, and of course\nshall see him first.' However well disposed a person may be, why\nyou see we leave off after a time seeing persons who are in sorrow,\nthey make one melancholy; and so at last old Dantes was left all to\nhimself, and I only saw from time to time strangers go up to him\nand come down again with some bundle they tried to hide; but I\nguessed what these bundles were, and that he sold by degrees what\nhe had to pay for his subsistence. At length the poor old fellow\nreached the end of all he had; he owed three quarters' rent, and\nthey threatened to turn him out; he begged for another week, which\nwas granted to him. I know this, because the landlord came into my\napartment when he left his. For the first three days I heard him\nwalking about as usual, but, on the fourth I heard nothing. I then\nresolved to go up to him at all risks. The door was closed, but I\nlooked through the keyhole, and saw him so pale and haggard, that\nbelieving him very ill, I went and told M. Morrel and then ran on\nto Mercedes. They both came immediately, M. Morrel bringing ato Mercedes. They both came immediately, M. Morrel bringing a\ndoctor, and the doctor said it was inflammation of the bowels, and\nordered him a limited diet. I was there, too, and I never shall\nforget the old man's smile at this prescription. From that time he\nreceived all who came; he had an excuse for not eating any more;\nthe doctor had put him on a diet.\" The abbe uttered a kind of\ngroan. \"The story interests you, does it not, sir?\" inquired\nCaderousse.\n\"Yes,\" replied the abbe, \"it is very affecting.\"\n\"Mercedes came again, and she found him so altered that she was\neven more anxious than before to have him taken to her own home.\nThis was M. Morrel's wish also, who would fain have conveyed the\nold man against his consent; but the old man resisted, and cried so\nthat they were actually frightened. Mercedes remained, therefore,\nby his bedside, and M. Morrel went away, making a sign to the\nCatalan that he had left his purse on the chimney-piece. But\navailing himself of the doctor's order, the old man would not take\nany sustenance; at length (after nine days of despair and fasting),\nthe old man died, cursing those who had caused his misery, and\nsaying to Mercedes, `If you ever see my Edmond again, tell him I\ndie blessing him.'\" The abbe rose from his chair, made two turns\nround the chamber, and pressed his trembling hand against his\nparched throat. \"And you believe he died\" —\n\"Of hunger, sir, of hunger,\" said Caderousse. \"I am as certain\nof it as that we two are Christians.\"\nThe abbe, with a shaking hand, seized a glass of water that was\nstanding by him half-full, swallowed it at one gulp, and then\nresumed his seat, with red eyes and pale cheeks. \"This was, indeed,\na horrid event.\" said he in a hoarse voice.\n\"The more so, sir, as it was men's and not God's doing.\"\n\"Tell me of those men,\" said the abbe, \"and remember too,\" he\nadded in an almost menacing tone, \"you have promised to tell me\neverything. Tell me, therefore, who are these men who killed the\nson with despair, and the father with famine?\""}
{"text": "son with despair, and the father with famine?\"\n\"Two men jealous of him, sir; one from love, and the other from\nambition, — Fernand and Danglars.\"\n\"How was this jealousy manifested? Speak on.\"\n\"They denounced Edmond as a Bonapartist agent.\"\n\"Which of the two denounced him? Which was the real\ndelinquent?\"\n\"Both, sir; one with a letter, and the other put it in the\npost.\"\n\"And where was this letter written?\"\n\"At La Reserve, the day before the betrothal feast.\"\n\"'Twas so, then — 'twas so, then,\" murmured the abbe. \"Oh,\nFaria, Faria, how well did you judge men and things!\"\n\"What did you please to say, sir?\" asked Caderousse.\n\"Nothing, nothing,\" replied the priest; \"go on.\"\n\"It was Danglars who wrote the denunciation with his left hand,\nthat his writing might not be recognized, and Fernand who put it in\nthe post.\"\n\"But,\" exclaimed the abbe suddenly, \"you were there\nyourself.\"\n\"I!\" said Caderousse, astonished; \"who told you I was\nthere?\"\nThe abbe saw he had overshot the mark, and he added quickly, —\n\"No one; but in order to have known everything so well, you must\nhave been an eye-witness.\"\n\"True, true!\" said Caderousse in a choking voice, \"I was\nthere.\"\n\"And did you not remonstrate against such infamy?\" asked the\nabbe; \"if not, you were an accomplice.\"\n\"Sir,\" replied Caderousse, \"they had made me drink to such an\nexcess that I nearly lost all perception. I had only an indistinct\nunderstanding of what was passing around me. I said all that a man\nin such a state could say; but they both assured me that it was a\njest they were carrying on, and perfectly harmless.\"\n\"Next day — next day, sir, you must have seen plain enough what\nthey had been doing, yet you said nothing, though you were present\nwhen Dantes was arrested.\"\n\"Yes, sir, I was there, and very anxious to speak; but Danglars\nrestrained me. `If he should really be guilty,' said he, `and did\nreally put in to the Island of Elba; if he is really charged with a\nletter for the Bonapartist committee at Paris, and if they findletter for the Bonapartist committee at Paris, and if they find\nthis letter upon him, those who have supported him will pass for\nhis accomplices.' I confess I had my fears, in the state in which\npolitics then were, and I held my tongue. It was cowardly, I\nconfess, but it was not criminal.\"\n\"I understand — you allowed matters to take their course, that\nwas all.\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" answered Caderousse; \"and remorse preys on me night\nand day. I often ask pardon of God, I swear to you, because this\naction, the only one with which I have seriously to reproach myself\nin all my life, is no doubt the cause of my abject condition. I am\nexpiating a moment of selfishness, and so I always say to La\nCarconte, when she complains, `Hold your tongue, woman; it is the\nwill of God.'\" And Caderousse bowed his head with every sign of\nreal repentance.\n\"Well, sir,\" said the abbe, \"you have spoken unreservedly; and\nthus to accuse yourself is to deserve pardon.\"\n\"Unfortunately, Edmond is dead, and has not pardoned me.\"\n\"He did not know,\" said the abbe.\n\"But he knows it all now,\" interrupted Caderousse; \"they say the\ndead know everything.\" There was a brief silence; the abbe rose and\npaced up and down pensively, and then resumed his seat. \"You have\ntwo or three times mentioned a M. Morrel,\" he said; \"who was\nhe?\"\n\"The owner of the Pharaon and patron of Dantes.\"\n\"And what part did he play in this sad drama?\" inquired the\nabbe.\n\"The part of an honest man, full of courage and real regard.\nTwenty times he interceded for Edmond. When the emperor returned,\nhe wrote, implored, threatened, and so energetically, that on the\nsecond restoration he was persecuted as a Bonapartist. Ten times,\nas I told you, he came to see Dantes' father, and offered to\nreceive him in his own house; and the night or two before his\ndeath, as I have already said, he left his purse on the\nmantelpiece, with which they paid the old man's debts, and buried\nhim decently; and so Edmond's father died, as he had lived, withouthim decently; and so Edmond's father died, as he had lived, without\ndoing harm to any one. I have the purse still by me — a large one,\nmade of red silk.\"\n\"And,\" asked the abbe, \"is M. Morrel still alive?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Caderousse.\n\"In that case,\" replied the abbe, \"he should be rich,\nhappy.\"\nCaderousse smiled bitterly. \"Yes, happy as myself,\" said he.\n\"What! M. Morrel unhappy?\" exclaimed the abbe.\n\"He is reduced almost to the last extremity — nay, he is almost\nat the point of dishonor.\"\n\"How?\"\n\"Yes,\" continued Caderousse, \"so it is; after five and twenty\nyears of labor, after having acquired a most honorable name in the\ntrade of Marseilles, M. Morrel is utterly ruined; he has lost five\nships in two years, has suffered by the bankruptcy of three large\nhouses, and his only hope now is in that very Pharaon which poor\nDantes commanded, and which is expected from the Indies with a\ncargo of cochineal and indigo. If this ship founders, like the\nothers, he is a ruined man.\"\n\"And has the unfortunate man wife or children?\" inquired the\nabbe.\n\"Yes, he has a wife, who through everything has behaved like an\nangel; he has a daughter, who was about to marry the man she loved,\nbut whose family now will not allow him to wed the daughter of a\nruined man; he has, besides, a son, a lieutenant in the army; and,\nas you may suppose, all this, instead of lessening, only augments\nhis sorrows. If he were alone in the world he would blow out his\nbrains, and there would be an end.\"\n\"Horrible!\" ejaculated the priest.\n\"And it is thus heaven recompenses virtue, sir,\" added\nCaderousse. \"You see, I, who never did a bad action but that I have\ntold you of — am in destitution, with my poor wife dying of fever\nbefore my very eyes, and I unable to do anything in the world for\nher; I shall die of hunger, as old Dantes did, while Fernand and\nDanglars are rolling in wealth.\"\n\"How is that?\"\n\"Because their deeds have brought them good fortune, while\nhonest men have been reduced to misery.\"\n\"What has become of Danglars, the instigator, and therefore the"}
{"text": "\"What has become of Danglars, the instigator, and therefore the\nmost guilty?\"\n\"What has become of him? Why, he left Marseilles, and was taken,\non the recommendation of M. Morrel, who did not know his crime, as\ncashier into a Spanish bank. During the war with Spain he was\nemployed in the commissariat of the French army, and made a\nfortune; then with that money he speculated in the funds, and\ntrebled or quadrupled his capital; and, having first married his\nbanker's daughter, who left him a widower, he has married a second\ntime, a widow, a Madame de Nargonne, daughter of M. de Servieux,\nthe king's chamberlain, who is in high favor at court. He is a\nmillionaire, and they have made him a baron, and now he is the\nBaron Danglars, with a fine residence in the Rue de Mont-Blanc,\nwith ten horses in his stables, six footmen in his ante-chamber,\nand I know not how many millions in his strongbox.\"\n\"Ah!\" said the abbe, in a peculiar tone, \"he is happy.\"\n\"Happy? Who can answer for that? Happiness or unhappiness is the\nsecret known but to one's self and the walls — walls have ears but\nno tongue; but if a large fortune produces happiness, Danglars is\nhappy.\"\n\"And Fernand?\"\n\"Fernand? Why, much the same story.\"\n\"But how could a poor Catalan fisher-boy, without education or\nresources, make a fortune? I confess this staggers me.\"\n\"And it has staggered everybody. There must have been in his\nlife some strange secret that no one knows.\"\n\"But, then, by what visible steps has he attained this high\nfortune or high position?\"\n\"Both, sir — he has both fortune and position — both.\"\n\"This must be impossible!\"\n\"It would seem so; but listen, and you will understand. Some\ndays before the return of the emperor, Fernand was drafted. The\nBourbons left him quietly enough at the Catalans, but Napoleon\nreturned, a special levy was made, and Fernand was compelled to\njoin. I went too; but as I was older than Fernand, and had just\nmarried my poor wife, I was only sent to the coast. Fernand was\nenrolled in the active troop, went to the frontier with hisenrolled in the active troop, went to the frontier with his\nregiment, and was at the battle of Ligny. The night after that\nbattle he was sentry at the door of a general who carried on a\nsecret correspondence with the enemy. That same night the general\nwas to go over to the English. He proposed to Fernand to accompany\nhim; Fernand agreed to do so, deserted his post, and followed the\ngeneral. Fernand would have been court-martialed if Napoleon had\nremained on the throne, but his action was rewarded by the\nBourbons. He returned to France with the epaulet of sub-lieutenant,\nand as the protection of the general, who is in the highest favor,\nwas accorded to him, he was a captain in 1823, during the Spanish\nwar — that is to say, at the time when Danglars made his early\nspeculations. Fernand was a Spaniard, and being sent to Spain to\nascertain the feeling of his fellow-countrymen, found Danglars\nthere, got on very intimate terms with him, won over the support of\nthe royalists at the capital and in the provinces, received\npromises and made pledges on his own part, guided his regiment by\npaths known to himself alone through the mountain gorges which were\nheld by the royalists, and, in fact, rendered such services in this\nbrief campaign that, after the taking of Trocadero, he was made\ncolonel, and received the title of count and the cross of an\nofficer of the Legion of Honor.\"\n\"Destiny! destiny!\" murmured the abbe.\n\"Yes, but listen: this was not all. The war with Spain being\nended, Fernand's career was checked by the long peace which seemed\nlikely to endure throughout Europe. Greece only had risen against\nTurkey, and had begun her war of independence; all eyes were turned\ntowards Athens — it was the fashion to pity and support the Greeks.\nThe French government, without protecting them openly, as you know,\ngave countenance to volunteer assistance. Fernand sought and\nobtained leave to go and serve in Greece, still having his name\nkept on the army roll. Some time after, it was stated that thekept on the army roll. Some time after, it was stated that the\nComte de Morcerf (this was the name he bore) had entered the\nservice of Ali Pasha with the rank of instructor-general. Ali Pasha\nwas killed, as you know, but before he died he recompensed the\nservices of Fernand by leaving him a considerable sum, with which\nhe returned to France, when he was gazetted\nlieutenant-general.\"\n\"So that now?\" — inquired the abbe.\n\"So that now,\" continued Caderousse, \"he owns a magnificent\nhouse — No. 27, Rue du Helder, Paris.\" The abbe opened his mouth,\nhesitated for a moment, then, making an effort at self-control, he\nsaid, \"And Mercedes — they tell me that she has disappeared?\"\n\"Disappeared,\" said Caderousse, \"yes, as the sun disappears, to\nrise the next day with still more splendor.\"\n\"Has she made a fortune also?\" inquired the abbe, with an\nironical smile.\n\"Mercedes is at this moment one of the greatest ladies in\nParis,\" replied Caderousse.\n\"Go on,\" said the abbe; \"it seems as if I were listening to the\nstory of a dream. But I have seen things so extraordinary, that\nwhat you tell me seems less astonishing than it otherwise\nmight.\"\n\"Mercedes was at first in the deepest despair at the blow which\ndeprived her of Edmond. I have told you of her attempts to\npropitiate M. de Villefort, her devotion to the elder Dantes. In\nthe midst of her despair, a new affliction overtook her. This was\nthe departure of Fernand — of Fernand, whose crime she did not\nknow, and whom she regarded as her brother. Fernand went, and\nMercedes remained alone. Three months passed and still she wept —\nno news of Edmond, no news of Fernand, no companionship save that\nof an old man who was dying with despair. One evening, after a day\nof accustomed vigil at the angle of two roads leading to Marseilles\nfrom the Catalans, she returned to her home more depressed than\never. Suddenly she heard a step she knew, turned anxiously around,\nthe door opened, and Fernand, dressed in the uniform of a\nsub-lieutenant, stood before her. It was not the one she wished for"}
{"text": "sub-lieutenant, stood before her. It was not the one she wished for\nmost, but it seemed as if a part of her past life had returned to\nher. Mercedes seized Fernand's hands with a transport which he took\nfor love, but which was only joy at being no longer alone in the\nworld, and seeing at last a friend, after long hours of solitary\nsorrow. And then, it must be confessed, Fernand had never been\nhated — he was only not precisely loved. Another possessed all\nMercedes' heart; that other was absent, had disappeared, perhaps\nwas dead. At this last thought Mercedes burst into a flood of\ntears, and wrung her hands in agony; but the thought, which she had\nalways repelled before when it was suggested to her by another,\ncame now in full force upon her mind; and then, too, old Dantes\nincessantly said to her, `Our Edmond is dead; if he were not, he\nwould return to us.' The old man died, as I have told you; had he\nlived, Mercedes, perchance, had not become the wife of another, for\nhe would have been there to reproach her infidelity. Fernand saw\nthis, and when he learned of the old man's death he returned. He\nwas now a lieutenant. At his first coming he had not said a word of\nlove to Mercedes; at the second he reminded her that he loved her.\nMercedes begged for six months more in which to await and mourn for\nEdmond.\"\n\"So that,\" said the abbe, with a bitter smile, \"that makes\neighteen months in all. What more could the most devoted lover\ndesire?\" Then he murmured the words of the English poet, \"`Frailty,\nthy name is woman.'\"\n\"Six months afterwards,\" continued Caderousse, \"the marriage\ntook place in the church of Accoules.\"\n\"The very church in which she was to have married Edmond,\"\nmurmured the priest; \"there was only a change of bride-grooms.\"\n\"Well, Mercedes was married,\" proceeded Caderousse; \"but\nalthough in the eyes of the world she appeared calm, she nearly\nfainted as she passed La Reserve, where, eighteen months before,\nthe betrothal had been celebrated with him whom she might havethe betrothal had been celebrated with him whom she might have\nknown she still loved had she looked to the bottom of her heart.\nFernand, more happy, but not more at his ease — for I saw at this\ntime he was in constant dread of Edmond's return — Fernand was very\nanxious to get his wife away, and to depart himself. There were too\nmany unpleasant possibilities associated with the Catalans, and\neight days after the wedding they left Marseilles.\"\n\"Did you ever see Mercedes again?\" inquired the priest.\n\"Yes, during the Spanish war, at Perpignan, where Fernand had\nleft her; she was attending to the education of her son.\" The abbe\nstarted. \"Her son?\" said he.\n\"Yes,\" replied Caderousse, \"little Albert.\"\n\"But, then, to be able to instruct her child,\" continued the\nabbe, \"she must have received an education herself. I understood\nfrom Edmond that she was the daughter of a simple fisherman,\nbeautiful but uneducated.\"\n\"Oh,\" replied Caderousse, \"did he know so little of his lovely\nbetrothed? Mercedes might have been a queen, sir, if the crown were\nto be placed on the heads of the loveliest and most intelligent.\nFernand's fortune was already waxing great, and she developed with\nhis growing fortune. She learned drawing, music — everything.\nBesides, I believe, between ourselves, she did this in order to\ndistract her mind, that she might forget; and she only filled her\nhead in order to alleviate the weight on her heart. But now her\nposition in life is assured,\" continued Caderousse; \"no doubt\nfortune and honors have comforted her; she is rich, a countess, and\nyet\" — Caderousse paused.\n\"And yet what?\" asked the abbe.\n\"Yet, I am sure, she is not happy,\" said Caderousse.\n\"What makes you believe this?\"\n\"Why, when I found myself utterly destitute, I thought my old\nfriends would, perhaps, assist me. So I went to Danglars, who would\nnot even receive me. I called on Fernand, who sent me a hundred\nfrancs by his valet-de-chambre.\"\n\"Then you did not see either of them?\"\n\"No, but Madame de Morcerf saw me.\"\n\"How was that?\"\"Then you did not see either of them?\"\n\"No, but Madame de Morcerf saw me.\"\n\"How was that?\"\n\"As I went away a purse fell at my feet — it contained five and\ntwenty louis; I raised my head quickly, and saw Mercedes, who at\nonce shut the blind.\"\n\"And M. de Villefort?\" asked the abbe.\n\"Oh, he never was a friend of mine, I did not know him, and I\nhad nothing to ask of him.\"\n\"Do you not know what became of him, and the share he had in\nEdmond's misfortunes?\"\n\"No; I only know that some time after Edmond's arrest, he\nmarried Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran, and soon after left\nMarseilles; no doubt he has been as lucky as the rest; no doubt he\nis as rich as Danglars, as high in station as Fernand. I only, as\nyou see, have remained poor, wretched, and forgotten.\"\n\"You are mistaken, my friend,\" replied the abbe; \"God may seem\nsometimes to forget for a time, while his justice reposes, but\nthere always comes a moment when he remembers — and behold — a\nproof!\" As he spoke, the abbe took the diamond from his pocket, and\ngiving it to Caderousse, said, — \"Here, my friend, take this\ndiamond, it is yours.\"\n\"What, for me only?\" cried Caderousse, \"ah, sir, do not jest\nwith me!\"\n\"This diamond was to have been shared among his friends. Edmond\nhad one friend only, and thus it cannot be divided. Take the\ndiamond, then, and sell it; it is worth fifty thousand francs, and\nI repeat my wish that this sum may suffice to release you from your\nwretchedness.\"\n\"Oh, sir,\" said Caderousse, putting out one hand timidly, and\nwith the other wiping away the perspiration which bedewed his brow,\n— \"Oh, sir, do not make a jest of the happiness or despair of a\nman.\"\n\"I know what happiness and what despair are, and I never make a\njest of such feelings. Take it, then, but in exchange — \"\nCaderousse, who touched the diamond, withdrew his hand. The abbe\nsmiled. \"In exchange,\" he continued, \"give me the red silk purse\nthat M. Morrel left on old Dantes' chimney-piece, and which you\ntell me is still in your hands.\" Caderousse, more and more"}
{"text": "tell me is still in your hands.\" Caderousse, more and more\nastonished, went toward a large oaken cupboard, opened it, and gave\nthe abbe a long purse of faded red silk, round which were two\ncopper runners that had once been gilt. The abbe took it, and in\nreturn gave Caderousse the diamond.\n\"Oh, you are a man of God, sir,\" cried Caderousse; \"for no one\nknew that Edmond had given you this diamond, and you might have\nkept it.\"\n\"Which,\" said the abbe to himself, \"you would have done.\" The\nabbe rose, took his hat and gloves. \"Well,\" he said, \"all you have\ntold me is perfectly true, then, and I may believe it in every\nparticular.\"\n\"See, sir,\" replied Caderousse, \"in this corner is a crucifix in\nholy wood — here on this shelf is my wife's testament; open this\nbook, and I will swear upon it with my hand on the crucifix. I will\nswear to you by my soul's salvation, my faith as a Christian, I\nhave told everything to you as it occurred, and as the recording\nangel will tell it to the ear of God at the day of the last\njudgment!\"\n\"'Tis well,\" said the abbe, convinced by his manner and tone\nthat Caderousse spoke the truth. \"'Tis well, and may this money\nprofit you! Adieu; I go far from men who thus so bitterly injure\neach other.\" The abbe with difficulty got away from the\nenthusiastic thanks of Caderousse, opened the door himself, got out\nand mounted his horse, once more saluted the innkeeper, who kept\nuttering his loud farewells, and then returned by the road he had\ntravelled in coming. When Caderousse turned around, he saw behind\nhim La Carconte, paler and trembling more than ever. \"Is, then, all\nthat I have heard really true?\" she inquired.\n\"What? That he has given the diamond to us only?\" inquired\nCaderousse, half bewildered with joy; \"yes, nothing more true! See,\nhere it is.\" The woman gazed at it a moment, and then said, in a\ngloomy voice, \"Suppose it's false?\" Caderousse started and turned\npale. \"False!\" he muttered. \"False! Why should that man give me a\nfalse diamond?\"pale. \"False!\" he muttered. \"False! Why should that man give me a\nfalse diamond?\"\n\"To get your secret without paying for it, you blockhead!\"\nCaderousse remained for a moment aghast under the weight of such\nan idea. \"Oh!\" he said, taking up his hat, which he placed on the\nred handkerchief tied round his head, \"we will soon find out.\"\n\"In what way?\"\n\"Why, the fair is on at Beaucaire, there are always jewellers\nfrom Paris there, and I will show it to them. Look after the house,\nwife, and I shall be back in two hours,\" and Caderousse left the\nhouse in haste, and ran rapidly in the direction opposite to that\nwhich the priest had taken. \"Fifty thousand francs!\" muttered La\nCarconte when left alone; \"it is a large sum of money, but it is\nnot a fortune.\"Any one who had quitted Marseilles a few years previously, well\nacquainted with the interior of Morrel's warehouse, and had\nreturned at this date, would have found a great change. Instead of\nthat air of life, of comfort, and of happiness that permeates a\nflourishing and prosperous business establishment — instead of\nmerry faces at the windows, busy clerks hurrying to and fro in the\nlong corridors — instead of the court filled with bales of goods,\nre-echoing with the cries and the jokes of porters, one would have\nimmediately perceived all aspect of sadness and gloom. Out of all\nthe numerous clerks that used to fill the deserted corridor and the\nempty office, but two remained. One was a young man of three or\nfour and twenty, who was in love with M. Morrel's daughter, and had\nremained with him in spite of the efforts of his friends to induce\nhim to withdraw; the other was an old one-eyed cashier, called\n\"Cocles,\" or \"Cock-eye,\" a nickname given him by the young men who\nused to throng this vast now almost deserted bee-hive, and which\nhad so completely replaced his real name that he would not, in all\nprobability, have replied to any one who addressed him by it.\nCocles remained in M. Morrel's service, and a most singular\nchange had taken place in his position; he had at the same time\nrisen to the rank of cashier, and sunk to the rank of a servant. He\nwas, however, the same Cocles, good, patient, devoted, but\ninflexible on the subject of arithmetic, the only point on which he\nwould have stood firm against the world, even against M. Morrel;\nand strong in the multiplication-table, which he had at his\nfingers' ends, no matter what scheme or what trap was laid to catch\nhim. In the midst of the disasters that befell the house, Cocles\nwas the only one unmoved. But this did not arise from a want of\naffection; on the contrary, from a firm conviction. Like the rats\nthat one by one forsake the doomed ship even before the vessel\nweighs anchor, so all the numerous clerks had by degrees desertedweighs anchor, so all the numerous clerks had by degrees deserted\nthe office and the warehouse. Cocles had seen them go without\nthinking of inquiring the cause of their departure. Everything was\nas we have said, a question of arithmetic to Cocles, and during\ntwenty years he had always seen all payments made with such\nexactitude, that it seemed as impossible to him that the house\nshould stop payment, as it would to a miller that the river that\nhad so long turned his mill should cease to flow.\nNothing had as yet occurred to shake Cocles' belief; the last\nmonth's payment had been made with the most scrupulous exactitude;\nCocles had detected an overbalance of fourteen sous in his cash,\nand the same evening he had brought them to M. Morrel, who, with a\nmelancholy smile, threw them into an almost empty drawer, saying:\n—\n\"Thanks, Cocles; you are the pearl of cashiers.\"\nCocles went away perfectly happy, for this eulogium of M.\nMorrel, himself the pearl of the honest men of Marseilles,\nflattered him more than a present of fifty crowns. But since the\nend of the month M. Morrel had passed many an anxious hour. In\norder to meet the payments then due; he had collected all his\nresources, and, fearing lest the report of his distress should get\nbruited abroad at Marseilles when he was known to be reduced to\nsuch an extremity, he went to the Beaucaire fair to sell his wife's\nand daughter's jewels and a portion of his plate. By this means the\nend of the month was passed, but his resources were now exhausted.\nCredit, owing to the reports afloat, was no longer to be had; and\nto meet the one hundred thousand francs due on the 10th of the\npresent month, and the one hundred thousand francs due on the 15th\nof the next month to M. de Boville, M. Morrel had, in reality, no\nhope but the return of the Pharaon, of whose departure he had\nlearnt from a vessel which had weighed anchor at the same time, and\nwhich had already arrived in harbor. But this vessel which, like\nthe Pharaon, came from Calcutta, had been in for a fortnight, while"}
{"text": "the Pharaon, came from Calcutta, had been in for a fortnight, while\nno intelligence had been received of the Pharaon.\nSuch was the state of affairs when, the day after his interview\nwith M. de Boville, the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson\n& French of Rome, presented himself at M. Morrel's. Emmanuel\nreceived him; this young man was alarmed by the appearance of every\nnew face, for every new face might be that of a new creditor, come\nin anxiety to question the head of the house. The young man,\nwishing to spare his employer the pain of this interview,\nquestioned the new-comer; but the stranger declared that he had\nnothing to say to M. Emmanuel, and that his business was with M.\nMorrel in person. Emmanuel sighed, and summoned Cocles. Cocles\nappeared, and the young man bade him conduct the stranger to M.\nMorrel's apartment. Cocles went first, and the stranger followed\nhim. On the staircase they met a beautiful girl of sixteen or\nseventeen, who looked with anxiety at the stranger.\n\"M. Morrel is in his room, is he not, Mademoiselle Julie?\" said\nthe cashier.\n\"Yes; I think so, at least,\" said the young girl hesitatingly.\n\"Go and see, Cocles, and if my father is there, announce this\ngentleman.\"\n\"It will be useless to announce me, mademoiselle,\" returned the\nEnglishman. \"M. Morrel does not know my name; this worthy gentleman\nhas only to announce the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson\n& French of Rome, with whom your father does business.\"\nThe young girl turned pale and continued to descend, while the\nstranger and Cocles continued to mount the staircase. She entered\nthe office where Emmanuel was, while Cocles, by the aid of a key he\npossessed, opened a door in the corner of a landing-place on the\nsecond staircase, conducted the stranger into an ante-chamber,\nopened a second door, which he closed behind him, and after having\nleft the clerk of the house of Thomson & French alone, returned\nand signed to him that he could enter. The Englishman entered, andand signed to him that he could enter. The Englishman entered, and\nfound Morrel seated at a table, turning over the formidable columns\nof his ledger, which contained the list of his liabilities. At the\nsight of the stranger, M. Morrel closed the ledger, arose, and\noffered a seat to the stranger; and when he had seen him seated,\nresumed his own chair. Fourteen years had changed the worthy\nmerchant, who, in his thirty-sixth year at the opening of this\nhistory, was now in his fiftieth; his hair had turned white, time\nand sorrow had ploughed deep furrows on his brow, and his look,\nonce so firm and penetrating, was now irresolute and wandering, as\nif he feared being forced to fix his attention on some particular\nthought or person. The Englishman looked at him with an air of\ncuriosity, evidently mingled with interest. \"Monsieur,\" said\nMorrel, whose uneasiness was increased by this examination, \"you\nwish to speak to me?\"\n\"Yes, monsieur; you are aware from whom I come?\"\n\"The house of Thomson & French; at least, so my cashier\ntells me.\"\n\"He has told you rightly. The house of Thomson & French had\n300,000 or 400,000 francs to pay this month in France; and, knowing\nyour strict punctuality, have collected all the bills bearing your\nsignature, and charged me as they became due to present them, and\nto employ the money otherwise.\" Morrel sighed deeply, and passed\nhis hand over his forehead, which was covered with\nperspiration.\n\"So then, sir,\" said Morrel, \"you hold bills of mine?\"\n\"Yes, and for a considerable sum.\"\n\"What is the amount?\" asked Morrel with a voice he strove to\nrender firm.\n\"Here is,\" said the Englishman, taking a quantity of papers from\nhis pocket, \"an assignment of 200,000 francs to our house by M. de\nBoville, the inspector of prisons, to whom they are due. You\nacknowledge, of course, that you owe this sum to him?\"\n\"Yes; he placed the money in my hands at four and a half per\ncent nearly five years ago.\"\n\"When are you to pay?\"\n\"Half the 15th of this month, half the 15th of next.\"\"When are you to pay?\"\n\"Half the 15th of this month, half the 15th of next.\"\n\"Just so; and now here are 32,500 francs payable shortly; they\nare all signed by you, and assigned to our house by the\nholders.\"\n\"I recognize them,\" said Morrel, whose face was suffused, as he\nthought that, for the first time in his life, he would be unable to\nhonor his own signature. \"Is this all?\"\n\"No, I have for the end of the month these bills which have been\nassigned to us by the house of Pascal, and the house of Wild &\nTurner of Marseilles, amounting to nearly 55,000 francs; in all,\n287,500 francs.\" It is impossible to describe what Morrel suffered\nduring this enumeration. \"Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand\nfive hundred francs,\" repeated he.\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied the Englishman. \"I will not,\" continued he,\nafter a moment's silence, \"conceal from you, that while your\nprobity and exactitude up to this moment are universally\nacknowledged, yet the report is current in Marseilles that you are\nnot able to meet your liabilities.\" At this almost brutal speech\nMorrel turned deathly pale. \"Sir,\" said he, \"up to this time — and\nit is now more than four-and-twenty years since I received the\ndirection of this house from my father, who had himself conducted\nit for five and thirty years — never has anything bearing the\nsignature of Morrel & Son been dishonored.\"\n\"I know that,\" replied the Englishman. \"But as a man of honor\nshould answer another, tell me fairly, shall you pay these with the\nsame punctuality?\" Morrel shuddered, and looked at the man, who\nspoke with more assurance than he had hitherto shown. \"To questions\nfrankly put,\" said he, \"a straightforward answer should be given.\nYes, I shall pay, if, as I hope, my vessel arrives safely; for its\narrival will again procure me the credit which the numerous\naccidents, of which I have been the victim, have deprived me; but\nif the Pharaon should be lost, and this last resource be gone\" —\nthe poor man's eyes filled with tears.\n\"Well,\" said the other, \"if this last resource fail you?\""}
{"text": "the poor man's eyes filled with tears.\n\"Well,\" said the other, \"if this last resource fail you?\"\n\"Well,\" returned Morrel, \"it is a cruel thing to be forced to\nsay, but, already used to misfortune, I must habituate myself to\nshame. I fear I shall be forced to suspend payment.\"\n\"Have you no friends who could assist you?\" Morrel smiled\nmournfully. \"In business, sir,\" said he, \"one has no friends, only\ncorrespondents.\"\n\"It is true,\" murmured the Englishman; \"then you have but one\nhope.\"\n\"But one.\"\n\"The last?\"\n\"The last.\"\n\"So that if this fail\" —\n\"I am ruined, — completely ruined!\"\n\"As I was on my way here, a vessel was coming into port.\"\n\"I know it, sir; a young man, who still adheres to my fallen\nfortunes, passes a part of his time in a belvidere at the top of\nthe house, in hopes of being the first to announce good news to me;\nhe has informed me of the arrival of this ship.\"\n\"And it is not yours?\"\n\"No, she is a Bordeaux vessel, La Gironde; she comes from India\nalso; but she is not mine.\"\n\"Perhaps she has spoken the Pharaon, and brings you some tidings\nof her?\"\n\"Shall I tell you plainly one thing, sir? I dread almost as much\nto receive any tidings of my vessel as to remain in doubt.\nUncertainty is still hope.\" Then in a low voice Morrel added, —\n\"This delay is not natural. The Pharaon left Calcutta the 5th\nFebruary; she ought to have been here a month ago.\"\n\"What is that?\" said the Englishman. \"What is the meaning of\nthat noise?\"\n\"Oh, oh!\" cried Morrel, turning pale, \"what is it?\" A loud noise\nwas heard on the stairs of people moving hastily, and half-stifled\nsobs. Morrel rose and advanced to the door; but his strength failed\nhim and he sank into a chair. The two men remained opposite one\nanother, Morrel trembling in every limb, the stranger gazing at him\nwith an air of profound pity. The noise had ceased; but it seemed\nthat Morrel expected something — something had occasioned the\nnoise, and something must follow. The stranger fancied he heard\nfootsteps on the stairs; and that the footsteps, which were thosefootsteps on the stairs; and that the footsteps, which were those\nof several persons, stopped at the door. A key was inserted in the\nlock of the first door, and the creaking of hinges was audible.\n\"There are only two persons who have the key to that door,\"\nmurmured Morrel, \"Cocles and Julie.\" At this instant the second\ndoor opened, and the young girl, her eyes bathed with tears,\nappeared. Morrel rose tremblingly, supporting himself by the arm of\nthe chair. He would have spoken, but his voice failed him. \"Oh,\nfather!\" said she, clasping her hands, \"forgive your child for\nbeing the bearer of evil tidings.\"\nMorrel again changed color. Julie threw herself into his\narms.\n\"Oh, father, father!\" murmured she, \"courage!\"\n\"The Pharaon has gone down, then?\" said Morrel in a hoarse\nvoice. The young girl did not speak; but she made an affirmative\nsign with her head as she lay on her father's breast.\n\"And the crew?\" asked Morrel.\n\"Saved,\" said the girl; \"saved by the crew of the vessel that\nhas just entered the harbor.\" Morrel raised his two hands to heaven\nwith an expression of resignation and sublime gratitude. \"Thanks,\nmy God,\" said he, \"at least thou strikest but me alone.\" A tear\nmoistened the eye of the phlegmatic Englishman.\n\"Come in, come in,\" said Morrel, \"for I presume you are all at\nthe door.\"\nScarcely had he uttered those words than Madame Morrel entered\nweeping bitterly. Emmanuel followed her, and in the antechamber\nwere visible the rough faces of seven or eight half-naked sailors.\nAt the sight of these men the Englishman started and advanced a\nstep; then restrained himself, and retired into the farthest and\nmost obscure corner of the apartment. Madame Morrel sat down by her\nhusband and took one of his hands in hers, Julie still lay with her\nhead on his shoulder, Emmanuel stood in the centre of the chamber\nand seemed to form the link between Morrel's family and the sailors\nat the door.\n\"How did this happen?\" said Morrel.\n\"Draw nearer, Penelon,\" said the young man, \"and tell us all\nabout it.\"\"Draw nearer, Penelon,\" said the young man, \"and tell us all\nabout it.\"\nAn old seaman, bronzed by the tropical sun, advanced, twirling\nthe remains of a tarpaulin between his hands. \"Good-day, M.\nMorrel,\" said he, as if he had just quitted Marseilles the previous\nevening, and had just returned from Aix or Toulon.\n\"Good-day, Penelon,\" returned Morrel, who could not refrain from\nsmiling through his tears, \"where is the captain?\"\n\"The captain, M. Morrel, — he has stayed behind sick at Palma;\nbut please God, it won't be much, and you will see him in a few\ndays all alive and hearty.\"\n\"Well, now tell your story, Penelon.\"\nPenelon rolled his quid in his cheek, placed his hand before his\nmouth, turned his head, and sent a long jet of tobacco-juice into\nthe antechamber, advanced his foot, balanced himself, and began, —\n\"You see, M. Morrel,\" said he, \"we were somewhere between Cape\nBlanc and Cape Boyador, sailing with a fair breeze,\nsouth-south-west after a week's calm, when Captain Gaumard comes up\nto me — I was at the helm I should tell you — and says, `Penelon,\nwhat do you think of those clouds coming up over there?' I was just\nthen looking at them myself. `What do I think, captain? Why I think\nthat they are rising faster than they have any business to do, and\nthat they would not be so black if they didn't mean mischief.' —\n`That's my opinion too,' said the captain, `and I'll take\nprecautions accordingly. We are carrying too much canvas. Avast,\nthere, all hands! Take in the studding-sl's and stow the flying\njib.' It was time; the squall was on us, and the vessel began to\nheel. `Ah,' said the captain, `we have still too much canvas set;\nall hands lower the mains'l!' Five minutes after, it was down; and\nwe sailed under mizzen-tops'ls and to'gall'nt sails. `Well,\nPenelon,' said the captain, `what makes you shake your head?'\n`Why,' I says, `I still think you've got too much on.' `I think\nyou're right,' answered he, `we shall have a gale.' `A gale? More\nthan that, we shall have a tempest, or I don't know what's what.'"}
{"text": "than that, we shall have a tempest, or I don't know what's what.'\nYou could see the wind coming like the dust at Montredon; luckily\nthe captain understood his business. `Take in two reefs in the\ntops'ls,' cried the captain; `let go the bowlin's, haul the brace,\nlower the to'gall'nt sails, haul out the reef-tackles on the\nyards.'\"\n\"That was not enough for those latitudes,\" said the Englishman;\n\"I should have taken four reefs in the topsails and furled the\nspanker.\"\nHis firm, sonorous, and unexpected voice made every one start.\nPenelon put his hand over his eyes, and then stared at the man who\nthus criticized the manoeuvres of his captain. \"We did better than\nthat, sir,\" said the old sailor respectfully; \"we put the helm up\nto run before the tempest; ten minutes after we struck our tops'ls\nand scudded under bare poles.\"\n\"The vessel was very old to risk that,\" said the Englishman.\n\"Eh, it was that that did the business; after pitching heavily\nfor twelve hours we sprung a leak. `Penelon,' said the captain, `I\nthink we are sinking, give me the helm, and go down into the hold.'\nI gave him the helm, and descended; there was already three feet of\nwater. `All hands to the pumps!' I shouted; but it was too late,\nand it seemed the more we pumped the more came in. `Ah,' said I,\nafter four hours' work, `since we are sinking, let us sink; we can\ndie but once.' `That's the example you set, Penelon,' cries the\ncaptain; `very well, wait a minute.' He went into his cabin and\ncame back with a brace of pistols. `I will blow the brains out of\nthe first man who leaves the pump,' said he.\"\n\"Well done!\" said the Englishman.\n\"There's nothing gives you so much courage as good reasons,\"\ncontinued the sailor; \"and during that time the wind had abated,\nand the sea gone down, but the water kept rising; not much, only\ntwo inches an hour, but still it rose. Two inches an hour does not\nseem much, but in twelve hours that makes two feet, and three we\nhad before, that makes five. `Come,' said the captain, `we havehad before, that makes five. `Come,' said the captain, `we have\ndone all in our power, and M. Morrel will have nothing to reproach\nus with, we have tried to save the ship, let us now save ourselves.\nTo the boats, my lads, as quick as you can.' Now,\" continued\nPenelon, \"you see, M. Morrel, a sailor is attached to his ship, but\nstill more to his life, so we did not wait to be told twice; the\nmore so, that the ship was sinking under us, and seemed to say,\n`Get along — save yourselves.' We soon launched the boat, and all\neight of us got into it. The captain descended last, or rather, he\ndid not descend, he would not quit the vessel; so I took him round\nthe waist, and threw him into the boat, and then I jumped after\nhim. It was time, for just as I jumped the deck burst with a noise\nlike the broadside of a man-of-war. Ten minutes after she pitched\nforward, then the other way, spun round and round, and then good-by\nto the Pharaon. As for us, we were three days without anything to\neat or drink, so that we began to think of drawing lots who should\nfeed the rest, when we saw La Gironde; we made signals of distress,\nshe perceived us, made for us, and took us all on board. There now,\nM. Morrel, that's the whole truth, on the honor of a sailor; is not\nit true, you fellows there?\" A general murmur of approbation showed\nthat the narrator had faithfully detailed their misfortunes and\nsufferings.\n\"Well, well,\" said M. Morrel, \"I know there was no one in fault\nbut destiny. It was the will of God that this should happen,\nblessed be his name. What wages are due to you?\"\n\"Oh, don't let us talk of that, M. Morrel.\"\n\"Yes, but we will talk of it.\"\n\"Well, then, three months,\" said Penelon.\n\"Cocles, pay two hundred francs to each of these good fellows,\"\nsaid Morrel. \"At another time,\" added be, \"I should have said, Give\nthem, besides, two hundred francs over as a present; but times are\nchanged, and the little money that remains to me is not my\nown.\"\nPenelon turned to his companions, and exchanged a few words with\nthem.own.\"\nPenelon turned to his companions, and exchanged a few words with\nthem.\n\"As for that, M. Morrel,\" said he, again turning his quid, \"as\nfor that\" —\n\"As for what?\"\n\"The money.\"\n\"Well\" —\n\"Well, we all say that fifty francs will be enough for us at\npresent, and that we will wait for the rest.\"\n\"Thanks, my friends, thanks!\" cried Morrel gratefully; \"take it\n— take it; and if you can find another employer, enter his service;\nyou are free to do so.\" These last words produced a prodigious\neffect on the seaman. Penelon nearly swallowed his quid;\nfortunately he recovered. \"What, M. Morrel!\" said he in a low\nvoice, \"you send us away; you are then angry with us!\"\n\"No, no,\" said M. Morrel, \"I am not angry, quite the contrary,\nand I do not send you away; but I have no more ships, and therefore\nI do not want any sailors.\"\n\"No more ships!\" returned Penelon; \"well, then, you'll build\nsome; we'll wait for you.\"\n\"I have no money to build ships with, Penelon,\" said the poor\nowner mournfully, \"so I cannot accept your kind offer.\"\n\"No more money? Then you must not pay us; we can scud, like the\nPharaon, under bare poles.\"\n\"Enough, enough!\" cried Morrel, almost overpowered; \"leave me, I\npray you; we shall meet again in a happier time. Emmanuel, go with\nthem, and see that my orders are executed.\"\n\"At least, we shall see each other again, M. Morrel?\" asked\nPenelon.\n\"Yes; I hope so, at least. Now go.\" He made a sign to Cocles,\nwho went first; the seamen followed him and Emmanuel brought up the\nrear. \"Now,\" said the owner to his wife and daughter, \"leave me; I\nwish to speak with this gentleman.\" And he glanced towards the\nclerk of Thomson & French, who had remained motionless in the\ncorner during this scene, in which he had taken no part, except the\nfew words we have mentioned. The two women looked at this person\nwhose presence they had entirely forgotten, and retired; but, as\nshe left the apartment, Julie gave the stranger a supplicating\nglance, to which he replied by a smile that an indifferent"}
{"text": "glance, to which he replied by a smile that an indifferent\nspectator would have been surprised to see on his stern features.\nThe two men were left alone. \"Well, sir,\" said Morrel, sinking into\na chair, \"you have heard all, and I have nothing further to tell\nyou.\"\n\"I see,\" returned the Englishman, \"that a fresh and unmerited\nmisfortune his overwhelmed you, and this only increases my desire\nto serve you.\"\n\"Oh, sir!\" cried Morrel.\n\"Let me see,\" continued the stranger, \"I am one of your largest\ncreditors.\"\n\"Your bills, at least, are the first that will fall due.\"\n\"Do you wish for time to pay?\"\n\"A delay would save my honor, and consequently my life.\"\n\"How long a delay do you wish for?\" — Morrel reflected. \"Two\nmonths,\" said he.\n\"I will give you three,\" replied the stranger.\n\"But,\" asked Morrel, \"will the house of Thomson & French\nconsent?\"\n\"Oh, I take everything on myself. To-day is the 5th of\nJune.\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, renew these bills up to the 5th of September; and on the\n5th of September at eleven o'clock (the hand of the clock pointed\nto eleven), I shall come to receive the money.\"\n\"I shall expect you,\" returned Morrel; \"and I will pay you — or\nI shall he dead.\" These last words were uttered in so low a tone\nthat the stranger could not hear them. The bills were renewed, the\nold ones destroyed, and the poor ship-owner found himself with\nthree months before him to collect his resources. The Englishman\nreceived his thanks with the phlegm peculiar to his nation; and\nMorrel, overwhelming him with grateful blessings, conducted him to\nthe staircase. The stranger met Julie on the stairs; she pretended\nto be descending, but in reality she was waiting for him. \"Oh, sir\"\n— said she, clasping her hands.\n\"Mademoiselle,\" said the stranger, \"one day you will receive a\nletter signed `Sinbad the Sailor.' Do exactly what the letter bids\nyou, however strange it may appear.\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" returned Julie.\n\"Do you promise?\"\n\"I swear to you I will.\"\n\"It is well. Adieu, mademoiselle. Continue to be the good, sweet\"I swear to you I will.\"\n\"It is well. Adieu, mademoiselle. Continue to be the good, sweet\ngirl you are at present, and I have great hopes that heaven will\nreward you by giving you Emmanuel for a husband.\"\nJulie uttered a faint cry, blushed like a rose, and leaned\nagainst the baluster. The stranger waved his hand, and continued to\ndescend. In the court he found Penelon, who, with a rouleau of a\nhundred francs in either hand, seemed unable to make up his mind to\nretain them. \"Come with me, my friend,\" said the Englishman; \"I\nwish to speak to you.\"The extension provided for by the agent of Thomson & French,\nat the moment when Morrel expected it least, was to the poor\nshipowner so decided a stroke of good fortune that he almost dared\nto believe that fate was at length grown weary of wasting her spite\nupon him. The same day he told his wife, Emmanuel, and his daughter\nall that had occurred; and a ray of hope, if not of tranquillity,\nreturned to the family. Unfortunately, however, Morrel had not only\nengagements with the house of Thomson & French, who had shown\nthemselves so considerate towards him; and, as he had said, in\nbusiness he had correspondents, and not friends. When he thought\nthe matter over, he could by no means account for this generous\nconduct on the part of Thomson & French towards him; and could\nonly attribute it to some such selfish argument as this: — \"We had\nbetter help a man who owes us nearly 300,000 francs, and have those\n300,000 francs at the end of three months than hasten his ruin, and\nget only six or eight per cent of our money back again.\"\nUnfortunately, whether through envy or stupidity, all Morrel's\ncorrespondents did not take this view; and some even came to a\ncontrary decision. The bills signed by Morrel were presented at his\noffice with scrupulous exactitude, and, thanks to the delay granted\nby the Englishman, were paid by Cocles with equal punctuality.\nCocles thus remained in his accustomed tranquillity. It was Morrel\nalone who remembered with alarm, that if he had to repay on the\n15th the 50,000 francs of M. de Boville, and on the 30th the 32,500\nfrancs of bills, for which, as well as the debt due to the\ninspector of prisons, he had time granted, he must be a ruined\nman.\nThe opinion of all the commercial men was that, under the\nreverses which had successively weighed down Morrel, it was\nimpossible for him to remain solvent. Great, therefore, was the\nastonishment when at the end of the month, he cancelled all his\nobligations with his usual punctuality. Still confidence was notobligations with his usual punctuality. Still confidence was not\nrestored to all minds, and the general opinion was that the\ncomplete ruin of the unfortunate shipowner had been postponed only\nuntil the end of the month. The month passed, and Morrel made\nextraordinary efforts to get in all his resources. Formerly his\npaper, at any date, was taken with confidence, and was even in\nrequest. Morrel now tried to negotiate bills at ninety days only,\nand none of the banks would give him credit. Fortunately, Morrel\nhad some funds coming in on which he could rely; and, as they\nreached him, he found himself in a condition to meet his\nengagements when the end of July came. The agent of Thomson &\nFrench had not been again seen at Marseilles; the day after, or two\ndays after his visit to Morrel, he had disappeared; and as in that\ncity he had had no intercourse but with the mayor, the inspector of\nprisons, and M. Morrel, his departure left no trace except in the\nmemories of these three persons. As to the sailors of the Pharaon,\nthey must have found snug berths elsewhere, for they also had\ndisappeared.\nCaptain Gaumard, recovered from his illness, had returned from\nPalma. He delayed presenting himself at Morrel's, but the owner,\nhearing of his arrival, went to see him. The worthy shipowner knew,\nfrom Penelon's recital, of the captain's brave conduct during the\nstorm, and tried to console him. He brought him also the amount of\nhis wages, which Captain Gaumard had not dared to apply for. As he\ndescended the staircase, Morrel met Penelon, who was going up.\nPenelon had, it would seem, made good use of his money, for he was\nnewly clad. When he saw his employer, the worthy tar seemed much\nembarrassed, drew on one side into the corner of the landing-place,\npassed his quid from one cheek to the other, stared stupidly with\nhis great eyes, and only acknowledged the squeeze of the hand which\nMorrel as usual gave him by a slight pressure in return. Morrel\nattributed Penelon's embarrassment to the elegance of his attire;"}
{"text": "attributed Penelon's embarrassment to the elegance of his attire;\nit was evident the good fellow had not gone to such an expense on\nhis own account; he was, no doubt, engaged on board some other\nvessel, and thus his bashfulness arose from the fact of his not\nhaving, if we may so express ourselves, worn mourning for the\nPharaon longer. Perhaps he had come to tell Captain Gaumard of his\ngood luck, and to offer him employment from his new master. \"Worthy\nfellows!\" said Morrel, as he went away, \"may your new master love\nyou as I loved you, and be more fortunate than I have been!\"\nAugust rolled by in unceasing efforts on the part of Morrel to\nrenew his credit or revive the old. On the 20th of August it was\nknown at Marseilles that he had left town in the mailcoach, and\nthen it was said that the bills would go to protest at the end of\nthe month, and that Morrel had gone away and left his chief clerk\nEmmanuel, and his cashier Cocles, to meet the creditors. But,\ncontrary to all expectation, when the 31st of August came, the\nhouse opened as usual, and Cocles appeared behind the grating of\nthe counter, examined all bills presented with the usual scrutiny,\nand, from first to last, paid all with the usual precision. There\ncame in, moreover, two drafts which M. Morrel had fully\nanticipated, and which Cocles paid as punctually as the bills which\nthe shipowner had accepted. All this was incomprehensible, and\nthen, with the tenacity peculiar to prophets of bad news, the\nfailure was put off until the end of September. On the 1st, Morrel\nreturned; he was awaited by his family with extreme anxiety, for\nfrom this journey to Paris they hoped great things. Morrel had\nthought of Danglars, who was now immensely rich, and had lain under\ngreat obligations to Morrel in former days, since to him it was\nowing that Danglars entered the service of the Spanish banker, with\nwhom he had laid the foundations of his vast wealth. It was said at\nthis moment that Danglars was worth from six to eight millions ofthis moment that Danglars was worth from six to eight millions of\nfrancs, and had unlimited credit. Danglars, then, without taking a\ncrown from his pocket, could save Morrel; he had but to pass his\nword for a loan, and Morrel was saved. Morrel had long thought of\nDanglars, but had kept away from some instinctive motive, and had\ndelayed as long as possible availing himself of this last resource.\nAnd Morrel was right, for he returned home crushed by the\nhumiliation of a refusal. Yet, on his arrival, Morrel did not utter\na complaint, or say one harsh word. He embraced his weeping wife\nand daughter, pressed Emmanuel's hand with friendly warmth, and\nthen going to his private room on the second floor had sent for\nCocles. \"Then,\" said the two women to Emmanuel, \"we are indeed\nruined.\"\nIt was agreed in a brief council held among them, that Julie\nshould write to her brother, who was in garrison at Nimes, to come\nto them as speedily as possible. The poor women felt instinctively\nthat they required all their strength to support the blow that\nimpended. Besides, Maximilian Morrel, though hardly two and twenty,\nhad great influence over his father. He was a strong-minded,\nupright young man. At the time when he decided on his profession\nhis father had no desire to choose for him, but had consulted young\nMaximilian's taste. He had at once declared for a military life,\nand had in consequence studied hard, passed brilliantly through the\nPolytechnic School, and left it as sub-lieutenant of the 53d of the\nline. For a year he had held this rank, and expected promotion on\nthe first vacancy. In his regiment Maximilian Morrel was noted for\nhis rigid observance, not only of the obligations imposed on a\nsoldier, but also of the duties of a man; and he thus gained the\nname of \"the stoic.\" We need hardly say that many of those who gave\nhim this epithet repeated it because they had heard it, and did not\neven know what it meant. This was the young man whom his mother and\nsister called to their aid to sustain them under the serious trialsister called to their aid to sustain them under the serious trial\nwhich they felt they would soon have to endure. They had not\nmistaken the gravity of this event, for the moment after Morrel had\nentered his private office with Cocles, Julie saw the latter leave\nit pale, trembling, and his features betraying the utmost\nconsternation. She would have questioned him as he passed by her,\nbut the worthy creature hastened down the staircase with unusual\nprecipitation, and only raised his hands to heaven and exclaimed,\n\"Oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, what a dreadful misfortune! Who\ncould ever have believed it!\" A moment afterwards Julie saw him go\nup-stairs carrying two or three heavy ledgers, a portfolio, and a\nbag of money.\nMorrel examined the ledgers, opened the portfolio, and counted\nthe money. All his funds amounted to 6,000, or 8,000 francs, his\nbills receivable up to the 5th to 4,000 or 5,000, which, making the\nbest of everything, gave him 14,000 francs to meet debts amounting\nto 287,500 francs. He had not even the means for making a possible\nsettlement on account. However, when Morrel went down to his\ndinner, he appeared very calm. This calmness was more alarming to\nthe two women than the deepest dejection would have been. After\ndinner Morrel usually went out and used to take his coffee at the\nPhocaean club, and read the Semaphore; this day he did not leave\nthe house, but returned to his office.\nAs to Cocles, he seemed completely bewildered. For part of the\nday he went into the court-yard, seated himself on a stone with his\nhead bare and exposed to the blazing sun. Emmanuel tried to comfort\nthe women, but his eloquence faltered. The young man was too well\nacquainted with the business of the house, not to feel that a great\ncatastrophe hung over the Morrel family. Night came, the two women\nhad watched, hoping that when he left his room Morrel would come to\nthem, but they heard him pass before their door, and trying to\nconceal the noise of his footsteps. They listened; he went into his"}
{"text": "conceal the noise of his footsteps. They listened; he went into his\nsleeping-room, and fastened the door inside. Madame Morrel sent her\ndaughter to bed, and half an hour after Julie had retired, she\nrose, took off her shoes, and went stealthily along the passage, to\nsee through the keyhole what her husband was doing. In the passage\nshe saw a retreating shadow; it was Julie, who, uneasy herself, had\nanticipated her mother. The young lady went towards Madame\nMorrel.\n\"He is writing,\" she said. They had understood each other\nwithout speaking. Madame Morrel looked again through the keyhole,\nMorrel was writing; but Madame Morrel remarked, what her daughter\nhad not observed, that her husband was writing on stamped paper.\nThe terrible idea that he was writing his will flashed across her;\nshe shuddered, and yet had not strength to utter a word. Next day\nM. Morrel seemed as calm as ever, went into his office as usual,\ncame to his breakfast punctually, and then, after dinner, he placed\nhis daughter beside him, took her head in his arms, and held her\nfor a long time against his bosom. In the evening, Julie told her\nmother, that although he was apparently so calm, she had noticed\nthat her father's heart beat violently. The next two days passed in\nmuch the same way. On the evening of the 4th of September, M.\nMorrel asked his daughter for the key of his study. Julie trembled\nat this request, which seemed to her of bad omen. Why did her\nfather ask for this key which she always kept, and which was only\ntaken from her in childhood as a punishment? The young girl looked\nat Morrel.\n\"What have I done wrong, father,\" she said, \"that you should\ntake this key from me?\"\n\"Nothing, my dear,\" replied the unhappy man, the tears starting\nto his eyes at this simple question, — \"nothing, only I want it.\"\nJulie made a pretence to feel for the key. \"I must have left it in\nmy room,\" she said. And she went out, but instead of going to her\napartment she hastened to consult Emmanuel. \"Do not give this keyapartment she hastened to consult Emmanuel. \"Do not give this key\nto your father,\" said he, \"and to-morrow morning, if possible, do\nnot quit him for a moment.\" She questioned Emmanuel, but he knew\nnothing, or would not say what he knew. During the night, between\nthe 4th and 5th of September, Madame Morrel remained listening for\nevery sound, and, until three o'clock in the morning, she heard her\nhusband pacing the room in great agitation. It was three o'clock\nwhen he threw himself on the bed. The mother and daughter passed\nthe night together. They had expected Maximilian since the previous\nevening. At eight o'clock in the morning Morrel entered their\nchamber. He was calm; but the agitation of the night was legible in\nhis pale and careworn visage. They did not dare to ask him how he\nhad slept. Morrel was kinder to his wife, more affectionate to his\ndaughter, than he had ever been. He could not cease gazing at and\nkissing the sweet girl. Julie, mindful of Emmanuel's request, was\nfollowing her father when he quitted the room, but he said to her\nquickly, — \"Remain with your mother, dearest.\" Julie wished to\naccompany him. \"I wish you to do so,\" said he.\nThis was the first time Morrel had ever so spoken, but he said\nit in a tone of paternal kindness, and Julie did not dare to\ndisobey. She remained at the same spot standing mute and\nmotionless. An instant afterwards the door opened, she felt two\narms encircle her, and a mouth pressed her forehead. She looked up\nand uttered an exclamation of joy.\n\"Maximilian, my dearest brother!\" she cried. At these words\nMadame Morrel rose, and threw herself into her son's arms.\n\"Mother,\" said the young man, looking alternately at Madame Morrel\nand her daughter, \"what has occurred — what has happened? Your\nletter has frightened me, and I have come hither with all\nspeed.\"\n\"Julie,\" said Madame Morrel, making a sign to the young man, \"go\nand tell your father that Maximilian has just arrived.\" The young\nlady rushed out of the apartment, but on the first step of thelady rushed out of the apartment, but on the first step of the\nstaircase she found a man holding a letter in his hand.\n\"Are you not Mademoiselle Julie Morrel?\" inquired the man, with\na strong Italian accent.\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied Julie with hesitation; \"what is your\npleasure? I do not know you.\"\n\"Read this letter,\" he said, handing it to her. Julie hesitated.\n\"It concerns the best interests of your father,\" said the\nmessenger.\nThe young girl hastily took the letter from him. She opened it\nquickly and read: —\n\"Go this moment to the Allees de Meillan, enter the house No.\n15, ask the porter for the key of the room on the fifth floor,\nenter the apartment, take from the corner of the mantelpiece a\npurse netted in red silk, and give it to your father. It is\nimportant that he should receive it before eleven o'clock. You\npromised to obey me implicitly. Remember your oath.\n\"Sinbad the Sailor.\"\nThe young girl uttered a joyful cry, raised her eyes, looked\nround to question the messenger, but he had disappeared. She cast\nher eyes again over the note to peruse it a second time, and saw\nthere was a postscript. She read: —\n\"It is important that you should fulfil this mission in person\nand alone. If you go accompanied by any other person, or should any\none else go in your place, the porter will reply that he does not\nknow anything about it.\"\nThis postscript decreased greatly the young girl's happiness.\nWas there nothing to fear? was there not some snare laid for her?\nHer innocence had kept her in ignorance of the dangers that might\nassail a young girl of her age. But there is no need to know danger\nin order to fear it; indeed, it may be observed, that it is usually\nunknown perils that inspire the greatest terror.\nJulie hesitated, and resolved to take counsel. Yet, through a\nsingular impulse, it was neither to her mother nor her brother that\nshe applied, but to Emmanuel. She hastened down and told him what\nhad occurred on the day when the agent of Thomson & French had"}
{"text": "had occurred on the day when the agent of Thomson & French had\ncome to her father's, related the scene on the staircase, repeated\nthe promise she had made, and showed him the letter. \"You must go,\nthen, mademoiselle,\" said Emmanuel.\n\"Go there?\" murmured Julie.\n\"Yes; I will accompany you.\"\n\"But did you not read that I must be alone?\" said Julie.\n\"And you shall be alone,\" replied the young man. \"I will await\nyou at the corner of the Rue de Musee, and if you are so long\nabsent as to make me uneasy, I will hasten to rejoin you, and woe\nto him of whom you shall have cause to complain to me!\"\n\"Then, Emmanuel?\" said the young girl with hesitation, \"it is\nyour opinion that I should obey this invitation?\"\n\"Yes. Did not the messenger say your father's safety depended\nupon it?\"\n\"But what danger threatens him, then, Emmanuel?\" she asked.\nEmmanuel hesitated a moment, but his desire to make Julie decide\nimmediately made him reply.\n\"Listen,\" he said; \"to-day is the 5th of September, is it\nnot?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"To-day, then, at eleven o'clock, your father has nearly three\nhundred thousand francs to pay?\"\n\"Yes, we know that.\"\n\"Well, then,\" continued Emmanuel, \"we have not fifteen thousand\nfrancs in the house.\"\n\"What will happen then?\"\n\"Why, if to-day before eleven o'clock your father has not found\nsomeone who will come to his aid, he will be compelled at twelve\no'clock to declare himself a bankrupt.\"\n\"Oh, come, then, come!\" cried she, hastening away with the young\nman. During this time, Madame Morrel had told her son everything.\nThe young man knew quite well that, after the succession of\nmisfortunes which had befallen his father, great changes had taken\nplace in the style of living and housekeeping; but he did not know\nthat matters had reached such a point. He was thunderstruck. Then,\nrushing hastily out of the apartment, he ran up-stairs, expecting\nto find his father in his study, but he rapped there in vain.\nWhile he was yet at the door of the study he heard the bedroom\ndoor open, turned, and saw his father. Instead of going direct todoor open, turned, and saw his father. Instead of going direct to\nhis study, M. Morrel had returned to his bed-chamber, which he was\nonly this moment quitting. Morrel uttered a cry of surprise at the\nsight of his son, of whose arrival he was ignorant. He remained\nmotionless on the spot, pressing with his left hand something he\nhad concealed under his coat. Maximilian sprang down the staircase,\nand threw his arms round his father's neck; but suddenly he\nrecoiled, and placed his right hand on Morrel's breast. \"Father,\"\nhe exclaimed, turning pale as death, \"what are you going to do with\nthat brace of pistols under your coat?\"\n\"Oh, this is what I feared!\" said Morrel.\n\"Father, father, in heaven's name,\" exclaimed the young man,\n\"what are these weapons for?\"\n\"Maximilian,\" replied Morrel, looking fixedly at his son, \"you\nare a man, and a man of honor. Come, and I will explain to\nyou.\"\nAnd with a firm step Morrel went up to his study, while\nMaximilian followed him, trembling as he went. Morrel opened the\ndoor, and closed it behind his son; then, crossing the anteroom,\nwent to his desk on which he placed the pistols, and pointed with\nhis finger to an open ledger. In this ledger was made out an exact\nbalance-sheet of his affair's. Morrel had to pay, within half an\nhour, 287,500 francs. All he possessed was 15,257 francs. \"Read!\"\nsaid Morrel.\nThe young man was overwhelmed as he read. Morrel said not a\nword. What could he say? What need he add to such a desperate proof\nin figures? \"And have you done all that is possible, father, to\nmeet this disastrous result?\" asked the young man, after a moment's\npause. \"I have,\" replied Morrel.\n\"You have no money coming in on which you can rely?\"\n\"None.\"\n\"You have exhausted every resource?\"\n\"All.\"\n\"And in half an hour,\" said Maximilian in a gloomy voice, \"our\nname is dishonored!\"\n\"Blood washes out dishonor,\" said Morrel.\n\"You are right, father; I understand you.\" Then extending his\nhand towards one of the pistols, he said, \"There is one for you andhand towards one of the pistols, he said, \"There is one for you and\none for me — thanks!\" Morrel caught his hand. \"Your mother — your\nsister! Who will support them?\" A shudder ran through the young\nman's frame. \"Father,\" he said, \"do you reflect that you are\nbidding me to live?\"\n\"Yes, I do so bid you,\" answered Morrel, \"it is your duty. You\nhave a calm, strong mind, Maximilian. Maximilian, you are no\nordinary man. I make no requests or commands; I only ask you to\nexamine my position as if it were your own, and then judge for\nyourself.\"\nThe young man reflected for a moment, then an expression of\nsublime resignation appeared in his eyes, and with a slow and sad\ngesture he took off his two epaulets, the insignia of his rank. \"Be\nit so, then, my father,\" he said, extending his hand to Morrel,\n\"die in peace, my father; I will live.\" Morrel was about to cast\nhimself on his knees before his son, but Maximilian caught him in\nhis arms, and those two noble hearts were pressed against each\nother for a moment. \"You know it is not my fault,\" said Morrel.\nMaximilian smiled. \"I know, father, you are the most honorable man\nI have ever known.\"\n\"Good, my son. And now there is no more to be said; go and\nrejoin your mother and sister.\"\n\"My father,\" said the young man, bending his knee, \"bless me!\"\nMorrel took the head of his son between his two hands, drew him\nforward, and kissing his forehead several times said, \"Oh, yes,\nyes, I bless you in my own name, and in the name of three\ngenerations of irreproachable men, who say through me, `The edifice\nwhich misfortune has destroyed, providence may build up again.' On\nseeing me die such a death, the most inexorable will have pity on\nyou. To you, perhaps, they will accord the time they have refused\nto me. Then do your best to keep our name free from dishonor. Go to\nwork, labor, young man, struggle ardently and courageously; live,\nyourself, your mother and sister, with the most rigid economy, so\nthat from day to day the property of those whom I leave in your"}
{"text": "that from day to day the property of those whom I leave in your\nhands may augment and fructify. Reflect how glorious a day it will\nbe, how grand, how solemn, that day of complete restoration, on\nwhich you will say in this very office, `My father died because he\ncould not do what I have this day done; but he died calmly and\npeaceably, because in dying he knew what I should do.'\"\n\"My father, my father!\" cried the young man, \"why should you not\nlive?\"\n\"If I live, all would be changed; if I live, interest would be\nconverted into doubt, pity into hostility; if I live I am only a\nman who his broken his word, failed in his engagements — in fact,\nonly a bankrupt. If, on the contrary, I die, remember, Maximilian,\nmy corpse is that of an honest but unfortunate man. Living, my best\nfriends would avoid my house; dead, all Marseilles will follow me\nin tears to my last home. Living, you would feel shame at my name;\ndead, you may raise your head and say, `I am the son of him you\nkilled, because, for the first time, he has been compelled to break\nhis word.'\"\nThe young man uttered a groan, but appeared resigned.\n\"And now,\" said Morrel, \"leave me alone, and endeavor to keep\nyour mother and sister away.\"\n\"Will you not see my sister once more?\" asked Maximilian. A last\nbut final hope was concealed by the young man in the effect of this\ninterview, and therefore he had suggested it. Morrel shook his\nhead. \"I saw her this morning, and bade her adieu.\"\n\"Have you no particular commands to leave with me, my father?\"\ninquired Maximilian in a faltering voice.\n\"Yes; my son, and a sacred command.\"\n\"Say it, my father.\"\n\"The house of Thomson & French is the only one who, from\nhumanity, or, it may be, selfishness — it is not for me to read\nmen's hearts — has had any pity for me. Its agent, who will in ten\nminutes present himself to receive the amount of a bill of 287,500\nfrancs, I will not say granted, but offered me three months. Let\nthis house be the first repaid, my son, and respect this man.\"\n\"Father, I will,\" said Maximilian.this house be the first repaid, my son, and respect this man.\"\n\"Father, I will,\" said Maximilian.\n\"And now, once more, adieu,\" said Morrel. \"Go, leave me; I would\nbe alone. You will find my will in the secretary in my\nbedroom.\"\nThe young man remained standing and motionless, having but the\nforce of will and not the power of execution.\n\"Hear me, Maximilian,\" said his father. \"Suppose I was a soldier\nlike you, and ordered to carry a certain redoubt, and you knew I\nmust be killed in the assault, would you not say to me, as you said\njust now, `Go, father; for you are dishonored by delay, and death\nis preferable to shame!'\"\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the young man, \"yes;\" and once again embracing\nhis father with convulsive pressure, he said, \"Be it so, my\nfather.\"\nAnd he rushed out of the study. When his son had left him,\nMorrel remained an instant standing with his eyes fixed on the\ndoor; then putting forth his arm, he pulled the bell. After a\nmoment's interval, Cocles appeared.\nIt was no longer the same man — the fearful revelations of the\nthree last days had crushed him. This thought — the house of Morrel\nis about to stop payment — bent him to the earth more than twenty\nyears would otherwise have done.\n\"My worthy Cocles,\" said Morrel in a tone impossible to\ndescribe, \"do you remain in the ante-chamber. When the gentleman\nwho came three months ago — the agent of Thomson & French —\narrives, announce his arrival to me.\" Cocles made no reply; he made\na sign with his head, went into the anteroom, and seated himself.\nMorrel fell back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the clock; there\nwere seven minutes left, that was all. The hand moved on with\nincredible rapidity, he seemed to see its motion.\nWhat passed in the mind of this man at the supreme moment of his\nagony cannot be told in words. He was still comparatively young, he\nwas surrounded by the loving care of a devoted family, but he had\nconvinced himself by a course of reasoning, illogical perhaps, yet\ncertainly plausible, that he must separate himself from all he heldcertainly plausible, that he must separate himself from all he held\ndear in the world, even life itself. To form the slightest idea of\nhis feelings, one must have seen his face with its expression of\nenforced resignation and its tear-moistened eyes raised to heaven.\nThe minute hand moved on. The pistols were loaded; he stretched\nforth his hand, took one up, and murmured his daughter's name. Then\nhe laid it down seized his pen, and wrote a few words. It seemed to\nhim as if he had not taken a sufficient farewell of his beloved\ndaughter. Then he turned again to the clock, counting time now not\nby minutes, but by seconds. He took up the deadly weapon again, his\nlips parted and his eyes fixed on the clock, and then shuddered at\nthe click of the trigger as he cocked the pistol. At this moment of\nmortal anguish the cold sweat came forth upon his brow, a pang\nstronger than death clutched at his heart-strings. He heard the\ndoor of the staircase creak on its hinges — the clock gave its\nwarning to strike eleven — the door of his study opened; Morrel did\nnot turn round — he expected these words of Cocles, \"The agent of\nThomson & French.\"\nHe placed the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth. Suddenly\nhe heard a cry — it was his daughter's voice. He turned and saw\nJulie. The pistol fell from his hands. \"My father!\" cried the young\ngirl, out of breath, and half dead with joy — \"saved, you are\nsaved!\" And she threw herself into his arms, holding in her\nextended hand a red, netted silk purse.\n\"Saved, my child!\" said Morrel; \"what do you mean?\"\n\"Yes, saved — saved! See, see!\" said the young girl.\nMorrel took the purse, and started as he did so, for a vague\nremembrance reminded him that it once belonged to himself. At one\nend was the receipted bill for the 287,000 francs, and at the other\nwas a diamond as large as a hazel-nut, with these words on a small\nslip of parchment: — Julie's Dowry.\nMorrel passed his hand over his brow; it seemed to him a dream.\nAt this moment the clock struck eleven. He felt as if each stroke"}
{"text": "At this moment the clock struck eleven. He felt as if each stroke\nof the hammer fell upon his heart. \"Explain, my child,\" he said,\n\"Explain, my child,\" he said, \"explain — where did you find this\npurse?\"\n\"In a house in the Allees de Meillan, No. 15, on the corner of a\nmantelpiece in a small room on the fifth floor.\"\n\"But,\" cried Morrel, \"this purse is not yours!\" Julie handed to\nher father the letter she had received in the morning.\n\"And did you go alone?\" asked Morrel, after he had read it.\n\"Emmanuel accompanied me, father. He was to have waited for me\nat the corner of the Rue de Musee, but, strange to say, he was not\nthere when I returned.\"\n\"Monsieur Morrel!\" exclaimed a voice on the stairs. — \"Monsieur\nMorrel!\"\n\"It is his voice!\" said Julie. At this moment Emmanuel entered,\nhis countenance full of animation and joy. \"The Pharaon!\" he cried;\n\"the Pharaon!\"\n\"What — what — the Pharaon! Are you mad, Emmanuel? You know the\nvessel is lost.\"\n\"The Pharaon, sir — they signal the Pharaon! The Pharaon is\nentering the harbor!\" Morrel fell back in his chair, his strength\nwas failing him; his understanding weakened by such events, refused\nto comprehend such incredible, unheard-of, fabulous facts. But his\nson came in. \"Father,\" cried Maximilian, \"how could you say the\nPharaon was lost? The lookout has signalled her, and they say she\nis now coming into port.\"\n\"My dear friends,\" said Morrel, \"if this be so, it must be a\nmiracle of heaven! Impossible, impossible!\"\nBut what was real and not less incredible was the purse he held\nin his hand, the acceptance receipted — the splendid diamond.\n\"Ah, sir,\" exclaimed Cocles, \"what can it mean? — the\nPharaon?\"\n\"Come, dear ones,\" said Morrel, rising from his seat, \"let us go\nand see, and heaven have pity upon us if it be false intelligence!\"\nThey all went out, and on the stairs met Madame Morrel, who had\nbeen afraid to go up into the study. In a moment they were at the\nCannebiere. There was a crowd on the pier. All the crowd gave wayCannebiere. There was a crowd on the pier. All the crowd gave way\nbefore Morrel. \"The Pharaon, the Pharaon!\" said every voice.\nAnd, wonderful to see, in front of the tower of Saint-Jean, was\na ship bearing on her stern these words, printed in white letters,\n\"The Pharaon, Morrel & Son, of Marseilles.\" She was the exact\nduplicate of the other Pharaon, and loaded, as that had been, with\ncochineal and indigo. She cast anchor, clued up sails, and on the\ndeck was Captain Gaumard giving orders, and good old Penelon making\nsignals to M. Morrel. To doubt any longer was impossible; there was\nthe evidence of the senses, and ten thousand persons who came to\ncorroborate the testimony. As Morrel and his son embraced on the\npier-head, in the presence and amid the applause of the whole city\nwitnessing this event, a man, with his face half-covered by a black\nbeard, and who, concealed behind the sentry-box, watched the scene\nwith delight, uttered these words in a low tone: \"Be happy, noble\nheart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt do\nhereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like your good\ndeeds.\"\nAnd with a smile expressive of supreme content, he left his\nhiding-place, and without being observed, descended one of the\nflights of steps provided for debarkation, and hailing three times,\nshouted \"Jacopo, Jacopo, Jacopo!\" Then a launch came to shore, took\nhim on board, and conveyed him to a yacht splendidly fitted up, on\nwhose deck he sprung with the activity of a sailor; thence he once\nagain looked towards Morrel, who, weeping with joy, was shaking\nhands most cordially with all the crowd around him, and thanking\nwith a look the unknown benefactor whom he seemed to be seeking in\nthe skies. \"And now,\" said the unknown, \"farewell kindness,\nhumanity, and gratitude! Farewell to all the feelings that expand\nthe heart! I have been heaven's substitute to recompense the good —\nnow the god of vengeance yields to me his power to punish the\nwicked!\" At these words he gave a signal, and, as if only awaitingwicked!\" At these words he gave a signal, and, as if only awaiting\nthis signal, the yacht instantly put out to sea.Towards the beginning of the year 1838, two young men belonging\nto the first society of Paris, the Vicomte Albert de Morcerf and\nthe Baron Franz d'Epinay, were at Florence. They had agreed to see\nthe Carnival at Rome that year, and that Franz, who for the last\nthree or four years had inhabited Italy, should act as cicerone to\nAlbert. As it is no inconsiderable affair to spend the Carnival at\nRome, especially when you have no great desire to sleep on the\nPiazza del Popolo, or the Campo Vaccino, they wrote to Signor\nPastrini, the proprietor of the Hotel de Londres, Piazza di Spagna,\nto reserve comfortable apartments for them. Signor Pastrini replied\nthat he had only two rooms and a parlor on the third floor, which\nhe offered at the low charge of a louis per diem. They accepted his\noffer; but wishing to make the best use of the time that was left,\nAlbert started for Naples. As for Franz, he remained at Florence,\nand after having passed a few days in exploring the paradise of the\nCascine, and spending two or three evenings at the houses of the\nFlorentine nobility, he took a fancy into his head (having already\nvisited Corsica, the cradle of Bonaparte) to visit Elba, the\nwaiting-place of Napoleon.\nOne evening he cast off the painter of a sailboat from the iron\nring that secured it to the dock at Leghorn, wrapped himself in his\ncoat and lay down, and said to the crew, — \"To the Island of Elba!\"\nThe boat shot out of the harbor like a bird and the next morning\nFranz disembarked at Porto-Ferrajo. He traversed the island, after\nhaving followed the traces which the footsteps of the giant have\nleft, and re-embarked for Marciana. Two hours after he again landed\nat Pianosa, where he was assured that red partridges abounded. The\nsport was bad; Franz only succeeded in killing a few partridges,\nand, like every unsuccessful sportsman, he returned to the boat\nvery much out of temper. \"Ah, if your excellency chose,\" said the\ncaptain, \"you might have capital sport.\"\n\"Where?\""}
{"text": "captain, \"you might have capital sport.\"\n\"Where?\"\n\"Do you see that island?\" continued the captain, pointing to a\nconical pile rising from the indigo sea.\n\"Well, what is this island?\"\n\"The Island of Monte Cristo.\"\n\"But I have no permission to shoot over this island.\"\n\"Your excellency does not require a permit, for the island is\nuninhabited.\"\n\"Ah, indeed!\" said the young man. \"A desert island in the midst\nof the Mediterranean must be a curiosity.\"\n\"It is very natural; this island is a mass of rocks, and does\nnot contain an acre of land capable of cultivation.\"\n\"To whom does this island belong?\"\n\"To Tuscany.\"\n\"What game shall I find there!\"\n\"Thousands of wild goats.\"\n\"Who live upon the stones, I suppose,\" said Franz with an\nincredulous smile.\n\"No, but by browsing the shrubs and trees that grow out of the\ncrevices of the rocks.\"\n\"Where can I sleep?\"\n\"On shore in the grottos, or on board in your cloak; besides, if\nyour excellency pleases, we can leave as soon as you like — we can\nsail as well by night as by day, and if the wind drops we can use\nour oars.\"\nAs Franz had sufficient time, and his apartments at Rome were\nnot yet available, he accepted the proposition. Upon his answer in\nthe affirmative, the sailors exchanged a few words together in a\nlow tone. \"Well,\" asked he, \"what now? Is there any difficulty in\nthe way?\"\n\"No.\" replied the captain, \"but we must warn your excellency\nthat the island is an infected port.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"Monte Cristo although uninhabited, yet serves occasionally as a\nrefuge for the smugglers and pirates who come from Corsica,\nSardinia, and Africa, and if it becomes known that we have been\nthere, we shall have to perform quarantine for six days on our\nreturn to Leghorn.\"\n\"The deuce! That puts a different face on the matter. Six days!\nWhy, that's as long as the Almighty took to make the world! Too\nlong a wait — too long.\"\n\"But who will say your excellency has been to Monte Cristo?\"\n\"Oh, I shall not,\" cried Franz.\n\"Nor I, nor I,\" chorused the sailors.\n\"Then steer for Monte Cristo.\"\"Nor I, nor I,\" chorused the sailors.\n\"Then steer for Monte Cristo.\"\nThe captain gave his orders, the helm was put up, and the boat\nwas soon sailing in the direction of the island. Franz waited until\nall was in order, and when the sail was filled, and the four\nsailors had taken their places — three forward, and one at the helm\n— he resumed the conversation. \"Gaetano,\" said he to the captain,\n\"you tell me Monte Cristo serves as a refuge for pirates, who are,\nit seems to me, a very different kind of game from the goats.\"\n\"Yes, your excellency, and it is true.\"\n\"I knew there were smugglers, but I thought that since the\ncapture of Algiers, and the destruction of the regency, pirates\nexisted only in the romances of Cooper and Captain Marryat.\"\n\"Your excellency is mistaken; there are pirates, like the\nbandits who were believed to have been exterminated by Pope Leo\nXII., and who yet, every day, rob travellers at the gates of Rome.\nHas not your excellency heard that the French charge d'affaires was\nrobbed six months ago within five hundred paces of Velletri?\"\n\"Oh, yes, I heard that.\"\n\"Well, then, if, like us, your excellency lived at Leghorn, you\nwould hear, from time to time, that a little merchant vessel, or an\nEnglish yacht that was expected at Bastia, at Porto-Ferrajo, or at\nCivita Vecchia, has not arrived; no one knows what has become of\nit, but, doubtless, it has struck on a rock and foundered. Now this\nrock it has met has been a long and narrow boat, manned by six or\neight men, who have surprised and plundered it, some dark and\nstormy night, near some desert and gloomy island, as bandits\nplunder a carriage in the recesses of a forest.\"\n\"But,\" asked Franz, who lay wrapped in his cloak at the bottom\nof the boat, \"why do not those who have been plundered complain to\nthe French, Sardinian, or Tuscan governments?\"\n\"Why?\" said Gaetano with a smile.\n\"Yes, why?\"\n\"Because, in the first place, they transfer from the vessel to\ntheir own boat whatever they think worth taking, then they bind thetheir own boat whatever they think worth taking, then they bind the\ncrew hand and foot, they attach to every one's neck a four and\ntwenty pound ball, a large hole is chopped in the vessel's bottom,\nand then they leave her. At the end of ten minutes the vessel\nbegins to roll heavily and settle down. First one gun'l goes under,\nthen the other. Then they lift and sink again, and both go under at\nonce. All at once there's a noise like a cannon — that's the air\nblowing up the deck. Soon the water rushes out of the scupper-holes\nlike a whale spouting, the vessel gives a last groan, spins round\nand round, and disappears, forming a vast whirlpool in the ocean,\nand then all is over, so that in five minutes nothing but the eye\nof God can see the vessel where she lies at the bottom of the sea.\nDo you understand now,\" said the captain, \"why no complaints are\nmade to the government, and why the vessel never reaches port?\"\nIt is probable that if Gaetano had related this previous to\nproposing the expedition, Franz would have hesitated, but now that\nthey had started, he thought it would be cowardly to draw back. He\nwas one of those men who do not rashly court danger, but if danger\npresents itself, combat it with the most unalterable coolness. Calm\nand resolute, he treated any peril as he would an adversary in a\nduel, — calculated its probable method of approach; retreated, if\nat all, as a point of strategy and not from cowardice; was quick to\nsee an opening for attack, and won victory at a single thrust.\n\"Bah!\" said he, \"I have travelled through Sicily and Calabria — I\nhave sailed two months in the Archipelago, and yet I never saw even\nthe shadow of a bandit or a pirate.\"\n\"I did not tell your excellency this to deter you from your\nproject,\" replied Gaetano, \"but you questioned me, and I have\nanswered; that's all.\"\n\"Yes, and your conversation is most interesting; and as I wish\nto enjoy it as long as possible, steer for Monte Cristo.\"\nThe wind blew strongly, the boat made six or seven knots an"}
{"text": "The wind blew strongly, the boat made six or seven knots an\nhour, and they were rapidly reaching the end of their voyage. As\nthey drew near the island seemed to lift from the sea, and the air\nwas so clear that they could already distinguish the rocks heaped\non one another, like cannon balls in an arsenal, with green bushes\nand trees growing in the crevices. As for the sailors, although\nthey appeared perfectly tranquil yet it was evident that they were\non the alert, and that they carefully watched the glassy surface\nover which they were sailing, and on which a few fishing-boats,\nwith their white sails, were alone visible. They were within\nfifteen miles of Monte Cristo when the sun began to set behind\nCorsica, whose mountains appeared against the sky, showing their\nrugged peaks in bold relief; this mass of rock, like the giant\nAdamastor, rose dead ahead, a formidable barrier, and intercepting\nthe light that gilded its massive peaks so that the voyagers were\nin shadow. Little by little the shadow rose higher and seemed to\ndrive before it the last rays of the expiring day; at last the\nreflection rested on the summit of the mountain, where it paused an\ninstant, like the fiery crest of a volcano, then gloom gradually\ncovered the summit as it had covered the base, and the island now\nonly appeared to be a gray mountain that grew continually darker;\nhalf an hour after, the night was quite dark.\nFortunately, the mariners were used to these latitudes, and knew\nevery rock in the Tuscan Archipelago; for in the midst of this\nobscurity Franz was not without uneasiness — Corsica had long since\ndisappeared, and Monte Cristo itself was invisible; but the sailors\nseemed, like the lynx, to see in the dark, and the pilot who\nsteered did not evince the slightest hesitation. An hour had passed\nsince the sun had set, when Franz fancied he saw, at a quarter of a\nmile to the left, a dark mass, but he could not precisely make out\nwhat it was, and fearing to excite the mirth of the sailors bywhat it was, and fearing to excite the mirth of the sailors by\nmistaking a floating cloud for land, he remained silent; suddenly a\ngreat light appeared on the strand; land might resemble a cloud,\nbut the fire was not a meteor. \"What is this light?\" asked he.\n\"Hush!\" said the captain; \"it is a fire.\"\n\"But you told me the island was uninhabited?\"\n\"I said there were no fixed habitations on it, but I said also\nthat it served sometimes as a harbor for smugglers.\"\n\"And for pirates?\"\n\"And for pirates,\" returned Gaetano, repeating Franz's words.\n\"It is for that reason I have given orders to pass the island, for,\nas you see, the fire is behind us.\"\n\"But this fire?\" continued Franz. \"It seems to me rather\nreassuring than otherwise; men who did not wish to be seen would\nnot light a fire.\"\n\"Oh, that goes for nothing,\" said Gaetano. \"If you can guess the\nposition of the island in the darkness, you will see that the fire\ncannot be seen from the side or from Pianosa, but only from the\nsea.\"\n\"You think, then, this fire indicates the presence of unpleasant\nneighbors?\"\n\"That is what we must find out,\" returned Gaetano, fixing his\neyes on this terrestrial star.\n\"How can you find out?\"\n\"You shall see.\" Gaetano consulted with his companions, and\nafter five minutes' discussion a manoeuvre was executed which\ncaused the vessel to tack about, they returned the way they had\ncome, and in a few minutes the fire disappeared, hidden by an\nelevation of the land. The pilot again changed the course of the\nboat, which rapidly approached the island, and was soon within\nfifty paces of it. Gaetano lowered the sail, and the boat came to\nrest. All this was done in silence, and from the moment that their\ncourse was changed not a word was spoken.\nGaetano, who had proposed the expedition, had taken all the\nresponsibility on himself; the four sailors fixed their eyes on\nhim, while they got out their oars and held themselves in readiness\nto row away, which, thanks to the darkness, would not be difficult.to row away, which, thanks to the darkness, would not be difficult.\nAs for Franz, he examined his arms with the utmost coolness; he had\ntwo double-barrelled guns and a rifle; he loaded them, looked at\nthe priming, and waited quietly. During this time the captain had\nthrown off his vest and shirt, and secured his trousers round his\nwaist; his feet were naked, so he had no shoes and stockings to\ntake off; after these preparations he placed his finger on his\nlips, and lowering himself noiselessly into the sea, swam towards\nthe shore with such precaution that it was impossible to hear the\nslightest sound; he could only be traced by the phosphorescent line\nin his wake. This track soon disappeared; it was evident that he\nhad touched the shore. Every one on board remained motionless for\nhalf an hour, when the same luminous track was again observed, and\nthe swimmer was soon on board. \"Well?\" exclaimed Franz and the\nsailors in unison.\n\"They are Spanish smugglers,\" said he; \"they have with them two\nCorsican bandits.\"\n\"And what are these Corsican bandits doing here with Spanish\nsmugglers?\"\n\"Alas,\" returned the captain with an accent of the most profound\npity, \"we ought always to help one another. Very often the bandits\nare hard pressed by gendarmes or carbineers; well, they see a\nvessel, and good fellows like us on board, they come and demand\nhospitality of us; you can't refuse help to a poor hunted devil; we\nreceive them, and for greater security we stand out to sea. This\ncosts us nothing, and saves the life, or at least the liberty, of a\nfellow-creature, who on the first occasion returns the service by\npointing out some safe spot where we can land our goods without\ninterruption.\"\n\"Ah!\" said Franz, \"then you are a smuggler occasionally,\nGaetano?\"\n\"Your excellency, we must live somehow,\" returned the other,\nsmiling impenetrably.\n\"Then you know the men who are now on Monte Cristo?\"\n\"Oh, yes, we sailors are like freemasons, and recognize each\nother by signs.\"\n\"And do you think we have nothing to fear if we land?\""}
{"text": "other by signs.\"\n\"And do you think we have nothing to fear if we land?\"\n\"Nothing at all; smugglers are not thieves.\"\n\"But these two Corsican bandits?\" said Franz, calculating the\nchances of peril.\n\"It is not their fault that they are bandits, but that of the\nauthorities.\"\n\"How so?\"\n\"Because they are pursued for having made a stiff, as if it was\nnot in a Corsican's nature to revenge himself.\"\n\"What do you mean by having made a stiff? — having assassinated\na man?\" said Franz, continuing his investigation.\n\"I mean that they have killed an enemy, which is a very\ndifferent thing,\" returned the captain.\n\"Well,\" said the young man, \"let us demand hospitality of these\nsmugglers and bandits. Do you think they will grant it?\"\n\"Without doubt.\"\n\"How many are they?\"\n\"Four, and the two bandits make six.\"\n\"Just our number, so that if they prove troublesome, we shall be\nable to hold them in check; so, for the last time, steer to Monte\nCristo.\"\n\"Yes, but your excellency will permit us to take all due\nprecautions.\"\n\"By all means, be as wise as Nestor and as prudent as Ulysses; I\ndo more than permit, I exhort you.\"\n\"Silence, then!\" said Gaetano.\nEvery one obeyed. For a man who, like Franz, viewed his position\nin its true light, it was a grave one. He was alone in the darkness\nwith sailors whom he did not know, and who had no reason to be\ndevoted to him; who knew that he had several thousand francs in his\nbelt, and who had often examined his weapons, — which were very\nbeautiful, — if not with envy, at least with curiosity. On the\nother hand, he was about to land, without any other escort than\nthese men, on an island which had, indeed, a very religious name,\nbut which did not seem to Franz likely to afford him much\nhospitality, thanks to the smugglers and bandits. The history of\nthe scuttled vessels, which had appeared improbable during the day,\nseemed very probable at night; placed as he was between two\npossible sources of danger, he kept his eye on the crew, and hispossible sources of danger, he kept his eye on the crew, and his\ngun in his hand. The sailors had again hoisted sail, and the vessel\nwas once more cleaving the waves. Through the darkness Franz, whose\neyes were now more accustomed to it, could see the looming shore\nalong which the boat was sailing, and then, as they rounded a rocky\npoint, he saw the fire more brilliant than ever, and about it five\nor six persons seated. The blaze illumined the sea for a hundred\npaces around. Gaetano skirted the light, carefully keeping the boat\nin the shadow; then, when they were opposite the fire, he steered\nto the centre of the circle, singing a fishing song, of which his\ncompanions sung the chorus. At the first words of the song the men\nseated round the fire arose and approached the landing-place, their\neyes fixed on the boat, evidently seeking to know who the\nnew-comers were and what were their intentions. They soon appeared\nsatisfied and returned (with the exception of one, who remained at\nthe shore) to their fire, at which the carcass of a goat was\nroasting. When the boat was within twenty paces of the shore, the\nman on the beach, who carried a carbine, presented arms after the\nmanner of a sentinel, and cried, \"Who comes there?\" in Sardinian.\nFranz coolly cocked both barrels. Gaetano then exchanged a few\nwords with this man which the traveller did not understand, but\nwhich evidently concerned him. \"Will your excellency give your\nname, or remain incognito?\" asked the captain.\n\"My name must rest unknown, — merely say I am a Frenchman\ntravelling for pleasure.\" As soon as Gaetano had transmitted this\nanswer, the sentinel gave an order to one of the men seated round\nthe fire, who rose and disappeared among the rocks. Not a word was\nspoken, every one seemed occupied, Franz with his disembarkment,\nthe sailors with their sails, the smugglers with their goat; but in\nthe midst of all this carelessness it was evident that they\nmutually observed each other. The man who had disappeared returnedmutually observed each other. The man who had disappeared returned\nsuddenly on the opposite side to that by which he had left; he made\na sign with his head to the sentinel, who, turning to the boat,\nsaid, \"S'accommodi.\" The Italian s'accommodi is untranslatable; it\nmeans at once, \"Come, enter, you are welcome; make yourself at\nhome; you are the master.\" It is like that Turkish phrase of\nMoliere's that so astonished the bourgeois gentleman by the number\nof things implied in its utterance. The sailors did not wait for a\nsecond invitation; four strokes of the oar brought them to land;\nGaetano sprang to shore, exchanged a few words with the sentinel,\nthen his comrades disembarked, and lastly came Franz. One of his\nguns was swung over his shoulder, Gaetano had the other, and a\nsailor held his rifle; his dress, half artist, half dandy, did not\nexcite any suspicion, and, consequently, no disquietude. The boat\nwas moored to the shore, and they advanced a few paces to find a\ncomfortable bivouac; but, doubtless, the spot they chose did not\nsuit the smuggler who filled the post of sentinel, for he cried\nout, \"Not that way, if you please.\"\nGaetano faltered an excuse, and advanced to the opposite side,\nwhile two sailors kindled torches at the fire to light them on\ntheir way. They advanced about thirty paces, and then stopped at a\nsmall esplanade surrounded with rocks, in which seats had been cut,\nnot unlike sentry-boxes. Around in the crevices of the rocks grew a\nfew dwarf oaks and thick bushes of myrtles. Franz lowered a torch,\nand saw by the mass of cinders that had accumulated that he was not\nthe first to discover this retreat, which was, doubtless, one of\nthe halting-places of the wandering visitors of Monte Cristo. As\nfor his suspicions, once on terra firma, once that he had seen the\nindifferent, if not friendly, appearance of his hosts, his anxiety\nhad quite disappeared, or rather, at sight of the goat, had turned\nto appetite. He mentioned this to Gaetano, who replied that nothing"}
{"text": "to appetite. He mentioned this to Gaetano, who replied that nothing\ncould be more easy than to prepare a supper when they had in their\nboat, bread, wine, half a dozen partridges, and a good fire to\nroast them by. \"Besides,\" added he, \"if the smell of their roast\nmeat tempts you, I will go and offer them two of our birds for a\nslice.\"\n\"You are a born diplomat,\" returned Franz; \"go and try.\"\nMeanwhile the sailors had collected dried sticks and branches\nwith which they made a fire. Franz waited impatiently, inhaling the\naroma of the roasted meat, when the captain returned with a\nmysterious air.\n\"Well,\" said Franz, \"anything new? — do they refuse?\"\n\"On the contrary,\" returned Gaetano, \"the chief, who was told\nyou were a young Frenchman, invites you to sup with him.\"\n\"Well,\" observed Franz, \"this chief is very polite, and I see no\nobjection — the more so as I bring my share of the supper.\"\n\"Oh, it is not that; he has plenty, and to spare, for supper;\nbut he makes one condition, and rather a peculiar one, before he\nwill receive you at his house.\"\n\"His house? Has he built one here, then?\"\n\"No; but he has a very comfortable one all the same, so they\nsay.\"\n\"You know this chief, then?\"\n\"I have heard talk of him.\"\n\"Favorably or otherwise?\"\n\"Both.\"\n\"The deuce! — and what is this condition?\"\n\"That you are blindfolded, and do not take off the bandage until\nhe himself bids you.\" Franz looked at Gaetano, to see, if possible,\nwhat he thought of this proposal. \"Ah,\" replied he, guessing\nFranz's thought, \"I know this is a serious matter.\"\n\"What should you do in my place?\"\n\"I, who have nothing to lose, — I should go.\"\n\"You would accept?\"\n\"Yes, were it only out of curiosity.\"\n\"There is something very peculiar about this chief, then?\"\n\"Listen,\" said Gaetano, lowering his voice, \"I do not know if\nwhat they say is true\" — he stopped to see if any one was near.\n\"What do they say?\"\n\"That this chief inhabits a cavern to which the Pitti Palace is\nnothing.\"\n\"What nonsense!\" said Franz, reseating himself.nothing.\"\n\"What nonsense!\" said Franz, reseating himself.\n\"It is no nonsense; it is quite true. Cama, the pilot of the\nSaint Ferdinand, went in once, and he came back amazed, vowing that\nsuch treasures were only to be heard of in fairy tales.\"\n\"Do you know,\" observed Franz, \"that with such stories you make\nme think of Ali Baba's enchanted cavern?\"\n\"I tell you what I have been told.\"\n\"Then you advise me to accept?\"\n\"Oh, I don't say that; your excellency will do as you please; I\nshould be sorry to advise you in the matter.\" Franz pondered the\nmatter for a few moments, concluded that a man so rich could not\nhave any intention of plundering him of what little he had, and\nseeing only the prospect of a good supper, accepted. Gaetano\ndeparted with the reply. Franz was prudent, and wished to learn all\nhe possibly could concerning his host. He turned towards the\nsailor, who, during this dialogue, had sat gravely plucking the\npartridges with the air of a man proud of his office, and asked him\nhow these men had landed, as no vessel of any kind was visible.\n\"Never mind that,\" returned the sailor, \"I know their\nvessel.\"\n\"Is it a very beautiful vessel?\"\n\"I would not wish for a better to sail round the world.\"\n\"Of what burden is she?\"\n\"About a hundred tons; but she is built to stand any weather.\nShe is what the English call a yacht.\"\n\"Where was she built?\"\n\"I know not; but my own opinion is she is a Genoese.\"\n\"And how did a leader of smugglers,\" continued Franz, \"venture\nto build a vessel designed for such a purpose at Genoa?\"\n\"I did not say that the owner was a smuggler,\" replied the\nsailor.\n\"No; but Gaetano did, I thought.\"\n\"Gaetano had only seen the vessel from a distance, he had not\nthen spoken to any one.\"\n\"And if this person be not a smuggler, who is he?\"\n\"A wealthy signor, who travels for his pleasure.\"\n\"Come,\" thought Franz, \"he is still more mysterious, since the\ntwo accounts do not agree.\"\n\"What is his name?\"\n\"If you ask him he says Sinbad the Sailor; but I doubt if it be\nhis real name.\"\n\"Sinbad the Sailor?\"\n\"Yes.\"his real name.\"\n\"Sinbad the Sailor?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And where does he reside?\"\n\"On the sea.\"\n\"What country does he come from?\"\n\"I do not know.\"\n\"Have you ever seen him?\"\n\"Sometimes.\"\n\"What sort of a man is he?\"\n\"Your excellency will judge for yourself.\"\n\"Where will he receive me?\"\n\"No doubt in the subterranean palace Gaetano told you of.\"\n\"Have you never had the curiosity, when you have landed and\nfound this island deserted, to seek for this enchanted palace?\"\n\"Oh, yes, more than once, but always in vain; we examined the\ngrotto all over, but we never could find the slightest trace of any\nopening; they say that the door is not opened by a key, but a magic\nword.\"\n\"Decidedly,\" muttered Franz, \"this is an Arabian Nights'\nadventure.\"\n\"His excellency waits for you,\" said a voice, which he\nrecognized as that of the sentinel. He was accompanied by two of\nthe yacht's crew. Franz drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and\npresented it to the man who had spoken to him. Without uttering a\nword, they bandaged his eyes with a care that showed their\napprehensions of his committing some indiscretion. Afterwards he\nwas made to promise that he would not make the least attempt to\nraise the bandage. He promised. Then his two guides took his arms,\nand he went on, guided by them, and preceded by the sentinel. After\ngoing about thirty paces, he smelt the appetizing odor of the kid\nthat was roasting, and knew thus that he was passing the bivouac;\nthey then led him on about fifty paces farther, evidently advancing\ntowards that part of the shore where they would not allow Gaetano\nto go — a refusal he could now comprehend. Presently, by a change\nin the atmosphere, he knew that they were entering a cave; after\ngoing on for a few seconds more he heard a crackling, and it seemed\nto him as though the atmosphere again changed, and became balmy and\nperfumed. At length his feet touched on a thick and soft carpet,\nand his guides let go their hold of him. There was a moment's\nsilence, and then a voice, in excellent French, although, with a"}
{"text": "silence, and then a voice, in excellent French, although, with a\nforeign accent, said, \"Welcome, sir. I beg you will remove your\nbandage.\" It may be supposed, then, Franz did not wait for a\nrepetition of this permission, but took off the handkerchief, and\nfound himself in the presence of a man from thirty-eight to forty\nyears of age, dressed in a Tunisian costume — that is to say, a red\ncap with a long blue silk tassel, a vest of black cloth embroidered\nwith gold, pantaloons of deep red, large and full gaiters of the\nsame color, embroidered with gold like the vest, and yellow\nslippers; he had a splendid cashmere round his waist, and a small\nsharp and crooked cangiar was passed through his girdle. Although\nof a paleness that was almost livid, this man had a remarkably\nhandsome face; his eyes were penetrating and sparkling; his nose,\nquite straight, and projecting direct from the brow, was of the\npure Greek type, while his teeth, as white as pearls, were set off\nto admiration by the black mustache that encircled them.\nHis pallor was so peculiar, that it seemed to pertain to one who\nhad been long entombed, and who was incapable of resuming the\nhealthy glow and hue of life. He was not particularly tall, but\nextremely well made, and, like the men of the south, had small\nhands and feet. But what astonished Franz, who had treated\nGaetano's description as a fable, was the splendor of the apartment\nin which he found himself. The entire chamber was lined with\ncrimson brocade, worked with flowers of gold. In a recess was a\nkind of divan, surmounted with a stand of Arabian swords in silver\nscabbards, and the handles resplendent with gems; from the ceiling\nhung a lamp of Venetian glass, of beautiful shape and color, while\nthe feet rested on a Turkey carpet, in which they sunk to the\ninstep; tapestry hung before the door by which Franz had entered,\nand also in front of another door, leading into a second apartment\nwhich seemed to be brilliantly illuminated. The host gave Franzwhich seemed to be brilliantly illuminated. The host gave Franz\ntime to recover from his surprise, and, moreover, returned look for\nlook, not even taking his eyes off him. \"Sir,\" he said, after a\npause, \"a thousand excuses for the precaution taken in your\nintroduction hither; but as, during the greater portion of the\nyear, this island is deserted, if the secret of this abode were\ndiscovered. I should doubtless, find on my return my temporary\nretirement in a state of great disorder, which would be exceedingly\nannoying, not for the loss it occasioned me, but because I should\nnot have the certainty I now possess of separating myself from all\nthe rest of mankind at pleasure. Let me now endeavor to make you\nforget this temporary unpleasantness, and offer you what no doubt\nyou did not expect to find here — that is to say, a tolerable\nsupper and pretty comfortable beds.\"\n\"Ma foi, my dear sir,\" replied Franz, \"make no apologies. I have\nalways observed that they bandage people's eyes who penetrate\nenchanted palaces, for instance, those of Raoul in the `Huguenots,'\nand really I have nothing to complain of, for what I see makes me\nthink of the wonders of the `Arabian Nights.'\"\n\"Alas, I may say with Lucullus, if I could have anticipated the\nhonor of your visit, I would have prepared for it. But such as is\nmy hermitage, it is at your disposal; such as is my supper, it is\nyours to share, if you will. Ali, is the supper ready?\" At this\nmoment the tapestry moved aside, and a Nubian, black as ebony, and\ndressed in a plain white tunic, made a sign to his master that all\nwas prepared in the dining-room. \"Now,\" said the unknown to Franz,\n\"I do not know if you are of my opinion, but I think nothing is\nmore annoying than to remain two or three hours together without\nknowing by name or appellation how to address one another. Pray\nobserve, that I too much respect the laws of hospitality to ask\nyour name or title. I only request you to give me one by which I\nmay have the pleasure of addressing you. As for myself, that I maymay have the pleasure of addressing you. As for myself, that I may\nput you at your ease, I tell you that I am generally called `Sinbad\nthe Sailor.'\"\n\"And I,\" replied Franz, \"will tell you, as I only require his\nwonderful lamp to make me precisely like Aladdin, that I see no\nreason why at this moment I should not be called Aladdin. That will\nkeep us from going away from the East whither I am tempted to think\nI have been conveyed by some good genius.\"\n\"Well, then, Signor Aladdin,\" replied the singular amphitryon,\n\"you heard our repast announced, will you now take the trouble to\nenter the dining-room, your humble servant going first to show the\nway?\" At these words, moving aside the tapestry, Sinbad preceded\nhis guest. Franz now looked upon another scene of enchantment; the\ntable was splendidly covered, and once convinced of this important\npoint he cast his eyes around him. The dining-room was scarcely\nless striking than the room he had just left; it was entirely of\nmarble, with antique bas-reliefs of priceless value; and at the\nfour corners of this apartment, which was oblong, were four\nmagnificent statues, having baskets in their hands. These baskets\ncontained four pyramids of most splendid fruit; there were Sicily\npine-apples, pomegranates from Malaga, oranges from the Balearic\nIsles, peaches from France, and dates from Tunis. The supper\nconsisted of a roast pheasant garnished with Corsican blackbirds; a\nboar's ham with jelly, a quarter of a kid with tartar sauce, a\nglorious turbot, and a gigantic lobster. Between these large dishes\nwere smaller ones containing various dainties. The dishes were of\nsilver, and the plates of Japanese china.\nFranz rubbed his eyes in order to assure himself that this was\nnot a dream. Ali alone was present to wait at table, and acquitted\nhimself so admirably, that the guest complimented his host\nthereupon. \"Yes,\" replied he, while he did the honors of the supper\nwith much ease and grace — \"yes, he is a poor devil who is much"}
{"text": "with much ease and grace — \"yes, he is a poor devil who is much\ndevoted to me, and does all he can to prove it. He remembers that I\nsaved his life, and as he has a regard for his head, he feels some\ngratitude towards me for having kept it on his shoulders.\" Ali\napproached his master, took his hand, and kissed it.\n\"Would it be impertinent, Signor Sinbad,\" said Franz, \"to ask\nyou the particulars of this kindness?\"\n\"Oh, they are simple enough,\" replied the host. \"It seems the\nfellow had been caught wandering nearer to the harem of the Bey of\nTunis than etiquette permits to one of his color, and he was\ncondemned by the bey to have his tongue cut out, and his hand and\nhead cut off; the tongue the first day, the hand the second, and\nthe head the third. I always had a desire to have a mute in my\nservice, so learning the day his tongue was cut out, I went to the\nbey, and proposed to give him for Ali a splendid double-barreled\ngun which I knew he was very desirous of having. He hesitated a\nmoment, he was so very desirous to complete the poor devil's\npunishment. But when I added to the gun an English cutlass with\nwhich I had shivered his highness's yataghan to pieces, the bey\nyielded, and agreed to forgive the hand and head, but on condition\nthat the poor fellow never again set foot in Tunis. This was a\nuseless clause in the bargain, for whenever the coward sees the\nfirst glimpse of the shores of Africa, he runs down below, and can\nonly be induced to appear again when we are out of sight of that\nquarter of the globe.\"\nFranz remained a moment silent and pensive, hardly knowing what\nto think of the half-kindness, half-cruelty, with which his host\nrelated the brief narrative. \"And like the celebrated sailor whose\nname you have assumed,\" he said, by way of changing the\nconversation, \"you pass your life in travelling?\"\n\"Yes. I made a vow at a time when I little thought I should ever\nbe able to accomplish it,\" said the unknown with a singular smile;\n\"and I made some others also which I hope I may fulfil in due\"and I made some others also which I hope I may fulfil in due\nseason.\" Although Sinbad pronounced these words with much calmness,\nhis eyes gave forth gleams of extraordinary ferocity.\n\"You have suffered a great deal, sir?\" said Franz\ninquiringly.\nSinbad started and looked fixedly at him, as he replied, \"What\nmakes you suppose so?\"\n\"Everything,\" answered Franz, — \"your voice, your look, your\npallid complexion, and even the life you lead.\"\n\"I? — I live the happiest life possible, the real life of a\npasha. I am king of all creation. I am pleased with one place, and\nstay there; I get tired of it, and leave it; I am free as a bird\nand have wings like one; my attendants obey my slightest wish.\nSometimes I amuse myself by delivering some bandit or criminal from\nthe bonds of the law. Then I have my mode of dispensing justice,\nsilent and sure, without respite or appeal, which condemns or\npardons, and which no one sees. Ah, if you had tasted my life, you\nwould not desire any other, and would never return to the world\nunless you had some great project to accomplish there.\"\n\"Revenge, for instance!\" observed Franz.\nThe unknown fixed on the young man one of those looks which\npenetrate into the depth of the heart and thoughts. \"And why\nrevenge?\" he asked.\n\"Because,\" replied Franz, \"you seem to me like a man who,\npersecuted by society, has a fearful account to settle with\nit.\"\n\"Ah,\" responded Sinbad, laughing with his singular laugh which\ndisplayed his white and sharp teeth. \"You have not guessed rightly.\nSuch as you see me I am, a sort of philosopher, and one day perhaps\nI shall go to Paris to rival Monsieur Appert, and the little man in\nthe blue cloak.\"\n\"And will that be the first time you ever took that\njourney?\"\n\"Yes; it will. I must seem to you by no means curious, but I\nassure you that it is not my fault I have delayed it so long — it\nwill happen one day or the other.\"\n\"And do you propose to make this journey very shortly?\"\n\"I do not know; it depends on circumstances which depend on\ncertain arrangements.\"\"I do not know; it depends on circumstances which depend on\ncertain arrangements.\"\n\"I should like to be there at the time you come, and I will\nendeavor to repay you, as far as lies in my power, for your liberal\nhospitality displayed to me at Monte Cristo.\"\n\"I should avail myself of your offer with pleasure,\" replied the\nhost, \"but, unfortunately, if I go there, it will be, in all\nprobability, incognito.\"\nThe supper appeared to have been supplied solely for Franz, for\nthe unknown scarcely touched one or two dishes of the splendid\nbanquet to which his guest did ample justice. Then Ali brought on\nthe dessert, or rather took the baskets from the hands of the\nstatues and placed them on the table. Between the two baskets he\nplaced a small silver cup with a silver cover. The care with which\nAli placed this cup on the table roused Franz's curiosity. He\nraised the cover and saw a kind of greenish paste, something like\npreserved angelica, but which was perfectly unknown to him. He\nreplaced the lid, as ignorant of what the cup contained as he was\nbefore he had looked at it, and then casting his eyes towards his\nhost he saw him smile at his disappointment. \"You cannot guess,\"\nsaid he, \"what there is in that small vase, can you?\"\n\"No, I really cannot.\"\n\"Well, then, that green preserve is nothing less than the\nambrosia which Hebe served at the table of Jupiter.\"\n\"But,\" replied Franz, \"this ambrosia, no doubt, in passing\nthrough mortal hands has lost its heavenly appellation and assumed\na human name; in vulgar phrase, what may you term this composition,\nfor which, to tell the truth, I do not feel any particular\ndesire?\"\n\"Ah, thus it is that our material origin is revealed,\" cried\nSinbad; \"we frequently pass so near to happiness without seeing,\nwithout regarding it, or if we do see and regard it, yet without\nrecognizing it. Are you a man for the substantials, and is gold\nyour god? taste this, and the mines of Peru, Guzerat, and Golconda\nare opened to you. Are you a man of imagination — a poet? taste"}
{"text": "are opened to you. Are you a man of imagination — a poet? taste\nthis, and the boundaries of possibility disappear; the fields of\ninfinite space open to you, you advance free in heart, free in\nmind, into the boundless realms of unfettered revery. Are you\nambitious, and do you seek after the greatnesses of the earth?\ntaste this, and in an hour you will be a king, not a king of a\npetty kingdom hidden in some corner of Europe like France, Spain,\nor England, but king of the world, king of the universe, king of\ncreation; without bowing at the feet of Satan, you will be king and\nmaster of all the kingdoms of the earth. Is it not tempting what I\noffer you, and is it not an easy thing, since it is only to do\nthus? look!\" At these words he uncovered the small cup which\ncontained the substance so lauded, took a teaspoonful of the magic\nsweetmeat, raised it to his lips, and swallowed it slowly with his\neyes half shut and his head bent backwards. Franz did not disturb\nhim whilst he absorbed his favorite sweetmeat, but when he had\nfinished, he inquired, — \"What, then, is this precious stuff?\"\n\"Did you ever hear,\" he replied, \"of the Old Man of the\nMountain, who attempted to assassinate Philip Augustus?\"\n\"Of course I have.\"\n\"Well, you know he reigned over a rich valley which was overhung\nby the mountain whence he derived his picturesque name. In this\nvalley were magnificent gardens planted by Hassen-ben-Sabah, and in\nthese gardens isolated pavilions. Into these pavilions he admitted\nthe elect, and there, says Marco Polo, gave them to eat a certain\nherb, which transported them to Paradise, in the midst of\never-blooming shrubs, ever-ripe fruit, and ever-lovely virgins.\nWhat these happy persons took for reality was but a dream; but it\nwas a dream so soft, so voluptuous, so enthralling, that they sold\nthemselves body and soul to him who gave it to them, and obedient\nto his orders as to those of a deity, struck down the designated\nvictim, died in torture without a murmur, believing that the deathvictim, died in torture without a murmur, believing that the death\nthey underwent was but a quick transition to that life of delights\nof which the holy herb, now before you had given them a slight\nforetaste.\"\n\"Then,\" cried Franz, \"it is hashish! I know that — by name at\nleast.\"\n\"That is it precisely, Signor Aladdin; it is hashish — the\npurest and most unadulterated hashish of Alexandria, — the hashish\nof Abou-Gor, the celebrated maker, the only man, the man to whom\nthere should be built a palace, inscribed with these words, `A\ngrateful world to the dealer in happiness.'\"\n\"Do you know,\" said Franz, \"I have a very great inclination to\njudge for myself of the truth or exaggeration of your\neulogies.\"\n\"Judge for yourself, Signor Aladdin — judge, but do not confine\nyourself to one trial. Like everything else, we must habituate the\nsenses to a fresh impression, gentle or violent, sad or joyous.\nThere is a struggle in nature against this divine substance, — in\nnature which is not made for joy and clings to pain. Nature subdued\nmust yield in the combat, the dream must succeed to reality, and\nthen the dream reigns supreme, then the dream becomes life, and\nlife becomes the dream. But what changes occur! It is only by\ncomparing the pains of actual being with the joys of the assumed\nexistence, that you would desire to live no longer, but to dream\nthus forever. When you return to this mundane sphere from your\nvisionary world, you would seem to leave a Neapolitan spring for a\nLapland winter — to quit paradise for earth — heaven for hell!\nTaste the hashish, guest of mine — taste the hashish.\"\nFranz's only reply was to take a teaspoonful of the marvellous\npreparation, about as much in quantity as his host had eaten, and\nlift it to his mouth. \"Diable!\" he said, after having swallowed the\ndivine preserve. \"I do not know if the result will be as agreeable\nas you describe, but the thing does not appear to me as palatable\nas you say.\"\n\"Because your palate his not yet been attuned to the sublimityas you say.\"\n\"Because your palate his not yet been attuned to the sublimity\nof the substances it flavors. Tell me, the first time you tasted\noysters, tea, porter, truffles, and sundry other dainties which you\nnow adore, did you like them? Could you comprehend how the Romans\nstuffed their pheasants with assafoetida, and the Chinese eat\nswallows' nests? Eh? no! Well, it is the same with hashish; only\neat for a week, and nothing in the world will seem to you to equal\nthe delicacy of its flavor, which now appears to you flat and\ndistasteful. Let us now go into the adjoining chamber, which is\nyour apartment, and Ali will bring us coffee and pipes.\" They both\narose, and while he who called himself Sinbad — and whom we have\noccasionally named so, that we might, like his guest, have some\ntitle by which to distinguish him — gave some orders to the\nservant, Franz entered still another apartment. It was simply yet\nrichly furnished. It was round, and a large divan completely\nencircled it. Divan, walls, ceiling, floor, were all covered with\nmagnificent skins as soft and downy as the richest carpets; there\nwere heavy-maned lion-skins from Atlas, striped tiger-skins from\nBengal; panther-skins from the Cape, spotted beautifully, like\nthose that appeared to Dante; bear-skins from Siberia, fox-skins\nfrom Norway, and so on; and all these skins were strewn in\nprofusion one on the other, so that it seemed like walking over the\nmost mossy turf, or reclining on the most luxurious bed. Both laid\nthemselves down on the divan; chibouques with jasmine tubes and\namber mouthpieces were within reach, and all prepared so that there\nwas no need to smoke the same pipe twice. Each of them took one,\nwhich Ali lighted and then retired to prepare the coffee. There was\na moment's silence, during which Sinbad gave himself up to thoughts\nthat seemed to occupy him incessantly, even in the midst of his\nconversation; and Franz abandoned himself to that mute revery, into\nwhich we always sink when smoking excellent tobacco, which seems to"}
{"text": "which we always sink when smoking excellent tobacco, which seems to\nremove with its fume all the troubles of the mind, and to give the\nsmoker in exchange all the visions of the soul. Ali brought in the\ncoffee. \"How do you take it?\" inquired the unknown; \"in the French\nor Turkish style, strong or weak, sugar or none, cool or boiling?\nAs you please; it is ready in all ways.\"\n\"I will take it in the Turkish style,\" replied Franz.\n\"And you are right,\" said his host; \"it shows you have a\ntendency for an Oriental life. Ah, those Orientals; they are the\nonly men who know how to live. As for me,\" he added, with one of\nthose singular smiles which did not escape the young man, \"when I\nhave completed my affairs in Paris, I shall go and die in the East;\nand should you wish to see me again, you must seek me at Cairo,\nBagdad, or Ispahan.\"\n\"Ma foi,\" said Franz, \"it would be the easiest thing in the\nworld; for I feel eagle's wings springing out at my shoulders, and\nwith those wings I could make a tour of the world in four and\ntwenty hours.\"\n\"Ah, yes, the hashish is beginning its work. Well, unfurl your\nwings, and fly into superhuman regions; fear nothing, there is a\nwatch over you; and if your wings, like those of Icarus, melt\nbefore the sun, we are here to ease your fall.\" He then said\nsomething in Arabic to Ali, who made a sign of obedience and\nwithdrew, but not to any distance. As to Franz a strange\ntransformation had taken place in him. All the bodily fatigue of\nthe day, all the preoccupation of mind which the events of the\nevening had brought on, disappeared as they do at the first\napproach of sleep, when we are still sufficiently conscious to be\naware of the coming of slumber. His body seemed to acquire an airy\nlightness, his perception brightened in a remarkable manner, his\nsenses seemed to redouble their power, the horizon continued to\nexpand; but it was not the gloomy horizon of vague alarms, and\nwhich he had seen before he slept, but a blue, transparent,which he had seen before he slept, but a blue, transparent,\nunbounded horizon, with all the blue of the ocean, all the spangles\nof the sun, all the perfumes of the summer breeze; then, in the\nmidst of the songs of his sailors, — songs so clear and sonorous,\nthat they would have made a divine harmony had their notes been\ntaken down, — he saw the Island of Monte Cristo, no longer as a\nthreatening rock in the midst of the waves, but as an oasis in the\ndesert; then, as his boat drew nearer, the songs became louder, for\nan enchanting and mysterious harmony rose to heaven, as if some\nLoreley had decreed to attract a soul thither, or Amphion, the\nenchanter, intended there to build a city.\nAt length the boat touched the shore, but without effort,\nwithout shock, as lips touch lips; and he entered the grotto amidst\ncontinued strains of most delicious melody. He descended, or rather\nseemed to descend, several steps, inhaling the fresh and balmy air,\nlike that which may be supposed to reign around the grotto of\nCirce, formed from such perfumes as set the mind a dreaming, and\nsuch fires as burn the very senses; and he saw again all he had\nseen before his sleep, from Sinbad, his singular host, to Ali, the\nmute attendant; then all seemed to fade away and become confused\nbefore his eyes, like the last shadows of the magic lantern before\nit is extinguished, and he was again in the chamber of statues,\nlighted only by one of those pale and antique lamps which watch in\nthe dead of the night over the sleep of pleasure. They were the\nsame statues, rich in form, in attraction. and poesy, with eyes of\nfascination, smiles of love, and bright and flowing hair. They were\nPhryne, Cleopatra, Messalina, those three celebrated courtesans.\nThen among them glided like a pure ray, like a Christian angel in\nthe midst of Olympus, one of those chaste figures, those calm\nshadows, those soft visions, which seemed to veil its virgin brow\nbefore these marble wantons. Then the three statues advancedbefore these marble wantons. Then the three statues advanced\ntowards him with looks of love, and approached the couch on which\nhe was reposing, their feet hidden in their long white tunics,\ntheir throats bare, hair flowing like waves, and assuming attitudes\nwhich the gods could not resist, but which saints withstood, and\nlooks inflexible and ardent like those with which the serpent\ncharms the bird; and then he gave way before looks that held him in\na torturing grasp and delighted his senses as with a voluptuous\nkiss. It seemed to Franz that he closed his eyes, and in a last\nlook about him saw the vision of modesty completely veiled; and\nthen followed a dream of passion like that promised by the Prophet\nto the elect. Lips of stone turned to flame, breasts of ice became\nlike heated lava, so that to Franz, yielding for the first time to\nthe sway of the drug, love was a sorrow and voluptuousness a\ntorture, as burning mouths were pressed to his thirsty lips, and he\nwas held in cool serpent-like embraces. The more he strove against\nthis unhallowed passion the more his senses yielded to its thrall,\nand at length, weary of a struggle that taxed his very soul, he\ngave way and sank back breathless and exhausted beneath the kisses\nof these marble goddesses, and the enchantment of his marvellous\ndream.When Franz returned to himself, he seemed still to be in a\ndream. He thought himself in a sepulchre, into which a ray of\nsunlight in pity scarcely penetrated. He stretched forth his hand,\nand touched stone; he rose to his seat, and found himself lying on\nhis bournous in a bed of dry heather, very soft and odoriferous.\nThe vision had fled; and as if the statues had been but shadows\nfrom the tomb, they had vanished at his waking. He advanced several\npaces towards the point whence the light came, and to all the\nexcitement of his dream succeeded the calmness of reality. He found\nthat he was in a grotto, went towards the opening, and through a\nkind of fanlight saw a blue sea and an azure sky. The air and water\nwere shining in the beams of the morning sun; on the shore the\nsailors were sitting, chatting and laughing; and at ten yards from\nthem the boat was at anchor, undulating gracefully on the water.\nThere for some time he enjoyed the fresh breeze which played on his\nbrow, and listened to the dash of the waves on the beach, that left\nagainst the rocks a lace of foam as white as silver. He was for\nsome time without reflection or thought for the divine charm which\nis in the things of nature, specially after a fantastic dream; then\ngradually this view of the outer world, so calm, so pure, so grand,\nreminded him of the illusiveness of his vision, and once more\nawakened memory. He recalled his arrival on the island, his\npresentation to a smuggler chief, a subterranean palace full of\nsplendor, an excellent supper, and a spoonful of hashish. It\nseemed, however, even in the very face of open day, that at least a\nyear had elapsed since all these things had passed, so deep was the\nimpression made in his mind by the dream, and so strong a hold had\nit taken of his imagination. Thus every now and then he saw in\nfancy amid the sailors, seated on a rock, or undulating in the\nvessel, one of the shadows which had shared his dream with looks\nand kisses. Otherwise, his head was perfectly clear, and his body"}
{"text": "and kisses. Otherwise, his head was perfectly clear, and his body\nrefreshed; he was free from the slightest headache; on the\ncontrary, he felt a certain degree of lightness, a faculty for\nabsorbing the pure air, and enjoying the bright sunshine more\nvividly than ever.\nHe went gayly up to the sailors, who rose as soon as they\nperceived him; and the patron, accosting him, said, \"The Signor\nSinbad has left his compliments for your excellency, and desires us\nto express the regret he feels at not being able to take his leave\nin person; but he trusts you will excuse him, as very important\nbusiness calls him to Malaga.\"\n\"So, then, Gaetano,\" said Franz, \"this is, then, all reality;\nthere exists a man who has received me in this island, entertained\nme right royally, and his departed while I was asleep?\"\n\"He exists as certainly as that you may see his small yacht with\nall her sails spread; and if you will use your glass, you will, in\nall probability, recognize your host in the midst of his crew.\" So\nsaying, Gaetano pointed in a direction in which a small vessel was\nmaking sail towards the southern point of Corsica. Franz adjusted\nhis telescope, and directed it towards the yacht. Gaetano was not\nmistaken. At the stern the mysterious stranger was standing up\nlooking towards the shore, and holding a spy-glass in his hand. He\nwas attired as he had been on the previous evening, and waved his\npocket-handkerchief to his guest in token of adieu. Franz returned\nthe salute by shaking his handkerchief as an exchange of signals.\nAfter a second, a slight cloud of smoke was seen at the stern of\nthe vessel, which rose gracefully as it expanded in the air, and\nthen Franz heard a slight report. \"There, do you hear?\" observed\nGaetano; \"he is bidding you adieu.\" The young man took his carbine\nand fired it in the air, but without any idea that the noise could\nbe heard at the distance which separated the yacht from the\nshore.\n\"What are your excellency's orders?\" inquired Gaetano.\n\"In the first place, light me a torch.\"\"What are your excellency's orders?\" inquired Gaetano.\n\"In the first place, light me a torch.\"\n\"Ah, yes, I understand,\" replied the patron, \"to find the\nentrance to the enchanted apartment. With much pleasure, your\nexcellency, if it would amuse you; and I will get you the torch you\nask for. But I too have had the idea you have, and two or three\ntimes the same fancy has come over me; but I have always given it\nup. Giovanni, light a torch,\" he added, \"and give it to his\nexcellency.\"\nGiovanni obeyed. Franz took the lamp, and entered the\nsubterranean grotto, followed by Gaetano. He recognized the place\nwhere he had awaked by the bed of heather that was there; but it\nwas in vain that he carried his torch all round the exterior\nsurface of the grotto. He saw nothing, unless that, by traces of\nsmoke, others had before him attempted the same thing, and, like\nhim, in vain. Yet he did not leave a foot of this granite wall, as\nimpenetrable as futurity, without strict scrutiny; he did not see a\nfissure without introducing the blade of his hunting sword into it,\nor a projecting point on which he did not lean and press in the\nhopes it would give way. All was vain; and he lost two hours in his\nattempts, which were at last utterly useless. At the end of this\ntime he gave up his search, and Gaetano smiled.\nWhen Franz appeared again on the shore, the yacht only seemed\nlike a small white speck on the horizon. He looked again through\nhis glass, but even then he could not distinguish anything. Gaetano\nreminded him that he had come for the purpose of shooting goats,\nwhich he had utterly forgotten. He took his fowling-piece, and\nbegan to hunt over the island with the air of a man who is\nfulfilling a duty, rather than enjoying a pleasure; and at the end\nof a quarter of an hour he had killed a goat and two kids. These\nanimals, though wild and agile as chamois, were too much like\ndomestic goats, and Franz could not consider them as game.\nMoreover, other ideas, much more enthralling, occupied his mind.Moreover, other ideas, much more enthralling, occupied his mind.\nSince, the evening before, he had really been the hero of one of\nthe tales of the \"Thousand and One Nights,\" and he was irresistibly\nattracted towards the grotto. Then, in spite of the failure of his\nfirst search, he began a second, after having told Gaetano to roast\none of the two kids. The second visit was a long one, and when he\nreturned the kid was roasted and the repast ready. Franz was\nsitting on the spot where he was on the previous evening when his\nmysterious host had invited him to supper; and he saw the little\nyacht, now like a sea-gull on the wave, continuing her flight\ntowards Corsica. \"Why,\" he remarked to Gaetano, \"you told me that\nSignor Sinbad was going to Malaga, while it seems he is in the\ndirection of Porto-Vecchio.\"\n\"Don't you remember,\" said the patron, \"I told you that among\nthe crew there were two Corsican brigands?\"\n\"True; and he is going to land them,\" added Franz.\n\"Precisely so,\" replied Gaetano. \"Ah, he is one who fears\nneither God nor Satan, they say, and would at any time run fifty\nleagues out of his course to do a poor devil a service.\"\n\"But such services as these might involve him with the\nauthorities of the country in which he practices this kind of\nphilanthropy,\" said Franz.\n\"And what cares he for that,\" replied Gaetano with a laugh, \"or\nany authorities? He smiles at them. Let them try to pursue him!\nWhy, in the first place, his yacht is not a ship, but a bird, and\nhe would beat any frigate three knots in every nine; and if he were\nto throw himself on the coast, why, is he not certain of finding\nfriends everywhere?\"\nIt was perfectly clear that the Signor Sinbad, Franz's host, had\nthe honor of being on excellent terms with the smugglers and\nbandits along the whole coast of the Mediterranean, and so enjoyed\nexceptional privileges. As to Franz, he had no longer any\ninducement to remain at Monte Cristo. He had lost all hope of\ndetecting the secret of the grotto; he consequently despatched his"}
{"text": "detecting the secret of the grotto; he consequently despatched his\nbreakfast, and, his boat being ready, he hastened on board, and\nthey were soon under way. At the moment the boat began her course\nthey lost sight of the yacht, as it disappeared in the gulf of\nPorto-Vecchio. With it was effaced the last trace of the preceding\nnight; and then supper, Sinbad, hashish, statues, — all became a\ndream for Franz. The boat sailed on all day and all night, and next\nmorning, when the sun rose, they had lost sight of Monte Cristo.\nWhen Franz had once again set foot on shore, he forgot, for the\nmoment at least, the events which had just passed, while he\nfinished his affairs of pleasure at Florence, and then thought of\nnothing but how he should rejoin his companion, who was awaiting\nhim at Rome.\nHe set out, and on the Saturday evening reached the Eternal City\nby the mail-coach. An apartment, as we have said, had been retained\nbeforehand, and thus he had but to go to Signor Pastrini's hotel.\nBut this was not so easy a matter, for the streets were thronged\nwith people, and Rome was already a prey to that low and feverish\nmurmur which precedes all great events; and at Rome there are four\ngreat events in every year, — the Carnival, Holy Week, Corpus\nChristi, and the Feast of St. Peter. All the rest of the year the\ncity is in that state of dull apathy, between life and death, which\nrenders it similar to a kind of station between this world and the\nnext — a sublime spot, a resting-place full of poetry and\ncharacter, and at which Franz had already halted five or six times,\nand at each time found it more marvellous and striking. At last he\nmade his way through the mob, which was continually increasing and\ngetting more and more turbulent, and reached the hotel. On his\nfirst inquiry he was told, with the impertinence peculiar to hired\nhackney-coachmen and inn-keepers with their houses full, that there\nwas no room for him at the Hotel de Londres. Then he sent his card\nto Signor Pastrini, and asked for Albert de Morcerf. This planto Signor Pastrini, and asked for Albert de Morcerf. This plan\nsucceeded; and Signor Pastrini himself ran to him, excusing himself\nfor having made his excellency wait, scolding the waiters, taking\nthe candlestick from the porter, who was ready to pounce on the\ntraveller and was about to lead him to Albert, when Morcerf himself\nappeared.\nThe apartment consisted of two small rooms and a parlor. The two\nrooms looked onto the street — a fact which Signor Pastrini\ncommented upon as an inappreciable advantage. The rest of the floor\nwas hired by a very rich gentleman who was supposed to be a\nSicilian or Maltese; but the host was unable to decide to which of\nthe two nations the traveller belonged. \"Very good, signor\nPastrini,\" said Franz; \"but we must have some supper instantly, and\na carriage for tomorrow and the following days.\"\n\"As to supper,\" replied the landlord, \"you shall be served\nimmediately; but as for the carriage\" —\n\"What as to the carriage?\" exclaimed Albert. \"Come, come, Signor\nPastrini, no joking; we must have a carriage.\"\n\"Sir,\" replied the host, \"we will do all in our power to procure\nyou one — this is all I can say.\"\n\"And when shall we know?\" inquired Franz.\n\"To-morrow morning,\" answered the inn-keeper.\n\"Oh, the deuce! then we shall pay the more, that's all, I see\nplainly enough. At Drake's or Aaron's one pays twenty-five lire for\ncommon days, and thirty or thirty-five lire a day more for Sundays\nand feast days; add five lire a day more for extras, that will make\nforty, and there's an end of it.\"\n\"I am afraid if we offer them double that we shall not procure a\ncarriage.\"\n\"Then they must put horses to mine. It is a little worse for the\njourney, but that's no matter.\"\n\"There are no horses.\" Albert looked at Franz like a man who\nhears a reply he does not understand.\n\"Do you understand that, my dear Franz — no horses?\" he said,\n\"but can't we have post-horses?\"\n\"They have been all hired this fortnight, and there are none\nleft but those absolutely requisite for posting.\"left but those absolutely requisite for posting.\"\n\"What are we to say to this?\" asked Franz.\n\"I say, that when a thing completely surpasses my comprehension,\nI am accustomed not to dwell on that thing, but to pass to another.\nIs supper ready, Signor Pastrini?\"\n\"Yes, your excellency.\"\n\"Well, then, let us sup.\"\n\"But the carriage and horses?\" said Franz.\n\"Be easy, my dear boy; they will come in due season; it is only\na question of how much shall be charged for them.\" Morcerf then,\nwith that delighted philosophy which believes that nothing is\nimpossible to a full purse or well-lined pocketbook, supped, went\nto bed, slept soundly, and dreamed he was racing all over Rome at\nCarnival time in a coach with six horses.The next morning Franz woke first, and instantly rang the bell.\nThe sound had not yet died away when Signor Pastrini himself\nentered.\n\"Well, excellency,\" said the landlord triumphantly, and without\nwaiting for Franz to question him, \"I feared yesterday, when I\nwould not promise you anything, that you were too late — there is\nnot a single carriage to be had — that is, for the last three days\nof the carnival.\"\n\"Yes,\" returned Franz, \"for the very three days it is most\nneeded.\"\n\"What is the matter?\" said Albert, entering; \"no carriage to be\nhad?\"\n\"Just so,\" returned Franz, \"you have guessed it.\"\n\"Well, your Eternal City is a nice sort of place.\"\n\"That is to say, excellency,\" replied Pastrini, who was desirous\nof keeping up the dignity of the capital of the Christian world in\nthe eyes of his guest, \"that there are no carriages to be had from\nSunday to Tuesday evening, but from now till Sunday you can have\nfifty if you please.\"\n\"Ah, that is something,\" said Albert; \"to-day is Thursday, and\nwho knows what may arrive between this and Sunday?\"\n\"Ten or twelve thousand travellers will arrive,\" replied Franz,\n\"which will make it still more difficult.\"\n\"My friend,\" said Morcerf, \"let us enjoy the present without\ngloomy forebodings for the future.\"\n\"At least we can have a window?\"\n\"Where?\"\n\"In the Corso.\"\n\"Ah, a window!\" exclaimed Signor Pastrini, — \"utterly\nimpossible; there was only one left on the fifth floor of the Doria\nPalace, and that has been let to a Russian prince for twenty\nsequins a day.\"\nThe two young men looked at each other with an air of\nstupefaction.\n\"Well,\" said Franz to Albert, \"do you know what is the best\nthing we can do? It is to pass the Carnival at Venice; there we are\nsure of obtaining gondolas if we cannot have carriages.\"\n\"Ah, the devil, no,\" cried Albert; \"I came to Rome to see the\nCarnival, and I will, though I see it on stilts.\"\n\"Bravo! an excellent idea. We will disguise ourselves as monster\npulchinellos or shepherds of the Landes, and we shall have complete\nsuccess.\""}
{"text": "pulchinellos or shepherds of the Landes, and we shall have complete\nsuccess.\"\n\"Do your excellencies still wish for a carriage from now to\nSunday morning?\"\n\"Parbleu!\" said Albert, \"do you think we are going to run about\non foot in the streets of Rome, like lawyer's clerks?\"\n\"I hasten to comply with your excellencies' wishes; only, I tell\nyou beforehand, the carriage will cost you six piastres a day.\"\n\"And, as I am not a millionaire, like the gentleman in the next\napartments,\" said Franz, \"I warn you, that as I have been four\ntimes before at Rome, I know the prices of all the carriages; we\nwill give you twelve piastres for to-day, tomorrow, and the day\nafter, and then you will make a good profit.\"\n\"But, excellency\" — said Pastrini, still striving to gain his\npoint.\n\"Now go,\" returned Franz, \"or I shall go myself and bargain with\nyour affettatore, who is mine also; he is an old friend of mine,\nwho has plundered me pretty well already, and, in the hope of\nmaking more out of me, he will take a less price than the one I\noffer you; you will lose the preference, and that will be your\nfault.\"\n\"Do not give yourselves the trouble, excellency,\" returned\nSignor Pastrini, with the smile peculiar to the Italian speculator\nwhen he confesses defeat; \"I will do all I can, and I hope you will\nbe satisfied.\"\n\"And now we understand each other.\"\n\"When do you wish the carriage to be here?\"\n\"In an hour.\"\n\"In an hour it will be at the door.\"\nAn hour after the vehicle was at the door; it was a hack\nconveyance which was elevated to the rank of a private carriage in\nhonor of the occasion, but, in spite of its humble exterior, the\nyoung men would have thought themselves happy to have secured it\nfor the last three days of the Carnival. \"Excellency,\" cried the\ncicerone, seeing Franz approach the window, \"shall I bring the\ncarriage nearer to the palace?\"\nAccustomed as Franz was to the Italian phraseology, his first\nimpulse was to look round him, but these words were addressed to\nhim. Franz was the \"excellency,\" the vehicle was the \"carriage,\"him. Franz was the \"excellency,\" the vehicle was the \"carriage,\"\nand the Hotel de Londres was the \"palace.\" The genius for laudation\ncharacteristic of the race was in that phrase.\nFranz and Albert descended, the carriage approached the palace;\ntheir excellencies stretched their legs along the seats; the\ncicerone sprang into the seat behind. \"Where do your excellencies\nwish to go?\" asked he.\n\"To Saint Peter's first, and then to the Colosseum,\" returned\nAlbert. But Albert did not know that it takes a day to see Saint\nPeter's, and a month to study it. The day was passed at Saint\nPeter's alone. Suddenly the daylight began to fade away; Franz took\nout his watch — it was half-past four. They returned to the hotel;\nat the door Franz ordered the coachman to be ready at eight. He\nwished to show Albert the Colosseum by moonlight, as he had shown\nhim Saint Peter's by daylight. When we show a friend a city one has\nalready visited, we feel the same pride as when we point out a\nwoman whose lover we have been. He was to leave the city by the\nPorta del Popolo, skirt the outer wall, and re-enter by the Porta\nSan Giovanni; thus they would behold the Colosseum without finding\ntheir impressions dulled by first looking on the Capitol, the\nForum, the Arch of Septimus Severus, the Temple of Antoninus and\nFaustina, and the Via Sacra. They sat down to dinner. Signor\nPastrini had promised them a banquet; he gave them a tolerable\nrepast. At the end of the dinner he entered in person. Franz\nthought that he came to hear his dinner praised, and began\naccordingly, but at the first words he was interrupted.\n\"Excellency,\" said Pastrini, \"I am delighted to have your\napprobation, but it was not for that I came.\"\n\"Did you come to tell us you have procured a carriage?\" asked\nAlbert, lighting his cigar.\n\"No; and your excellencies will do well not to think of that any\nlonger; at Rome things can or cannot be done; when you are told\nanything cannot he done, there is an end of it.\"\n\"It is much more convenient at Paris, — when anything cannot be\"It is much more convenient at Paris, — when anything cannot be\ndone, you pay double, and it is done directly.\"\n\"That is what all the French say,\" returned Signor Pastrini,\nsomewhat piqued; \"for that reason, I do not understand why they\ntravel.\"\n\"But,\" said Albert, emitting a volume of smoke and balancing his\nchair on its hind legs, \"only madmen, or blockheads like us, ever\ndo travel. Men in their senses do not quit their hotel in the Rue\ndu Helder, their walk on the Boulevard de Gand, and the Cafe de\nParis.\" It is of course understood that Albert resided in the\naforesaid street, appeared every day on the fashionable walk, and\ndined frequently at the only restaurant where you can really dine,\nthat is, if you are on good terms with its frequenters. Signor\nPastrini remained silent a short time; it was evident that he was\nmusing over this answer, which did not seem very clear. \"But,\" said\nFranz, in his turn interrupting his host's meditations, \"you had\nsome motive for coming here, may I beg to know what it was?\"\n\"Ah, yes; you have ordered your carriage at eight o'clock\nprecisely?\"\n\"I have.\"\n\"You intend visiting Il Colosseo.\"\n\"You mean the Colosseum?\"\n\"It is the same thing. You have told your coachman to leave the\ncity by the Porta del Popolo, to drive round the walls, and\nre-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?\"\n\"These are my words exactly.\"\n\"Well, this route is impossible.\"\n\"Impossible!\"\n\"Very dangerous, to say the least.\"\n\"Dangerous! — and why?\"\n\"On account of the famous Luigi Vampa.\"\n\"Pray, who may this famous Luigi Vampa be?\" inquired Albert; \"he\nmay be very famous at Rome, but I can assure you he is quite\nunknown at Paris.\"\n\"What! do you not know him?\"\n\"I have not that honor.\"\n\"You have never heard his name?\"\n\"Never.\"\n\"Well, then, he is a bandit, compared to whom the Decesaris and\nthe Gasparones were mere children.\"\n\"Now then, Albert,\" cried Franz, \"here is a bandit for you at\nlast.\"\n\"I forewarn you, Signor Pastrini, that I shall not believe one\nword of what you are going to tell us; having told you this,\nbegin.\""}
{"text": "word of what you are going to tell us; having told you this,\nbegin.\"\n\"Once upon a time\" —\n\"Well, go on.\" Signor Pastrini turned toward Franz, who seemed\nto him the more reasonable of the two; we must do him justice, — he\nhad had a great many Frenchmen in his house, but had never been\nable to comprehend them. \"Excellency,\" said he gravely, addressing\nFranz, \"if you look upon me as a liar, it is useless for me to say\nanything; it was for your interest I\" —\n\"Albert does not say you are a liar, Signor Pastrini,\" said\nFranz, \"but that he will not believe what you are going to tell us,\n— but I will believe all you say; so proceed.\"\n\"But if your excellency doubt my veracity\" —\n\"Signor Pastrini,\" returned Franz, \"you are more susceptible\nthan Cassandra, who was a prophetess, and yet no one believed her;\nwhile you, at least, are sure of the credence of half your\naudience. Come, sit down, and tell us all about this Signor\nVampa.\"\n\"I had told your excellency he is the most famous bandit we have\nhad since the days of Mastrilla.\"\n\"Well, what has this bandit to do with the order I have given\nthe coachman to leave the city by the Porta del Popolo, and to\nre-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?\"\n\"This,\" replied Signor Pastrini, \"that you will go out by one,\nbut I very much doubt your returning by the other.\"\n\"Why?\" asked Franz.\n\"Because, after nightfall, you are not safe fifty yards from the\ngates.\"\n\"On your honor is that true?\" cried Albert.\n\"Count,\" returned Signor Pastrini, hurt at Albert's repeated\ndoubts of the truth of his assertions, \"I do not say this to you,\nbut to your companion, who knows Rome, and knows, too, that these\nthings are not to be laughed at.\"\n\"My dear fellow,\" said Albert, turning to Franz, \"here is an\nadmirable adventure; we will fill our carriage with pistols,\nblunderbusses, and double-barrelled guns. Luigi Vampa comes to take\nus, and we take him — we bring him back to Rome, and present him to\nhis holiness the Pope, who asks how he can repay so great ahis holiness the Pope, who asks how he can repay so great a\nservice; then we merely ask for a carriage and a pair of horses,\nand we see the Carnival in the carriage, and doubtless the Roman\npeople will crown us at the Capitol, and proclaim us, like Curtius\nand the veiled Horatius, the preservers of their country.\" Whilst\nAlbert proposed this scheme, Signor Pastrini's face assumed an\nexpression impossible to describe.\n\"And pray,\" asked Franz, \"where are these pistols,\nblunderbusses, and other deadly weapons with which you intend\nfilling the carriage?\"\n\"Not out of my armory, for at Terracina I was plundered even of\nmy hunting-knife.\"\n\"I shared the same fate at Aquapendente.\"\n\"Do you know, Signor Pastrini,\" said Albert, lighting a second\ncigar at the first, \"that this practice is very convenient for\nbandits, and that it seems to be due to an arrangement of their\nown.\" Doubtless Signor Pastrini found this pleasantry compromising,\nfor he only answered half the question, and then he spoke to Franz,\nas the only one likely to listen with attention. \"Your excellency\nknows that it is not customary to defend yourself when attacked by\nbandits.\"\n\"What!\" cried Albert, whose courage revolted at the idea of\nbeing plundered tamely, \"not make any resistance!\"\n\"No, for it would be useless. What could you do against a dozen\nbandits who spring out of some pit, ruin, or aqueduct, and level\ntheir pieces at you?\"\n\"Eh, parbleu! — they should kill me.\"\nThe inn-keeper turned to Franz with an air that seemed to say,\n\"Your friend is decidedly mad.\"\n\"My dear Albert,\" returned Franz, \"your answer is sublime, and\nworthy the `Let him die,' of Corneille, only, when Horace made that\nanswer, the safety of Rome was concerned; but, as for us, it is\nonly to gratify a whim, and it would be ridiculous to risk our\nlives for so foolish a motive.\" Albert poured himself out a glass\nof lacryma Christi, which he sipped at intervals, muttering some\nunintelligible words.\n\"Well, Signor Pastrini,\" said Franz, \"now that my companion isunintelligible words.\n\"Well, Signor Pastrini,\" said Franz, \"now that my companion is\nquieted, and you have seen how peaceful my intentions are, tell me\nwho is this Luigi Vampa. Is he a shepherd or a nobleman? — young or\nold? — tall or short? Describe him, in order that, if we meet him\nby chance, like Bugaboo John or Lara, we may recognize him.\"\n\"You could not apply to any one better able to inform you on all\nthese points, for I knew him when he was a child, and one day that\nI fell into his hands, going from Ferentino to Alatri, he,\nfortunately for me, recollected me, and set me free, not only\nwithout ransom, but made me a present of a very splendid watch, and\nrelated his history to me.\"\n\"Let us see the watch,\" said Albert.\nSignor Pastrini drew from his fob a magnificent Breguet, bearing\nthe name of its maker, of Parisian manufacture, and a count's\ncoronet.\n\"Here it is,\" said he.\n\"Peste,\" returned Albert, \"I compliment you on it; I have its\nfellow\" — he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket — \"and it\ncost me 3,000 francs.\"\n\"Let us hear the history,\" said Franz, motioning Signor Pastrini\nto seat himself.\n\"Your excellencies permit it?\" asked the host.\n\"Pardieu!\" cried Albert, \"you are not a preacher, to remain\nstanding!\"\nThe host sat down, after having made each of them a respectful\nbow, which meant that he was ready to tell them all they wished to\nknow concerning Luigi Vampa. \"You tell me,\" said Franz, at the\nmoment Signor Pastrini was about to open his mouth, \"that you knew\nLuigi Vampa when he was a child — he is still a young man,\nthen?\"\n\"A young man? he is only two and twenty; — he will gain himself\na reputation.\"\n\"What do you think of that, Albert? — at two and twenty to be\nthus famous?\"\n\"Yes, and at his age, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon, who have\nall made some noise in the world, were quite behind him.\"\n\"So,\" continued Franz, \"the hero of this history is only two and\ntwenty?\"\n\"Scarcely so much.\"\n\"Is he tall or short?\"\n\"Of the middle height — about the same stature as his"}
{"text": "\"Scarcely so much.\"\n\"Is he tall or short?\"\n\"Of the middle height — about the same stature as his\nexcellency,\" returned the host, pointing to Albert.\n\"Thanks for the comparison,\" said Albert, with a bow.\n\"Go on, Signor Pastrini,\" continued Franz, smiling at his\nfriend's susceptibility. \"To what class of society does he\nbelong?\"\n\"He was a shepherd-boy attached to the farm of the Count of\nSan-Felice, situated between Palestrina and the lake of Gabri; he\nwas born at Pampinara, and entered the count's service when he was\nfive years old; his father was also a shepherd, who owned a small\nflock, and lived by the wool and the milk, which he sold at Rome.\nWhen quite a child, the little Vampa displayed a most extraordinary\nprecocity. One day, when he was seven years old, he came to the\ncurate of Palestrina, and asked to be taught to read; it was\nsomewhat difficult, for he could not quit his flock; but the good\ncurate went every day to say mass at a little hamlet too poor to\npay a priest and which, having no other name, was called Borgo; he\ntold Luigi that he might meet him on his return, and that then he\nwould give him a lesson, warning him that it would be short, and\nthat he must profit as much as possible by it. The child accepted\njoyfully. Every day Luigi led his flock to graze on the road that\nleads from Palestrina to Borgo; every day, at nine o'clock in the\nmorning, the priest and the boy sat down on a bank by the wayside,\nand the little shepherd took his lesson out of the priest's\nbreviary. At the end of three months he had learned to read. This\nwas not enough — he must now learn to write. The priest had a\nwriting teacher at Rome make three alphabets — one large, one\nmiddling, and one small; and pointed out to him that by the help of\na sharp instrument he could trace the letters on a slate, and thus\nlearn to write. The same evening, when the flock was safe at the\nfarm, the little Luigi hastened to the smith at Palestrina, took a\nlarge nail, heated and sharpened it, and formed a sort of stylus.large nail, heated and sharpened it, and formed a sort of stylus.\nThe next morning he gathered an armful of pieces of slate and\nbegan. At the end of three months he had learned to write. The\ncurate, astonished at his quickness and intelligence, made him a\npresent of pens, paper, and a penknife. This demanded new effort,\nbut nothing compared to the first; at the end of a week he wrote as\nwell with this pen as with the stylus. The curate related the\nincident to the Count of San-Felice, who sent for the little\nshepherd, made him read and write before him, ordered his attendant\nto let him eat with the domestics, and to give him two piastres a\nmonth. With this, Luigi purchased books and pencils. He applied his\nimitative powers to everything, and, like Giotto, when young, he\ndrew on his slate sheep, houses, and trees. Then, with his knife,\nhe began to carve all sorts of objects in wood; it was thus that\nPinelli, the famous sculptor, had commenced.\n\"A girl of six or seven — that is, a little younger than Vampa —\ntended sheep on a farm near Palestrina; she was an orphan, born at\nValmontone and was named Teresa. The two children met, sat down\nnear each other, let their flocks mingle together, played, laughed,\nand conversed together; in the evening they separated the Count of\nSan-Felice's flock from those of Baron Cervetri, and the children\nreturned to their respective farms, promising to meet the next\nmorning. The next day they kept their word, and thus they grew up\ntogether. Vampa was twelve, and Teresa eleven. And yet their\nnatural disposition revealed itself. Beside his taste for the fine\narts, which Luigi had carried as far as he could in his solitude,\nhe was given to alternating fits of sadness and enthusiasm, was\noften angry and capricious, and always sarcastic. None of the lads\nof Pampinara, Palestrina, or Valmontone had been able to gain any\ninfluence over him or even to become his companion. His disposition\n(always inclined to exact concessions rather than to make them)(always inclined to exact concessions rather than to make them)\nkept him aloof from all friendships. Teresa alone ruled by a look,\na word, a gesture, this impetuous character, which yielded beneath\nthe hand of a woman, and which beneath the hand of a man might have\nbroken, but could never have been bended. Teresa was lively and\ngay, but coquettish to excess. The two piastres that Luigi received\nevery month from the Count of San-Felice's steward, and the price\nof all the little carvings in wood he sold at Rome, were expended\nin ear-rings, necklaces, and gold hairpins. So that, thanks to her\nfriend's generosity, Teresa was the most beautiful and the\nbest-attired peasant near Rome. The two children grew up together,\npassing all their time with each other, and giving themselves up to\nthe wild ideas of their different characters. Thus, in all their\ndreams, their wishes, and their conversations, Vampa saw himself\nthe captain of a vessel, general of an army, or governor of a\nprovince. Teresa saw herself rich, superbly attired, and attended\nby a train of liveried domestics. Then, when they had thus passed\nthe day in building castles in the air, they separated their\nflocks, and descended from the elevation of their dreams to the\nreality of their humble position.\n\"One day the young shepherd told the count's steward that he had\nseen a wolf come out of the Sabine mountains, and prowl around his\nflock. The steward gave him a gun; this was what Vampa longed for.\nThis gun had an excellent barrel, made at Breschia, and carrying a\nball with the precision of an English rifle; but one day the count\nbroke the stock, and had then cast the gun aside. This, however,\nwas nothing to a sculptor like Vampa; he examined the broken stock,\ncalculated what change it would require to adapt the gun to his\nshoulder, and made a fresh stock, so beautifully carved that it\nwould have fetched fifteen or twenty piastres, had he chosen to\nsell it. But nothing could be farther from his thoughts. For a long"}
{"text": "sell it. But nothing could be farther from his thoughts. For a long\ntime a gun had been the young man's greatest ambition. In every\ncountry where independence has taken the place of liberty, the\nfirst desire of a manly heart is to possess a weapon, which at once\nrenders him capable of defence or attack, and, by rendering its\nowner terrible, often makes him feared. From this moment Vampa\ndevoted all his leisure time to perfecting himself in the use of\nhis precious weapon; he purchased powder and ball, and everything\nserved him for a mark — the trunk of some old and moss-grown\nolive-tree, that grew on the Sabine mountains; the fox, as he\nquitted his earth on some marauding excursion; the eagle that\nsoared above their heads: and thus he soon became so expert, that\nTeresa overcame the terror she at first felt at the report, and\namused herself by watching him direct the ball wherever he pleased,\nwith as much accuracy as if he placed it by hand.\n\"One evening a wolf emerged from a pine-wood hear which they\nwere usually stationed, but the wolf had scarcely advanced ten\nyards ere he was dead. Proud of this exploit, Vampa took the dead\nanimal on his shoulders, and carried him to the farm. These\nexploits had gained Luigi considerable reputation. The man of\nsuperior abilities always finds admirers, go where he will. He was\nspoken of as the most adroit, the strongest, and the most\ncourageous contadino for ten leagues around; and although Teresa\nwas universally allowed to be the most beautiful girl of the\nSabines, no one had ever spoken to her of love, because it was\nknown that she was beloved by Vampa. And yet the two young people\nhad never declared their affection; they had grown together like\ntwo trees whose roots are mingled, whose branches intertwined, and\nwhose intermingled perfume rises to the heavens. Only their wish to\nsee each other had become a necessity, and they would have\npreferred death to a day's separation. Teresa was sixteen, and\nVampa seventeen. About this time, a band of brigands that hadVampa seventeen. About this time, a band of brigands that had\nestablished itself in the Lepini mountains began to be much spoken\nof. The brigands have never been really extirpated from the\nneighborhood of Rome. Sometimes a chief is wanted, but when a chief\npresents himself he rarely has to wait long for a band of\nfollowers.\n\"The celebrated Cucumetto, pursued in the Abruzzo, driven out of\nthe kingdom of Naples, where he had carried on a regular war, had\ncrossed the Garigliano, like Manfred, and had taken refuge on the\nbanks of the Amasine between Sonnino and Juperno. He strove to\ncollect a band of followers, and followed the footsteps of\nDecesaris and Gasperone, whom he hoped to surpass. Many young men\nof Palestrina, Frascati, and Pampinara had disappeared. Their\ndisappearance at first caused much disquietude; but it was soon\nknown that they had joined Cucumetto. After some time Cucumetto\nbecame the object of universal attention; the most extraordinary\ntraits of ferocious daring and brutality were related of him. One\nday he carried off a young girl, the daughter of a surveyor of\nFrosinone. The bandit's laws are positive; a young girl belongs\nfirst to him who carries her off, then the rest draw lots for her,\nand she is abandoned to their brutality until death relieves her\nsufferings. When their parents are sufficiently rich to pay a\nransom, a messenger is sent to negotiate; the prisoner is hostage\nfor the security of the messenger; should the ransom be refused,\nthe prisoner is irrevocably lost. The young girl's lover was in\nCucumetto's troop; his name was Carlini. When she recognized her\nlover, the poor girl extended her arms to him, and believed herself\nsafe; but Carlini felt his heart sink, for he but too well knew the\nfate that awaited her. However, as he was a favorite with\nCucumetto, as he had for three years faithfully served him, and as\nhe had saved his life by shooting a dragoon who was about to cut\nhim down, he hoped the chief would have pity on him. He tookhim down, he hoped the chief would have pity on him. He took\nCucumetto one side, while the young girl, seated at the foot of a\nhuge pine that stood in the centre of the forest, made a veil of\nher picturesque head-dress to hide her face from the lascivious\ngaze of the bandits. There he told the chief all — his affection\nfor the prisoner, their promises of mutual fidelity, and how every\nnight, since he had been near, they had met in some neighboring\nruins.\n\"It so happened that night that Cucumetto had sent Carlini to a\nvillage, so that he had been unable to go to the place of meeting.\nCucumetto had been there, however, by accident, as he said, and had\ncarried the maiden off. Carlini besought his chief to make an\nexception in Rita's favor, as her father was rich, and could pay a\nlarge ransom. Cucumetto seemed to yield to his friend's entreaties,\nand bade him find a shepherd to send to Rita's father at Frosinone.\nCarlini flew joyfully to Rita, telling her she was saved, and\nbidding her write to her father, to inform him what had occurred,\nand that her ransom was fixed at three hundred piastres. Twelve\nhours' delay was all that was granted — that is, until nine the\nnext morning. The instant the letter was written, Carlini seized\nit, and hastened to the plain to find a messenger. He found a young\nshepherd watching his flock. The natural messengers of the bandits\nare the shepherds who live between the city and the mountains,\nbetween civilized and savage life. The boy undertook the\ncommission, promising to be in Frosinone in less than an hour.\nCarlini returned, anxious to see his mistress, and announce the\njoyful intelligence. He found the troop in the glade, supping off\nthe provisions exacted as contributions from the peasants; but his\neye vainly sought Rita and Cucumetto among them. He inquired where\nthey were, and was answered by a burst of laughter. A cold\nperspiration burst from every pore, and his hair stood on end. He\nrepeated his question. One of the bandits rose, and offered him a"}
{"text": "repeated his question. One of the bandits rose, and offered him a\nglass filled with Orvietto, saying, `To the health of the brave\nCucumetto and the fair Rita.' At this moment Carlini heard a\nwoman's cry; he divined the truth, seized the glass, broke it\nacross the face of him who presented it, and rushed towards the\nspot whence the cry came. After a hundred yards he turned the\ncorner of the thicket; he found Rita senseless in the arms of\nCucumetto. At the sight of Carlini, Cucumetto rose, a pistol in\neach hand. The two brigands looked at each other for a moment — the\none with a smile of lasciviousness on his lips, the other with the\npallor of death on his brow. A terrible battle between the two men\nseemed imminent; but by degrees Carlini's features relaxed, his\nhand, which had grasped one of the pistols in his belt, fell to his\nside. Rita lay between them. The moon lighted the group.\n\"`Well,' said Cucumetto, `have you executed your\ncommission?'\n\"`Yes, captain,' returned Carlini. `At nine o'clock to-morrow\nRita's father will be here with the money.' — `It is well; in the\nmeantime, we will have a merry night; this young girl is charming,\nand does credit to your taste. Now, as I am not egotistical, we\nwill return to our comrades and draw lots for her.' — `You have\ndetermined, then, to abandon her to the common law?\" said\nCarlini.\n\"`Why should an exception be made in her favor?'\n\"`I thought that my entreaties' —\n\"`What right have you, any more than the rest, to ask for an\nexception?' — `It is true.' — `But never mind,' continued\nCucumetto, laughing, `sooner or later your turn will come.'\nCarlini's teeth clinched convulsively.\n\"`Now, then,' said Cucumetto, advancing towards the other\nbandits, `are you coming?' — `I follow you.'\n\"Cucumetto departed, without losing sight of Carlini, for,\ndoubtless, he feared lest he should strike him unawares; but\nnothing betrayed a hostile design on Carlini's part. He was\nstanding, his arms folded, near Rita, who was still insensible.standing, his arms folded, near Rita, who was still insensible.\nCucumetto fancied for a moment the young man was about to take her\nin his arms and fly; but this mattered little to him now Rita had\nbeen his; and as for the money, three hundred piastres distributed\namong the band was so small a sum that he cared little about it. He\ncontinued to follow the path to the glade; but, to his great\nsurprise, Carlini arrived almost as soon as himself. `Let us draw\nlots! let us draw lots!' cried all the brigands, when they saw the\nchief.\n\"Their demand was fair, and the chief inclined his head in sign\nof acquiescence. The eyes of all shone fiercely as they made their\ndemand, and the red light of the fire made them look like demons.\nThe names of all, including Carlini, were placed in a hat, and the\nyoungest of the band drew forth a ticket; the ticket bore the name\nof Diovolaccio. He was the man who had proposed to Carlini the\nhealth of their chief, and to whom Carlini replied by breaking the\nglass across his face. A large wound, extending from the temple to\nthe mouth, was bleeding profusely. Diovalaccio, seeing himself thus\nfavored by fortune, burst into a loud laugh. `Captain,' said he,\n`just now Carlini would not drink your health when I proposed it to\nhim; propose mine to him, and let us see if he will be more\ncondescending to you than to me.' Every one expected an explosion\non Carlini's part; but to their great surprise, he took a glass in\none hand and a flask in the other, and filling it, — `Your health,\nDiavolaccio,' said he calmly, and he drank it off, without his hand\ntrembling in the least. Then sitting down by the fire, `My supper,'\nsaid he; `my expedition has given me an appetite.' — `Well done,\nCarlini!' cried the brigands; `that is acting like a good fellow;'\nand they all formed a circle round the fire, while Diavolaccio\ndisappeared. Carlini ate and drank as if nothing had happened. The\nbandits looked on with astonishment at this singular conduct until\nthey heard footsteps. They turned round, and saw Diavolacciothey heard footsteps. They turned round, and saw Diavolaccio\nbearing the young girl in his arms. Her head hung back, and her\nlong hair swept the ground. As they entered the circle, the bandits\ncould perceive, by the firelight, the unearthly pallor of the young\ngirl and of Diavolaccio. This apparition was so strange and so\nsolemn, that every one rose, with the exception of Carlini, who\nremained seated, and ate and drank calmly. Diavolaccio advanced\namidst the most profound silence, and laid Rita at the captain's\nfeet. Then every one could understand the cause of the unearthly\npallor in the young girl and the bandit. A knife was plunged up to\nthe hilt in Rita's left breast. Every one looked at Carlini; the\nsheath at his belt was empty. `Ah, ah,' said the chief, `I now\nunderstand why Carlini stayed behind.' All savage natures\nappreciate a desperate deed. No other of the bandits would,\nperhaps, have done the same; but they all understood what Carlini\nhad done. `Now, then,' cried Carlini, rising in his turn, and\napproaching the corpse, his hand on the butt of one of his pistols,\n`does any one dispute the possession of this woman with me?' —\n`No,' returned the chief, `she is thine.' Carlini raised her in his\narms, and carried her out of the circle of firelight. Cucumetto\nplaced his sentinels for the night, and the bandits wrapped\nthemselves in their cloaks, and lay down before the fire. At\nmidnight the sentinel gave the alarm, and in an instant all were on\nthe alert. It was Rita's father, who brought his daughter's ransom\nin person. `Here,' said he, to Cucumetto, `here are three hundred\npiastres; give me back my child. But the chief, without taking the\nmoney, made a sign to him to follow. The old man obeyed. They both\nadvanced beneath the trees, through whose branches streamed the\nmoonlight. Cucumetto stopped at last, and pointed to two persons\ngrouped at the foot of a tree.\n\"`There,' said he, `demand thy child of Carlini; he will tell\nthee what has become of her;' and he returned to his companions."}
{"text": "thee what has become of her;' and he returned to his companions.\nThe old man remained motionless; he felt that some great and\nunforeseen misfortune hung over his head. At length he advanced\ntoward the group, the meaning of which he could not comprehend. As\nhe approached, Carlini raised his head, and the forms of two\npersons became visible to the old man's eyes. A woman lay on the\nground, her head resting on the knees of a man, who was seated by\nher; as he raised his head, the woman's face became visible. The\nold man recognized his child, and Carlini recognized the old man.\n`I expected thee,' said the bandit to Rita's father. — `Wretch!'\nreturned the old man, `what hast thou done?' and he gazed with\nterror on Rita, pale and bloody, a knife buried in her bosom. A ray\nof moonlight poured through the trees, and lighted up the face of\nthe dead. — `Cucumetto had violated thy daughter,' said the bandit;\n`I loved her, therefore I slew her; for she would have served as\nthe sport of the whole band.' The old man spoke not, and grew pale\nas death. `Now,' continued Carlini, `if I have done wrongly, avenge\nher;' and withdrawing the knife from the wound in Rita's bosom, he\nheld it out to the old man with one hand, while with the other he\ntore open his vest. — `Thou hast done well!' returned the old man\nin a hoarse voice; `embrace me, my son.' Carlini threw himself,\nsobbing like a child, into the arms of his mistress's father. These\nwere the first tears the man of blood had ever wept. `Now,' said\nthe old man, `aid me to bury my child.' Carlini fetched two\npickaxes; and the father and the lover began to dig at the foot of\na huge oak, beneath which the young girl was to repose. When the\ngrave was formed, the father kissed her first, and then the lover;\nafterwards, one taking the head, the other the feet, they placed\nher in the grave. Then they knelt on each side of the grave, and\nsaid the prayers of the dead. Then, when they had finished, they\ncast the earth over the corpse, until the grave was filled. Then,cast the earth over the corpse, until the grave was filled. Then,\nextending his hand, the old man said; `I thank you, my son; and now\nleave me alone.' — `Yet' — replied Carlini. — `Leave me, I command\nyou.' Carlini obeyed, rejoined his comrades, folded himself in his\ncloak, and soon appeared to sleep as soundly as the rest. It had\nbeen resolved the night before to change their encampment. An hour\nbefore daybreak, Cucumetto aroused his men, and gave the word to\nmarch. But Carlini would not quit the forest, without knowing what\nhad become of Rita's father. He went toward the place where he had\nleft him. He found the old man suspended from one of the branches\nof the oak which shaded his daughter's grave. He then took an oath\nof bitter vengeance over the dead body of the one and the tomb of\nthe other. But he was unable to complete this oath, for two days\nafterwards, in an encounter with the Roman carbineers, Carlini was\nkilled. There was some surprise, however, that, as he was with his\nface to the enemy, he should have received a ball between his\nshoulders. That astonishment ceased when one of the brigands\nremarked to his comrades that Cucumetto was stationed ten paces in\nCarlini's rear when he fell. On the morning of the departure from\nthe forest of Frosinone he had followed Carlini in the darkness,\nand heard this oath of vengeance, and, like a wise man, anticipated\nit. They told ten other stories of this bandit chief, each more\nsingular than the other. Thus, from Fondi to Perusia, every one\ntrembles at the name of Cucumetto.\n\"These narratives were frequently the theme of conversation\nbetween Luigi and Teresa. The young girl trembled very much at\nhearing the stories; but Vampa reassured her with a smile, tapping\nthe butt of his good fowling-piece, which threw its ball so well;\nand if that did not restore her courage, he pointed to a crow,\nperched on some dead branch, took aim, touched the trigger, and the\nbird fell dead at the foot of the tree. Time passed on, and the twobird fell dead at the foot of the tree. Time passed on, and the two\nyoung people had agreed to be married when Vampa should be twenty\nand Teresa nineteen years of age. They were both orphans, and had\nonly their employers' leave to ask, which had been already sought\nand obtained. One day when they were talking over their plans for\nthe future, they heard two or three reports of firearms, and then\nsuddenly a man came out of the wood, near which the two young\npersons used to graze their flocks, and hurried towards them. When\nhe came within hearing, he exclaimed. `I am pursued; can you\nconceal me?' They knew full well that this fugitive must be a\nbandit; but there is an innate sympathy between the Roman brigand\nand the Roman peasant and the latter is always ready to aid the\nformer. Vampa, without saying a word, hastened to the stone that\nclosed up the entrance to their grotto, drew it away, made a sign\nto the fugitive to take refuge there, in a retreat unknown to every\none, closed the stone upon him, and then went and resumed his seat\nby Teresa. Instantly afterwards four carbineers, on horseback,\nappeared on the edge of the wood; three of them appeared to be\nlooking for the fugitive, while the fourth dragged a brigand\nprisoner by the neck. The three carbineers looked about carefully\non every side, saw the young peasants, and galloping up, began to\nquestion them. They had seen no one. `That is very annoying,' said\nthe brigadier; for the man we are looking for is the chief.' —\n`Cucumetto?' cried Luigi and Teresa at the same moment.\n\"`Yes,' replied the brigadier; `and as his head is valued at a\nthousand Roman crowns, there would have been five hundred for you,\nif you had helped us to catch him.' The two young persons exchanged\nlooks. The brigadier had a moment's hope. Five hundred Roman crowns\nare three thousand lire, and three thousand lire are a fortune for\ntwo poor orphans who are going to be married.\n\"`Yes, it is very annoying,' said Vampa; `but we have not seen\nhim.'"}
{"text": "\"`Yes, it is very annoying,' said Vampa; `but we have not seen\nhim.'\n\"Then the carbineers scoured the country in different\ndirections, but in vain; then, after a time, they disappeared.\nVampa then removed the stone, and Cucumetto came out. Through the\ncrevices in the granite he had seen the two young peasants talking\nwith the carbineers, and guessed the subject of their parley. He\nhad read in the countenances of Luigi and Teresa their steadfast\nresolution not to surrender him, and he drew from his pocket a\npurse full of gold, which he offered to them. But Vampa raised his\nhead proudly; as to Teresa, her eyes sparkled when she thought of\nall the fine gowns and gay jewellery she could buy with this purse\nof gold.\n\"Cucumetto was a cunning fiend, and had assumed the form of a\nbrigand instead of a serpent, and this look from Teresa showed to\nhim that she was a worthy daughter of Eve, and he returned to the\nforest, pausing several times on his way, under the pretext of\nsaluting his protectors. Several days elapsed, and they neither saw\nnor heard of Cucumetto. The time of the Carnival was at hand. The\nCount of San-Felice announced a grand masked ball, to which all\nthat were distinguished in Rome were invited. Teresa had a great\ndesire to see this ball. Luigi asked permission of his protector,\nthe steward, that she and he might be present amongst the servants\nof the house. This was granted. The ball was given by the Count for\nthe particular pleasure of his daughter Carmela, whom he adored.\nCarmela was precisely the age and figure of Teresa, and Teresa was\nas handsome as Carmela. On the evening of the ball Teresa was\nattired in her best, her most brilliant ornaments in her hair, and\ngayest glass beads, — she was in the costume of the women of\nFrascati. Luigi wore the very picturesque garb of the Roman peasant\nat holiday time. They both mingled, as they had leave to do, with\nthe servants and peasants.\n\"The festa was magnificent; not only was the villa brilliantlythe servants and peasants.\n\"The festa was magnificent; not only was the villa brilliantly\nilluminated, but thousands of colored lanterns were suspended from\nthe trees in the garden; and very soon the palace overflowed to the\nterraces, and the terraces to the garden-walks. At each cross-path\nwas an orchestra, and tables spread with refreshments; the guests\nstopped, formed quadrilles, and danced in any part of the grounds\nthey pleased. Carmela was attired like a woman of Sonnino. Her cap\nwas embroidered with pearls, the pins in her hair were of gold and\ndiamonds, her girdle was of Turkey silk, with large embroidered\nflowers, her bodice and skirt were of cashmere, her apron of Indian\nmuslin, and the buttons of her corset were of jewels. Two of her\ncompanions were dressed, the one as a woman of Nettuno, and the\nother as a woman of La Riccia. Four young men of the richest and\nnoblest families of Rome accompanied them with that Italian freedom\nwhich has not its parallel in any other country in the world. They\nwere attired as peasants of Albano, Velletri, Civita-Castellana,\nand Sora. We need hardly add that these peasant costumes, like\nthose of the young women, were brilliant with gold and jewels.\n\"Carmela wished to form a quadrille, but there was one lady\nwanting. Carmela looked all around her, but not one of the guests\nhad a costume similar to her own, or those of her companions. The\nCount of San-Felice pointed out Teresa, who was hanging on Luigi's\narm in a group of peasants. `Will you allow me, father?' said\nCarmela. — `Certainly,' replied the count, `are we not in Carnival\ntime?' — Carmela turned towards the young man who was talking with\nher, and saying a few words to him, pointed with her finger to\nTeresa. The young man looked, bowed in obedience, and then went to\nTeresa, and invited her to dance in a quadrille directed by the\ncount's daughter. Teresa felt a flush pass over her face; she\nlooked at Luigi, who could not refuse his assent. Luigi slowlylooked at Luigi, who could not refuse his assent. Luigi slowly\nrelinquished Teresa's arm, which he had held beneath his own, and\nTeresa, accompanied by her elegant cavalier, took her appointed\nplace with much agitation in the aristocratic quadrille. Certainly,\nin the eyes of an artist, the exact and strict costume of Teresa\nhad a very different character from that of Carmela and her\ncompanions; and Teresa was frivolous and coquettish, and thus the\nembroidery and muslins, the cashmere waist-girdles, all dazzled\nher, and the reflection of sapphires and diamonds almost turned her\ngiddy brain.\n\"Luigi felt a sensation hitherto unknown arising in his mind. It\nwas like an acute pain which gnawed at his heart, and then thrilled\nthrough his whole body. He followed with his eye each movement of\nTeresa and her cavalier; when their hands touched, he felt as\nthough he should swoon; every pulse beat with violence, and it\nseemed as though a bell were ringing in his ears. When they spoke,\nalthough Teresa listened timidly and with downcast eyes to the\nconversation of her cavalier, as Luigi could read in the ardent\nlooks of the good-looking young man that his language was that of\npraise, it seemed as if the whole world was turning round with him,\nand all the voices of hell were whispering in his ears ideas of\nmurder and assassination. Then fearing that his paroxysm might get\nthe better of him, he clutched with one hand the branch of a tree\nagainst which he was leaning, and with the other convulsively\ngrasped the dagger with a carved handle which was in his belt, and\nwhich, unwittingly, he drew from the scabbard from time to time.\nLuigi was jealous! He felt that, influenced by her ambitions and\ncoquettish disposition, Teresa might escape him.\n\"The young peasant girl, at first timid and scared, soon\nrecovered herself. We have said that Teresa was handsome, but this\nis not all; Teresa was endowed with all those wild graces which are\nso much more potent than our affected and studied elegancies. She"}
{"text": "so much more potent than our affected and studied elegancies. She\nhad almost all the honors of the quadrille, and if she were envious\nof the Count of San-Felice's daughter, we will not undertake to say\nthat Carmela was not jealous of her. And with overpowering\ncompliments her handsome cavalier led her back to the place whence\nhe had taken her, and where Luigi awaited her. Twice or thrice\nduring the dance the young girl had glanced at Luigi, and each time\nshe saw that he was pale and that his features were agitated, once\neven the blade of his knife, half drawn from its sheath, had\ndazzled her eyes with its sinister glare. Thus, it was almost\ntremblingly that she resumed her lover's arm. The quadrille had\nbeen most perfect, and it was evident there was a great demand for\na repetition, Carmela alone objecting to it, but the Count of\nSan-Felice besought his daughter so earnestly, that she acceded.\nOne of the cavaliers then hastened to invite Teresa, without whom\nit was impossible for the quadrille to be formed, but the young\ngirl had disappeared. The truth was, that Luigi had not felt the\nstrength to support another such trial, and, half by persuasion and\nhalf by force, he had removed Teresa toward another part of the\ngarden. Teresa had yielded in spite of herself, but when she looked\nat the agitated countenance of the young man, she understood by his\nsilence and trembling voice that something strange was passing\nwithin him. She herself was not exempt from internal emotion, and\nwithout having done anything wrong, yet fully comprehended that\nLuigi was right in reproaching her. Why, she did not know, but yet\nshe did not the less feel that these reproaches were merited.\nHowever, to Teresa's great astonishment, Luigi remained mute, and\nnot a word escaped his lips the rest of the evening. When the chill\nof the night had driven away the guests from the gardens, and the\ngates of the villa were closed on them for the festa in-doors, he\ntook Teresa quite away, and as he left her at her home, he said,\n—took Teresa quite away, and as he left her at her home, he said,\n—\n\"`Teresa, what were you thinking of as you danced opposite the\nyoung Countess of San-Felice?' — `I thought,' replied the young\ngirl, with all the frankness of her nature, `that I would give half\nmy life for a costume such as she wore.'\n\"`And what said your cavalier to you?' — `He said it only\ndepended on myself to have it, and I had only one word to say.'\n\"`He was right,' said Luigi. `Do you desire it as ardently as\nyou say?' — `Yes.' — `Well, then, you shall have it!'\n\"The young girl, much astonished, raised her head to look at\nhim, but his face was so gloomy and terrible that her words froze\nto her lips. As Luigi spoke thus, he left her. Teresa followed him\nwith her eyes into the darkness as long as she could, and when he\nhad quite disappeared, she went into the house with a sigh.\n\"That night a memorable event occurred, due, no doubt, to the\nimprudence of some servant who had neglected to extinguish the\nlights. The Villa of San-Felice took fire in the rooms adjoining\nthe very apartment of the lovely Carmela. Awakened in the night by\nthe light of the flames, she sprang out of bed, wrapped herself in\na dressing-gown, and attempted to escape by the door, but the\ncorridor by which she hoped to fly was already a prey to the\nflames. She then returned to her room, calling for help as loudly\nas she could, when suddenly her window, which was twenty feet from\nthe ground, was opened, a young peasant jumped into the chamber,\nseized her in his arms, and with superhuman skill and strength\nconveyed her to the turf of the grass-plot, where she fainted. When\nshe recovered, her father was by her side. All the servants\nsurrounded her, offering her assistance. An entire wing of the\nvilla was burnt down; but what of that, as long as Carmela was safe\nand uninjured? Her preserver was everywhere sought for, but he did\nnot appear; he was inquired after, but no one had seen him. Carmela\nwas greatly troubled that she had not recognized him. As the countwas greatly troubled that she had not recognized him. As the count\nwas immensely rich, excepting the danger Carmela had run, — and the\nmarvellous manner in which she had escaped, made that appear to him\nrather a favor of providence than a real misfortune, — the loss\noccasioned by the conflagration was to him but a trifle.\n\"The next day, at the usual hour, the two young peasants were on\nthe borders of the forest. Luigi arrived first. He came toward\nTeresa in high spirits, and seemed to have completely forgotten the\nevents of the previous evening. The young girl was very pensive,\nbut seeing Luigi so cheerful, she on her part assumed a smiling\nair, which was natural to her when she was not excited or in a\npassion. Luigi took her arm beneath his own, and led her to the\ndoor of the grotto. Then he paused. The young girl, perceiving that\nthere was something extraordinary, looked at him steadfastly.\n`Teresa,' said Luigi, `yesterday evening you told me you would give\nall the world to have a costume similar to that of the count's\ndaughter.' — `Yes,' replied Teresa with astonishment; `but I was\nmad to utter such a wish.' — `And I replied, \"Very well, you shall\nhave it.\"' — `Yes,' replied the young girl, whose astonishment\nincreased at every word uttered by Luigi, `but of course your reply\nwas only to please me.'\n\"`I have promised no more than I have given you, Teresa,' said\nLuigi proudly. `Go into the grotto and dress yourself.' At these\nwords he drew away the stone, and showed Teresa the grotto, lighted\nup by two wax lights, which burnt on each side of a splendid\nmirror; on a rustic table, made by Luigi, were spread out the pearl\nnecklace and the diamond pins, and on a chair at the side was laid\nthe rest of the costume.\n\"Teresa uttered a cry of joy, and, without inquiring whence this\nattire came, or even thanking Luigi, darted into the grotto,\ntransformed into a dressing-room. Luigi pushed the stone behind\nher, for on the crest of a small adjacent hill which cut off the"}
{"text": "her, for on the crest of a small adjacent hill which cut off the\nview toward Palestrina, he saw a traveller on horseback, stopping a\nmoment, as if uncertain of his road, and thus presenting against\nthe blue sky that perfect outline which is peculiar to distant\nobjects in southern climes. When he saw Luigi, he put his horse\ninto a gallop and advanced toward him. Luigi was not mistaken. The\ntraveller, who was going from Palestrina to Tivoli, had mistaken\nhis way; the young man directed him; but as at a distance of a\nquarter of a mile the road again divided into three ways, and on\nreaching these the traveller might again stray from his route, he\nbegged Luigi to be his guide. Luigi threw his cloak on the ground,\nplaced his carbine on his shoulder, and freed from his heavy\ncovering, preceded the traveller with the rapid step of a\nmountaineer, which a horse can scarcely keep up with. In ten\nminutes Luigi and the traveller reached the cross-roads. On\narriving there, with an air as majestic as that of an emperor, he\nstretched his hand towards that one of the roads which the\ntraveller was to follow. — \"That is your road, excellency, and now\nyou cannot again mistake.' — `And here is your recompense,' said\nthe traveller, offering the young herdsman some small pieces of\nmoney.\n\"`Thank you,' said Luigi, drawing back his hand; `I render a\nservice, I do not sell it.' — `Well,' replied the traveller, who\nseemed used to this difference between the servility of a man of\nthe cities and the pride of the mountaineer, `if you refuse wages,\nyou will, perhaps, accept a gift.' — `Ah, yes, that is another\nthing.' — `Then,' said the traveller, `take these two Venetian\nsequins and give them to your bride, to make herself a pair of\nearrings.'\n\"`And then do you take this poniard,' said the young herdsman;\n`you will not find one better carved between Albano and\nCivita-Castellana.'\n\"`I accept it,' answered the traveller, `but then the obligation\nwill be on my side, for this poniard is worth more than twowill be on my side, for this poniard is worth more than two\nsequins.' — `For a dealer perhaps; but for me, who engraved it\nmyself, it is hardly worth a piastre.'\n\"`What is your name?' inquired the traveller. — `Luigi Vampa,'\nreplied the shepherd, with the same air as he would have replied,\nAlexander, King of Macedon. — `And yours?' — `I,' said the\ntraveller, `am called Sinbad the Sailor.'\" Franz d'Epinay started\nwith surprise.\n\"Sinbad the Sailor.\" he said.\n\"Yes,\" replied the narrator; \"that was the name which the\ntraveller gave to Vampa as his own.\"\n\"Well, and what may you have to say against this name?\" inquired\nAlbert; \"it is a very pretty name, and the adventures of the\ngentleman of that name amused me very much in my youth, I must\nconfess.\" — Franz said no more. The name of Sinbad the Sailor, as\nmay well be supposed, awakened in him a world of recollections, as\nhad the name of the Count of Monte Cristo on the previous\nevening.\n\"Proceed!\" said he to the host.\n\"Vampa put the two sequins haughtily into his pocket, and slowly\nreturned by the way he had gone. As he came within two or three\nhundred paces of the grotto, he thought he heard a cry. He listened\nto know whence this sound could proceed. A moment afterwards he\nthought he heard his own name pronounced distinctly. The cry\nproceeded from the grotto. He bounded like a chamois, cocking his\ncarbine as he went, and in a moment reached the summit of a hill\nopposite to that on which he had perceived the traveller. Three\ncries for help came more distinctly to his ear. He cast his eyes\naround him and saw a man carrying off Teresa, as Nessus, the\ncentaur, carried Dejanira. This man, who was hastening towards the\nwood, was already three-quarters of the way on the road from the\ngrotto to the forest. Vampa measured the distance; the man was at\nleast two hundred paces in advance of him, and there was not a\nchance of overtaking him. The young shepherd stopped, as if his\nfeet had been rooted to the ground; then he put the butt of hisfeet had been rooted to the ground; then he put the butt of his\ncarbine to his shoulder, took aim at the ravisher, followed him for\na second in his track, and then fired. The ravisher stopped\nsuddenly, his knees bent under him, and he fell with Teresa in his\narms. The young girl rose instantly, but the man lay on the earth\nstruggling in the agonies of death. Vampa then rushed towards\nTeresa; for at ten paces from the dying man her legs had failed\nher, and she had dropped on her knees, so that the young man feared\nthat the ball that had brought down his enemy, had also wounded his\nbetrothed. Fortunately, she was unscathed, and it was fright alone\nthat had overcome Teresa. When Luigi had assured himself that she\nwas safe and unharmed, he turned towards the wounded man. He had\njust expired, with clinched hands, his mouth in a spasm of agony,\nand his hair on end in the sweat of death. His eyes remained open\nand menacing. Vampa approached the corpse, and recognized\nCucumetto. From the day on which the bandit had been saved by the\ntwo young peasants, he had been enamoured of Teresa, and had sworn\nshe should be his. From that time he had watched them, and\nprofiting by the moment when her lover had left her alone, had\ncarried her off, and believed he at length had her in his power,\nwhen the ball, directed by the unerring skill of the young\nherdsman, had pierced his heart. Vampa gazed on him for a moment\nwithout betraying the slightest emotion; while, on the contrary,\nTeresa, shuddering in every limb, dared not approach the slain\nruffian but by degrees, and threw a hesitating glance at the dead\nbody over the shoulder of her lover. Suddenly Vampa turned toward\nhis mistress: — `Ah,' said he — `good, good! You are dressed; it is\nnow my turn to dress myself.'\n\"Teresa was clothed from head to foot in the garb of the Count\nof San-Felice's daughter. Vampa took Cucumetto's body in his arms\nand conveyed it to the grotto, while in her turn Teresa remained\noutside. If a second traveller had passed, he would have seen a"}
{"text": "outside. If a second traveller had passed, he would have seen a\nstrange thing, — a shepherdess watching her flock, clad in a\ncashmere grown, with ear-rings and necklace of pearls, diamond\npins, and buttons of sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. He would, no\ndoubt, have believed that he had returned to the times of Florian,\nand would have declared, on reaching Paris, that he had met an\nAlpine shepherdess seated at the foot of the Sabine Hill. At the\nend of a quarter of an hour Vampa quitted the grotto; his costume\nwas no less elegant than that of Teresa. He wore a vest of\ngarnet-colored velvet, with buttons of cut gold; a silk waistcoat\ncovered with embroidery; a Roman scarf tied round his neck; a\ncartridge-box worked with gold, and red and green silk; sky-blue\nvelvet breeches, fastened above the knee with diamond buckles;\ngarters of deerskin, worked with a thousand arabesques, and a hat\nwhereon hung ribbons of all colors; two watches hung from his\ngirdle, and a splendid poniard was in his belt. Teresa uttered a\ncry of admiration. Vampa in this attire resembled a painting by\nLeopold Robert, or Schnetz. He had assumed the entire costume of\nCucumetto. The young man saw the effect produced on his betrothed,\nand a smile of pride passed over his lips. — `Now,' he said to\nTeresa, `are you ready to share my fortune, whatever it may be?' —\n`Oh, yes!' exclaimed the young girl enthusiastically. — `And follow\nme wherever I go?' — `To the world's end.' — `Then take my arm, and\nlet us on; we have no time to lose.' — The young girl did so\nwithout questioning her lover as to where he was conducting her,\nfor he appeared to her at this moment as handsome, proud, and\npowerful as a god. They went towards the forest, and soon entered\nit. We need scarcely say that all the paths of the mountain were\nknown to Vampa; he therefore went forward without a moment's\nhesitation, although there was no beaten track, but he knew his\npath by looking at the trees and bushes, and thus they kept onpath by looking at the trees and bushes, and thus they kept on\nadvancing for nearly an hour and a half. At the end of this time\nthey had reached the thickest of the forest. A torrent, whose bed\nwas dry, led into a deep gorge. Vampa took this wild road, which,\nenclosed between two ridges, and shadowed by the tufted umbrage of\nthe pines, seemed, but for the difficulties of its descent, that\npath to Avernus of which Virgil speaks. Teresa had become alarmed\nat the wild and deserted look of the plain around her, and pressed\nclosely against her guide, not uttering a syllable; but as she saw\nhim advance with even step and composed countenance, she endeavored\nto repress her emotion. Suddenly, about ten paces from them, a man\nadvanced from behind a tree and aimed at Vampa. — `Not another\nstep,' he said, `or you are a dead man.' — `What, then,' said\nVampa, raising his hand with a gesture of disdain, while Teresa, no\nlonger able to restrain her alarm, clung closely to him, `do wolves\nrend each other?' — `Who are you?' inquired the sentinel. — `I am\nLuigi Vampa, shepherd of the San-Felice farm.' — `What do you\nwant?' — `I would speak with your companions who are in the glade\nat Rocca Bianca.' — `Follow me, then,' said the sentinel; `or, as\nyou know your way, go first.' — Vampa smiled disdainfully at this\nprecaution on the part of the bandit, went before Teresa, and\ncontinued to advance with the same firm and easy step as before. At\nthe end of ten minutes the bandit made them a sign to stop. The two\nyoung persons obeyed. Then the bandit thrice imitated the cry of a\ncrow; a croak answered this signal. — `Good!' said the sentry, `you\nmay now go on.' — Luigi and Teresa again set forward; as they went\non Teresa clung tremblingly to her lover at the sight of weapons\nand the glistening of carbines through the trees. The retreat of\nRocca Bianca was at the top of a small mountain, which no doubt in\nformer days had been a volcano — an extinct volcano before the days\nwhen Remus and Romulus had deserted Alba to come and found the citywhen Remus and Romulus had deserted Alba to come and found the city\nof Rome. Teresa and Luigi reached the summit, and all at once found\nthemselves in the presence of twenty bandits. `Here is a young man\nwho seeks and wishes to speak to you,' said the sentinel. — `What\nhas he to say?' inquired the young man who was in command in the\nchief's absence. — `I wish to say that I am tired of a shepherd's\nlife,' was Vampa's reply. — `Ah, I understand,' said the\nlieutenant; `and you seek admittance into our ranks?' — `Welcome!'\ncried several bandits from Ferrusino, Pampinara, and Anagni, who\nhad recognized Luigi Vampa. — `Yes, but I came to ask something\nmore than to be your companion.' — `And what may that be?' inquired\nthe bandits with astonishment. — `I come to ask to be your\ncaptain,' said the young man. The bandits shouted with laughter.\n`And what have you done to aspire to this honor?' demanded the\nlieutenant. — `I have killed your chief, Cucumetto, whose dress I\nnow wear; and I set fire to the villa San-Felice to procure a\nwedding-dress for my betrothed.' An hour afterwards Luigi Vampa was\nchosen captain, vice Cucumetto deceased.\"\n\"Well, my dear Albert,\" said Franz, turning towards his friend;\n\"what think you of citizen Luigi Vampa?\"\n\"I say he is a myth,\" replied Albert, \"and never had an\nexistence.\"\n\"And what may a myth be?\" inquired Pastrini.\n\"The explanation would be too long, my dear landlord,\" replied\nFranz.\n\"And you say that Signor Vampa exercises his profession at this\nmoment in the environs of Rome?\"\n\"And with a boldness of which no bandit before him ever gave an\nexample.\"\n\"Then the police have vainly tried to lay hands on him?\"\n\"Why, you see, he has a good understanding with the shepherds in\nthe plains, the fishermen of the Tiber, and the smugglers of the\ncoast. They seek for him in the mountains, and he is on the waters;\nthey follow him on the waters, and he is on the open sea; then they\npursue him, and he has suddenly taken refuge in the islands, at"}
{"text": "pursue him, and he has suddenly taken refuge in the islands, at\nGiglio, Guanouti, or Monte Cristo; and when they hunt for him\nthere, he reappears suddenly at Albano, Tivoli, or La Riccia.\"\n\"And how does he behave towards travellers?\"\n\"Alas! his plan is very simple. It depends on the distance he\nmay be from the city, whether he gives eight hours, twelve hours,\nor a day wherein to pay their ransom; and when that time has\nelapsed he allows another hour's grace. At the sixtieth minute of\nthis hour, if the money is not forthcoming, he blows out the\nprisoner's brains with a pistol-shot, or plants his dagger in his\nheart, and that settles the account.\"\n\"Well, Albert,\" inquired Franz of his companion, \"are you still\ndisposed to go to the Colosseum by the outer wall?\"\n\"Quite so,\" said Albert, \"if the way be picturesque.\" The clock\nstruck nine as the door opened, and a coachman appeared.\n\"Excellencies,\" said he, \"the coach is ready.\"\n\"Well, then,\" said Franz, \"let us to the Colosseum.\"\n\"By the Porta del Popolo or by the streets, your\nexcellencies?\"\n\"By the streets, morbleu, by the streets!\" cried Franz.\n\"Ah, my dear fellow,\" said Albert, rising, and lighting his\nthird cigar, \"really, I thought you had more courage.\" So saying,\nthe two young men went down the staircase, and got into the\ncarriage.Franz had so managed his route, that during the ride to the\nColosseum they passed not a single ancient ruin, so that no\npreliminary impression interfered to mitigate the colossal\nproportions of the gigantic building they came to admire. The road\nselected was a continuation of the Via Sistina; then by cutting off\nthe right angle of the street in which stands Santa Maria Maggiore\nand proceeding by the Via Urbana and San Pietro in Vincoli, the\ntravellers would find themselves directly opposite the Colosseum.\nThis itinerary possessed another great advantage, — that of leaving\nFranz at full liberty to indulge his deep reverie upon the subject\nof Signor Pastrini's story, in which his mysterious host of Monte\nCristo was so strangely mixed up. Seated with folded arms in a\ncorner of the carriage, he continued to ponder over the singular\nhistory he had so lately listened to, and to ask himself an\ninterminable number of questions touching its various circumstances\nwithout, however, arriving at a satisfactory reply to any of them.\nOne fact more than the rest brought his friend \"Sinbad the Sailor\"\nback to his recollection, and that was the mysterious sort of\nintimacy that seemed to exist between the brigands and the sailors;\nand Pastrini's account of Vampa's having found refuge on board the\nvessels of smugglers and fishermen, reminded Franz of the two\nCorsican bandits he had found supping so amicably with the crew of\nthe little yacht, which had even deviated from its course and\ntouched at Porto-Vecchio for the sole purpose of landing them. The\nvery name assumed by his host of Monte Cristo and again repeated by\nthe landlord of the Hotel de Londres, abundantly proved to him that\nhis island friend was playing his philanthropic part on the shores\nof Piombino, Civita-Vecchio, Ostia, and Gaeta, as on those of\nCorsica, Tuscany, and Spain; and further, Franz bethought him of\nhaving heard his singular entertainer speak both of Tunis and\nPalermo, proving thereby how largely his circle of acquaintances\nextended.Palermo, proving thereby how largely his circle of acquaintances\nextended.\nBut however the mind of the young man might be absorbed in these\nreflections, they were at once dispersed at the sight of the dark\nfrowning ruins of the stupendous Colosseum, through the various\nopenings of which the pale moonlight played and flickered like the\nunearthly gleam from the eyes of the wandering dead. The carriage\nstopped near the Meta Sudans; the door was opened, and the young\nmen, eagerly alighting, found themselves opposite a cicerone, who\nappeared to have sprung up from the ground, so unexpected was his\nappearance.\nThe usual guide from the hotel having followed them, they had\npaid two conductors, nor is it possible, at Rome, to avoid this\nabundant supply of guides; besides the ordinary cicerone, who\nseizes upon you directly you set foot in your hotel, and never\nquits you while you remain in the city, there is also a special\ncicerone belonging to each monument — nay, almost to each part of a\nmonument. It may, therefore, be easily imagined there is no\nscarcity of guides at the Colosseum, that wonder of all ages, which\nMartial thus eulogizes: \"Let Memphis cease to boast the barbarous\nmiracles of her pyramids, and the wonders of Babylon be talked of\nno more among us; all must bow to the superiority of the gigantic\nlabor of the Caesars, and the many voices of Fame spread far and\nwide the surpassing merits of this incomparable monument.\"\nAs for Albert and Franz, they essayed not to escape from their\nciceronian tyrants; and, indeed, it would have been so much the\nmore difficult to break their bondage, as the guides alone are\npermitted to visit these monuments with torches in their hands.\nThus, then, the young men made no attempt at resistance, but\nblindly and confidingly surrendered themselves into the care and\ncustody of their conductors. Albert had already made seven or eight\nsimilar excursions to the Colosseum, while his less favored\ncompanion trod for the first time in his life the classic groundcompanion trod for the first time in his life the classic ground\nforming the monument of Flavius Vespasian; and, to his credit be it\nspoken, his mind, even amid the glib loquacity of the guides, was\nduly and deeply touched with awe and enthusiastic admiration of all\nhe saw; and certainly no adequate notion of these stupendous ruins\ncan be formed save by such as have visited them, and more\nespecially by moonlight, at which time the vast proportions of the\nbuilding appear twice as large when viewed by the mysterious beams\nof a southern moonlit sky, whose rays are sufficiently clear and\nvivid to light the horizon with a glow equal to the soft twilight\nof an eastern clime. Scarcely, therefore, had the reflective Franz\nwalked a hundred steps beneath the interior porticoes of the ruin,\nthan, abandoning Albert to the guides (who would by no means yield\ntheir prescriptive right of carrying their victims through the\nroutine regularly laid down, and as regularly followed by them, but\ndragged the unconscious visitor to the various objects with a\npertinacity that admitted of no appeal, beginning, as a matter of\ncourse, with the Lions' Den, and finishing with Caesar's\n\"Podium,\"), to escape a jargon and mechanical survey of the wonders\nby which he was surrounded, Franz ascended a half-dilapidated\nstaircase, and, leaving them to follow their monotonous round,\nseated himself at the foot of a column, and immediately opposite a\nlarge aperture, which permitted him to enjoy a full and undisturbed\nview of the gigantic dimensions of the majestic ruin.\nFranz had remained for nearly a quarter of an hour perfectly\nhidden by the shadow of the vast column at whose base he had found\na resting-place, and from whence his eyes followed the motions of\nAlbert and his guides, who, holding torches in their hands, had\nemerged from a vomitarium at the opposite extremity of the\nColosseum, and then again disappeared down the steps conducting to\nthe seats reserved for the Vestal virgins, resembling, as they"}
{"text": "the seats reserved for the Vestal virgins, resembling, as they\nglided along, some restless shades following the flickering glare\nof so many ignes-fatui. All at once his ear caught a sound\nresembling that of a stone rolling down the staircase opposite the\none by which he had himself ascended. There was nothing remarkable\nin the circumstance of a fragment of granite giving way and falling\nheavily below; but it seemed to him that the substance that fell\ngave way beneath the pressure of a foot, and also that some one,\nwho endeavored as much as possible to prevent his footsteps from\nbeing heard, was approaching the spot where he sat. Conjecture soon\nbecame certainty, for the figure of a man was distinctly visible to\nFranz, gradually emerging from the staircase opposite, upon which\nthe moon was at that moment pouring a full tide of silvery\nbrightness.\nThe stranger thus presenting himself was probably a person who,\nlike Franz, preferred the enjoyment of solitude and his own\nthoughts to the frivolous gabble of the guides. And his appearance\nhad nothing extraordinary in it; but the hesitation with which he\nproceeded, stopping and listening with anxious attention at every\nstep he took, convinced Franz that he expected the arrival of some\nperson. By a sort of instinctive impulse, Franz withdrew as much as\npossible behind his pillar. About ten feet from the spot where he\nand the stranger were, the roof had given way, leaving a large\nround opening, through which might be seen the blue vault of\nheaven, thickly studded with stars. Around this opening, which had,\npossibly, for ages permitted a free entrance to the brilliant\nmoonbeams that now illumined the vast pile, grew a quantity of\ncreeping plants, whose delicate green branches stood out in bold\nrelief against the clear azure of the firmament, while large masses\nof thick, strong fibrous shoots forced their way through the chasm,\nand hung floating to and fro, like so many waving strings. The\nperson whose mysterious arrival had attracted the attention ofperson whose mysterious arrival had attracted the attention of\nFranz stood in a kind of half-light, that rendered it impossible to\ndistinguish his features, although his dress was easily made out.\nHe wore a large brown mantle, one fold of which, thrown over his\nleft shoulder, served likewise to mask the lower part of his\ncountenance, while the upper part was completely hidden by his\nbroad-brimmed hat. The lower part of his dress was more distinctly\nvisible by the bright rays of the moon, which, entering through the\nbroken ceiling, shed their refulgent beams on feet cased in\nelegantly made boots of polished leather, over which descended\nfashionably cut trousers of black cloth.\nFrom the imperfect means Franz had of judging, he could only\ncome to one conclusion, — that the person whom he was thus watching\ncertainly belonged to no inferior station of life. Some few minutes\nhad elapsed, and the stranger began to show manifest signs of\nimpatience, when a slight noise was heard outside the aperture in\nthe roof, and almost immediately a dark shadow seemed to obstruct\nthe flood of light that had entered it, and the figure of a man was\nclearly seen gazing with eager scrutiny on the immense space\nbeneath him; then, as his eye caught sight of him in the mantle, he\ngrasped a floating mass of thickly matted boughs, and glided down\nby their help to within three or four feet of the ground, and then\nleaped lightly on his feet. The man who had performed this daring\nact with so much indifference wore the Transtevere costume. \"I beg\nyour excellency's pardon for keeping you waiting,\" said the man, in\nthe Roman dialect, \"but I don't think I'm many minutes after my\ntime, ten o'clock his just struck on the Lateran.\"\n\"Say not a word about being late,\" replied the stranger in\npurest Tuscan; \"'tis I who am too soon. But even if you had caused\nme to wait a little while, I should have felt quite sure that the\ndelay was not occasioned by any fault of yours.\"\n\"Your excellency is perfectly right in so thinking,\" said the\"Your excellency is perfectly right in so thinking,\" said the\nman; \"I came here direct from the Castle of St. Angelo, and I had\nan immense deal of trouble before I could get a chance to speak to\nBeppo.\"\n\"And who is Beppo?\"\n\"Oh, Beppo is employed in the prison, and I give him so much a\nyear to let me know what is going on within his holiness's\ncastle.\"\n\"Indeed! You are a provident person, I see.\"\n\"Why, you see, no one knows what may happen. Perhaps some of\nthese days I may be entrapped, like poor Peppino and may be very\nglad to have some little nibbling mouse to gnaw the meshes of my\nnet, and so help me out of prison.\"\n\"Briefly, what did you glean?\"\n\"That two executions of considerable interest will take place\nthe day after to-morrow at two o'clock, as is customary at Rome at\nthe commencement of all great festivals. One of the culprits will\nbe mazzolato;* he is an atrocious villain, who murdered the priest\nwho brought him up, and deserves not the smallest pity. The other\nsufferer is sentenced to be decapitato;** and he, your excellency,\nis poor Peppino.\"\n(* Knocked on the head. ** Beheaded.)\n\"The fact is, that you have inspired not only the pontifical\ngovernment, but also the neighboring states, with such extreme\nfear, that they are glad of all opportunity of making an\nexample.\"\n\"But Peppino did not even belong to my band: he was merely a\npoor shepherd, whose only crime consisted in furnishing us with\nprovisions.\"\n\"Which makes him your accomplice to all intents and purposes.\nBut mark the distinction with which he is treated; instead of being\nknocked on the head as you would be if once they caught hold of\nyou, he is simply sentenced to be guillotined, by which means, too,\nthe amusements of the day are diversified, and there is a spectacle\nto please every spectator.\"\n\"Without reckoning the wholly unexpected one I am preparing to\nsurprise them with.\"\n\"My good friend,\" said the man in the cloak, \"excuse me for\nsaying that you seem to me precisely in the mood to commit some\nwild or extravagant act.\""}
{"text": "saying that you seem to me precisely in the mood to commit some\nwild or extravagant act.\"\n\"Perhaps I am; but one thing I have resolved on, and that is, to\nstop at nothing to restore a poor devil to liberty, who has got\ninto this scrape solely from having served me. I should hate and\ndespise myself as a coward did I desert the brave fellow in his\npresent extremity.\"\n\"And what do you mean to do?\"\n\"To surround the scaffold with twenty of my best men, who, at a\nsignal from me, will rush forward directly Peppino is brought for\nexecution, and, by the assistance of their stilettos, drive back\nthe guard, and carry off the prisoner.\"\n\"That seems to me as hazardous as uncertain, and convinces me\nthat my scheme is far better than yours.\"\n\"And what is your excellency's project?\"\n\"Just this. I will so advantageously bestow 2,000 piastres, that\nthe person receiving them shall obtain a respite till next year for\nPeppino; and during that year, another skilfully placed 1,000\npiastres will afford him the means of escaping from his\nprison.\"\n\"And do you feel sure of succeeding?\"\n\"Pardieu!\" exclaimed the man in the cloak, suddenly expressing\nhimself in French.\n\"What did your excellency say?\" inquired the other.\n\"I said, my good fellow, that I would do more single-handed by\nthe means of gold than you and all your troop could effect with\nstilettos, pistols, carbines, and blunderbusses included. Leave me,\nthen, to act, and have no fears for the result.\"\n\"At least, there can be no harm in myself and party being in\nreadiness, in case your excellency should fail.\"\n\"None whatever. Take what precautions you please, if it is any\nsatisfaction to you to do so; but rely upon my obtaining the\nreprieve I seek.\"\n\"Remember, the execution is fixed for the day after tomorrow,\nand that you have but one day to work in.\"\n\"And what of that? Is not a day divided into twenty-four hours,\neach hour into sixty minutes, and every minute sub-divided into\nsixty seconds? Now in 86,400 seconds very many things can be\ndone.\"sixty seconds? Now in 86,400 seconds very many things can be\ndone.\"\n\"And how shall I know whether your excellency has succeeded or\nnot.\"\n\"Oh, that is very easily arranged. I have engaged the three\nlower windows at the Cafe Rospoli; should I have obtained the\nrequisite pardon for Peppino, the two outside windows will be hung\nwith yellow damasks, and the centre with white, having a large\ncross in red marked on it.\"\n\"And whom will you employ to carry the reprieve to the officer\ndirecting the execution?\"\n\"Send one of your men, disguised as a penitent friar, and I will\ngive it to him. His dress will procure him the means of approaching\nthe scaffold itself, and he will deliver the official order to the\nofficer, who, in his turn, will hand it to the executioner; in the\nmeantime, it will be as well to acquaint Peppino with what we have\ndetermined on, if it be only to prevent his dying of fear or losing\nhis senses, because in either case a very useless expense will have\nbeen incurred.\"\n\"Your excellency,\" said the man, \"you are fully persuaded of my\nentire devotion to you, are you not?\"\n\"Nay, I flatter myself that there can be no doubt of it,\"\nreplied the cavalier in the cloak.\n\"Well, then, only fulfil your promise of rescuing Peppino, and\nhenceforward you shall receive not only devotion, but the most\nabsolute obedience from myself and those under me that one human\nbeing can render to another.\"\n\"Have a care how far you pledge yourself, my good friend, for I\nmay remind you of your promise at some, perhaps, not very distant\nperiod, when I, in my turn, may require your aid and\ninfluence.\"\n\"Let that day come sooner or later, your excellency will find me\nwhat I have found you in this my heavy trouble; and if from the\nother end of the world you but write me word to do such or such a\nthing, you may regard it as done, for done it shall be, on the word\nand faith of\" —\n\"Hush!\" interrupted the stranger; \"I hear a noise.\"\n\"'Tis some travellers, who are visiting the Colosseum by\ntorchlight.\"\"'Tis some travellers, who are visiting the Colosseum by\ntorchlight.\"\n\"'Twere better we should not be seen together; those guides are\nnothing but spies, and might possibly recognize you; and, however I\nmay be honored by your friendship, my worthy friend, if once the\nextent of our intimacy were known, I am sadly afraid both my\nreputation and credit would suffer thereby.\"\n\"Well, then, if you obtain the reprieve?\"\n\"The middle window at the Cafe Rospoli will be hung with white\ndamask, bearing a red cross.\"\n\"And if you fail?\"\n\"Then all three windows will have yellow draperies.\"\n\"And then?\"\n\"And then, my good fellow, use your daggers in any way you\nplease, and I further promise you to be there as a spectator of\nyour prowess.\"\n\"We understand each other perfectly, then. Adieu, your\nexcellency; depend upon me as firmly as I do upon you.\"\nSaying these words, the Transteverin disappeared down the\nstaircase, while his companion, muffling his features more closely\nthan before in the folds of his mantle, passed almost close to\nFranz, and descended to the arena by an outward flight of steps.\nThe next minute Franz heard himself called by Albert, who made the\nlofty building re-echo with the sound of his friend's name. Franz,\nhowever, did not obey the summons till he had satisfied himself\nthat the two men whose conversation he had overheard were at a\nsufficient distance to prevent his encountering them in his\ndescent. In ten minutes after the strangers had departed, Franz was\non the road to the Piazza de Spagni, listening with studied\nindifference to the learned dissertation delivered by Albert, after\nthe manner of Pliny and Calpurnius, touching the iron-pointed nets\nused to prevent the ferocious beasts from springing on the\nspectators. Franz let him proceed without interruption, and, in\nfact, did not hear what was said; he longed to be alone, and free\nto ponder over all that had occurred. One of the two men, whose\nmysterious meeting in the Colosseum he had so unintentionally"}
{"text": "mysterious meeting in the Colosseum he had so unintentionally\nwitnessed, was an entire stranger to him, but not so the other; and\nthough Franz had been unable to distinguish his features, from his\nbeing either wrapped in his mantle or obscured by the shadow, the\ntones of his voice had made too powerful an impression on him the\nfirst time he had heard them for him ever again to forget them,\nhear them when or where he might. It was more especially when this\nman was speaking in a manner half jesting, half bitter, that\nFranz's ear recalled most vividly the deep sonorous, yet\nwell-pitched voice that had addressed him in the grotto of Monte\nCristo, and which he heard for the second time amid the darkness\nand ruined grandeur of the Colosseum. And the more he thought, the\nmore entire was his conviction, that the person who wore the mantle\nwas no other than his former host and entertainer, \"Sinbad the\nSailor.\"\nUnder any other circumstances, Franz would have found it\nimpossible to resist his extreme curiosity to know more of so\nsingular a personage, and with that intent have sought to renew\ntheir short acquaintance; but in the present instance, the\nconfidential nature of the conversation he had overheard made him,\nwith propriety, judge that his appearance at such a time would be\nanything but agreeable. As we have seen, therefore, he permitted\nhis former host to retire without attempting a recognition, but\nfully promising himself a rich indemnity for his present\nforbearance should chance afford him another opportunity. In vain\ndid Franz endeavor to forget the many perplexing thoughts which\nassailed him; in vain did he court the refreshment of sleep.\nSlumber refused to visit his eyelids and the night was passed in\nfeverish contemplation of the chain of circumstances tending to\nprove the identity of the mysterious visitant to the Colosseum with\nthe inhabitant of the grotto of Monte Cristo; and the more he\nthought, the firmer grew his opinion on the subject. Worn out atthought, the firmer grew his opinion on the subject. Worn out at\nlength, he fell asleep at daybreak, and did not awake till late.\nLike a genuine Frenchman, Albert had employed his time in arranging\nfor the evening's diversion; he had sent to engage a box at the\nTeatro Argentino; and Franz, having a number of letters to write,\nrelinquished the carriage to Albert for the whole of the day. At\nfive o'clock Albert returned, delighted with his day's work; he had\nbeen occupied in leaving his letters of introduction, and had\nreceived in return more invitations to balls and routs than it\nwould be possible for him to accept; besides this, he had seen (as\nhe called it) all the remarkable sights at Rome. Yes, in a single\nday he had accomplished what his more serious-minded companion\nwould have taken weeks to effect. Neither had he neglected to\nascertain the name of the piece to be played that night at the\nTeatro Argentino, and also what performers appeared in it.\nThe opera of \"Parisina\" was announced for representation, and\nthe principal actors were Coselli, Moriani, and La Specchia. The\nyoung men, therefore, had reason to consider themselves fortunate\nin having the opportunity of hearing one of the best works by the\ncomposer of \"Lucia di Lammermoor,\" supported by three of the most\nrenowned vocalists of Italy. Albert had never been able to endure\nthe Italian theatres, with their orchestras from which it is\nimpossible to see, and the absence of balconies, or open boxes; all\nthese defects pressed hard on a man who had had his stall at the\nBouffes, and had shared a lower box at the Opera. Still, in spite\nof this, Albert displayed his most dazzling and effective costumes\neach time he visited the theatres; but, alas, his elegant toilet\nwas wholly thrown away, and one of the most worthy representatives\nof Parisian fashion had to carry with him the mortifying reflection\nthat he had nearly overrun Italy without meeting with a single\nadventure.\nSometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want ofadventure.\nSometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want of\nsuccess; but internally he was deeply wounded, and his self-love\nimmensely piqued, to think that Albert de Morcerf, the most admired\nand most sought after of any young person of his day, should thus\nbe passed over, and merely have his labor for his pains. And the\nthing was so much the more annoying, as, according to the\ncharacteristic modesty of a Frenchman, Albert had quitted Paris\nwith the full conviction that he had only to show himself in Italy\nto carry all before him, and that upon his return he should\nastonish the Parisian world with the recital of his numerous\nlove-affairs. Alas, poor Albert! none of those interesting\nadventures fell in his way; the lovely Genoese, Florentines, and\nNeapolitans were all faithful, if not to their husbands, at least\nto their lovers, and thought not of changing even for the splendid\nappearance of Albert de Morcerf; and all he gained was the painful\nconviction that the ladies of Italy have this advantage over those\nof France, that they are faithful even in their infidelity. Yet he\ncould not restrain a hope that in Italy, as elsewhere, there might\nbe an exception to the general rule. Albert, besides being an\nelegant, well-looking young man, was also possessed of considerable\ntalent and ability; moreover, he was a viscount — a recently\ncreated one, certainly, but in the present day it is not necessary\nto go as far back as Noah in tracing a descent, and a genealogical\ntree is equally estimated, whether dated from 1399 or merely 1815;\nbut to crown all these advantages, Albert de Morcerf commanded an\nincome of 50,000 livres, a more than sufficient sum to render him a\npersonage of considerable importance in Paris. It was therefore no\nsmall mortification to him to have visited most of the principal\ncities in Italy without having excited the most trifling\nobservation. Albert, however, hoped to indemnify himself for all\nthese slights and indifferences during the Carnival, knowing fullthese slights and indifferences during the Carnival, knowing full\nwell that among the different states and kingdoms in which this\nfestivity is celebrated, Rome is the spot where even the wisest and\ngravest throw off the usual rigidity of their lives, and deign to\nmingle in the follies of this time of liberty and relaxation.\nThe Carnival was to commence on the morrow; therefore Albert had\nnot an instant to lose in setting forth the programme of his hopes,\nexpectations, and claims to notice. With this design he had engaged\na box in the most conspicuous part of the theatre, and exerted\nhimself to set off his personal attractions by the aid of the most\nrich and elaborate toilet. The box taken by Albert was in the first\ncircle; although each of the three tiers of boxes is deemed equally\naristocratic, and is, for this reason, generally styled the\n\"nobility's boxes,\" and although the box engaged for the two\nfriends was sufficiently capacious to contain at least a dozen\npersons, it had cost less than would be paid at some of the French\ntheatres for one admitting merely four occupants. Another motive\nhad influenced Albert's selection of his seat, — who knew but that,\nthus advantageously placed, he might not in truth attract the\nnotice of some fair Roman, and an introduction might ensue that\nwould procure him the offer of a seat in a carriage, or a place in\na princely balcony, from which he might behold the gayeties of the\nCarnival? These united considerations made Albert more lively and\nanxious to please than he had hitherto been. Totally disregarding\nthe business of the stage, he leaned from his box and began\nattentively scrutinizing the beauty of each pretty woman, aided by\na powerful opera-glass; but, alas, this attempt to attract notice\nwholly failed; not even curiosity had been excited, and it was but\ntoo apparent that the lovely creatures, into whose good graces he\nwas desirous of stealing, were all so much engrossed with\nthemselves, their lovers, or their own thoughts, that they had not"}
{"text": "themselves, their lovers, or their own thoughts, that they had not\nso much as noticed him or the manipulation of his glass.\nThe truth was, that the anticipated pleasures of the Carnival,\nwith the \"holy week\" that was to succeed it, so filled every fair\nbreast, as to prevent the least attention being bestowed even on\nthe business of the stage. The actors made their entries and exits\nunobserved or unthought of; at certain conventional moments, the\nspectators would suddenly cease their conversation, or rouse\nthemselves from their musings, to listen to some brilliant effort\nof Moriani's, a well-executed recitative by Coselli, or to join in\nloud applause at the wonderful powers of La Specchia; but that\nmomentary excitement over, they quickly relapsed into their former\nstate of preoccupation or interesting conversation. Towards the\nclose of the first act, the door of a box which had been hitherto\nvacant was opened; a lady entered to whom Franz had been introduced\nin Paris, where indeed, he had imagined she still was. The quick\neye of Albert caught the involuntary start with which his friend\nbeheld the new arrival, and, turning to him, he said hastily, \"Do\nyou know the woman who has just entered that box?\"\n\"Yes; what do you think of her?\"\n\"Oh, she is perfectly lovely — what a complexion! And such\nmagnificent hair! Is she French?\"\n\"No; a Venetian.\"\n\"And her name is — \"\n\"Countess G—— .\"\n\"Ah, I know her by name!\" exclaimed Albert; \"she is said to\npossess as much wit and cleverness as beauty. I was to have been\npresented to her when I met her at Madame Villefort's ball.\"\n\"Shall I assist you in repairing your negligence?\" asked\nFranz.\n\"My dear fellow, are you really on such good terms with her as\nto venture to take me to her box?\"\n\"Why, I have only had the honor of being in her society and\nconversing with her three or four times in my life; but you know\nthat even such an acquaintance as that might warrant my doing what\nyou ask.\" At that instant, the countess perceived Franz, andyou ask.\" At that instant, the countess perceived Franz, and\ngraciously waved her hand to him, to which he replied by a\nrespectful inclination of the head. \"Upon my word,\" said Albert,\n\"you seem to be on excellent terms with the beautiful\ncountess.\"\n\"You are mistaken in thinking so,\" returned Franz calmly; \"but\nyou merely fall into the same error which leads so many of our\ncountrymen to commit the most egregious blunders, — I mean that of\njudging the habits and customs of Italy and Spain by our Parisian\nnotions; believe me, nothing is more fallacious than to form any\nestimate of the degree of intimacy you may suppose existing among\npersons by the familiar terms they seem upon; there is a similarity\nof feeling at this instant between ourselves and the countess —\nnothing more.\"\n\"Is there, indeed, my good fellow? Pray tell me, is it sympathy\nof heart?\"\n\"No; of taste,\" continued Franz gravely.\n\"And in what manner has this congeniality of mind been\nevinced?\"\n\"By the countess's visiting the Colosseum, as we did last night,\nby moonlight, and nearly alone.\"\n\"You were with her, then?\"\n\"I was.\"\n\"And what did you say to her?\"\n\"Oh, we talked of the illustrious dead of whom that magnificent\nruin is a glorious monument!\"\n\"Upon my word,\" cried Albert, \"you must have been a very\nentertaining companion alone, or all but alone, with a beautiful\nwoman in such a place of sentiment as the Colosseum, and yet to\nfind nothing better a talk about than the dead! All I can say is,\nif ever I should get such a chance, the living should be my\ntheme.\"\n\"And you will probably find your theme ill-chosen.\"\n\"But,\" said Albert, breaking in upon his discourse, \"never mind\nthe past; let us only remember the present. Are you not going to\nkeep your promise of introducing me to the fair subject of our\nremarks?\"\n\"Certainly, directly the curtain falls on the stage.\"\n\"What a confounded time this first act takes. I believe, on my\nsoul, that they never mean to finish it.\"\n\"Oh, yes, they will; only listen to that charming finale. How\"Oh, yes, they will; only listen to that charming finale. How\nexquisitely Coselli sings his part.\"\n\"But what an awkward, inelegant fellow he is.\"\n\"Well, then, what do you say to La Specchia? Did you ever see\nanything more perfect than her acting?\"\n\"Why, you know, my dear fellow, when one has been accustomed to\nMalibran and Sontag, such singers as these don't make the same\nimpression on you they perhaps do on others.\"\n\"At least, you must admire Moriani's style and execution.\"\n\"I never fancied men of his dark, ponderous appearance singing\nwith a voice like a woman's.\"\n\"My good friend,\" said Franz, turning to him, while Albert\ncontinued to point his glass at every box in the theatre, \"you seem\ndetermined not to approve; you are really too difficult to please.\"\nThe curtain at length fell on the performances, to the infinite\nsatisfaction of the Viscount of Morcerf, who seized his hat,\nrapidly passed his fingers through his hair, arranged his cravat\nand wristbands, and signified to Franz that he was waiting for him\nto lead the way. Franz, who had mutely interrogated the countess,\nand received from her a gracious smile in token that he would be\nwelcome, sought not to retard the gratification of Albert's eager\nimpatience, but began at once the tour of the house, closely\nfollowed by Albert, who availed himself of the few minutes required\nto reach the opposite side of the theatre to settle the height and\nsmoothness of his collar, and to arrange the lappets of his coat.\nThis important task was just completed as they arrived at the\ncountess's box. At the knock, the door was immediately opened, and\nthe young man who was seated beside the countess, in obedience to\nthe Italian custom, instantly rose and surrendered his place to the\nstrangers, who, in turn, would be expected to retire upon the\narrival of other visitors.\nFranz presented Albert as one of the most distinguished young\nmen of the day, both as regarded his position in society and\nextraordinary talents; nor did he say more than the truth, for in"}
{"text": "extraordinary talents; nor did he say more than the truth, for in\nParis and the circle in which the viscount moved, he was looked\nupon and cited as a model of perfection. Franz added that his\ncompanion, deeply grieved at having been prevented the honor of\nbeing presented to the countess during her sojourn in Paris, was\nmost anxious to make up for it, and had requested him (Franz) to\nremedy the past misfortune by conducting him to her box, and\nconcluded by asking pardon for his presumption in having taken it\nupon himself to do so. The countess, in reply, bowed gracefully to\nAlbert, and extended her hand with cordial kindness to Franz; then,\ninviting Albert to take the vacant seat beside her, she recommended\nFranz to take the next best, if he wished to view the ballet, and\npointed to the one behind her own chair. Albert was soon deeply\nengrossed in discoursing upon Paris and Parisian matters, speaking\nto the countess of the various persons they both knew there. Franz\nperceived how completely he was in his element; and, unwilling to\ninterfere with the pleasure he so evidently felt, took up Albert's\nglass, and began in his turn to survey the audience. Sitting alone,\nin the front of a box immediately opposite, but situated on the\nthird row, was a woman of exquisite beauty, dressed in a Greek\ncostume, which evidently, from the ease and grace with which she\nwore it, was her national attire. Behind her, but in deep shadow,\nwas the outline of a masculine figure; but the features of this\nlatter personage it was not possible to distinguish. Franz could\nnot forbear breaking in upon the apparently interesting\nconversation passing between the countess and Albert, to inquire of\nthe former if she knew who was the fair Albanian opposite, since\nbeauty such as hers was well worthy of being observed by either\nsex. \"All I can tell about her,\" replied the countess, \"is, that\nshe has been at Rome since the beginning of the season; for I saw\nher where she now sits the very first night of the season, andher where she now sits the very first night of the season, and\nsince then she has never missed a performance. Sometimes she is\naccompanied by the person who is now with her, and at others she is\nmerely attended by a black servant.\"\n\"And what do you think of her personal appearance?\"\n\"Oh, I consider her perfectly lovely — she is just my idea of\nwhat Medora must have been.\"\nFranz and the countess exchanged a smile, and then the latter\nresumed her conversation with Albert, while Franz returned to his\nprevious survey of the house and company. The curtain rose on the\nballet, which was one of those excellent specimens of the Italian\nschool, admirably arranged and put on the stage by Henri, who has\nestablished for himself a great reputation throughout Italy for his\ntaste and skill in the choreographic art — one of those masterly\nproductions of grace, method, and elegance in which the whole corps\nde ballet, from the principal dancers to the humblest\nsupernumerary, are all engaged on the stage at the same time; and a\nhundred and fifty persons may be seen exhibiting the same attitude,\nor elevating the same arm or leg with a simultaneous movement, that\nwould lead you to suppose that but one mind, one act of volition,\ninfluenced the moving mass — the ballet was called \"Poliska.\"\nHowever much the ballet might have claimed his attention, Franz was\ntoo deeply occupied with the beautiful Greek to take any note of\nit; while she seemed to experience an almost childlike delight in\nwatching it, her eager, animated looks contrasting strongly with\nthe utter indifference of her companion, who, during the whole time\nthe piece lasted, never even moved, not even when the furious,\ncrashing din produced by the trumpets, cymbals, and Chinese bells\nsounded their loudest from the orchestra. Of this he took no heed,\nbut was, as far as appearances might be trusted, enjoying soft\nrepose and bright celestial dreams. The ballet at length came to a\nclose, and the curtain fell amid the loud, unanimous plaudits of anclose, and the curtain fell amid the loud, unanimous plaudits of an\nenthusiastic and delighted audience.\nOwing to the very judicious plan of dividing the two acts of the\nopera with a ballet, the pauses between the performances are very\nshort, the singers in the opera having time to repose themselves\nand change their costume, when necessary, while the dancers are\nexecuting their pirouettes and exhibiting their graceful steps. The\noverture to the second act began; and, at the first sound of the\nleader's bow across his violin, Franz observed the sleeper slowly\narise and approach the Greek girl, who turned around to say a few\nwords to him, and then, leaning forward again on the railing of her\nbox, she became as absorbed as before in what was going on. The\ncountenance of the person who had addressed her remained so\ncompletely in the shade, that, though Franz tried his utmost, he\ncould not distinguish a single feature. The curtain rose, and the\nattention of Franz was attracted by the actors; and his eyes turned\nfrom the box containing the Greek girl and her strange companion to\nwatch the business of the stage.\nMost of my readers are aware that the second act of \"Parisina\"\nopens with the celebrated and effective duet in which Parisina,\nwhile sleeping, betrays to Azzo the secret of her love for Ugo. The\ninjured husband goes through all the emotions of jealousy, until\nconviction seizes on his mind, and then, in a frenzy of rage and\nindignation, he awakens his guilty wife to tell her that he knows\nher guilt and to threaten her with his vengeance. This duet is one\nof the most beautiful, expressive and terrible conceptions that has\never emanated from the fruitful pen of Donizetti. Franz now\nlistened to it for the third time; yet its notes, so tenderly\nexpressive and fearfully grand as the wretched husband and wife\ngive vent to their different griefs and passions, thrilled through\nthe soul of Franz with an effect equal to his first emotions upon\nhearing it. Excited beyond his usual calm demeanor, Franz rose with"}
{"text": "hearing it. Excited beyond his usual calm demeanor, Franz rose with\nthe audience, and was about to join the loud, enthusiastic applause\nthat followed; but suddenly his purpose was arrested, his hands\nfell by his sides, and the half-uttered \"bravos\" expired on his\nlips. The occupant of the box in which the Greek girl sat appeared\nto share the universal admiration that prevailed; for he left his\nseat to stand up in front, so that, his countenance being fully\nrevealed, Franz had no difficulty in recognizing him as the\nmysterious inhabitant of Monte Cristo, and the very same person he\nhad encountered the preceding evening in the ruins of the\nColosseum, and whose voice and figure had seemed so familiar to\nhim. All doubt of his identity was now at an end; his singular host\nevidently resided at Rome. The surprise and agitation occasioned by\nthis full confirmation of Franz's former suspicion had no doubt\nimparted a corresponding expression to his features; for the\ncountess, after gazing with a puzzled look at his face, burst into\na fit of laughter, and begged to know what had happened.\n\"Countess,\" returned Franz, totally unheeding her raillery, \"I\nasked you a short time since if you knew any particulars respecting\nthe Albanian lady opposite; I must now beseech you to inform me who\nand what is her husband?\"\n\"Nay,\" answered the countess, \"I know no more of him than\nyourself.\"\n\"Perhaps you never before noticed him?\"\n\"What a question — so truly French! Do you not know that we\nItalians have eyes only for the man we love?\"\n\"True,\" replied Franz.\n\"All I can say is,\" continued the countess, taking up the\nlorgnette, and directing it toward the box in question, \"that the\ngentleman, whose history I am unable to furnish, seems to me as\nthough he had just been dug up; he looks more like a corpse\npermitted by some friendly grave-digger to quit his tomb for a\nwhile, and revisit this earth of ours, than anything human. How\nghastly pale he is!\"\n\"Oh, he is always as colorless as you now see him,\" said\nFranz.ghastly pale he is!\"\n\"Oh, he is always as colorless as you now see him,\" said\nFranz.\n\"Then you know him?\" almost screamed the countess. \"Oh, pray do,\nfor heaven's sake, tell us all about — is he a vampire, or a\nresuscitated corpse, or what?\"\n\"I fancy I have seen him before; and I even think he recognizes\nme.\"\n\"And I can well understand,\" said the countess, shrugging up her\nbeautiful shoulders, as though an involuntary shudder passed\nthrough her veins, \"that those who have once seen that man will\nnever be likely to forget him.\" The sensation experienced by Franz\nwas evidently not peculiar to himself; another, and wholly\nuninterested person, felt the same unaccountable awe and misgiving.\n\"Well.\" inquired Franz, after the countess had a second time\ndirected her lorgnette at the box, \"what do you think of our\nopposite neighbor?\"\n\"Why, that he is no other than Lord Ruthven himself in a living\nform.\" This fresh allusion to Byron* drew a smile to Franz's\ncountenance; although he could but allow that if anything was\nlikely to induce belief in the existence of vampires, it would be\nthe presence of such a man as the mysterious personage before\nhim.\n\"I must positively find out who and what he is,\" said Franz,\nrising from his seat.\n\"No, no,\" cried the countess; \"you must not leave me. I depend\nupon you to escort me home. Oh, indeed, I cannot permit you to\ngo.\"\n(* Scott, of course: \"The son of an ill-fated sire, and the\nfather of a yet more unfortunate family, bore in his looks that\ncast of inauspicious melancholy by which the physiognomists of that\ntime pretended to distinguish those who were predestined to a\nviolent and unhappy death.\" — The Abbot, ch. xxii.)\n\"Is it possible,\" whispered Franz, \"that you entertain any\nfear?\"\n\"I'll tell you,\" answered the countess. \"Byron had the most\nperfect belief in the existence of vampires, and even assured me\nthat he had seen them. The description he gave me perfectly\ncorresponds with the features and character of the man before us.corresponds with the features and character of the man before us.\nOh, he is the exact personification of what I have been led to\nexpect! The coal-black hair, large bright, glittering eyes, in\nwhich a wild, unearthly fire seems burning, — the same ghastly\npaleness. Then observe, too, that the woman with him is altogether\nunlike all others of her sex. She is a foreigner — a stranger.\nNobody knows who she is, or where she comes from. No doubt she\nbelongs to the same horrible race he does, and is, like himself, a\ndealer in magical arts. I entreat of you not to go near him — at\nleast to-night; and if to-morrow your curiosity still continues as\ngreat, pursue your researches if you will; but to-night you neither\ncan nor shall. For that purpose I mean to keep you all to myself.\"\nFranz protested he could not defer his pursuit till the following\nday, for many reasons. \"Listen to me,\" said the countess, \"and do\nnot be so very headstrong. I am going home. I have a party at my\nhouse to-night, and therefore cannot possibly remain till the end\nof the opera. Now, I cannot for one instant believe you so devoid\nof gallantry as to refuse a lady your escort when she even\ncondescends to ask you for it.\"\nThere was nothing else left for Franz to do but to take up his\nhat, open the door of the box, and offer the countess his arm. It\nwas quite evident, by her manner, that her uneasiness was not\nfeigned; and Franz himself could not resist a feeling of\nsuperstitious dread — so much the stronger in him, as it arose from\na variety of corroborative recollections, while the terror of the\ncountess sprang from an instinctive belief, originally created in\nher mind by the wild tales she had listened to till she believed\nthem truths. Franz could even feel her arm tremble as he assisted\nher into the carriage. Upon arriving at her hotel, Franz perceived\nthat she had deceived him when she spoke of expecting company; on\nthe contrary, her own return before the appointed hour seemed\ngreatly to astonish the servants. \"Excuse my little subterfuge,\""}
{"text": "greatly to astonish the servants. \"Excuse my little subterfuge,\"\nsaid the countess, in reply to her companion's half-reproachful\nobservation on the subject; \"but that horrid man had made me feel\nquite uncomfortable, and I longed to be alone, that I might compose\nmy startled mind.\" Franz essayed to smile. \"Nay,\" said she, \"do not\nsmile; it ill accords with the expression of your countenance, and\nI am sure it does not spring from your heart. However, promise me\none thing.\"\n\"What is it?\"\n\"Promise me, I say.\"\n\"I will do anything you desire, except relinquish my\ndetermination of finding out who this man is. I have more reasons\nthan you can imagine for desiring to know who he is, from whence he\ncame, and whither he is going.\"\n\"Where he comes from I am ignorant; but I can readily tell you\nwhere he is going to, and that is down below, without the least\ndoubt.\"\n\"Let us only speak of the promise you wished me to make,\" said\nFranz.\n\"Well, then, you must give me your word to return immediately to\nyour hotel, and make no attempt to follow this man to-night. There\nare certain affinities between the persons we quit and those we\nmeet afterwards. For heaven's sake, do not serve as a conductor\nbetween that man and me. Pursue your chase after him to-morrow as\neagerly as you please; but never bring him near me, if you would\nnot see me die of terror. And now, good-night; go to your rooms,\nand try to sleep away all recollections of this evening. For my own\npart, I am quite sure I shall not be able to close my eyes.\" So\nsaying, the countess quitted Franz, leaving him unable to decide\nwhether she were merely amusing herself at his expense, or whether\nher fears and agitations were genuine.\nUpon his return to the hotel, Franz found Albert in his\ndressing-gown and slippers, listlessly extended on a sofa, smoking\na cigar. \"My dear fellow.\" cried he, springing up, \"is it really\nyou? Why, I did not expect to see you before to-morrow.\"\n\"My dear Albert,\" replied Franz, \"I am glad of this opportunity\"My dear Albert,\" replied Franz, \"I am glad of this opportunity\nto tell you, once and forever, that you entertain a most erroneous\nnotion concerning Italian women. I should have thought the\ncontinual failures you have met with in all your own love affairs\nmight have taught you better by this time.\"\n\"Upon my soul, these women would puzzle the very Devil to read\nthem aright. Why, here — they give you their hand — they press\nyours in return — they keep up a whispering conversation — permit\nyou to accompany them home. Why, if a Parisian were to indulge in a\nquarter of these marks of flattering attention, her reputation\nwould be gone forever.\"\n\"And the very reason why the women of this fine country put so\nlittle restraint on their words and actions, is because they live\nso much in public, and have really nothing to conceal. Besides, you\nmust have perceived that the countess was really alarmed.\"\n\"At what? At the sight of that respectable gentleman sitting\nopposite to us in the same box with the lovely Greek girl? Now, for\nmy part, I met them in the lobby after the conclusion of the piece;\nand hang me, if I can guess where you took your notions of the\nother world from. I can assure you that this hobgoblin of yours is\na deuced fine-looking fellow — admirably dressed. Indeed, I feel\nquite sure, from the cut of his clothes, they are made by a\nfirst-rate Paris tailor — probably Blin or Humann. He was rather\ntoo pale, certainly; but then, you know, paleness is always looked\nupon as a strong proof of aristocratic descent and distinguished\nbreeding.\" Franz smiled; for he well remembered that Albert\nparticularly prided himself on the entire absence of color in his\nown complexion.\n\"Well, that tends to confirm my own ideas,\" said Franz, \"that\nthe countess's suspicions were destitute alike of sense and reason.\nDid he speak in your hearing? and did you catch any of his\nwords?\"\n\"I did; but they were uttered in the Romaic dialect. I knew that\nfrom the mixture of Greek words. I don't know whether I ever toldfrom the mixture of Greek words. I don't know whether I ever told\nyou that when I was at college I was rather — rather strong in\nGreek.\"\n\"He spoke the Romaic language, did he?\"\n\"I think so.\"\n\"That settles it,\" murmured Franz. \"'Tis he, past all\ndoubt.\"\n\"What do you say?\"\n\"Nothing, nothing. But tell me, what were you thinking about\nwhen I came in?\"\n\"Oh, I was arranging a little surprise for you.\"\n\"Indeed. Of what nature?\"\n\"Why, you know it is quite impossible to procure a\ncarriage.\"\n\"Certainly; and I also know that we have done all that human\nmeans afforded to endeavor to get one.\"\n\"Now, then, in this difficulty a bright idea has flashed across\nmy brain.\" Franz looked at Albert as though he had not much\nconfidence in the suggestions of his imagination. \"I tell you what,\nSir Franz,\" cried Albert, \"you deserve to be called out for such a\nmisgiving and incredulous glance as that you were pleased to bestow\non me just now.\"\n\"And I promise to give you the satisfaction of a gentleman if\nyour scheme turns out as ingenious as you assert.\"\n\"Well, then, hearken to me.\"\n\"I listen.\"\n\"You agree, do you not, that obtaining a carriage is out of the\nquestion?\"\n\"I do.\"\n\"Neither can we procure horses?\"\n\"True; we have offered any sum, but have failed.\"\n\"Well, now, what do you say to a cart? I dare say such a thing\nmight be had.\"\n\"Very possibly.\"\n\"And a pair of oxen?\"\n\"As easily found as the cart.\"\n\"Then you see, my good fellow, with a cart and a couple of oxen\nour business can be managed. The cart must be tastefully\nornamented; and if you and I dress ourselves as Neapolitan reapers,\nwe may get up a striking tableau, after the manner of that splendid\npicture by Leopold Robert. It would add greatly to the effect if\nthe countess would join us in the costume of a peasant from Puzzoli\nor Sorrento. Our group would then be quite complete, more\nespecially as the countess is quite beautiful enough to represent a\nmadonna.\"\n\"Well,\" said Franz, \"this time, Albert, I am bound to give you\ncredit for having hit upon a most capital idea.\""}
{"text": "credit for having hit upon a most capital idea.\"\n\"And quite a national one, too,\" replied Albert with gratified\npride. \"A mere masque borrowed from our own festivities. Ha, ha, ye\nRomans! you thought to make us, unhappy strangers, trot at the\nheels of your processions, like so many lazzaroni, because no\ncarriages or horses are to be had in your beggarly city. But you\ndon't know us; when we can't have one thing we invent another.\"\n\"And have you communicated your triumphant idea to anybody?\"\n\"Only to our host. Upon my return home I sent for him, and I\nthen explained to him what I wished to procure. He assured me that\nnothing would be easier than to furnish all I desired. One thing I\nwas sorry for; when I bade him have the horns of the oxen gilded,\nhe told me there would not be time, as it would require three days\nto do that; so you see we must do without this little\nsuperfluity.\"\n\"And where is he now?\"\n\"Who?\"\n\"Our host.\"\n\"Gone out in search of our equipage, by to-morrow it might be\ntoo late.\"\n\"Then he will be able to give us an answer to-night.\"\n\"Oh, I expect him every minute.\" At this instant the door\nopened, and the head of Signor Pastrini appeared. \"Permesso?\"\ninquired he.\n\"Certainly — certainly,\" cried Franz. \"Come in, mine host.\"\n\"Now, then,\" asked Albert eagerly, \"have you found the desired\ncart and oxen?\"\n\"Better than that!\" replied Signor Pastrini, with the air of a\nman perfectly well satisfied with himself.\n\"Take care, my worthy host,\" said Albert, \"better is a sure\nenemy to well.\"\n\"Let your excellencies only leave the matter to me,\" returned\nSignor Pastrini in a tone indicative of unbounded\nself-confidence.\n\"But what have you done?\" asked Franz. \"Speak out, there's a\nworthy fellow.\"\n\"Your excellencies are aware,\" responded the landlord, swelling\nwith importance, \"that the Count of Monte Cristo is living on the\nsame floor with yourselves!\"\n\"I should think we did know it,\" exclaimed Albert, \"since it is\nowing to that circumstance that we are packed into these smallowing to that circumstance that we are packed into these small\nrooms, like two poor students in the back streets of Paris.\"\n\"When, then, the Count of Monte Cristo, hearing of the dilemma\nin which you are placed, has sent to offer you seats in his\ncarriage and two places at his windows in the Palazzo Rospoli.\" The\nfriends looked at each other with unutterable surprise.\n\"But do you think,\" asked Albert, \"that we ought to accept such\noffers from a perfect stranger?\"\n\"What sort of person is this Count of Monte Cristo?\" asked Franz\nof his host. \"A very great nobleman, but whether Maltese or\nSicilian I cannot exactly say; but this I know, that he is noble as\na Borghese and rich as a gold-mine.\"\n\"It seems to me,\" said Franz, speaking in an undertone to\nAlbert, \"that if this person merited the high panegyrics of our\nlandlord, he would have conveyed his invitation through another\nchannel, and not permitted it to be brought to us in this\nunceremonious way. He would have written — or\" —\nAt this instant some one knocked at the door. \"Come in,\" said\nFranz. A servant, wearing a livery of considerable style and\nrichness, appeared at the threshold, and, placing two cards in the\nlandlord's hands, who forthwith presented them to the two young\nmen, he said, \"Please to deliver these, from the Count of Monte\nCristo to Viscomte Albert de Morcerf and M. Franz d'Epinay. The\nCount of Monte Cristo,\" continued the servant, \"begs these\ngentlemen's permission to wait upon them as their neighbor, and he\nwill be honored by an intimation of what time they will please to\nreceive him.\"\n\"Faith, Franz,\" whispered Albert, \"there is not much to find\nfault with here.\"\n\"Tell the count,\" replied Franz, \"that we will do ourselves the\npleasure of calling on him.\" The servant bowed and retired.\n\"That is what I call an elegant mode of attack,\" said Albert,\n\"You were quite correct in what you said, Signor Pastrini. The\nCount of Monte Cristo is unquestionably a man of first-rate\nbreeding and knowledge of the world.\"Count of Monte Cristo is unquestionably a man of first-rate\nbreeding and knowledge of the world.\"\n\"Then you accept his offer?\" said the host.\n\"Of course we do,\" replied Albert. \"Still, I must own I am sorry\nto be obliged to give up the cart and the group of reapers — it\nwould have produced such an effect! And were it not for the windows\nat the Palazzo Rospoli, by way of recompense for the loss of our\nbeautiful scheme, I don't know but what I should have held on by my\noriginal plan. What say you, Franz?\"\n\"Oh, I agree with you; the windows in the Palazzo Rospoli alone\ndecided me.\" The truth was, that the mention of two places in the\nPalazzo Rospoli had recalled to Franz the conversation he had\noverheard the preceding evening in the ruins of the Colosseum\nbetween the mysterious unknown and the Transteverin, in which the\nstranger in the cloak had undertaken to obtain the freedom of a\ncondemned criminal; and if this muffled-up individual proved (as\nFranz felt sure he would) the same as the person he had just seen\nin the Teatro Argentino, then he should be able to establish his\nidentity, and also to prosecute his researches respecting him with\nperfect facility and freedom. Franz passed the night in confused\ndreams respecting the two meetings he had already had with his\nmysterious tormentor, and in waking speculations as to what the\nmorrow would produce. The next day must clear up every doubt; and\nunless his near neighbor and would-be friend, the Count of Monte\nCristo, possessed the ring of Gyges, and by its power was able to\nrender himself invisible, it was very certain he could not escape\nthis time. Eight o'clock found Franz up and dressed, while Albert,\nwho had not the same motives for early rising, was still soundly\nasleep. The first act of Franz was to summon his landlord, who\npresented himself with his accustomed obsequiousness.\n\"Pray, Signor Pastrini,\" asked Franz, \"is not some execution\nappointed to take place to-day?\"\n\"Yes, your excellency; but if your reason for inquiry is that"}
{"text": "appointed to take place to-day?\"\n\"Yes, your excellency; but if your reason for inquiry is that\nyou may procure a window to view it from, you are much too\nlate.\"\n\"Oh, no,\" answered Franz, \"I had no such intention; and even if\nI had felt a wish to witness the spectacle, I might have done so\nfrom Monte Pincio — could I not?\"\n\"Ah!\" exclaimed mine host, \"I did not think it likely your\nexcellency would have chosen to mingle with such a rabble as are\nalways collected on that hill, which, indeed, they consider as\nexclusively belonging to themselves.\"\n\"Very possibly I may not go,\" answered Franz; \"but in case I\nfeel disposed, give me some particulars of to-day's\nexecutions.\"\n\"What particulars would your excellency like to hear?\"\n\"Why, the number of persons condemned to suffer, their names,\nand description of the death they are to die.\"\n\"That happens just lucky, your excellency! Only a few minutes\nago they brought me the tavolettas.\"\n\"What are they?\"\n\"Sort of wooden tablets hung up at the corners of streets the\nevening before an execution, on which is pasted up a paper\ncontaining the names of the condemned persons, their crimes, and\nmode of punishment. The reason for so publicly announcing all this\nis, that all good and faithful Catholics may offer up their prayers\nfor the unfortunate culprits, and, above all, beseech of heaven to\ngrant them a sincere repentance.\"\n\"And these tablets are brought to you that you may add your\nprayers to those of the faithful, are they?\" asked Franz somewhat\nincredulously.\n\"Oh, dear, no, your excellency! I have not time for anybody's\naffairs but my own and those of my honorable guests; but I make an\nagreement with the man who pastes up the papers, and he brings them\nto me as he would the playbills, that in case any person staying at\nmy hotel should like to witness an execution, he may obtain every\nrequisite information concerning the time and place etc.\"\n\"Upon my word, that is a most delicate attention on your part,\nSignor Pastrini,\" cried Franz.\"Upon my word, that is a most delicate attention on your part,\nSignor Pastrini,\" cried Franz.\n\"Why, your excellency,\" returned the landlord, chuckling and\nrubbing his hands with infinite complacency, \"I think I may take\nupon myself to say I neglect nothing to deserve the support and\npatronage of the noble visitors to this poor hotel.\"\n\"I see that plainly enough, my most excellent host, and you may\nrely upon me to proclaim so striking a proof of your attention to\nyour guests wherever I go. Meanwhile, oblige me by a sight of one\nof these tavolettas.\"\n\"Nothing can be easier than to comply with your excellency's\nwish,\" said the landlord, opening the door of the chamber; \"I have\ncaused one to be placed on the landing, close by your apartment.\"\nThen, taking the tablet from the wall, he handed it to Franz, who\nread as follows: —\n\"`The public is informed that on Wednesday, February 23d, being\nthe first day of the Carnival, executions will take place in the\nPiazza del Popolo, by order of the Tribunal of the Rota, of two\npersons, named Andrea Rondola, and Peppino, otherwise called Rocca\nPriori; the former found guilty of the murder of a venerable and\nexemplary priest, named Don Cesare Torlini, canon of the church of\nSt. John Lateran; and the latter convicted of being an accomplice\nof the atrocious and sanguinary bandit, Luigi Vampa, and his band.\nThe first-named malefactor will be subjected to the mazzuola, the\nsecond culprit beheaded. The prayers of all good Christians are\nentreated for these unfortunate men, that it may please God to\nawaken them to a sense of their guilt, and to grant them a hearty\nand sincere repentance for their crimes.'\"\nThis was precisely what Franz had heard the evening before in\nthe ruins of the Colosseum. No part of the programme differed, —\nthe names of the condemned persons, their crimes, and mode of\npunishment, all agreed with his previous information. In all\nprobability, therefore, the Transteverin was no other than the\nbandit Luigi Vampa himself, and the man shrouded in the mantle thebandit Luigi Vampa himself, and the man shrouded in the mantle the\nsame he had known as \"Sinbad the Sailor,\" but who, no doubt, was\nstill pursuing his philanthropic expedition in Rome, as he had\nalready done at Porto-Vecchio and Tunis. Time was getting on,\nhowever, and Franz deemed it advisable to awaken Albert; but at the\nmoment he prepared to proceed to his chamber, his friend entered\nthe room in perfect costume for the day. The anticipated delights\nof the Carnival had so run in his head as to make him leave his\npillow long before his usual hour. \"Now, my excellent Signor\nPastrini,\" said Franz, addressing his landlord, \"since we are both\nready, do you think we may proceed at once to visit the Count of\nMonte Cristo?\"\n\"Most assuredly,\" replied he. \"The Count of Monte Cristo is\nalways an early riser; and I can answer for his having been up\nthese two hours.\"\n\"Then you really consider we shall not be intruding if we pay\nour respects to him directly?\"\n\"Oh, I am quite sure. I will take all the blame on myself if you\nfind I have led you into an error.\"\n\"Well, then, if it be so, are you ready, Albert?\"\n\"Perfectly.\"\n\"Let us go and return our best thanks for his courtesy.\"\n\"Yes, let us do so.\" The landlord preceded the friends across\nthe landing, which was all that separated them from the apartments\nof the count, rang at the bell, and, upon the door being opened by\na servant, said, \"I signori Francesi.\"\nThe domestic bowed respectfully, and invited them to enter. They\npassed through two rooms, furnished in a luxurious manner they had\nnot expected to see under the roof of Signor Pastrini, and were\nshown into an elegantly fitted-up drawing-room. The richest Turkey\ncarpets covered the floor, and the softest and most inviting\ncouches, easy-chairs, and sofas, offered their high-piled and\nyielding cushions to such as desired repose or refreshment.\nSplendid paintings by the first masters were ranged against the\nwalls, intermingled with magnificent trophies of war, while heavy"}
{"text": "walls, intermingled with magnificent trophies of war, while heavy\ncurtains of costly tapestry were suspended before the different\ndoors of the room. \"If your excellencies will please to be seated,\"\nsaid the man, \"I will let the count know that you are here.\"\nAnd with these words he disappeared behind one of the tapestried\nportieres. As the door opened, the sound of a guzla reached the\nears of the young men, but was almost immediately lost, for the\nrapid closing of the door merely allowed one rich swell of harmony\nto enter. Franz and Albert looked inquiringly at each other, then\nat the gorgeous furnishings of the apartment. Everything seemed\nmore magnificent at a second view than it had done at their first\nrapid survey.\n\"Well,\" said Franz to his friend, \"what think you of all\nthis?\"\n\"Why, upon my soul, my dear fellow, it strikes me that our\nelegant and attentive neighbor must either be some successful\nstock-jobber who has speculated in the fall of the Spanish funds,\nor some prince travelling incog.\"\n\"Hush, hush!\" replied Franz; \"we shall ascertain who and what he\nis — he comes!\" As Franz spoke, he heard the sound of a door\nturning on its hinges, and almost immediately afterwards the\ntapestry was drawn aside, and the owner of all these riches stood\nbefore the two young men. Albert instantly rose to meet him, but\nFranz remained, in a manner, spellbound on his chair; for in the\nperson of him who had just entered he recognized not only the\nmysterious visitant to the Colosseum, and the occupant of the box\nat the Teatro Argentino, but also his extraordinary host of Monte\nCristo.\"Gentlemen,\" said the Count of Monte Cristo as he entered, \"I\npray you excuse me for suffering my visit to be anticipated; but I\nfeared to disturb you by presenting myself earlier at your\napartments; besides, you sent me word that you would come to me,\nand I have held myself at your disposal.\"\n\"Franz and I have to thank you a thousand times, count,\"\nreturned Albert; \"you extricated us from a great dilemma, and we\nwere on the point of inventing a very fantastic vehicle when your\nfriendly invitation reached us.\"\n\"Indeed,\" returned the count, motioning the two young men to sit\ndown. \"It was the fault of that blockhead Pastrini, that I did not\nsooner assist you in your distress. He did not mention a syllable\nof your embarrassment to me, when he knows that, alone and isolated\nas I am, I seek every opportunity of making the acquaintance of my\nneighbors. As soon as I learned I could in any way assist you, I\nmost eagerly seized the opportunity of offering my services.\" The\ntwo young men bowed. Franz had, as yet, found nothing to say; he\nhad come to no determination, and as nothing in the count's manner\nmanifested the wish that he should recognize him, he did not know\nwhether to make any allusion to the past, or wait until he had more\nproof; besides, although sure it was he who had been in the box the\nprevious evening, he could not be equally positive that this was\nthe man he had seen at the Colosseum. He resolved, therefore, to\nlet things take their course without making any direct overture to\nthe count. Moreover, he had this advantage, he was master of the\ncount's secret, while the count had no hold on Franz, who had\nnothing to conceal. However, he resolved to lead the conversation\nto a subject which might possibly clear up his doubts.\n\"Count,\" said he, \"you have offered us places in your carriage,\nand at your windows in the Rospoli Palace. Can you tell us where we\ncan obtain a sight of the Piazza del Popolo?\"\n\"Ah,\" said the count negligently, looking attentively at\"Ah,\" said the count negligently, looking attentively at\nMorcerf, \"is there not something like an execution upon the Piazza\ndel Popolo?\"\n\"Yes,\" returned Franz, finding that the count was coming to the\npoint he wished.\n\"Stay, I think I told my steward yesterday to attend to this;\nperhaps I can render you this slight service also.\" He extended his\nhand, and rang the bell thrice. \"Did you ever occupy yourself,\"\nsaid he to Franz, \"with the employment of time and the means of\nsimplifying the summoning your servants? I have. When I ring once,\nit is for my valet; twice, for my majordomo; thrice, for my\nsteward, — thus I do not waste a minute or a word. Here he is.\" A\nman of about forty-five or fifty entered, exactly resembling the\nsmuggler who had introduced Franz into the cavern; but he did not\nappear to recognize him. It was evident he had his orders.\n\"Monsieur Bertuccio,\" said the count, \"you have procured me windows\nlooking on the Piazza del Popolo, as I ordered you yesterday.\"\n\"Yes, excellency,\" returned the steward; \"but it was very\nlate.\"\n\"Did I not tell you I wished for one?\" replied the count,\nfrowning.\n\"And your excellency has one, which was let to Prince Lobanieff;\nbut I was obliged to pay a hundred\" —\n\"That will do — that will do, Monsieur Bertuccio; spare these\ngentlemen all such domestic arrangements. You have the window, that\nis sufficient. Give orders to the coachman; and be in readiness on\nthe stairs to conduct us to it.\" The steward bowed, and was about\nto quit the room. \"Ah,\" continued the count, \"be good enough to ask\nPastrini if he has received the tavoletta, and if he can send us an\naccount of the execution.\"\n\"There is no need to do that,\" said Franz, taking out his\ntablets; \"for I saw the account, and copied it down.\"\n\"Very well, you can retire, M. Bertuccio; but let us know when\nbreakfast is ready. These gentlemen,\" added he, turning to the two\nfriends, \"will, I trust, do me the honor to breakfast with me?\"\n\"But, my dear count,\" said Albert, \"we shall abuse your\nkindness.\""}
{"text": "\"But, my dear count,\" said Albert, \"we shall abuse your\nkindness.\"\n\"Not at all; on the contrary, you will give me great pleasure.\nYou will, one or other of you, perhaps both, return it to me at\nParis. M. Bertuccio, lay covers for three.\" He then took Franz's\ntablets out of his hand. \"`We announce,' he read, in the same tone\nwith which he would have read a newspaper, `that to-day, the 23d of\nFebruary, will be executed Andrea Rondolo, guilty of murder on the\nperson of the respected and venerated Don Cesare Torlini, canon of\nthe church of St. John Lateran, and Peppino, called Rocca Priori,\nconvicted of complicity with the detestable bandit Luigi Vampa, and\nthe men of his band.' Hum! `The first will be mazzolato, the second\ndecapitato.' Yes,\" continued the count, \"it was at first arranged\nin this way; but I think since yesterday some change has taken\nplace in the order of the ceremony.\"\n\"Really?\" said Franz.\n\"Yes, I passed the evening at the Cardinal Rospigliosi's, and\nthere mention was made of something like a pardon for one of the\ntwo men.\"\n\"For Andrea Rondolo?\" asked Franz.\n\"No,\" replied the count, carelessly; \"for the other (he glanced\nat the tablets as if to recall the name), for Peppino, called Rocca\nPriori. You are thus deprived of seeing a man guillotined; but the\nmazzuola still remains, which is a very curious punishment when\nseen for the first time, and even the second, while the other, as\nyou must know, is very simple. The mandaia* never fails, never\ntrembles, never strikes thirty times ineffectually, like the\nsoldier who beheaded the Count of Chalais, and to whose tender\nmercy Richelieu had doubtless recommended the sufferer. Ah,\" added\nthe count, in a contemptuous tone, \"do not tell me of European\npunishments, they are in the infancy, or rather the old age, of\ncruelty.\"\n(* Guillotine.)\n\"Really, count,\" replied Franz, \"one would think that you had\nstudied the different tortures of all the nations of the\nworld.\"\n\"There are, at least, few that I have not seen,\" said the count\ncoldly.world.\"\n\"There are, at least, few that I have not seen,\" said the count\ncoldly.\n\"And you took pleasure in beholding these dreadful\nspectacles?\"\n\"My first sentiment was horror, the second indifference, the\nthird curiosity.\"\n\"Curiosity — that is a terrible word.\"\n\"Why so? In life, our greatest preoccupation is death; is it not\nthen, curious to study the different ways by which the soul and\nbody can part; and how, according to their different characters,\ntemperaments, and even the different customs of their countries,\ndifferent persons bear the transition from life to death, from\nexistence to annihilation? As for myself, I can assure you of one\nthing, — the more men you see die, the easier it becomes to die\nyourself; and in my opinion, death may be a torture, but it is not\nan expiation.\"\n\"I do not quite understand you,\" replied Franz; \"pray explain\nyour meaning, for you excite my curiosity to the highest\npitch.\"\n\"Listen,\" said the count, and deep hatred mounted to his face,\nas the blood would to the face of any other. \"If a man had by\nunheard-of and excruciating tortures destroyed your father, your\nmother, your betrothed, — a being who, when torn from you, left a\ndesolation, a wound that never closes, in your breast, — do you\nthink the reparation that society gives you is sufficient when it\ninterposes the knife of the guillotine between the base of the\nocciput and the trapezal muscles of the murderer, and allows him\nwho has caused us years of moral sufferings to escape with a few\nmoments of physical pain?\"\n\"Yes, I know,\" said Franz, \"that human justice is insufficient\nto console us; she can give blood in return for blood, that is all;\nbut you must demand from her only what it is in her power to\ngrant.\"\n\"I will put another case to you,\" continued the count; \"that\nwhere society, attacked by the death of a person, avenges death by\ndeath. But are there not a thousand tortures by which a man may be\nmade to suffer without society taking the least cognizance of them,made to suffer without society taking the least cognizance of them,\nor offering him even the insufficient means of vengeance, of which\nwe have just spoken? Are there not crimes for which the impalement\nof the Turks, the augers of the Persians, the stake and the brand\nof the Iroquois Indians, are inadequate tortures, and which are\nunpunished by society? Answer me, do not these crimes exist?\"\n\"Yes,\" answered Franz; \"and it is to punish them that duelling\nis tolerated.\"\n\"Ah, duelling,\" cried the count; \"a pleasant manner, upon my\nsoul, of arriving at your end when that end is vengeance! A man has\ncarried off your mistress, a man has seduced your wife, a man has\ndishonored your daughter; he has rendered the whole life of one who\nhad the right to expect from heaven that portion of happiness God\nhis promised to every one of his creatures, an existence of misery\nand infamy; and you think you are avenged because you send a ball\nthrough the head, or pass a sword through the breast, of that man\nwho has planted madness in your brain, and despair in your heart.\nAnd remember, moreover, that it is often he who comes off\nvictorious from the strife, absolved of all crime in the eyes of\nthe world. No, no,\" continued the count, \"had I to avenge myself,\nit is not thus I would take revenge.\"\n\"Then you disapprove of duelling? You would not fight a duel?\"\nasked Albert in his turn, astonished at this strange theory.\n\"Oh, yes,\" replied the count; \"understand me, I would fight a\nduel for a trifle, for an insult, for a blow; and the more so that,\nthanks to my skill in all bodily exercises, and the indifference to\ndanger I have gradually acquired, I should be almost certain to\nkill my man. Oh, I would fight for such a cause; but in return for\na slow, profound, eternal torture, I would give back the same, were\nit possible; an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, as the\nOrientalists say, — our masters in everything, — those favored\ncreatures who have formed for themselves a life of dreams and a\nparadise of realities.\""}
{"text": "creatures who have formed for themselves a life of dreams and a\nparadise of realities.\"\n\"But,\" said Franz to the count, \"with this theory, which renders\nyou at once judge and executioner of your own cause, it would be\ndifficult to adopt a course that would forever prevent your falling\nunder the power of the law. Hatred is blind, rage carries you away;\nand he who pours out vengeance runs the risk of tasting a bitter\ndraught.\"\n\"Yes, if he be poor and inexperienced, not if he be rich and\nskilful; besides, the worst that could happen to him would be the\npunishment of which we have already spoken, and which the\nphilanthropic French Revolution has substituted for being torn to\npieces by horses or broken on the wheel. What matters this\npunishment, as long as he is avenged? On my word, I almost regret\nthat in all probability this miserable Peppino will not be\nbeheaded, as you might have had an opportunity then of seeing how\nshort a time the punishment lasts, and whether it is worth even\nmentioning; but, really this is a most singular conversation for\nthe Carnival, gentlemen; how did it arise? Ah, I recollect, you\nasked for a place at my window; you shall have it; but let us first\nsit down to table, for here comes the servant to inform us that\nbreakfast is ready.\" As he spoke, a servant opened one of the four\ndoors of the apartment, saying — \"Al suo commodo!\" The two young\nmen arose and entered the breakfast-room.\nDuring the meal, which was excellent, and admirably served,\nFranz looked repeatedly at Albert, in order to observe the\nimpressions which he doubted not had been made on him by the words\nof their entertainer; but whether with his usual carelessness he\nhad paid but little attention to him, whether the explanation of\nthe Count of Monte Cristo with regard to duelling had satisfied\nhim, or whether the events which Franz knew of had had their effect\non him alone, he remarked that his companion did not pay the least\nregard to them, but on the contrary ate like a man who for the lastregard to them, but on the contrary ate like a man who for the last\nfour or five months had been condemned to partake of Italian\ncookery — that is, the worst in the world. As for the count, he\njust touched the dishes; he seemed to fulfil the duties of a host\nby sitting down with his guests, and awaited their departure to be\nserved with some strange or more delicate food. This brought back\nto Franz, in spite of himself, the recollection of the terror with\nwhich the count had inspired the Countess G—— , and her firm\nconviction that the man in the opposite box was a vampire. At the\nend of the breakfast Franz took out his watch. \"Well,\" said the\ncount, \"what are you doing?\"\n\"You must excuse us, count,\" returned Franz, \"but we have still\nmuch to do.\"\n\"What may that be?\"\n\"We have no masks, and it is absolutely necessary to procure\nthem.\"\n\"Do not concern yourself about that; we have, I think, a private\nroom in the Piazza del Popolo; I will have whatever costumes you\nchoose brought to us, and you can dress there.\"\n\"After the execution?\" cried Franz.\n\"Before or after, whichever you please.\"\n\"Opposite the scaffold?\"\n\"The scaffold forms part of the fete.\"\n\"Count, I have reflected on the matter,\" said Franz, \"I thank\nyou for your courtesy, but I shall content myself with accepting a\nplace in your carriage and at your window at the Rospoli Palace,\nand I leave you at liberty to dispose of my place at the Piazza del\nPopolo.\"\n\"But I warn you, you will lose a very curious sight,\" returned\nthe count.\n\"You will describe it to me,\" replied Franz, \"and the recital\nfrom your lips will make as great an impression on me as if I had\nwitnessed it. I have more than once intended witnessing an\nexecution, but I have never been able to make up my mind; and you,\nAlbert?\"\n\"I,\" replied the viscount, — \"I saw Castaing executed, but I\nthink I was rather intoxicated that day, for I had quitted college\nthe same morning, and we had passed the previous night at a\ntavern.\"\n\"Besides, it is no reason because you have not seen an executiontavern.\"\n\"Besides, it is no reason because you have not seen an execution\nat Paris, that you should not see one anywhere else; when you\ntravel, it is to see everything. Think what a figure you will make\nwhen you are asked, `How do they execute at Rome?' and you reply,\n`I do not know'! And, besides, they say that the culprit is an\ninfamous scoundrel, who killed with a log of wood a worthy canon\nwho had brought him up like his own son. Diable, when a churchman\nis killed, it should be with a different weapon than a log,\nespecially when he has behaved like a father. If you went to Spain,\nwould you not see the bull-fight? Well, suppose it is a bull-fight\nyou are going to see? Recollect the ancient Romans of the Circus,\nand the sports where they killed three hundred lions and a hundred\nmen. Think of the eighty thousand applauding spectators, the sage\nmatrons who took their daughters, and the charming Vestals who made\nwith the thumb of their white hands the fatal sign that said,\n`Come, despatch the dying.'\"\n\"Shall you go, then, Albert?\" asked Franz.\n\"Ma foi, yes; like you, I hesitated, but the count's eloquence\ndecides me.\"\n\"Let us go, then,\" said Franz, \"since you wish it; but on our\nway to the Piazza del Popolo, I wish to pass through the Corso. Is\nthis possible, count?\"\n\"On foot, yes, in a carriage, no.\"\n\"I will go on foot, then.\"\n\"Is it important that you should go that way?\"\n\"Yes, there is something I wish to see.\"\n\"Well, we will go by the Corso. We will send the carriage to\nwait for us on the Piazza del Popolo, by the Strada del Babuino,\nfor I shall be glad to pass, myself, through the Corso, to see if\nsome orders I have given have been executed.\"\n\"Excellency,\" said a servant, opening the door, \"a man in the\ndress of a penitent wishes to speak to you.\"\n\"Ah, yes\" returned the count, \"I know who he is, gentlemen; will\nyou return to the salon? you will find good cigars on the centre\ntable. I will be with you directly.\" The young men rose and\nreturned into the salon, while the count, again apologizing, left"}
{"text": "returned into the salon, while the count, again apologizing, left\nby another door. Albert, who was a great smoker, and who had\nconsidered it no small sacrifice to be deprived of the cigars of\nthe Cafe de Paris, approached the table, and uttered a cry of joy\nat perceiving some veritable puros.\n\"Well,\" asked Franz, \"what think you of the Count of Monte\nCristo?\"\n\"What do I think?\" said Albert, evidently surprised at such a\nquestion from his companion; \"I think he is a delightful fellow,\nwho does the honors of his table admirably; who has travelled much,\nread much, is, like Brutus, of the Stoic school, and moreover,\"\nadded he, sending a volume of smoke up towards the ceiling, \"that\nhe has excellent cigars.\" Such was Albert's opinion of the count,\nand as Franz well knew that Albert professed never to form an\nopinion except upon long reflection, he made no attempt to change\nit. \"But,\" said he, \"did you observe one very singular thing?\"\n\"What?\"\n\"How attentively he looked at you.\"\n\"At me?\"\n\"Yes.\" — Albert reflected. \"Ah,\" replied he, sighing, \"that is\nnot very surprising; I have been more than a year absent from\nParis, and my clothes are of a most antiquated cut; the count takes\nme for a provincial. The first opportunity you have, undeceive him,\nI beg, and tell him I am nothing of the kind.\" Franz smiled; an\ninstant after the count entered.\n\"I am now quite at your service, gentlemen,\" said he. \"The\ncarriage is going one way to the Piazza del Popolo, and we will go\nanother; and, if you please, by the Corso. Take some more of these\ncigars, M. de Morcerf.\"\n\"With all my heart,\" returned Albert; \"Italian cigars are\nhorrible. When you come to Paris, I will return all this.\"\n\"I will not refuse; I intend going there soon, and since you\nallow me, I will pay you a visit. Come, we have not any time to\nlose, it is half-past twelve — let us set off.\" All three\ndescended; the coachman received his master's orders, and drove\ndown the Via del Babuino. While the three gentlemen walked alongdown the Via del Babuino. While the three gentlemen walked along\nthe Piazza de Spagni and the Via Frattina, which led directly\nbetween the Fiano and Rospoli palaces, Franz's attention was\ndirected towards the windows of that last palace, for he had not\nforgotten the signal agreed upon between the man in the mantle and\nthe Transtevere peasant. \"Which are your windows?\" asked he of the\ncount, with as much indifference as he could assume. \"The three\nlast,\" returned he, with a negligence evidently unaffected, for he\ncould not imagine with what intention the question was put. Franz\nglanced rapidly towards the three windows. The side windows were\nhung with yellow damask, and the centre one with white damask and a\nred cross. The man in the mantle had kept his promise to the\nTransteverin, and there could now be no doubt that he was the\ncount. The three windows were still untenanted. Preparations were\nmaking on every side; chairs were placed, scaffolds were raised,\nand windows were hung with flags. The masks could not appear; the\ncarriages could not move about; but the masks were visible behind\nthe windows, the carriages, and the doors.\nFranz, Albert, and the count continued to descend the Corso. As\nthey approached the Piazza del Popolo, the crowd became more dense,\nand above the heads of the multitude two objects were visible: the\nobelisk, surmounted by a cross, which marks the centre of the\nsquare, and in front of the obelisk, at the point where the three\nstreets, del Babuino, del Corso, and di Ripetta, meet, the two\nuprights of the scaffold, between which glittered the curved knife\nof the mandaia. At the corner of the street they met the count's\nsteward, who was awaiting his master. The window, let at an\nexorbitant price, which the count had doubtless wished to conceal\nfrom his guests, was on the second floor of the great palace,\nsituated between the Via del Babuino and the Monte Pincio. It\nconsisted, as we have said, of a small dressing-room, opening into\na bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut, thea bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut, the\ninmates were quite alone. On chairs were laid elegant masquerade\ncostumes of blue and white satin. \"As you left the choice of your\ncostumes to me,\" said the count to the two friends, \"I have had\nthese brought, as they will be the most worn this year; and they\nare most suitable, on account of the confetti (sweetmeats), as they\ndo not show the flour.\"\nFranz heard the words of the count but imperfectly, and he\nperhaps did not fully appreciate this new attention to their\nwishes; for he was wholly absorbed by the spectacle that the Piazza\ndel Popolo presented, and by the terrible instrument that was in\nthe centre. It was the first time Franz had ever seen a guillotine,\n— we say guillotine, because the Roman mandaia is formed on almost\nthe same model as the French instrument.* The knife, which is\nshaped like a crescent, that cuts with the convex side, falls from\na less height, and that is all the difference. Two men, seated on\nthe movable plank on which the victim is laid, were eating their\nbreakfasts, while waiting for the criminal. Their repast consisted\napparently of bread and sausages. One of them lifted the plank,\ntook out a flask of wine, drank some, and then passed it to his\ncompanion. These two men were the executioner's assistants. At this\nsight Franz felt the perspiration start forth upon his brow. The\nprisoners, transported the previous evening from the Carcere Nuovo\nto the little church of Santa Maria del Popolo, had passed the\nnight, each accompanied by two priests, in a chapel closed by a\ngrating, before which were two sentinels, who were relieved at\nintervals. A double line of carbineers, placed on each side of the\ndoor of the church, reached to the scaffold, and formed a circle\naround it, leaving a path about ten feet wide, and around the\nguillotine a space of nearly a hundred feet. All the rest of the\nsquare was paved with heads. Many women held their infants on their\nshoulders, and thus the children had the best view. The Monte"}
{"text": "shoulders, and thus the children had the best view. The Monte\nPincio seemed a vast amphitheatre filled with spectators; the\nbalconies of the two churches at the corner of the Via del Babuino\nand the Via di Ripetta were crammed; the steps even seemed a\nparti-colored sea, that was impelled towards the portico; every\nniche in the wall held its living statue. What the count said was\ntrue — the most curious spectacle in life is that of death. And\nyet, instead of the silence and the solemnity demanded by the\noccasion, laughter and jests arose from the crowd. It was evident\nthat the execution was, in the eyes of the people, only the\ncommencement of the Carnival. Suddenly the tumult ceased, as if by\nmagic, and the doors of the church opened. A brotherhood of\npenitents, clothed from head to foot in robes of gray sackcloth,\nwith holes for the eyes, and holding in their hands lighted tapers,\nappeared first; the chief marched at the head. Behind the penitents\ncame a man of vast stature and proportions. He was naked, with the\nexception of cloth drawers at the left side of which hung a large\nknife in a sheath, and he bore on his right shoulder a heavy iron\nsledge-hammer. This man was the executioner. He had, moreover,\nsandals bound on his feet by cords. Behind the executioner came, in\nthe order in which they were to die, first Peppino and then Andrea.\nEach was accompanied by two priests. Neither had his eyes bandaged.\nPeppino walked with a firm step, doubtless aware of what awaited\nhim. Andrea was supported by two priests. Each of them, from time\nto time, kissed the crucifix a confessor held out to them. At this\nsight alone Franz felt his legs tremble under him. He looked at\nAlbert — he was as white as his shirt, and mechanically cast away\nhis cigar, although he had not half smoked it. The count alone\nseemed unmoved — nay, more, a slight color seemed striving to rise\nin his pale cheeks. His nostrils dilated like those of a wild beast\nthat scents its prey, and his lips, half opened, disclosed histhat scents its prey, and his lips, half opened, disclosed his\nwhite teeth, small and sharp like those of a jackal. And yet his\nfeatures wore an expression of smiling tenderness, such as Franz\nhad never before witnessed in them; his black eyes especially were\nfull of kindness and pity. However, the two culprits advanced, and\nas they approached their faces became visible. Peppino was a\nhandsome young man of four or five and twenty, bronzed by the sun;\nhe carried his head erect, and seemed on the watch to see on which\nside his liberator would appear. Andrea was short and fat; his\nvisage, marked with brutal cruelty, did not indicate age; he might\nbe thirty. In prison he had suffered his beard to grow; his head\nfell on his shoulder, his legs bent beneath him, and his movements\nwere apparently automatic and unconscious.\n(* Dr. Guillotin got the idea of his famous machine from\nwitnessing an execution in Italy.)\n\"I thought,\" said Franz to the count, \"that you told me there\nwould be but one execution.\"\n\"I told you true,\" replied he coldly.\n\"And yet here are two culprits.\"\n\"Yes; but only one of these two is about to die; the other has\nmany years to live.\"\n\"If the pardon is to come, there is no time to lose.\"\n\"And see, here it is,\" said the count. At the moment when\nPeppino reached the foot of the mandaia, a priest arrived in some\nhaste, forced his way through the soldiers, and, advancing to the\nchief of the brotherhood, gave him a folded paper. The piercing eye\nof Peppino had noticed all. The chief took the paper, unfolded it,\nand, raising his hand, \"Heaven be praised, and his holiness also,\"\nsaid he in a loud voice; \"here is a pardon for one of the\nprisoners!\"\n\"A pardon!\" cried the people with one voice — \"a pardon!\" At\nthis cry Andrea raised his head. \"Pardon for whom?\" cried he.\nPeppino remained breathless. \"A pardon for Peppino, called Rocca\nPriori,\" said the principal friar. And he passed the paper to the\nofficer commanding the carbineers, who read and returned it to\nhim.officer commanding the carbineers, who read and returned it to\nhim.\n\"For Peppino!\" cried Andrea, who seemed roused from the torpor\nin which he had been plunged. \"Why for him and not for me? We ought\nto die together. I was promised he should die with me. You have no\nright to put me to death alone. I will not die alone — I will not!\"\nAnd he broke from the priests struggling and raving like a wild\nbeast, and striving desperately to break the cords that bound his\nhands. The executioner made a sign, and his two assistants leaped\nfrom the scaffold and seized him. \"What is going on?\" asked Franz\nof the count; for, as all the talk was in the Roman dialect, he had\nnot perfectly understood it. \"Do you not see?\" returned the count,\n\"that this human creature who is about to die is furious that his\nfellow-sufferer does not perish with him? and, were he able, he\nwould rather tear him to pieces with his teeth and nails than let\nhim enjoy the life he himself is about to be deprived of. Oh, man,\nman — race of crocodiles,\" cried the count, extending his clinched\nhands towards the crowd, \"how well do I recognize you there, and\nthat at all times you are worthy of yourselves!\" Meanwhile Andrea\nand the two executioners were struggling on the ground, and he kept\nexclaiming, \"He ought to die! — he shall die! — I will not die\nalone!\"\n\"Look, look,\" cried the count. seizing the young men's hands —\n\"look, for on my soul it is curious. Here is a man who had resigned\nhimself to his fate, who was going to the scaffold to die — like a\ncoward, it is true, but he was about to die without resistance. Do\nyou know what gave him strength? — do you know what consoled him?\nIt was, that another partook of his punishment — that another\npartook of his anguish — that another was to die before him. Lead\ntwo sheep to the butcher's, two oxen to the slaughterhouse, and\nmake one of them understand that his companion will not die; the\nsheep will bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow with joy. But man"}
{"text": "sheep will bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow with joy. But man\n— man, whom God created in his own image — man, upon whom God has\nlaid his first, his sole commandment, to love his neighbor — man,\nto whom God has given a voice to express his thoughts — what is his\nfirst cry when he hears his fellow-man is saved? A blasphemy. Honor\nto man, this masterpiece of nature, this king of the creation!\" And\nthe count burst into a laugh; a terrible laugh, that showed he must\nhave suffered horribly to be able thus to laugh. However, the\nstruggle still continued, and it was dreadful to witness. The\npeople all took part against Andrea, and twenty thousand voices\ncried, \"Put him to death! put him to death!\" Franz sprang back, but\nthe count seized his arm, and held him before the window. \"What are\nyou doing?\" said he. \"Do you pity him? If you heard the cry of `Mad\ndog!' you would take your gun — you would unhesitatingly shoot the\npoor beast, who, after all, was only guilty of having been bitten\nby another dog. And yet you pity a man who, without being bitten by\none of his race, has yet murdered his benefactor; and who, now\nunable to kill any one, because his hands are bound, wishes to see\nhis companion in captivity perish. No, no — look, look!\"\nThe command was needless. Franz was fascinated by the horrible\nspectacle. The two assistants had borne Andrea to the scaffold, and\nthere, in spite of his struggles, his bites, and his cries, had\nforced him to his knees. During this time the executioner had\nraised his mace, and signed to them to get out of the way; the\ncriminal strove to rise, but, ere he had time, the mace fell on his\nleft temple. A dull and heavy sound was heard, and the man dropped\nlike an ox on his face, and then turned over on his back. The\nexecutioner let fall his mace, drew his knife, and with one stroke\nopened his throat, and mounting on his stomach, stamped violently\non it with his feet. At every stroke a jet of blood sprang from the\nwound.\nThis time Franz could contain himself no longer, but sank, halfwound.\nThis time Franz could contain himself no longer, but sank, half\nfainting, into a seat. Albert, with his eyes closed, was standing\ngrasping the window-curtains. The count was erect and triumphant,\nlike the Avenging Angel!When Franz recovered his senses, he saw Albert drinking a glass\nof water, of which, to judge from his pallor, he stood in great\nneed; and the count, who was assuming his masquerade costume. He\nglanced mechanically towards the square — the scene was wholly\nchanged; scaffold, executioners, victims, all had disappeared; only\nthe people remained, full of noise and excitement. The bell of\nMonte Citorio, which only sounds on the pope's decease and the\nopening of the Carnival, was ringing a joyous peal. \"Well,\" asked\nhe of the count, \"what has, then, happened?\"\n\"Nothing,\" replied the count; \"only, as you see, the Carnival\nhis commenced. Make haste and dress yourself.\"\n\"In fact,\" said Franz, \"this horrible scene has passed away like\na dream.\"\n\"It is but a dream, a nightmare, that has disturbed you.\"\n\"Yes, that I have suffered; but the culprit?\"\n\"That is a dream also; only he has remained asleep, while you\nhave awakened; and who knows which of you is the most\nfortunate?\"\n\"But Peppino — what has become of him?\"\n\"Peppino is a lad of sense, who, unlike most men, who are happy\nin proportion as they are noticed, was delighted to see that the\ngeneral attention was directed towards his companion. He profited\nby this distraction to slip away among the crowd, without even\nthanking the worthy priests who accompanied him. Decidedly man is\nan ungrateful and egotistical animal. But dress yourself; see, M.\nde Morcerf sets you the example.\" Albert was drawing on the satin\npantaloon over his black trousers and varnished boots. \"Well,\nAlbert,\" said Franz, \"do you feel much inclined to join the revels?\nCome, answer frankly.\"\n\"Ma foi, no,\" returned Albert. \"But I am really glad to have\nseen such a sight; and I understand what the count said — that when\nyou have once habituated yourself to a similar spectacle, it is the\nonly one that causes you any emotion.\"\n\"Without reflecting that this is the only moment in which you\ncan study character,\" said the count; \"on the steps of the scaffoldcan study character,\" said the count; \"on the steps of the scaffold\ndeath tears off the mask that has been worn through life, and the\nreal visage is disclosed. It must be allowed that Andrea was not\nvery handsome, the hideous scoundrel! Come, dress yourselves,\ngentlemen, dress yourselves.\" Franz felt it would be ridiculous not\nto follow his two companions' example. He assumed his costume, and\nfastened on the mask that scarcely equalled the pallor of his own\nface. Their toilet finished, they descended; the carriage awaited\nthem at the door, filled with sweetmeats and bouquets. They fell\ninto the line of carriages. It is difficult to form an idea of the\nperfect change that had taken place. Instead of the spectacle of\ngloomy and silent death, the Piazza del Popolo presented a\nspectacle of gay and noisy mirth and revelry. A crowd of masks\nflowed in from all sides, emerging from the doors, descending from\nthe windows. From every street and every corner drove carriages\nfilled with clowns, harlequins, dominoes, mummers, pantomimists,\nTransteverins, knights, and peasants, screaming, fighting,\ngesticulating, throwing eggs filled with flour, confetti, nosegays,\nattacking, with their sarcasms and their missiles, friends and\nfoes, companions and strangers, indiscriminately, and no one took\noffence, or did anything but laugh. Franz and Albert were like men\nwho, to drive away a violent sorrow, have recourse to wine, and\nwho, as they drink and become intoxicated, feel a thick veil drawn\nbetween the past and the present. They saw, or rather continued to\nsee, the image of what they had witnessed; but little by little the\ngeneral vertigo seized them, and they felt themselves obliged to\ntake part in the noise and confusion. A handful of confetti that\ncame from a neighboring carriage, and which, while it covered\nMorcerf and his two companions with dust, pricked his neck and that\nportion of his face uncovered by his mask like a hundred pins,\nincited him to join in the general combat, in which all the masks"}
{"text": "incited him to join in the general combat, in which all the masks\naround him were engaged. He rose in his turn, and seizing handfuls\nof confetti and sweetmeats, with which the carriage was filled,\ncast them with all the force and skill he was master of.\nThe strife had fairly begun, and the recollection of what they\nhad seen half an hour before was gradually effaced from the young\nmen's minds, so much were they occupied by the gay and glittering\nprocession they now beheld. As for the Count of Monte Cristo, he\nhad never for an instant shown any appearance of having been moved.\nImagine the large and splendid Corso, bordered from one end to the\nother with lofty palaces, with their balconies hung with carpets,\nand their windows with flags. At these balconies are three hundred\nthousand spectators — Romans, Italians, strangers from all parts of\nthe world, the united aristocracy of birth, wealth, and genius.\nLovely women, yielding to the influence of the scene, bend over\ntheir balconies, or lean from their windows, and shower down\nconfetti, which are returned by bouquets; the air seems darkened\nwith the falling confetti and flying flowers. In the streets the\nlively crowd is dressed in the most fantastic costumes — gigantic\ncabbages walk gravely about, buffaloes' heads below from men's\nshoulders, dogs walk on their hind legs; in the midst of all this a\nmask is lifted, and, as in Callot's Temptation of St. Anthony, a\nlovely face is exhibited, which we would fain follow, but from\nwhich we are separated by troops of fiends. This will give a faint\nidea of the Carnival at Rome. At the second turn the Count stopped\nthe carriage, and requested permission to withdraw, leaving the\nvehicle at their disposal. Franz looked up — they were opposite the\nRospoli Palace. At the centre window, the one hung with white\ndamask with a red cross, was a blue domino, beneath which Franz's\nimagination easily pictured the beautiful Greek of the Argentina.\n\"Gentlemen,\" said the count, springing out, \"when you are tired of\"Gentlemen,\" said the count, springing out, \"when you are tired of\nbeing actors, and wish to become spectators of this scene, you know\nyou have places at my windows. In the meantime, dispose of my\ncoachman, my carriage, and my servants.\" We have forgotten to\nmention, that the count's coachman was attired in a bear-skin,\nexactly resembling Odry's in \"The Bear and the Pasha;\" and the two\nfootmen behind were dressed up as green monkeys, with spring masks,\nwith which they made grimaces at every one who passed. Franz\nthanked the count for his attention. As for Albert, he was busily\noccupied throwing bouquets at a carriage full of Roman peasants\nthat was passing near him. Unfortunately for him, the line of\ncarriages moved on again, and while he descended the Piazza del\nPopolo, the other ascended towards the Palazzo di Venezia. \"Ah, my\ndear fellow,\" said he to Franz; \"you did not see?\"\n\"What?\"\n\"There, — that calash filled with Roman peasants.\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Well, I am convinced they are all charming women.\"\n\"How unfortunate that you were masked, Albert,\" said Franz;\n\"here was an opportunity of making up for past\ndisappointments.\"\n\"Oh,\" replied he, half laughing, half serious; \"I hope the\nCarnival will not pass without some amends in one shape or the\nother.\"\nBut, in spite of Albert's hope, the day passed unmarked by any\nincident, excepting two or three encounters with the carriage full\nof Roman peasants. At one of these encounters, accidentally or\npurposely, Albert's mask fell off. He instantly rose and cast the\nremainder of the bouquets into the carriage. Doubtless one of the\ncharming females Albert had detected beneath their coquettish\ndisguise was touched by his gallantry; for, as the carriage of the\ntwo friends passed her, she threw a bunch of violets. Albert seized\nit, and as Franz had no reason to suppose it was meant for him, he\nsuffered Albert to retain it. Albert placed it in his button-hole,\nand the carriage went triumphantly on.\n\"Well,\" said Franz to him; \"there is the beginning of an\nadventure.\"\"Well,\" said Franz to him; \"there is the beginning of an\nadventure.\"\n\"Laugh if you please — I really think so. So I will not abandon\nthis bouquet.\"\n\"Pardieu,\" returned Franz, laughing, \"in token of your\ningratitude.\" The jest, however, soon appeared to become earnest;\nfor when Albert and Franz again encountered the carriage with the\ncontadini, the one who had thrown the violets to Albert, clapped\nher hands when she beheld them in his button-hole. \"Bravo, bravo,\"\nsaid Franz; \"things go wonderfully. Shall I leave you? Perhaps you\nwould prefer being alone?\"\n\"No,\" replied he; \"I will not be caught like a fool at a first\ndisclosure by a rendezvous under the clock, as they say at the\nopera-balls. If the fair peasant wishes to carry matters any\nfurther, we shall find her, or rather, she will find us to-morrow;\nthen she will give me some sign or other, and I shall know what I\nhave to do.\"\n\"On my word,\" said Franz, \"you are wise as Nestor and prudent as\nUlysses, and your fair Circe must be very skilful or very powerful\nif she succeed in changing you into a beast of any kind.\" Albert\nwas right; the fair unknown had resolved, doubtless, to carry the\nintrigue no farther; for although the young men made several more\nturns, they did not again see the calash, which had turned up one\nof the neighboring streets. Then they returned to the Rospoli\nPalace; but the count and the blue domino had also disappeared; the\ntwo windows, hung with yellow damask, were still occupied by the\npersons whom the count had invited. At this moment the same bell\nthat had proclaimed the beginning of the mascherata sounded the\nretreat. The file on the Corso broke the line, and in a second all\nthe carriages had disappeared. Franz and Albert were opposite the\nVia delle Maratte; the coachman, without saying a word, drove up\nit, passed along the Piazza di Spagni and the Rospoli Palace and\nstopped at the door of the hotel. Signor Pastrini came to the door\nto receive his guests. Franz hastened to inquire after the count,"}
{"text": "to receive his guests. Franz hastened to inquire after the count,\nand to express regret that he had not returned in sufficient time;\nbut Pastrini reassured him by saying that the Count of Monte Cristo\nhad ordered a second carriage for himself, and that it had gone at\nfour o'clock to fetch him from the Rospoli Palace. The count had,\nmoreover, charged him to offer the two friends the key of his box\nat the Argentina. Franz questioned Albert as to his intentions; but\nAlbert had great projects to put into execution before going to the\ntheatre; and instead of making any answer, he inquired if Signor\nPastrini could procure him a tailor. \"A tailor,\" said the host;\n\"and for what?\"\n\"To make us between now and to-morrow two Roman peasant\ncostumes,\" returned Albert. The host shook his head. \"To make you\ntwo costumes between now and to-morrow? I ask your excellencies'\npardon, but this is quite a French demand; for the next week you\nwill not find a single tailor who would consent to sew six buttons\non a waistcoat if you paid him a crown a piece for each\nbutton.\"\n\"Then I must give up the idea?\"\n\"No; we have them ready-made. Leave all to me; and to-morrow,\nwhen you awake, you shall find a collection of costumes with which\nyou will be satisfied.\"\n\"My dear Albert,\" said Franz, \"leave all to our host; he has\nalready proved himself full of resources; let us dine quietly, and\nafterwards go and see `The Algerian Captive.'\"\n\"Agreed,\" returned Albert; \"but remember, Signor Pastrini, that\nboth my friend and myself attach the greatest importance to having\nto-morrow the costumes we have asked for.\" The host again assured\nthem they might rely on him, and that their wishes should be\nattended to; upon which Franz and Albert mounted to their\napartments, and proceeded to disencumber themselves of their\ncostumes. Albert, as he took off his dress, carefully preserved the\nbunch of violets; it was his token reserved for the morrow. The two\nfriends sat down to table; but they could not refrain fromfriends sat down to table; but they could not refrain from\nremarking the difference between the Count of Monte Cristo's table\nand that of Signor Pastrini. Truth compelled Franz, in spite of the\ndislike he seemed to have taken to the count, to confess that the\nadvantage was not on Pastrini's side. During dessert, the servant\ninquired at what time they wished for the carriage. Albert and\nFranz looked at each other, fearing really to abuse the count's\nkindness. The servant understood them. \"His excellency the Count of\nMonte Cristo had,\" he said, \"given positive orders that the\ncarriage was to remain at their lordships' orders all day, and they\ncould therefore dispose of it without fear of indiscretion.\"\nThey resolved to profit by the count's courtesy, and ordered the\nhorses to be harnessed, while they substituted evening dress for\nthat which they had on, and which was somewhat the worse for the\nnumerous combats they had sustained. This precaution taken, they\nwent to the theatre, and installed themselves in the count's box.\nDuring the first act, the Countess G—— entered. Her first look was\nat the box where she had seen the count the previous evening, so\nthat she perceived Franz and Albert in the place of the very person\nconcerning whom she had expressed so strange an opinion to Franz.\nHer opera-glass was so fixedly directed towards them, that Franz\nsaw it would be cruel not to satisfy her curiosity; and, availing\nhimself of one of the privileges of the spectators of the Italian\ntheatres, who use their boxes to hold receptions, the two friends\nwent to pay their respects to the countess. Scarcely had they\nentered, when she motioned to Franz to assume the seat of honor.\nAlbert, in his turn, sat behind.\n\"Well,\" said she, hardly giving Franz time to sit down, \"it\nseems you have nothing better to do than to make the acquaintance\nof this new Lord Ruthven, and you are already the best friends in\nthe world.\"\n\"Without being so far advanced as that, my dear countess,\"the world.\"\n\"Without being so far advanced as that, my dear countess,\"\nreturned Franz, \"I cannot deny that we have abused his good nature\nall day.\"\n\"All day?\"\n\"Yes; this morning we breakfasted with him; we rode in his\ncarriage all day, and now we have taken possession of his box.\"\n\"You know him, then?\"\n\"Yes, and no.\"\n\"How so?\"\n\"It is a long story.\"\n'Tell it to me.\"\n\"It would frighten you too much.\"\n\"So much the more reason.\"\n\"At least wait until the story has a conclusion.\"\n\"Very well; I prefer complete histories; but tell me how you\nmade his acquaintance? Did any one introduce you to him?\"\n\"No; it was he who introduced himself to us.\"\n\"When?\"\n\"Last night, after we left you.\"\n\"Through what medium?\"\n\"The very prosaic one of our landlord.\"\n\"He is staying, then, at the Hotel de Londres with you?\"\n\"Not only in the same hotel, but on the same floor.\"\n\"What is his name — for, of course, you know?\"\n\"The Count of Monte Cristo.\"\n\"That is not a family name?\"\n\"No, it is the name of the island he has purchased.\"\n\"And he is a count?\"\n\"A Tuscan count.\"\n\"Well, we must put up with that,\" said the countess, who was\nherself from one of the oldest Venetian families. \"What sort of a\nman is he?\"\n\"Ask the Vicomte de Morcerf.\"\n\"You hear, M. de Morcerf, I am referred to you,\" said the\ncountess.\n\"We should be very hard to please, madam,\" returned Albert, \"did\nwe not think him delightful. A friend of ten years' standing could\nnot have done more for us, or with a more perfect courtesy.\"\n\"Come,\" observed the countess, smiling, \"I see my vampire is\nonly some millionaire, who has taken the appearance of Lara in\norder to avoid being confounded with M. de Rothschild; and you have\nseen her?\"\n\"Her?\"\n\"The beautiful Greek of yesterday.\"\n\"No; we heard, I think, the sound of her guzla, but she remained\nperfectly invisible.\"\n\"When you say invisible,\" interrupted Albert, \"it is only to\nkeep up the mystery; for whom do you take the blue domino at the\nwindow with the white curtains?\"\n\"Where was this window with white hangings?\" asked the\ncountess."}
{"text": "window with the white curtains?\"\n\"Where was this window with white hangings?\" asked the\ncountess.\n\"At the Rospoli Palace.\"\n\"The count had three windows at the Rospoli Palace?\"\n\"Yes. Did you pass through the Corso?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, did you notice two windows hung with yellow damask, and\none with white damask with a red cross? Those were the count's\nwindows.\"\n\"Why, he must be a nabob. Do you know what those three windows\nwere worth?\"\n\"Two or three hundred Roman crowns?\"\n\"Two or three thousand.\"\n\"The deuce.\"\n\"Does his island produce him such a revenue?\"\n\"It does not bring him a baiocco.\"\n\"Then why did he purchase it?\"\n\"For a whim.\"\n\"He is an original, then?\"\n\"In reality,\" observed Albert, \"he seemed to me somewhat\neccentric; were he at Paris, and a frequenter of the theatres, I\nshould say he was a poor devil literally mad. This morning he made\ntwo or three exits worthy of Didier or Anthony.\" At this moment a\nfresh visitor entered, and, according to custom, Franz gave up his\nseat to him. This circumstance had, moreover, the effect of\nchanging the conversation; an hour afterwards the two friends\nreturned to their hotel. Signor Pastrini had already set about\nprocuring their disguises for the morrow; and he assured them that\nthey would be perfectly satisfied. The next morning, at nine\no'clock, he entered Franz's room, followed by a tailor, who had\neight or ten Roman peasant costumes on his arm; they selected two\nexactly alike, and charged the tailor to sew on each of their hats\nabout twenty yards of ribbon, and to procure them two of the long\nsilk sashes of different colors with which the lower orders\ndecorate themselves on fete-days. Albert was impatient to see how\nhe looked in his new dress — a jacket and breeches of blue velvet,\nsilk stockings with clocks, shoes with buckles, and a silk\nwaistcoat. This picturesque attire set him off to great advantage;\nand when he had bound the scarf around his waist, and when his hat,\nplaced coquettishly on one side, let fall on his shoulder a streamplaced coquettishly on one side, let fall on his shoulder a stream\nof ribbons, Franz was forced to confess that costume has much to do\nwith the physical superiority we accord to certain nations. The\nTurks used to be so picturesque with their long and flowing robes,\nbut are they not now hideous with their blue frocks buttoned up to\nthe chin, and their red caps, which make them look like a bottle of\nwine with a red seal? Franz complimented Albert, who looked at\nhimself in the glass with an unequivocal smile of satisfaction.\nThey were thus engaged when the Count of Monte Cristo entered.\n\"Gentlemen,\" said he, \"although a companion is agreeable,\nperfect freedom is sometimes still more agreeable. I come to say\nthat to-day, and for the remainder of the Carnival, I leave the\ncarriage entirely at your disposal. The host will tell you I have\nthree or four more, so that you will not inconvenience me in any\nway. Make use of it, I pray you, for your pleasure or your\nbusiness.\"\nThe young men wished to decline, but they could find no good\nreason for refusing an offer which was so agreeable to them. The\nCount of Monte Cristo remained a quarter of an hour with them,\nconversing on all subjects with the greatest ease. He was, as we\nhave already said, perfectly well acquainted with the literature of\nall countries. A glance at the walls of his salon proved to Franz\nand Albert that he was a connoisseur of pictures. A few words he\nlet fall showed them that he was no stranger to the sciences, and\nhe seemed much occupied with chemistry. The two friends did not\nventure to return the count the breakfast he had given them; it\nwould have been too absurd to offer him in exchange for his\nexcellent table the very inferior one of Signor Pastrini. They told\nhim so frankly, and he received their excuses with the air of a man\nwho appreciated their delicacy. Albert was charmed with the count's\nmanners, and he was only prevented from recognizing him for a\nperfect gentleman by reason of his varied knowledge. The permissionperfect gentleman by reason of his varied knowledge. The permission\nto do what he liked with the carriage pleased him above all, for\nthe fair peasants had appeared in a most elegant carriage the\npreceding evening, and Albert was not sorry to be upon an equal\nfooting with them. At half-past one they descended, the coachman\nand footman had put on their livery over their disguises, which\ngave them a more ridiculous appearance than ever, and which gained\nthem the applause of Franz and Albert. Albert had fastened the\nfaded bunch of violets to his button-hole. At the first sound of\nthe bell they hastened into the Corso by the Via Vittoria. At the\nsecond turn, a bunch of fresh violets, thrown from a carriage\nfilled with harlequins, indicated to Albert that, like himself and\nhis friend, the peasants had changed their costume, also; and\nwhether it was the result of chance, or whether a similar feeling\nhad possessed them both, while he had changed his costume they had\nassumed his.\nAlbert placed the fresh bouquet in his button-hole, but he kept\nthe faded one in his hand; and when he again met the calash, he\nraised it to his lips, an action which seemed greatly to amuse not\nonly the fair lady who had thrown it, but her joyous companions\nalso. The day was as gay as the preceding one, perhaps even more\nanimated and noisy; the count appeared for an instant at his\nwindow. but when they again passed he had disappeared. It is almost\nneedless to say that the flirtation between Albert and the fair\npeasant continued all day. In the evening, on his return, Franz\nfound a letter from the embassy, informing him that he would have\nthe honor of being received by his holiness the next day. At each\nprevious visit he had made to Rome, he had solicited and obtained\nthe same favor; and incited as much by a religious feeling as by\ngratitude, he was unwilling to quit the capital of the Christian\nworld without laying his respectful homage at the feet of one of\nSt. Peter's successors who has set the rare example of all the"}
{"text": "St. Peter's successors who has set the rare example of all the\nvirtues. He did not then think of the Carnival, for in spite of his\ncondescension and touching kindness, one cannot incline one's self\nwithout awe before the venerable and noble old man called Gregory\nXVI. On his return from the Vatican, Franz carefully avoided the\nCorso; he brought away with him a treasure of pious thoughts, to\nwhich the mad gayety of the maskers would have been profanation. At\nten minutes past five Albert entered overjoyed. The harlequin had\nreassumed her peasant's costume, and as she passed she raised her\nmask. She was charming. Franz congratulated Albert, who received\nhis congratulations with the air of a man conscious that they are\nmerited. He had recognized by certain unmistakable signs, that his\nfair incognita belonged to the aristocracy. He had made up his mind\nto write to her the next day. Franz remarked, while he gave these\ndetails, that Albert seemed to have something to ask of him, but\nthat he was unwilling to ask it. He insisted upon it, declaring\nbeforehand that he was willing to make any sacrifice the other\nwished. Albert let himself be pressed just as long as friendship\nrequired, and then avowed to Franz that he would do him a great\nfavor by allowing him to occupy the carriage alone the next day.\nAlbert attributed to Franz's absence the extreme kindness of the\nfair peasant in raising her mask. Franz was not sufficiently\negotistical to stop Albert in the middle of an adventure that\npromised to prove so agreeable to his curiosity and so flattering\nto his vanity. He felt assured that the perfect indiscretion of his\nfriend would duly inform him of all that happened; and as, during\nthree years that he had travelled all over Italy, a similar piece\nof good fortune had never fallen to his share, Franz was by no\nmeans sorry to learn how to act on such an occasion. He therefore\npromised Albert that he would content himself the morrow with\nwitnessing the Carnival from the windows of the Rospoli Palace.witnessing the Carnival from the windows of the Rospoli Palace.\nThe next morning he saw Albert pass and repass, holding an\nenormous bouquet, which he doubtless meant to make the bearer of\nhis amorous epistle. This belief was changed into certainty when\nFranz saw the bouquet (conspicuous by a circle of white camellias)\nin the hand of a charming harlequin dressed in rose-colored satin.\nThe evening was no longer joy, but delirium. Albert nothing doubted\nbut that the fair unknown would reply in the same manner. Franz\nanticipated his wishes by saying that the noise fatigued him, and\nthat he should pass the next day in writing and looking over his\njournal. Albert was not deceived, for the next evening Franz saw\nhim enter triumphantly shaking a folded paper which he held by one\ncorner. \"Well,\" said he, \"was I mistaken?\"\n\"She has answered you!\" cried Franz.\n\"Read.\" This word was pronounced in a manner impossible to\ndescribe. Franz took the letter, and read: —\nTuesday evening, at seven o'clock, descend from your carriage\nopposite the Via dei Pontefici, and follow the Roman peasant who\nsnatches your torch from you. When you arrive at the first step of\nthe church of San Giacomo, be sure to fasten a knot of rose-colored\nribbons to the shoulder of your harlequin costume, in order that\nyou may be recognized. Until then you will not see me.\nConstancy and Discretion.\n\"Well,\" asked he, when Franz had finished, \"what do you think of\nthat?\"\n\"I think that the adventure is assuming a very agreeable\nappearance.\"\n\"I think so, also,\" replied Albert; \"and I very much fear you\nwill go alone to the Duke of Bracciano's ball.\" Franz and Albert\nhad received that morning an invitation from the celebrated Roman\nbanker. \"Take care, Albert,\" said Franz. \"All the nobility of Rome\nwill be present, and if your fair incognita belong to the higher\nclass of society, she must go there.\"\n\"Whether she goes there or not, my opinion is still the same,\"\nreturned Albert. \"You have read the letter?\"\n\"Yes.\"returned Albert. \"You have read the letter?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You know how imperfectly the women of the mezzo cito are\neducated in Italy?\" (This is the name of the lower class.)\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, read the letter again. Look at the writing, and find if\nyou can, any blemish in the language or orthography.\" (The writing\nwas, in reality, charming, and the orthography irreproachable.)\n\"You are born to good fortune,\" said Franz, as he returned the\nletter.\n\"Laugh as much as you will,\" replied Albert, \"I am in love.\"\n\"You alarm me,\" cried Franz. \"I see that I shall not only go\nalone to the Duke of Bracciano's, but also return to Florence\nalone.\"\n\"If my unknown be as amiable as she is beautiful,\" said Albert,\n\"I shall fix myself at Rome for six weeks, at least. I adore Rome,\nand I have always had a great taste for archaeology.\"\n\"Come, two or three more such adventures, and I do not despair\nof seeing you a member of the Academy.\" Doubtless Albert was about\nto discuss seriously his right to the academic chair when they were\ninformed that dinner was ready. Albert's love had not taken away\nhis appetite. He hastened with Franz to seat himself, free to\nrecommence the discussion after dinner. After dinner, the Count of\nMonte Cristo was announced. They had not seen him for two days.\nSignor Pastrini informed them that business had called him to\nCivita Vecchia. He had started the previous evening, and had only\nreturned an hour since. He was charming. Whether he kept a watch\nover himself, or whether by accident he did not sound the\nacrimonious chords that in other circumstances had been touched, he\nwas to-night like everybody else. The man was an enigma to Franz.\nThe count must feel sure that Franz recognized him; and yet he had\nnot let fall a single word indicating any previous acquaintance\nbetween them. On his side, however great Franz's desire was to\nallude to their former interview, the fear of being disagreeable to\nthe man who had loaded him and his friend with kindness prevented"}
{"text": "the man who had loaded him and his friend with kindness prevented\nhim from mentioning it. The count had learned that the two friends\nhad sent to secure a box at the Argentina Theatre, and were told\nthey were all let. In consequence, he brought them the key of his\nown — at least such was the apparent motive of his visit. Franz and\nAlbert made some difficulty, alleging their fear of depriving him\nof it; but the count replied that, as he was going to the Palli\nTheatre, the box at the Argentina Theatre would be lost if they did\nnot profit by it. This assurance determined the two friends to\naccept it.\nFranz had by degrees become accustomed to the count's pallor,\nwhich had so forcibly struck him at their first meeting. He could\nnot refrain from admiring the severe beauty of his features, the\nonly defect, or rather the principal quality of which was the\npallor. Truly, a Byronic hero! Franz could not, we will not say see\nhim, but even think of him without imagining his stern head upon\nManfred's shoulders, or beneath Lara's helmet. His forehead was\nmarked with the line that indicates the constant presence of bitter\nthoughts; he had the fiery eyes that seem to penetrate to the very\nsoul, and the haughty and disdainful upper lip that gives to the\nwords it utters a peculiar character that impresses them on the\nminds of those to whom they are addressed. The count was no longer\nyoung. He was at least forty; and yet it was easy to understand\nthat he was formed to rule the young men with whom he associated at\npresent. And, to complete his resemblance with the fantastic heroes\nof the English poet, the count seemed to have the power of\nfascination. Albert was constantly expatiating on their good\nfortune in meeting such a man. Franz was less enthusiastic; but the\ncount exercised over him also the ascendency a strong mind always\nacquires over a mind less domineering. He thought several times of\nthe project the count had of visiting Paris; and he had no doubt\nbut that, with his eccentric character, his characteristic face,but that, with his eccentric character, his characteristic face,\nand his colossal fortune, he would produce a great effect there.\nAnd yet he did not wish to be at Paris when the count was there.\nThe evening passed as evenings mostly pass at Italian theatres;\nthat is, not in listening to the music, but in paying visits and\nconversing. The Countess G—— wished to revive the subject of the\ncount, but Franz announced he had something far newer to tell her,\nand, in spite of Albert's demonstrations of false modesty, he\ninformed the countess of the great event which had preoccupied them\nfor the last three days. As similar intrigues are not uncommon in\nItaly, if we may credit travellers, the comtess did not manifest\nthe least incredulity, but congratulated Albert on his success.\nThey promised, upon separating, to meet at the Duke of Bracciano's\nball, to which all Rome was invited. The heroine of the bouquet\nkept her word; she gave Albert no sign of her existence the morrow\nor the day after.\nAt length Tuesday came, the last and most tumultuous day of the\nCarnival. On Tuesday, the theatres open at ten o'clock in the\nmorning, as Lent begins after eight at night. On Tuesday, all those\nwho through want of money, time, or enthusiasm, have not been to\nsee the Carnival before, mingle in the gayety, and contribute to\nthe noise and excitement. From two o'clock till five Franz and\nAlbert followed in the fete, exchanging handfuls of confetti with\nthe other carriages and the pedestrians, who crowded amongst the\nhorses' feet and the carriage wheels without a single accident, a\nsingle dispute, or a single fight. The fetes are veritable pleasure\ndays to the Italians. The author of this history, who has resided\nfive or six years in Italy, does not recollect to have ever seen a\nceremony interrupted by one of those events so common in other\ncountries. Albert was triumphant in his harlequin costume. A knot\nof rose-colored ribbons fell from his shoulder almost to the\nground. In order that there might be no confusion, Franz wore hisground. In order that there might be no confusion, Franz wore his\npeasant's costume.\nAs the day advanced, the tumult became greater. There was not on\nthe pavement, in the carriages, at the windows, a single tongue\nthat was silent, a single arm that did not move. It was a human\nstorm, made up of a thunder of cries, and a hail of sweetmeats,\nflowers, eggs, oranges, and nosegays. At three o'clock the sound of\nfireworks, let off on the Piazza del Popolo and the Piazza di\nVenezia (heard with difficulty amid the din and confusion)\nannounced that the races were about to begin. The races, like the\nmoccoli, are one of the episodes peculiar to the last days of the\nCarnival. At the sound of the fireworks the carriages instantly\nbroke ranks, and retired by the adjacent streets. All these\nevolutions are executed with an inconceivable address and\nmarvellous rapidity, without the police interfering in the matter.\nThe pedestrians ranged themselves against the walls; then the\ntrampling of horses and the clashing of steel were heard. A\ndetachment of carbineers, fifteen abreast, galloped up the Corso in\norder to clear it for the barberi. When the detachment arrived at\nthe Piazza di Venezia, a second volley of fireworks was discharged,\nto announce that the street was clear. Almost instantly, in the\nmidst of a tremendous and general outcry, seven or eight horses,\nexcited by the shouts of three hundred thousand spectators, passed\nby like lightning. Then the Castle of Saint Angelo fired three\ncannon to indicate that number three had won. Immediately, without\nany other signal, the carriages moved on, flowing on towards the\nCorso, down all the streets, like torrents pent up for a while,\nwhich again flow into the parent river; and the immense stream\nagain continued its course between its two granite banks.\nA new source of noise and movement was added to the crowd. The\nsellers of moccoletti entered on the scene. The moccoli, or\nmoccoletti, are candles which vary in size from the pascal taper to"}
{"text": "moccoletti, are candles which vary in size from the pascal taper to\nthe rushlight, and which give to each actor in the great final\nscene of the Carnival two very serious problems to grapple with, —\nfirst, how to keep his own moccoletto alight; and secondly, how to\nextinguish the moccoletti of others. The moccoletto is like life:\nman has found but one means of transmitting it, and that one comes\nfrom God. But he has discovered a thousand means of taking it away,\nand the devil has somewhat aided him. The moccoletto is kindled by\napproaching it to a light. But who can describe the thousand means\nof extinguishing the moccoletto? — the gigantic bellows, the\nmonstrous extinguishers, the superhuman fans. Every one hastened to\npurchase moccoletti — Franz and Albert among the rest.\nThe night was rapidly approaching; and already, at the cry of\n\"Moccoletti!\" repeated by the shrill voices of a thousand vendors,\ntwo or three stars began to burn among the crowd. It was a signal.\nAt the end of ten minutes fifty thousand lights glittered,\ndescending from the Palazzo di Venezia to the Piazza del Popolo,\nand mounting from the Piazzo del Popolo to the Palazzo di Venezia.\nIt seemed like the fete of jack-o'-lanterns. It is impossible to\nform any idea of it without having seen it. Suppose that all the\nstars had descended from the sky and mingled in a wild dance on the\nface of the earth; the whole accompanied by cries that were never\nheard in any other part of the world. The facchino follows the\nprince, the Transteverin the citizen, every one blowing,\nextinguishing, relighting. Had old AEolus appeared at this moment,\nhe would have been proclaimed king of the moccoli, and Aquilo the\nheir-presumptive to the throne. This battle of folly and flame\ncontinued for two hours; the Corso was light as day; the features\nof the spectators on the third and fourth stories were visible.\nEvery five minutes Albert took out his watch; at length it pointed\nto seven. The two friends were in the Via dei Pontefici. Albertto seven. The two friends were in the Via dei Pontefici. Albert\nsprang out, bearing his moccoletto in his hand. Two or three masks\nstrove to knock his moccoletto out of his hand; but Albert, a\nfirst-rate pugilist, sent them rolling in the street, one after the\nother, and continued his course towards the church of San Giacomo.\nThe steps were crowded with masks, who strove to snatch each\nother's torches. Franz followed Albert with his eyes, and saw him\nmount the first step. Instantly a mask, wearing the well-known\ncostume of a peasant woman, snatched his moccoletto from him\nwithout his offering any resistance. Franz was too far off to hear\nwhat they said; but, without doubt, nothing hostile passed, for he\nsaw Albert disappear arm-in-arm with the peasant girl. He watched\nthem pass through the crowd for some time, but at length he lost\nsight of them in the Via Macello. Suddenly the bell that gives the\nsignal for the end of the carnival sounded, and at the same instant\nall the moccoletti were extinguished as if by enchantment. It\nseemed as though one immense blast of the wind had extinguished\nevery one. Franz found himself in utter darkness. No sound was\naudible save that of the carriages that were carrying the maskers\nhome; nothing was visible save a few lights that burnt behind the\nwindows. The Carnival was over.The first words that Albert uttered to his friend, on the\nfollowing morning, contained a request that Franz would accompany\nhim on a visit to the count; true, the young man had warmly and\nenergetically thanked the count on the previous evening; but\nservices such as he had rendered could never be too often\nacknowledged. Franz, who seemed attracted by some invisible\ninfluence towards the count, in which terror was strangely mingled,\nfelt an extreme reluctance to permit his friend to be exposed alone\nto the singular fascination that this mysterious personage seemed\nto exercise over him, and therefore made no objection to Albert's\nrequest, but at once accompanied him to the desired spot, and,\nafter a short delay, the count joined them in the salon. \"My dear\ncount,\" said Albert, advancing to meet him, \"permit me to repeat\nthe poor thanks I offered last night, and to assure you that the\nremembrance of all I owe to you will never be effaced from my\nmemory; believe me, as long as I live, I shall never cease to dwell\nwith grateful recollection on the prompt and important service you\nrendered me; and also to remember that to you I am indebted even\nfor my life.\"\n\"My very good friend and excellent neighbor,\" replied the count,\nwith a smile, \"you really exaggerate my trifling exertions. You owe\nme nothing but some trifle of 20,000 francs, which you have been\nsaved out of your travelling expenses, so that there is not much of\na score between us; — but you must really permit me to congratulate\nyou on the ease and unconcern with which you resigned yourself to\nyour fate, and the perfect indifference you manifested as to the\nturn events might take.\"\n\"Upon my word,\" said Albert, \"I deserve no credit for what I\ncould not help, namely, a determination to take everything as I\nfound it, and to let those bandits see, that although men get into\ntroublesome scrapes all over the world, there is no nation but the\nFrench that can smile even in the face of grim Death himself. AllFrench that can smile even in the face of grim Death himself. All\nthat, however, has nothing to do with my obligations to you, and I\nnow come to ask you whether, in my own person, my family, or\nconnections, I can in any way serve you? My father, the Comte de\nMorcerf, although of Spanish origin, possesses considerable\ninfluence, both at the court of France and Madrid, and I\nunhesitatingly place the best services of myself, and all to whom\nmy life is dear, at your disposal.\"\n\"Monsieur de Morcerf,\" replied the count, \"your offer, far from\nsurprising me, is precisely what I expected from you, and I accept\nit in the same spirit of hearty sincerity with which it is made; —\nnay, I will go still further, and say that I had previously made up\nmy mind to ask a great favor at your hands.\"\n\"Oh, pray name it.\"\n\"I am wholly a stranger to Paris — it is a city I have never yet\nseen.\"\n\"Is it possible,\" exclaimed Albert, \"that you have reached your\npresent age without visiting the finest capital in the world? I can\nscarcely credit it.\"\n\"Nevertheless, it is quite true; still, I agree with you in\nthinking that my present ignorance of the first city in Europe is a\nreproach to me in every way, and calls for immediate correction;\nbut, in all probability, I should have performed so important, so\nnecessary a duty, as that of making myself acquainted with the\nwonders and beauties of your justly celebrated capital, had I known\nany person who would have introduced me into the fashionable world,\nbut unfortunately I possessed no acquaintance there, and, of\nnecessity, was compelled to abandon the idea.\"\n\"So distinguished an individual as yourself,\" cried Albert,\n\"could scarcely have required an introduction.\"\n\"You are most kind; but as regards myself, I can find no merit I\npossess, save that, as a millionaire, I might have become a partner\nin the speculations of M. Aguado and M. Rothschild; but as my\nmotive in travelling to your capital would not have been for the\npleasure of dabbling in stocks, I stayed away till some favorable"}
{"text": "pleasure of dabbling in stocks, I stayed away till some favorable\nchance should present itself of carrying my wish into execution.\nYour offer, however, smooths all difficulties, and I have only to\nask you, my dear M. de Morcerf\" (these words were accompanied by a\nmost peculiar smile), \"whether you undertake, upon my arrival in\nFrance, to open to me the doors of that fashionable world of which\nI know no more than a Huron or a native of Cochin-China?\"\n\"Oh, that I do, and with infinite pleasure,\" answered Albert;\n\"and so much the more readily as a letter received this morning\nfrom my father summons me to Paris, in consequence of a treaty of\nmarriage (my dear Franz, do not smile, I beg of you) with a family\nof high standing, and connected with the very cream of Parisian\nsociety.\"\n\"Connected by marriage, you mean,\" said Franz, laughingly.\n\"Well, never mind how it is,\" answered Albert, \"it comes to the\nsame thing in the end. Perhaps by the time you return to Paris, I\nshall be quite a sober, staid father of a family! A most edifying\nrepresentative I shall make of all the domestic virtues — don't you\nthink so? But as regards your wish to visit our fine city, my dear\ncount, I can only say that you may command me and mine to any\nextent you please.\"\n\"Then it is settled,\" said the count, \"and I give you my solemn\nassurance that I only waited an opportunity like the present to\nrealize plans that I have long meditated.\" Franz did not doubt that\nthese plans were the same concerning which the count had dropped a\nfew words in the grotto of Monte Cristo, and while the Count was\nspeaking the young man watched him closely, hoping to read\nsomething of his purpose in his face, but his countenance was\ninscrutable especially when, as in the present case, it was veiled\nin a sphinx-like smile. \"But tell me now, count,\" exclaimed Albert,\ndelighted at the idea of having to chaperon so distinguished a\nperson as Monte Cristo; \"tell me truly whether you are in earnest,\nor if this project of visiting Paris is merely one of theor if this project of visiting Paris is merely one of the\nchimerical and uncertain air castles of which we make so many in\nthe course of our lives, but which, like a house built on the sand,\nis liable to be blown over by the first puff of wind?\"\n\"I pledge you my honor,\" returned the count, \"that I mean to do\nas I have said; both inclination and positive necessity compel me\nto visit Paris.\"\n\"When do you propose going thither?\"\n\"Have you made up your mind when you shall be there\nyourself?\"\n\"Certainly I have; in a fortnight or three weeks' time, that is\nto say, as fast as I can get there!\"\n\"Nay,\" said the Count; \"I will give you three months ere I join\nyou; you see I make an ample allowance for all delays and\ndifficulties.\n\"And in three months' time,\" said Albert, \"you will be at my\nhouse?\"\n\"Shall we make a positive appointment for a particular day and\nhour?\" inquired the count; \"only let me warn you that I am\nproverbial for my punctilious exactitude in keeping my\nengagements.\"\n\"Day for day, hour for hour,\" said Albert; \"that will suit me to\na dot.\"\n\"So be it, then,\" replied the count, and extending his hand\ntowards a calendar, suspended near the chimney-piece, he said,\n\"to-day is the 21st of February;\" and drawing out his watch, added,\n\"it is exactly half-past ten o'clock. Now promise me to remember\nthis, and expect me the 21st of May at the same hour in the\nforenoon.\"\n\"Capital,\" exclaimed Albert; \"your breakfast shall be\nwaiting.\"\n\"Where do you live?\"\n\"No. 27, Rue du Helder.\"\n\"Have you bachelor's apartments there? I hope my coming will not\nput you to any inconvenience.\"\n\"I reside in my father's house, but occupy a pavilion at the\nfarther side of the court-yard, entirely separated from the main\nbuilding.\"\n\"Quite sufficient,\" replied the count, as, taking out his\ntablets, he wrote down \"No. 27, Rue du Helder, 21st May, half-past\nten in the morning.\"\n\"Now then,\" said the count, returning his tablets to his pocket,\n\"make yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your time-piece will not\"make yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your time-piece will not\nbe more accurate in marking the time than myself.\"\n\"Shall I see you again ere my departure?\" asked Albert.\n\"That depends; when do you leave?\"\n\"To-morrow evening, at five o'clock.\"\n\"In that case I must say adieu to you, as I am compelled to go\nto Naples, and shall not return hither before Saturday evening or\nSunday morning. And you, baron,\" pursued the count, addressing\nFranz, \"do you also depart to-morrow?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"For France?\"\n\"No, for Venice; I shall remain in Italy for another year or\ntwo.\"\n\"Then we shall not meet in Paris?\"\n\"I fear I shall not have that honor.\"\n\"Well, since we must part,\" said the count, holding out a hand\nto each of the young men, \"allow me to wish you both a safe and\npleasant journey.\" It was the first time the hand of Franz had come\nin contact with that of the mysterious individual before him, and\nunconsciously he shuddered at its touch, for it felt cold and icy\nas that of a corpse. \"Let us understand each other,\" said Albert;\n\"it is agreed — is it not? — that you are to be at No. 27, in the\nRue du Helder, on the 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning,\nand your word of honor passed for your punctuality?\"\n\"The 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning, Rue du\nHelder, No. 27,\" replied the Count. The young men then rose, and\nbowing to the count, quitted the room. \"What is the matter?\" asked\nAlbert of Franz, when they had returned to their own apartments;\n\"you seem more than commonly thoughtful.\"\n\"I will confess to you, Albert,\" replied Franz, \"the count is a\nvery singular person, and the appointment you have made to meet him\nin Paris fills me with a thousand apprehensions.\"\n\"My dear fellow,\" exclaimed Albert, \"what can there possibly be\nin that to excite uneasiness? Why, you must have lost your\nsenses.\"\n\"Whether I am in my senses or not,\" answered Franz, \"that is the\nway I feel.\"\n\"Listen to me, Franz,\" said Albert; \"I am glad that the occasion\nhas presented itself for saying this to you, for I have noticed how"}
{"text": "has presented itself for saying this to you, for I have noticed how\ncold you are in your bearing towards the count, while he, on the\nother hand, has always been courtesy itself to us. Have you\nanything particular against him?\"\n\"Possibly.\"\n\"Did you ever meet him previously to coming hither?\"\n\"I have.\"\n\"And where?\"\n\"Will you promise me not to repeat a single word of what I am\nabout to tell you?\"\n\"I promise.\"\n\"Upon your honor?\"\n\"Upon my honor.\"\n\"Then listen to me.\" Franz then related to his friend the\nhistory of his excursion to the Island of Monte Cristo and of his\nfinding a party of smugglers there, and the two Corsican bandits\nwith them. He dwelt with considerable force and energy on the\nalmost magical hospitality he had received from the count, and the\nmagnificence of his entertainment in the grotto of the \"Thousand\nand One Nights.\" He recounted, with circumstantial exactitude, all\nthe particulars of the supper, the hashish, the statues, the dream,\nand how, at his awakening, there remained no proof or trace of all\nthese events, save the small yacht, seen in the distant horizon\ndriving under full sail toward Porto-Vecchio. Then he detailed the\nconversation overheard by him at the Colosseum, between the count\nand Vampa, in which the count had promised to obtain the release of\nthe bandit Peppino, — an engagement which, as our readers are\naware, he most faithfully fulfilled. At last he arrived at the\nadventure of the preceding night, and the embarrassment in which he\nfound himself placed by not having sufficient cash by six or seven\nhundred piastres to make up the sum required, and finally of his\napplication to the count and the picturesque and satisfactory\nresult that followed. Albert listened with the most profound\nattention. \"Well,\" said he, when Franz had concluded, \"what do you\nfind to object to in all you have related? The count is fond of\ntravelling, and, being rich, possesses a vessel of his own. Go but\nto Portsmouth or Southampton, and you will find the harbors crowdedto Portsmouth or Southampton, and you will find the harbors crowded\nwith the yachts belonging to such of the English as can afford the\nexpense, and have the same liking for this amusement. Now, by way\nof having a resting-place during his excursions, avoiding the\nwretched cookery — which has been trying its best to poison me\nduring the last four months, while you have manfully resisted its\neffects for as many years, — and obtaining a bed on which it is\npossible to slumber, Monte Cristo has furnished for himself a\ntemporary abode where you first found him; but, to prevent the\npossibility of the Tuscan government taking a fancy to his\nenchanted palace, and thereby depriving him of the advantages\nnaturally expected from so large an outlay of capital, he has\nwisely enough purchased the island, and taken its name. Just ask\nyourself, my good fellow, whether there are not many persons of our\nacquaintance who assume the names of lands and properties they\nnever in their lives were masters of?\"\n\"But,\" said Franz, \"the Corsican bandits that were among the\ncrew of his vessel?\"\n\"Why, really the thing seems to me simple enough. Nobody knows\nbetter than yourself that the bandits of Corsica are not rogues or\nthieves, but purely and simply fugitives, driven by some sinister\nmotive from their native town or village, and that their fellowship\ninvolves no disgrace or stigma; for my own part, I protest that,\nshould I ever go to Corsica, my first visit, ere even I presented\nmyself to the mayor or prefect, should be to the bandits of\nColomba, if I could only manage to find them; for, on my\nconscience, they are a race of men I admire greatly.\"\n\"Still,\" persisted Franz, \"I suppose you will allow that such\nmen as Vampa and his band are regular villains, who have no other\nmotive than plunder when they seize your person. How do you explain\nthe influence the count evidently possessed over those\nruffians?\"\n\"My good friend, as in all probability I own my present safety\nto that influence, it would ill become me to search too closelyto that influence, it would ill become me to search too closely\ninto its source; therefore, instead of condemning him for his\nintimacy with outlaws, you must give me leave to excuse any little\nirregularity there may be in such a connection; not altogether for\npreserving my life, for my own idea was that it never was in much\ndanger, but certainly for saving me 4,000 piastres, which, being\ntranslated, means neither more nor less than 24,000 livres of our\nmoney — a sum at which, most assuredly, I should never have been\nestimated in France, proving most indisputably,\" added Albert with\na laugh, \"that no prophet is honored in his own country.\"\n\"Talking of countries,\" replied Franz, \"of what country is the\ncount, what is his native tongue, whence does he derive his immense\nfortune, and what were those events of his early life — a life as\nmarvellous as unknown — that have tinctured his succeeding years\nwith so dark and gloomy a misanthropy? Certainly these are\nquestions that, in your place, I should like to have answered.\"\n\"My dear Franz,\" replied Albert, \"when, upon receipt of my\nletter, you found the necessity of asking the count's assistance,\nyou promptly went to him, saying, `My friend Albert de Morcerf is\nin danger; help me to deliver him.' Was not that nearly what you\nsaid?\"\n\"It was.\"\n\"Well, then, did he ask you, `Who is M. Albert de Morcerf? how\ndoes he come by his name — his fortune? what are his means of\nexistence? what is his birthplace! of what country is he a native?'\nTell me, did he put all these questions to you?\"\n\"I confess he asked me none.\"\n\"No; he merely came and freed me from the hands of Signor Vampa,\nwhere, I can assure you, in spite of all my outward appearance of\nease and unconcern, I did not very particularly care to remain.\nNow, then, Franz, when, for services so promptly and unhesitatingly\nrendered, he but asks me in return to do for him what is done daily\nfor any Russian prince or Italian nobleman who may pass through\nParis — merely to introduce him into society — would you have me"}
{"text": "Paris — merely to introduce him into society — would you have me\nrefuse? My good fellow, you must have lost your senses to think it\npossible I could act with such cold-blooded policy.\" And this time\nit must be confessed that, contrary to the usual state of affairs\nin discussions between the young men, the effective arguments were\nall on Albert's side.\n\"Well,\" said Franz with a sigh, \"do as you please my dear\nviscount, for your arguments are beyond my powers of refutation.\nStill, in spite of all, you must admit that this Count of Monte\nCristo is a most singular personage.\"\n\"He is a philanthropist,\" answered the other; \"and no doubt his\nmotive in visiting Paris is to compete for the Monthyon prize,\ngiven, as you are aware, to whoever shall be proved to have most\nmaterially advanced the interests of virtue and humanity. If my\nvote and interest can obtain it for him, I will readily give him\nthe one and promise the other. And now, my dear Franz, let us talk\nof something else. Come, shall we take our luncheon, and then pay a\nlast visit to St. Peter's?\" Franz silently assented; and the\nfollowing afternoon, at half-past five o'clock, the young men\nparted. Albert de Morcerf to return to Paris, and Franz d'Epinay to\npass a fortnight at Venice. But, ere he entered his travelling\ncarriage, Albert, fearing that his expected guest might forget the\nengagement he had entered into, placed in the care of a waiter at\nthe hotel a card to be delivered to the Count of Monte Cristo, on\nwhich, beneath the name of Vicomte Albert de Morcerf, he had\nwritten in pencil — \"27, Rue du Helder, on the 21st May, half-past\nten A.M.\"When Albert found himself alone with Monte Cristo, \"My dear\ncount,\" said he, \"allow me to commence my services as cicerone by\nshowing you a specimen of a bachelor's apartment. You, who are\naccustomed to the palaces of Italy, can amuse yourself by\ncalculating in how many square feet a young man who is not the\nworst lodged in Paris can live. As we pass from one room to\nanother, I will open the windows to let you breathe.\" Monte Cristo\nhad already seen the breakfast-room and the salon on the\nground-floor. Albert led him first to his atelier, which was, as we\nhave said, his favorite apartment. Monte Cristo quickly appreciated\nall that Albert had collected here — old cabinets, Japanese\nporcelain, Oriental stuffs, Venetian glass, arms from all parts of\nthe world — everything was familiar to him; and at the first glance\nhe recognized their date, their country, and their origin. Morcerf\nhad expected he should be the guide; on the contrary, it was he\nwho, under the count's guidance, followed a course of archaeology,\nmineralogy, and natural history. They descended to the first floor;\nAlbert led his guest into the salon. The salon was filled with the\nworks of modern artists; there were landscapes by Dupre, with their\nlong reeds and tall trees, their lowing oxen and marvellous skies;\nDelacroix's Arabian cavaliers, with their long white burnouses,\ntheir shining belts, their damasked arms, their horses, who tore\neach other with their teeth while their riders contended fiercely\nwith their maces; aquarelles of Boulanger, representing Notre Dame\nde Paris with that vigor that makes the artist the rival of the\npoet; there were paintings by Diaz, who makes his flowers more\nbeautiful than flowers, his suns more brilliant than the sun;\ndesigns by Decamp, as vividly colored as those of Salvator Rosa,\nbut more poetic; pastels by Giraud and Muller, representing\nchildren like angels and women with the features of a virgin;\nsketches torn from the album of Dauzats' \"Travels in the East,\"sketches torn from the album of Dauzats' \"Travels in the East,\"\nthat had been made in a few seconds on the saddle of a camel, or\nbeneath the dome of a mosque — in a word, all that modern art can\ngive in exchange and as recompense for the art lost and gone with\nages long since past.\nAlbert expected to have something new this time to show to the\ntraveller, but, to his great surprise, the latter, without seeking\nfor the signatures, many of which, indeed, were only initials,\nnamed instantly the author of every picture in such a manner that\nit was easy to see that each name was not only known to him, but\nthat each style associated with it had been appreciated and studied\nby him. From the salon they passed into the bed-chamber; it was a\nmodel of taste and simple elegance. A single portrait, signed by\nLeopold Robert, shone in its carved and gilded frame. This portrait\nattracted the Count of Monte Cristo's attention, for he made three\nrapid steps in the chamber, and stopped suddenly before it. It was\nthe portrait of a young woman of five or six and twenty, with a\ndark complexion, and light and lustrous eyes, veiled beneath long\nlashes. She wore the picturesque costume of the Catalan\nfisherwomen, a red and black bodice, and golden pins in her hair.\nShe was looking at the sea, and her form was outlined on the blue\nocean and sky. The light was so faint in the room that Albert did\nnot perceive the pallor that spread itself over the count's visage,\nor the nervous heaving of his chest and shoulders. Silence\nprevailed for an instant, during which Monte Cristo gazed intently\non the picture.\n\"You have there a most charming mistress, viscount,\" said the\ncount in a perfectly calm tone; \"and this costume — a ball costume,\ndoubtless — becomes her admirably.\"\n\"Ah, monsieur,\" returned Albert, \"I would never forgive you this\nmistake if you had seen another picture beside this. You do not\nknow my mother; she it is whom you see here. She had her portrait\npainted thus six or eight years ago. This costume is a fancy one,"}
{"text": "painted thus six or eight years ago. This costume is a fancy one,\nit appears, and the resemblance is so great that I think I still\nsee my mother the same as she was in 1830. The countess had this\nportrait painted during the count's absence. She doubtless intended\ngiving him an agreeable surprise; but, strange to say, this\nportrait seemed to displease my father, and the value of the\npicture, which is, as you see, one of the best works of Leopold\nRobert, could not overcome his dislike to it. It is true, between\nourselves, that M. de Morcerf is one of the most assiduous peers at\nthe Luxembourg, a general renowned for theory, but a most mediocre\namateur of art. It is different with my mother, who paints\nexceedingly well, and who, unwilling to part with so valuable a\npicture, gave it to me to put here, where it would be less likely\nto displease M. de Morcerf, whose portrait, by Gros, I will also\nshow you. Excuse my talking of family matters, but as I shall have\nthe honor of introducing you to the count, I tell you this to\nprevent you making any allusions to this picture. The picture seems\nto have a malign influence, for my mother rarely comes here without\nlooking at it, and still more rarely does she look at it without\nweeping. This disagreement is the only one that has ever taken\nplace between the count and countess, who are still as much united,\nalthough married more than twenty years, as on the first day of\ntheir wedding.\"\nMonte Cristo glanced rapidly at Albert, as if to seek a hidden\nmeaning in his words, but it was evident the young man uttered them\nin the simplicity of his heart. \"Now,\" said Albert, \"that you have\nseen all my treasures, allow me to offer them to you, unworthy as\nthey are. Consider yourself as in your own house, and to put\nyourself still more at your ease, pray accompany me to the\napartments of M. de Morcerf, he whom I wrote from Rome an account\nof the services you rendered me, and to whom I announced your\npromised visit, and I may say that both the count and countesspromised visit, and I may say that both the count and countess\nanxiously desire to thank you in person. You are somewhat blase I\nknow, and family scenes have not much effect on Sinbad the Sailor,\nwho has seen so many others. However, accept what I propose to you\nas an initiation into Parisian life — a life of politeness,\nvisiting, and introductions.\" Monte Cristo bowed without making any\nanswer; he accepted the offer without enthusiasm and without\nregret, as one of those conventions of society which every\ngentleman looks upon as a duty. Albert summoned his servant, and\nordered him to acquaint M. and Madame de Morcerf of the arrival of\nthe Count of Monte Cristo. Albert followed him with the count. When\nthey arrived at the ante-chamber, above the door was visible a\nshield, which, by its rich ornaments and its harmony with the rest\nof the furniture, indicated the importance the owner attached to\nthis blazon. Monte Cristo stopped and examined it attentively.\n\"Azure seven merlets, or, placed bender,\" said he. \"These are,\ndoubtless, your family arms? Except the knowledge of blazons, that\nenables me to decipher them, I am very ignorant of heraldry — I, a\ncount of a fresh creation, fabricated in Tuscany by the aid of a\ncommandery of St. Stephen, and who would not have taken the trouble\nhad I not been told that when you travel much it is necessary.\nBesides, you must have something on the panels of your carriage, to\nescape being searched by the custom-house officers. Excuse my\nputting such a question to you.\"\n\"It is not indiscreet,\" returned Morcerf, with the simplicity of\nconviction. \"You have guessed rightly. These are our arms, that is,\nthose of my father, but they are, as you see, joined to another\nshield, which has gules, a silver tower, which are my mother's. By\nher side I am Spanish, but the family of Morcerf is French, and, I\nhave heard, one of the oldest of the south of France.\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Monte Cristo \"these blazons prove that. Almost\nall the armed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land took for theirall the armed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land took for their\narms either a cross, in honor of their mission, or birds of\npassage, in sign of the long voyage they were about to undertake,\nand which they hoped to accomplish on the wings of faith. One of\nyour ancestors had joined the Crusades, and supposing it to be only\nthat of St. Louis, that makes you mount to the thirteenth century,\nwhich is tolerably ancient.\"\n\"It is possible,\" said Morcerf; \"my father has in his study a\ngenealogical tree which will tell you all that, and on which I made\ncommentaries that would have greatly edified Hozier and Jaucourt.\nAt present I no longer think of it, and yet I must tell you that we\nare beginning to occupy ourselves greatly with these things under\nour popular government.\"\n\"Well, then, your government would do well to choose from the\npast something better than the things that I have noticed on your\nmonuments, and which have no heraldic meaning whatever. As for you,\nviscount,\" continued Monte Cristo to Morcerf, \"you are more\nfortunate than the government, for your arms are really beautiful,\nand speak to the imagination. Yes, you are at once from Provence\nand Spain; that explains, if the portrait you showed me be like,\nthe dark hue I so much admired on the visage of the noble Catalan.\"\nIt would have required the penetration of Oedipus or the Sphinx to\nhave divined the irony the count concealed beneath these words,\napparently uttered with the greatest politeness. Morcerf thanked\nhim with a smile, and pushed open the door above which were his\narms, and which, as we have said, opened into the salon. In the\nmost conspicuous part of the salon was another portrait. It was\nthat of a man, from five to eight and thirty, in the uniform of a\ngeneral officer, wearing the double epaulet of heavy bullion, that\nindicates superior rank, the ribbon of the Legion of Honor around\nhis neck, which showed he was a commander, and on the right breast,\nthe star of a grand officer of the order of the Saviour, and on the"}
{"text": "the star of a grand officer of the order of the Saviour, and on the\nleft that of the grand cross of Charles III., which proved that the\nperson represented by the picture had served in the wars of Greece\nand Spain, or, what was just the same thing as regarded\ndecorations, had fulfilled some diplomatic mission in the two\ncountries.\nMonte Cristo was engaged in examining this portrait with no less\ncare than he had bestowed upon the other, when another door opened,\nand he found himself opposite to the Count of Morcerf in person. He\nwas a man of forty to forty-five years, but he seemed at least\nfifty, and his black mustache and eyebrows contrasted strangely\nwith his almost white hair, which was cut short, in the military\nfashion. He was dressed in plain clothes, and wore at his\nbutton-hole the ribbons of the different orders to which he\nbelonged. He entered with a tolerably dignified step, and some\nlittle haste. Monte Cristo saw him advance towards him without\nmaking a single step. It seemed as if his feet were rooted to the\nground, and his eyes on the Count of Morcerf. \"Father,\" said the\nyoung man, \"I have the honor of presenting to you the Count of\nMonte Cristo, the generous friend whom I had the good fortune to\nmeet in the critical situation of which I have told you.\"\n\"You are most welcome, monsieur,\" said the Count of Morcerf,\nsaluting Monte Cristo with a smile, \"and monsieur has rendered our\nhouse, in preserving its only heir, a service which insures him our\neternal gratitude.\" As he said these words, the count of Morcerf\npointed to a chair, while he seated himself in another opposite the\nwindow.\nMonte Cristo, in taking the seat Morcerf offered him, placed\nhimself in such a manner as to remain concealed in the shadow of\nthe large velvet curtains, and read on the careworn and livid\nfeatures of the count a whole history of secret griefs written in\neach wrinkle time had planted there. \"The countess,\" said Morcerf,\n\"was at her toilet when she was informed of the visit she was about\"was at her toilet when she was informed of the visit she was about\nto receive. She will, however, be in the salon in ten minutes.\"\n\"It is a great honor to me,\" returned Monte Cristo, \"to be thus,\non the first day of my arrival in Paris, brought in contact with a\nman whose merit equals his reputation, and to whom fortune has for\nonce been equitable, but has she not still on the plains of\nMetidja, or in the mountains of Atlas, a marshal's staff to offer\nyou?\"\n\"Oh,\" replied Morcerf, reddening slightly, \"I have left the\nservice, monsieur. Made a peer at the Restoration, I served through\nthe first campaign under the orders of Marshal Bourmont. I could,\ntherefore, expect a higher rank, and who knows what might have\nhappened had the elder branch remained on the throne? But the\nRevolution of July was, it seems, sufficiently glorious to allow\nitself to be ungrateful, and it was so for all services that did\nnot date from the imperial period. I tendered my resignation, for\nwhen you have gained your epaulets on the battle-field, you do not\nknow how to manoeuvre on the slippery grounds of the salons. I have\nhung up my sword, and cast myself into politics. I have devoted\nmyself to industry; I study the useful arts. During the twenty\nyears I served, I often wished to do so, but I had not the\ntime.\"\n\"These are the ideas that render your nation superior to any\nother,\" returned Monte Cristo. \"A gentleman of high birth,\npossessor of an ample fortune, you have consented to gain your\npromotion as an obscure soldier, step by step — this is uncommon;\nthen become general, peer of France, commander of the Legion of\nHonor, you consent to again commence a second apprenticeship,\nwithout any other hope or any other desire than that of one day\nbecoming useful to your fellow-creatures; this, indeed, is\npraiseworthy, — nay, more, it is sublime.\" Albert looked on and\nlistened with astonishment; he was not used to see Monte Cristo\ngive vent to such bursts of enthusiasm. \"Alas,\" continued thegive vent to such bursts of enthusiasm. \"Alas,\" continued the\nstranger, doubtless to dispel the slight cloud that covered\nMorcerf's brow, \"we do not act thus in Italy; we grow according to\nour race and our species, and we pursue the same lines, and often\nthe same uselessness, all our lives.\"\n\"But, monsieur,\" said the Count of Morcerf, \"for a man of your\nmerit, Italy is not a country, and France opens her arms to receive\nyou; respond to her call. France will not, perhaps, be always\nungrateful. She treats her children ill, but she always welcomes\nstrangers.\"\n\"Ah, father,\" said Albert with a smile, \"it is evident you do\nnot know the Count of Monte Cristo; he despises all honors, and\ncontents himself with those written on his passport.\"\n\"That is the most just remark,\" replied the stranger, \"I ever\nheard made concerning myself.\"\n\"You have been free to choose your career,\" observed the Count\nof Morcerf, with a sigh; \"and you have chosen the path strewed with\nflowers.\"\n\"Precisely, monsieur,\" replied Monte Cristo with one of those\nsmiles that a painter could never represent or a physiologist\nanalyze.\n\"If I did not fear to fatigue you,\" said the general, evidently\ncharmed with the count's manners, \"I would have taken you to the\nChamber; there is a debate very curious to those who are strangers\nto our modern senators.\"\n\"I shall be most grateful, monsieur, if you will, at some future\ntime, renew your offer, but I have been flattered with the hope of\nbeing introduced to the countess, and I will therefore wait.\"\n\"Ah, here is my mother,\" cried the viscount. Monte Cristo,\nturned round hastily, and saw Madame de Morcerf at the entrance of\nthe salon, at the door opposite to that by which her husband had\nentered, pale and motionless; when Monte Cristo turned round, she\nlet fall her arm, which for some unknown reason had been resting on\nthe gilded door-post. She had been there some moments, and had\nheard the last words of the visitor. The latter rose and bowed to\nthe countess, who inclined herself without speaking. \"Ah, good"}
{"text": "the countess, who inclined herself without speaking. \"Ah, good\nheavens, madame,\" said the count, \"are you ill, or is it the heat\nof the room that affects you?\"\n\"Are you ill, mother?\" cried the viscount, springing towards\nher.\nShe thanked them both with a smile. \"No,\" returned she, \"but I\nfeel some emotion on seeing, for the first time, the man without\nwhose intervention we should have been in tears and desolation.\nMonsieur,\" continued the countess, advancing with the majesty of a\nqueen, \"I owe to you the life of my son, and for this I bless you.\nNow, I thank you for the pleasure you give me in thus affording me\nthe opportunity of thanking you as I have blessed you, from the\nbottom of my heart.\" The count bowed again, but lower than before;\nHe was even paler than Mercedes. \"Madame,\" said he, \"the count and\nyourself recompense too generously a simple action. To save a man,\nto spare a father's feelings, or a mother's sensibility, is not to\ndo a good action, but a simple deed of humanity.\" At these words,\nuttered with the most exquisite sweetness and politeness, Madame de\nMorcerf replied. \"It is very fortunate for my son, monsieur, that\nhe found such a friend, and I thank God that things are thus.\" And\nMercedes raised her fine eyes to heaven with so fervent an\nexpression of gratitude, that the count fancied he saw tears in\nthem. M. de Morcerf approached her. \"Madame,\" said he. \"I have\nalready made my excuses to the count for quitting him, and I pray\nyou to do so also. The sitting commences at two; it is now three,\nand I am to speak.\"\n\"Go, then, and monsieur and I will strive our best to forget\nyour absence,\" replied the countess, with the same tone of deep\nfeeling. \"Monsieur,\" continued she, turning to Monte Cristo, \"will\nyou do us the honor of passing the rest of the day with us?\"\n\"Believe me, madame, I feel most grateful for your kindness, but\nI got out of my travelling carriage at your door this morning, and\nI am ignorant how I am installed in Paris, which I scarcely know;I am ignorant how I am installed in Paris, which I scarcely know;\nthis is but a trifling inquietude, I know, but one that may be\nappreciated.\"\n\"We shall have the pleasure another time,\" said the countess;\n\"you promise that?\" Monte Cristo inclined himself without\nanswering, but the gesture might pass for assent. \"I will not\ndetain you, monsieur,\" continued the countess; \"I would not have\nour gratitude become indiscreet or importunate.\"\n\"My dear Count,\" said Albert, \"I will endeavor to return your\npoliteness at Rome, and place my coupe at your disposal until your\nown be ready.\"\n\"A thousand thanks for your kindness, viscount,\" returned the\nCount of Monte Cristo \"but I suppose that M. Bertuccio has suitably\nemployed the four hours and a half I have given him, and that I\nshall find a carriage of some sort ready at the door.\" Albert was\nused to the count's manner of proceeding; he knew that, like Nero,\nhe was in search of the impossible, and nothing astonished him, but\nwishing to judge with his own eyes how far the count's orders had\nbeen executed, he accompanied him to the door of the house. Monte\nCristo was not deceived. As soon as he appeared in the Count of\nMorcerf's ante-chamber, a footman, the same who at Rome had brought\nthe count's card to the two young men, and announced his visit,\nsprang into the vestibule, and when he arrived at the door the\nillustrious traveller found his carriage awaiting him. It was a\ncoupe of Koller's building, and with horses and harness for which\nDrake had, to the knowledge of all the lions of Paris, refused on\nthe previous day seven hundred guineas. \"Monsieur,\" said the count\nto Albert, \"I do not ask you to accompany me to my house, as I can\nonly show you a habitation fitted up in a hurry, and I have, as you\nknow, a reputation to keep up as regards not being taken by\nsurprise. Give me, therefore, one more day before I invite you; I\nshall then be certain not to fail in my hospitality.\"\n\"If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate; it\"If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate; it\nwill not be a house I shall see, but a palace. You have decidedly\nsome genius at your control.\"\n\"Ma foi, spread that idea,\" replied the Count of Monte Cristo,\nputting his foot on the velvet-lined steps of his splendid\ncarriage, \"and that will be worth something to me among the\nladies.\" As he spoke, he sprang into the vehicle, the door was\nclosed, but not so rapidly that Monte Cristo failed to perceive the\nalmost imperceptible movement which stirred the curtains of the\napartment in which he had left Madame de Morcerf. When Albert\nreturned to his mother, he found her in the boudoir reclining in a\nlarge velvet arm-chair, the whole room so obscure that only the\nshining spangle, fastened here and there to the drapery, and the\nangles of the gilded frames of the pictures, showed with some\ndegree of brightness in the gloom. Albert could not see the face of\nthe countess, as it was covered with a thin veil she had put on her\nhead, and which fell over her features in misty folds, but it\nseemed to him as though her voice had altered. He could distinguish\namid the perfumes of the roses and heliotropes in the\nflower-stands, the sharp and fragrant odor of volatile salts, and\nhe noticed in one of the chased cups on the mantle-piece the\ncountess's smelling-bottle, taken from its shagreen case, and\nexclaimed in a tone of uneasiness, as he entered, — \"My dear\nmother, have you been ill during my absence?\"\n\"No, no, Albert, but you know these roses, tuberoses, and\norange-flowers throw out at first, before one is used to them, such\nviolent perfumes.\"\n\"Then, my dear mother,\" said Albert, putting his hand to the\nbell, \"they must be taken into the ante-chamber. You are really\nill, and just now were so pale as you came into the room\" —\n\"Was I pale, Albert?\"\n\"Yes; a pallor that suits you admirably, mother, but which did\nnot the less alarm my father and myself.\"\n\"Did your father speak of it?\" inquired Mercedes eagerly."}
{"text": "not the less alarm my father and myself.\"\n\"Did your father speak of it?\" inquired Mercedes eagerly.\n\"No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the fact\nto you?\"\n\"Yes, I do remember,\" replied the countess. A servant entered,\nsummoned by Albert's ring of the bell. \"Take these flowers into the\nanteroom or dressing-room,\" said the viscount; \"they make the\ncountess ill.\" The footman obeyed his orders. A long pause ensued,\nwhich lasted until all the flowers were removed. \"What is this name\nof Monte Cristo?\" inquired the countess, when the servant had taken\naway the last vase of flowers, \"is it a family name, or the name of\nthe estate, or a simple title?\"\n\"I believe, mother, it is merely a title. The count purchased an\nisland in the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he told you to-day, has\nfounded a commandery. You know the same thing was done for Saint\nStephen of Florence, Saint George, Constantinian of Parma, and even\nfor the Order of Malta. Except this, he has no pretension to\nnobility, and calls himself a chance count, although the general\nopinion at Rome is that the count is a man of very high\ndistinction.\"\n\"His manners are admirable,\" said the countess, \"at least, as\nfar as I could judge in the few minutes he remained here.\"\n\"They are perfect mother, so perfect, that they surpass by far\nall I have known in the leading aristocracy of the three proudest\nnobilities of Europe — the English, the Spanish, and the German.\"\nThe countess paused a moment; then, after a slight hesitation, she\nresumed, — \"You have seen, my dear Albert — I ask the question as a\nmother — you have seen M. de Monte Cristo in his house, you are\nquicksighted, have much knowledge of the world, more tact than is\nusual at your age, do you think the count is really what he appears\nto be?\"\n\"What does he appear to be?\"\n\"Why, you have just said, — a man of high distinction.\"\n\"I told you, my dear mother, he was esteemed such.\"\n\"But what is your own opinion, Albert?\"\n\"I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion\"I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion\nrespecting him, but I think him a Maltese.\"\n\"I do not ask you of his origin but what he is.\"\n\"Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so\nmany remarkable things in him, that if you would have me really say\nwhat I think, I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one\nof Byron's heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some\nManfred, some Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were,\nof some ancient family, who, disinherited of their patrimony, have\nachieved one by the force of their adventurous genius, which has\nplaced them above the laws of society.\"\n\"You say\" —\n\"I say that Monte Cristo is an island in the midst of the\nMediterranean, without inhabitants or garrison, the resort of\nsmugglers of all nations, and pirates of every flag. Who knows\nwhether or not these industrious worthies do not pay to their\nfeudal lord some dues for his protection?\"\n\"That is possible,\" said the countess, reflecting.\n\"Never mind,\" continued the young man, \"smuggler or not, you\nmust agree, mother dear, as you have seen him, that the Count of\nMonte Cristo is a remarkable man, who will have the greatest\nsuccess in the salons of Paris. Why, this very morning, in my\nrooms, he made his entree amongst us by striking every man of us\nwith amazement, not even excepting Chateau-Renaud.\"\n\"And what do you suppose is the count's age?\" inquired Mercedes,\nevidently attaching great importance to this question.\n\"Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother.\"\n\"So young, — it is impossible,\" said Mercedes, replying at the\nsame time to what Albert said as well as to her own private\nreflection.\n\"It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has said to\nme, and certainly without the slightest premeditation, `at such a\nperiod I was five years old, at another ten years old, at another\ntwelve,' and I, induced by curiosity, which kept me alive to these\ndetails, have compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate.details, have compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate.\nThe age of this singular man, who is of no age, is then, I am\ncertain, thirty-five. Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye,\nhow raven-black his hair, and his brow, though so pale, is free\nfrom wrinkles, — he is not only vigorous, but also young.\" The\ncountess bent her head, as if beneath a heavy wave of bitter\nthoughts. \"And has this man displayed a friendship for you,\nAlbert?\" she asked with a nervous shudder.\n\"I am inclined to think so.\"\n\"And — do — you — like — him?\"\n\"Why, he pleases me in spite of Franz d'Epinay, who tries to\nconvince me that he is a being returned from the other world.\" The\ncountess shuddered. \"Albert,\" she said, in a voice which was\naltered by emotion, \"I have always put you on your guard against\nnew acquaintances. Now you are a man, and are able to give me\nadvice; yet I repeat to you, Albert, be prudent.\"\n\"Why, my dear mother, it is necessary, in order to make your\nadvice turn to account, that I should know beforehand what I have\nto distrust. The count never plays, he only drinks pure water\ntinged with a little sherry, and is so rich that he cannot, without\nintending to laugh at me, try to borrow money. What, then, have I\nto fear from him?\"\n\"You are right,\" said the countess, \"and my fears are weakness,\nespecially when directed against a man who has saved your life. How\ndid your father receive him, Albert? It is necessary that we should\nbe more than complaisant to the count. M. de Morcerf is sometimes\noccupied, his business makes him reflective, and he might, without\nintending it\" —\n\"Nothing could be in better taste than my father's demeanor,\nmadame,\" said Albert; \"nay, more, he seemed greatly flattered at\ntwo or three compliments which the count very skilfully and\nagreeably paid him with as much ease as if he had known him these\nthirty years. Each of these little tickling arrows must have\npleased my father,\" added Albert with a laugh. \"And thus they\nparted the best possible friends, and M. de Morcerf even wished toparted the best possible friends, and M. de Morcerf even wished to\ntake him to the Chamber to hear the speakers.\" The countess made no\nreply. She fell into so deep a revery that her eyes gradually\nclosed. The young man, standing up before her, gazed upon her with\nthat filial affection which is so tender and endearing with\nchildren whose mothers are still young and handsome. Then, after\nseeing her eyes closed, and hearing her breathe gently, he believed\nshe had dropped asleep, and left the apartment on tiptoe, closing\nthe door after him with the utmost precaution. \"This devil of a\nfellow,\" he muttered, shaking his head; \"I said at the time he\nwould create a sensation here, and I measure his effect by an\ninfallible thermometer. My mother has noticed him, and he must\ntherefore, perforce, be remarkable.\" He went down to the stables,\nnot without some slight annoyance, when he remembered that the\nCount of Monte Cristo had laid his hands on a \"turnout\" which sent\nhis bays down to second place in the opinion of connoisseurs. \"Most\ndecidedly,\" said he, \"men are not equal, and I must beg my father\nto develop this theorem in the Chamber of Peers.\""}
{"text": "Monte Cristo noticed, as they descended the staircase, that\nBertuccio signed himself in the Corsican manner; that is, had\nformed the sign of the cross in the air with his thumb, and as he\nseated himself in the carriage, muttered a short prayer. Any one\nbut a man of exhaustless thirst for knowledge would have had pity\non seeing the steward's extraordinary repugnance for the count's\nprojected drive without the walls; but the Count was too curious to\nlet Bertuccio off from this little journey. In twenty minutes they\nwere at Auteuil; the steward's emotion had continued to augment as\nthey entered the village. Bertuccio, crouched in the corner of the\ncarriage, began to examine with a feverish anxiety every house they\npassed. \"Tell them to stop at Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28,\" said the\ncount, fixing his eyes on the steward, to whom he gave this order.\nBertuccio's forehead was covered with perspiration; however, he\nobeyed, and, leaning out of the window, he cried to the coachman, —\n\"Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28.\" No. 28 was situated at the extremity\nof the village; during the drive night had set in, and darkness\ngave the surroundings the artificial appearance of a scene on the\nstage. The carriage stopped, the footman sprang off the box, and\nopened the door. \"Well,\" said the count, \"you do not get out, M.\nBertuccio — you are going to stay in the carriage, then? What are\nyou thinking of this evening?\" Bertuccio sprang out, and offered\nhis shoulder to the count, who, this time, leaned upon it as he\ndescended the three steps of the carriage. \"Knock,\" said the count,\n\"and announce me.\" Bertuccio knocked, the door opened, and the\nconcierge appeared. \"What is it?\" asked he.\n\"It is your new master, my good fellow,\" said the footman. And\nhe held out to the concierge the notary's order.\n\"The house is sold, then?\" demanded the concierge; \"and this\ngentleman is coming to live here?\"\n\"Yes, my friend,\" returned the count; \"and I will endeavor to\ngive you no cause to regret your old master.\"give you no cause to regret your old master.\"\n\"Oh, monsieur,\" said the concierge, \"I shall not have much cause\nto regret him, for he came here but seldom; it is five years since\nhe was here last, and he did well to sell the house, for it did not\nbring him in anything at all.\"\n\"What was the name of your old master?\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"The Marquis of Saint-Meran. Ah, I am sure he has not sold the\nhouse for what he gave for it.\"\n\"The Marquis of Saint-Meran!\" returned the count. \"The name is\nnot unknown to me; the Marquis of Saint-Meran!\" and he appeared to\nmeditate.\n\"An old gentleman,\" continued the concierge, \"a stanch follower\nof the Bourbons; he had an only daughter, who married M. de\nVillefort, who had been the king's attorney at Nimes, and\nafterwards at Versailles.\" Monte Cristo glanced at Bertuccio, who\nbecame whiter than the wall against which he leaned to prevent\nhimself from falling. \"And is not this daughter dead?\" demanded\nMonte Cristo; \"I fancy I have heard so.\"\n\"Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we have\nnot seen the poor marquis three times.\"\n\"Thanks, thanks,\" said Monte Cristo, judging from the steward's\nutter prostration that he could not stretch the cord further\nwithout danger of breaking it. \"Give me a light.\"\n\"Shall I accompany you, monsieur?\"\n\"No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light.\" And\nMonte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold\npieces, which produced a torrent of thanks and blessings from the\nconcierge. \"Ah, monsieur,\" said he, after having vainly searched on\nthe mantle-piece and the shelves, \"I have not got any candles.\"\n\"Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio,\" said the count,\n\"and show me the apartments.\" The steward obeyed in silence, but it\nwas easy to see, from the manner in which the hand that held the\nlight trembled, how much it cost him to obey. They went over a\ntolerably large ground-floor; a second floor consisted of a salon,\na bathroom, and two bedrooms; near one of the bedrooms they came toa bathroom, and two bedrooms; near one of the bedrooms they came to\na winding staircase that led down to the garden.\n\"Ah, here is a private staircase,\" said the count; \"that is\nconvenient. Light me, M. Bertuccio, and go first; we will see where\nit leads to.\"\n\"Monsieur,\" replied Bertuccio, \"it leads to the garden.\"\n\"And, pray, how do you know that?\"\n\"It ought to do so, at least.\"\n\"Well, let us be sure of that.\" Bertuccio sighed, and went on\nfirst; the stairs did, indeed, lead to the garden. At the outer\ndoor the steward paused. \"Go on, Monsieur Bertuccio,\" said the\ncount. But he who was addressed stood there, stupefied, bewildered,\nstunned; his haggard eyes glanced around, as if in search of the\ntraces of some terrible event, and with his clinched hands he\nseemed striving to shut out horrible recollections. \"Well,\"\ninsisted the Count. \"No, no,\" cried Bertuccio, setting down the\nlantern at the angle of the interior wall. \"No, monsieur, it is\nimpossible; I can go no farther.\"\n\"What does this mean?\" demanded the irresistible voice of Monte\nCristo.\n\"Why, you must see, your excellency,\" cried the steward, \"that\nthis is not natural; that, having a house to purchase, you purchase\nit exactly at Auteuil, and that, purchasing it at Auteuil, this\nhouse should be No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine. Oh, why did I not tell\nyou all? I am sure you would not have forced me to come. I hoped\nyour house would have been some other one than this; as if there\nwas not another house at Auteuil than that of the\nassassination!\"\n\"What, what!\" cried Monte Cristo, stopping suddenly, \"what words\ndo you utter? Devil of a man, Corsican that you are — always\nmysteries or superstitions. Come, take the lantern, and let us\nvisit the garden; you are not afraid of ghosts with me, I hope?\"\nBertuccio raised the lantern, and obeyed. The door, as it opened,\ndisclosed a gloomy sky, in which the moon strove vainly to struggle\nthrough a sea of clouds that covered her with billows of vapor\nwhich she illumined for an instant, only to sink into obscurity."}
{"text": "which she illumined for an instant, only to sink into obscurity.\nThe steward wished to turn to the left. \"No, no, monsieur,\" said\nMonte Cristo. \"What is the use of following the alleys? Here is a\nbeautiful lawn; let us go on straight forwards.\"\nBertuccio wiped the perspiration from his brow, but obeyed;\nhowever, he continued to take the left hand. Monte Cristo, on the\ncontrary, took the right hand; arrived near a clump of trees, he\nstopped. The steward could not restrain himself. \"Move, monsieur —\nmove away, I entreat you; you are exactly in the spot!\"\n\"What spot?\"\n\"Where he fell.\"\n\"My dear Monsieur Bertuccio,\" said Monte Cristo, laughing,\n\"control yourself; we are not at Sartena or at Corte. This is not a\nCorsican arbor, but an English garden; badly kept, I own, but still\nyou must not calumniate it for that.\"\n\"Monsieur, I implore you do not stay there!\"\n\"I think you are going mad, Bertuccio,\" said the count coldly.\n\"If that is the case, I warn you, I shall have you put in a lunatic\nasylum.\"\n\"Alas, excellency,\" returned Bertuccio, joining his hands, and\nshaking his head in a manner that would have excited the count's\nlaughter, had not thoughts of a superior interest occupied him, and\nrendered him attentive to the least revelation of this timorous\nconscience. \"Alas, excellency, the evil has arrived!\"\n\"M. Bertuccio,\" said the count, \"I am very glad to tell you,\nthat while you gesticulate, you wring your hands and roll your eyes\nlike a man possessed by a devil who will not leave him; and I have\nalways observed, that the devil most obstinate to be expelled is a\nsecret. I knew you were a Corsican. I knew you were gloomy, and\nalways brooding over some old history of the vendetta; and I\noverlooked that in Italy, because in Italy those things are thought\nnothing of. But in France they are considered in very bad taste;\nthere are gendarmes who occupy themselves with such affairs, judges\nwho condemn, and scaffolds which avenge.\" Bertuccio clasped his\nhands, and as, in all these evolutions, he did not let fall thehands, and as, in all these evolutions, he did not let fall the\nlantern, the light showed his pale and altered countenance. Monte\nCristo examined him with the same look that, at Rome, he had bent\nupon the execution of Andrea, and then, in a tone that made a\nshudder pass through the veins of the poor steward, — \"The Abbe\nBusoni, then told me an untruth,\" said he, \"when, after his journey\nin France, in 1829, he sent you to me, with a letter of\nrecommendation, in which he enumerated all your valuable qualities.\nWell, I shall write to the abbe; I shall hold him responsible for\nhis protege's misconduct, and I shall soon know all about this\nassassination. Only I warn you, that when I reside in a country, I\nconform to all its code, and I have no wish to put myself within\nthe compass of the French laws for your sake.\"\n\"Oh, do not do that, excellency; I have always served you\nfaithfully,\" cried Bertuccio, in despair. \"I have always been an\nhonest man, and, as far as lay in my power, I have done good.\"\n\"I do not deny it,\" returned the count; \"but why are you thus\nagitated. It is a bad sign; a quiet conscience does not occasion\nsuch paleness in the cheeks, and such fever in the hands of a\nman.\"\n\"But, your excellency,\" replied Bertuccio hesitatingly, \"did not\nthe Abbe Busoni, who heard my confession in the prison at Nimes,\ntell you that I had a heavy burden upon my conscience?\"\n\"Yes; but as he said you would make an excellent steward, I\nconcluded you had stolen — that was all.\"\n\"Oh, your excellency,\" returned Bertuccio in deep contempt.\n\"Or, as you are a Corsican, that you had been unable to resist\nthe desire of making a `stiff,' as you call it.\"\n\"Yes, my good master,\" cried Bertuccio, casting himself at the\ncount's feet, \"it was simply vengeance — nothing else.\"\n\"I understand that, but I do not understand what it is that\ngalvanizes you in this manner.\"\n\"But, monsieur, it is very natural,\" returned Bertuccio, \"since\nit was in this house that my vengeance was accomplished.\"\n\"What! my house?\"it was in this house that my vengeance was accomplished.\"\n\"What! my house?\"\n\"Oh, your excellency, it was not yours, then.\"\n\"Whose, then? The Marquis de Saint-Meran, I think, the concierge\nsaid. What had you to revenge on the Marquis de Saint-Meran?\"\n\"Oh, it was not on him, monsieur; it was on another.\"\n\"This is strange,\" returned Monte Cristo, seeming to yield to\nhis reflections, \"that you should find yourself without any\npreparation in a house where the event happened that causes you so\nmuch remorse.\"\n\"Monsieur,\" said the steward, \"it is fatality, I am sure. First,\nyou purchase a house at Auteuil — this house is the one where I\nhave committed an assassination; you descend to the garden by the\nsame staircase by which he descended; you stop at the spot where he\nreceived the blow; and two paces farther is the grave in which he\nhad just buried his child. This is not chance, for chance, in this\ncase, is too much like providence.\"\n\"Well, amiable Corsican, let us suppose it is providence. I\nalways suppose anything people please, and, besides, you must\nconcede something to diseased minds. Come, collect yourself, and\ntell me all.\"\n\"I have related it but once, and that was to the Abbe Busoni.\nSuch things,\" continued Bertuccio, shaking his head, \"are only\nrelated under the seal of confession.\"\n\"Then,\" said the count, \"I refer you to your confessor. Turn\nChartreux or Trappist, and relate your secrets, but, as for me, I\ndo not like any one who is alarmed by such phantasms, and I do not\nchoose that my servants should be afraid to walk in the garden of\nan evening. I confess I am not very desirous of a visit from the\ncommissary of police, for, in Italy, justice is only paid when\nsilent — in France she is paid only when she speaks. Peste, I\nthought you somewhat Corsican, a great deal smuggler, and an\nexcellent steward; but I see you have other strings to your bow.\nYou are no longer in my service, Monsieur Bertuccio.\"\n\"Oh, your excellency, your excellency!\" cried the steward,"}
{"text": "\"Oh, your excellency, your excellency!\" cried the steward,\nstruck with terror at this threat, \"if that is the only reason I\ncannot remain in your service, I will tell all, for if I quit you,\nit will only be to go to the scaffold.\"\n\"That is different,\" replied Monte Cristo; \"but if you intend to\ntell an untruth, reflect it were better not to speak at all.\"\n\"No, monsieur, I swear to you, by my hopes of salvation, I will\ntell you all, for the Abbe Busoni himself only knew a part of my\nsecret; but, I pray you, go away from that plane-tree. The moon is\njust bursting through the clouds, and there, standing where you do,\nand wrapped in that cloak that conceals your figure, you remind me\nof M. de Villefort.\"\n\"What!\" cried Monte Cristo, \"it was M. de Villefort?\"\n\"Your excellency knows him?\"\n\"The former royal attorney at Nimes?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Who married the Marquis of Saint-Meran's daughter?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Who enjoyed the reputation of being the most severe, the most\nupright, the most rigid magistrate on the bench?\"\n\"Well, monsieur,\" said Bertuccio, \"this man with this spotless\nreputation\" —\n\"Well?\"\n\"Was a villain.\"\n\"Bah,\" replied Monte Cristo, \"impossible!\"\n\"It is as I tell you.\"\n\"Ah, really,\" said Monte Cristo. \"Have you proof of this?\"\n\"I had it.\"\n\"And you have lost it; how stupid!\"\n\"Yes; but by careful search it might be recovered.\"\n\"Really,\" returned the count, \"relate it to me, for it begins to\ninterest me.\" And the count, humming an air from \"Lucia,\" went to\nsit down on a bench, while Bertuccio followed him, collecting his\nthoughts. Bertuccio remained standing before him.\"At what point shall I begin my story, your excellency?\" asked\nBertuccio.\n\"Where you please,\" returned Monte Cristo, \"since I know nothing\nat all of it.\"\n\"I thought the Abbe Busoni had told your excellency.\"\n\"Some particulars, doubtless, but that is seven or eight years\nago, and I have forgotten them.\"\n\"Then I can speak without fear of tiring your excellency.\"\n\"Go on, M. Bertuccio; you will supply the want of the evening\npapers.\"\n\"The story begins in 1815.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Monte Cristo, \"1815 is not yesterday.\"\n\"No, monsieur, and yet I recollect all things as clearly as if\nthey had happened but then. I had a brother, an elder brother, who\nwas in the service of the emperor; he had become lieutenant in a\nregiment composed entirely of Corsicans. This brother was my only\nfriend; we became orphans — I at five, he at eighteen. He brought\nme up as if I had been his son, and in 1814 he married. When the\nemperor returned from the Island of Elba, my brother instantly\njoined the army, was slightly wounded at Waterloo, and retired with\nthe army beyond the Loire.\"\n\"But that is the history of the Hundred Days, M. Bertuccio,\"\nsaid the count; \"unless I am mistaken, it has been already\nwritten.\"\n\"Excuse me, excellency, but these details are necessary, and you\npromised to be patient.\"\n\"Go on; I will keep my word.\"\n\"One day we received a letter. I should tell you that we lived\nin the little village of Rogliano, at the extremity of Cape Corso.\nThis letter was from my brother. He told us that the army was\ndisbanded, and that he should return by Chateauroux,\nClermont-Ferrand, Le Puy, and Nimes; and, if I had any money, he\nprayed me to leave it for him at Nimes, with an inn-keeper with\nwhom I had dealings.\"\n\"In the smuggling line?\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"Eh, your excellency? Every one must live.\"\n\"Certainly; go on.\"\n\"I loved my brother tenderly, as I told your excellency, and I\nresolved not to send the money, but to take it to him myself. I\npossessed a thousand francs. I left five hundred with Assunta, mypossessed a thousand francs. I left five hundred with Assunta, my\nsister-in-law, and with the other five hundred I set off for Nimes.\nIt was easy to do so, and as I had my boat and a lading to take in\nat sea, everything favored my project. But, after we had taken in\nour cargo, the wind became contrary, so that we were four or five\ndays without being able to enter the Rhone. At last, however, we\nsucceeded, and worked up to Arles. I left the boat between\nBellegarde and Beaucaire, and took the road to Nimes.\"\n\"We are getting to the story now?\"\n\"Yes, your excellency; excuse me, but, as you will see, I only\ntell you what is absolutely necessary. Just at this time the famous\nmassacres took place in the south of France. Three brigands, called\nTrestaillon, Truphemy, and Graffan, publicly assassinated everybody\nwhom they suspected of Bonapartism. You have doubtless heard of\nthese massacres, your excellency?\"\n\"Vaguely; I was far from France at that period. Go on.\"\n\"As I entered Nimes, I literally waded in blood; at every step\nyou encountered dead bodies and bands of murderers, who killed,\nplundered, and burned. At the sight of this slaughter and\ndevastation I became terrified, not for myself — for I, a simple\nCorsican fisherman, had nothing to fear; on the contrary, that time\nwas most favorable for us smugglers — but for my brother, a soldier\nof the empire, returning from the army of the Loire, with his\nuniform and his epaulets, there was everything to apprehend. I\nhastened to the inn-keeper. My misgivings had been but too true. My\nbrother had arrived the previous evening at Nimes, and, at the very\ndoor of the house where he was about to demand hospitality, he had\nbeen assassinated. I did all in my power to discover the murderers,\nbut no one durst tell me their names, so much were they dreaded. I\nthen thought of that French justice of which I had heard so much,\nand which feared nothing, and I went to the king's attorney.\"\n\"And this king's attorney was named Villefort?\" asked Monte\nCristo carelessly."}
{"text": "\"And this king's attorney was named Villefort?\" asked Monte\nCristo carelessly.\n\"Yes, your excellency; he came from Marseilles, where he had\nbeen deputy-procureur. His zeal had procured him advancement, and\nhe was said to be one of the first who had informed the government\nof the departure from the Island of Elba.\"\n\"Then,\" said Monte Cristo \"you went to him?\"\n\"`Monsieur,' I said, `my brother was assassinated yesterday in\nthe streets of Nimes, I know not by whom, but it is your duty to\nfind out. You are the representative of justice here, and it is for\njustice to avenge those she has been unable to protect.' — `Who was\nyour brother?' asked he. — `A lieutenant in the Corsican\nbattalion.' — `A soldier of the usurper, then?' — `A soldier of the\nFrench army.' — `Well,' replied he, `he has smitten with the sword,\nand he has perished by the sword.' — `You are mistaken, monsieur,'\nI replied; `he has perished by the poniard.' — `What do you want me\nto do?' asked the magistrate. — `I have already told you — avenge\nhim.' — `On whom?' — `On his murderers.' — `How should I know who\nthey are?' — `Order them to be sought for.' — `Why, your brother\nhas been involved in a quarrel, and killed in a duel. All these old\nsoldiers commit excesses which were tolerated in the time of the\nemperor, but which are not suffered now, for the people here do not\nlike soldiers of such disorderly conduct.' — `Monsieur,' I replied,\n`it is not for myself that I entreat your interference — I should\ngrieve for him or avenge him, but my poor brother had a wife, and\nwere anything to happen to me, the poor creature would perish from\nwant, for my brother's pay alone kept her. Pray, try and obtain a\nsmall government pension for her.'\n\"`Every revolution has its catastrophes,' returned M. de\nVillefort; `your brother has been the victim of this. It is a\nmisfortune, and government owes nothing to his family. If we are to\njudge by all the vengeance that the followers of the usurper\nexercised on the partisans of the king, when, in their turn, theyexercised on the partisans of the king, when, in their turn, they\nwere in power, your brother would be to-day, in all probability,\ncondemned to death. What has happened is quite natural, and in\nconformity with the law of reprisals.' — `What,' cried I, `do you,\na magistrate, speak thus to me?' — `All these Corsicans are mad, on\nmy honor,' replied M. de Villefort; `they fancy that their\ncountryman is still emperor. You have mistaken the time, you should\nhave told me this two months ago, it is too late now. Go now, at\nonce, or I shall have you put out.'\n\"I looked at him an instant to see if there was anything to hope\nfrom further entreaty. But he was a man of stone. I approached him,\nand said in a low voice, `Well, since you know the Corsicans so\nwell, you know that they always keep their word. You think that it\nwas a good deed to kill my brother, who was a Bonapartist, because\nyou are a royalist. Well, I, who am a Bonapartist also, declare one\nthing to you, which is, that I will kill you. From this moment I\ndeclare the vendetta against you, so protect yourself as well as\nyou can, for the next time we meet your last hour has come.' And\nbefore he had recovered from his surprise, I opened the door and\nleft the room.\"\n\"Well, well,\" said Monte Cristo, \"such an innocent looking\nperson as you are to do those things, M. Bertuccio, and to a king's\nattorney at that! But did he know what was meant by the terrible\nword `vendetta'?\"\n\"He knew so well, that from that moment he shut himself in his\nhouse, and never went out unattended, seeking me high and low.\nFortunately, I was so well concealed that he could not find me.\nThen he became alarmed, and dared not stay any longer at Nimes, so\nhe solicited a change of residence, and, as he was in reality very\ninfluential, he was nominated to Versailles. But, as you know, a\nCorsican who has sworn to avenge himself cares not for distance, so\nhis carriage, fast as it went, was never above half a day's journey\nbefore me, who followed him on foot. The most important thing was,before me, who followed him on foot. The most important thing was,\nnot to kill him only — for I had an opportunity of doing so a\nhundred times — but to kill him without being discovered — at\nleast, without being arrested. I no longer belonged to myself, for\nI had my sister-in-law to protect and provide for. For three months\nI watched M. de Villefort, for three months he took not a step\nout-of-doors without my following him. At length I discovered that\nhe went mysteriously to Auteuil. I followed him thither, and I saw\nhim enter the house where we now are, only, instead of entering by\nthe great door that looks into the street, he came on horseback, or\nin his carriage, left the one or the other at the little inn, and\nentered by the gate you see there.\" Monte Cristo made a sign with\nhis head to show that he could discern in the darkness the door to\nwhich Bertuccio alluded. \"As I had nothing more to do at\nVersailles, I went to Auteuil, and gained all the information I\ncould. If I wished to surprise him, it was evident this was the\nspot to lie in wait for him. The house belonged, as the concierge\ninformed your excellency, to M. de Saint-Meran, Villefort's\nfather-in-law. M. de Saint-Meran lived at Marseilles, so that this\ncountry house was useless to him, and it was reported to be let to\na young widow, known only by the name of `the baroness.'\n\"One evening, as I was looking over the wall, I saw a young and\nhandsome woman who was walking alone in that garden, which was not\noverlooked by any windows, and I guessed that she was awaiting M.\nde Villefort. When she was sufficiently near for me to distinguish\nher features, I saw she was from eighteen to nineteen, tall and\nvery fair. As she had a loose muslin dress on and as nothing\nconcealed her figure, I saw she would ere long become a mother. A\nfew moments after, the little door was opened and a man entered.\nThe young woman hastened to meet him. They threw themselves into\neach other's arms, embraced tenderly, and returned together to the"}
{"text": "each other's arms, embraced tenderly, and returned together to the\nhouse. The man was M. de Villefort; I fully believed that when he\nwent out in the night he would be forced to traverse the whole of\nthe garden alone.\"\n\"And,\" asked the count, \"did you ever know the name of this\nwoman?\"\n\"No, excellency,\" returned Bertuccio; \"you will see that I had\nno time to learn it.\"\n\"Go on.\"\n\"That evening,\" continued Bertuccio, \"I could have killed the\nprocureur, but as I was not sufficiently acquainted with the\nneighborhood, I was fearful of not killing him on the spot, and\nthat if his cries were overheard I might be taken; so I put it off\nuntil the next occasion, and in order that nothing should escape\nme, I took a chamber looking into the street bordered by the wall\nof the garden. Three days after, about seven o'clock in the\nevening, I saw a servant on horseback leave the house at full\ngallop, and take the road to Sevres. I concluded that he was going\nto Versailles, and I was not deceived. Three hours later, the man\nreturned covered with dust, his errand was performed, and two\nminutes after, another man on foot, muffled in a mantle, opened the\nlittle door of the garden, which he closed after him. I descended\nrapidly; although I had not seen Villefort's face, I recognized him\nby the beating of my heart. I crossed the street, and stopped at a\npost placed at the angle of the wall, and by means of which I had\nonce before looked into the garden. This time I did not content\nmyself with looking, but I took my knife out of my pocket, felt\nthat the point was sharp, and sprang over the wall. My first care\nwas to run to the door; he had left the key in it, taking the\nsimple precaution of turning it twice in the lock. Nothing, then,\npreventing my escape by this means, I examined the grounds. The\ngarden was long and narrow; a stretch of smooth turf extended down\nthe middle, and at the corners were clumps of trees with thick and\nmassy foliage, that made a background for the shrubs and flowers.massy foliage, that made a background for the shrubs and flowers.\nIn order to go from the door to the house, or from the house to the\ndoor, M. de Villefort would be obliged to pass by one of these\nclumps of trees.\n\"It was the end of September; the wind blew violently. The faint\nglimpses of the pale moon, hidden momentarily by masses of dark\nclouds that were sweeping across the sky, whitened the gravel walks\nthat led to the house, but were unable to pierce the obscurity of\nthe thick shrubberies, in which a man could conceal himself without\nany fear of discovery. I hid myself in the one nearest to the path\nVillefort must take, and scarcely was I there when, amidst the\ngusts of wind, I fancied I heard groans; but you know, or rather\nyou do not know, your excellency, that he who is about to commit an\nassassination fancies that he hears low cries perpetually ringing\nin his ears. Two hours passed thus, during which I imagined I heard\nmoans repeatedly. Midnight struck. As the last stroke died away, I\nsaw a faint light shine through the windows of the private\nstaircase by which we have just descended. The door opened, and the\nman in the mantle reappeared. The terrible moment had come, but I\nhad so long been prepared for it that my heart did not fail in the\nleast. I drew my knife from my pocket again, opened it, and made\nready to strike. The man in the mantle advanced towards me, but as\nhe drew near I saw that he had a weapon in his hand. I was afraid,\nnot of a struggle, but of a failure. When he was only a few paces\nfrom me, I saw that what I had taken for a weapon was only a spade.\nI was still unable to divine for what reason M. de Villefort had\nthis spade in his hands, when he stopped close to the thicket where\nI was, glanced round, and began to dig a hole in the earth. I then\nperceived that he was hiding something under his mantle, which he\nlaid on the grass in order to dig more freely. Then, I confess,\ncuriosity mingled with hatred; I wished to see what Villefort wascuriosity mingled with hatred; I wished to see what Villefort was\ngoing to do there, and I remained motionless, holding my breath.\nThen an idea crossed my mind, which was confirmed when I saw the\nprocureur lift from under his mantle a box, two feet long, and six\nor eight inches deep. I let him place the box in the hole he had\nmade, then, while he stamped with his feet to remove all traces of\nhis occupation, I rushed on him and plunged my knife into his\nbreast, exclaiming, — `I am Giovanni Bertuccio; thy death for my\nbrother's; thy treasure for his widow; thou seest that my vengeance\nis more complete than I had hoped.' I know not if he heard these\nwords; I think he did not, for he fell without a cry. I felt his\nblood gush over my face, but I was intoxicated, I was delirious,\nand the blood refreshed, instead of burning me. In a second I had\ndisinterred the box; then, that it might not be known I had done\nso, I filled up the hole, threw the spade over the wall, and rushed\nthrough the door, which I double-locked, carrying off the key.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Monte Cristo \"it seems to me this was nothing but\nmurder and robbery.\"\n\"No, your excellency,\" returned Bertuccio; \"it was a vendetta\nfollowed by restitution.\"\n\"And was the sum a large one?\"\n\"It was not money.\"\n\"Ah, I recollect,\" replied the count; \"did you not say something\nof an infant?\"\n\"Yes, excellency; I hastened to the river, sat down on the bank,\nand with my knife forced open the lock of the box. In a fine linen\ncloth was wrapped a new-born child. Its purple visage, and its\nviolet-colored hands showed that it had perished from suffocation,\nbut as it was not yet cold, I hesitated to throw it into the water\nthat ran at my feet. After a moment I fancied that I felt a slight\npulsation of the heart, and as I had been assistant at the hospital\nat Bastia, I did what a doctor would have done — I inflated the\nlungs by blowing air into them, and at the expiration of a quarter\nof an hour, it began to breathe, and cried feebly. In my turn I"}
{"text": "of an hour, it began to breathe, and cried feebly. In my turn I\nuttered a cry, but a cry of joy. `God has not cursed me then,' I\ncried, `since he permits me to save the life of a human creature,\nin exchange for the life I have taken away.'\"\n\"And what did you do with the child?\" asked Monte Cristo. \"It\nwas an embarrassing load for a man seeking to escape.\"\n\"I had not for a moment the idea of keeping it, but I knew that\nat Paris there was an asylum where they receive such creatures. As\nI passed the city gates I declared that I had found the child on\nthe road, and I inquired where the asylum was; the box confirmed my\nstatement, the linen proved that the infant belonged to wealthy\nparents, the blood with which I was covered might have proceeded\nfrom the child as well as from any one else. No objection was\nraised, but they pointed out the asylum, which was situated at the\nupper end of the Rue d'Enfer, and after having taken the precaution\nof cutting the linen in two pieces, so that one of the two letters\nwhich marked it was on the piece wrapped around the child, while\nthe other remained in my possession, I rang the bell, and fled with\nall speed. A fortnight after I was at Rogliano, and I said to\nAssunta, — `Console thyself, sister; Israel is dead, but he is\navenged.' She demanded what I meant, and when I had told her all, —\n`Giovanni,' said she, `you should have brought this child with you;\nwe would have replaced the parents it has lost, have called it\nBenedetto, and then, in consequence of this good action, God would\nhave blessed us.' In reply I gave her the half of the linen I had\nkept in order to reclaim him if we became rich.\"\n\"What letters were marked on the linen?\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"An H and an N, surmounted by a baron's coronet.\"\n\"By heaven, M. Bertuccio, you make use of heraldic terms; where\ndid you study heraldry?\"\n\"In your service, excellency, where everything is learned.\"\n\"Go on, I am curious to know two things.\"\n\"What are they, your excellency ?\"\"Go on, I am curious to know two things.\"\n\"What are they, your excellency ?\"\n\"What became of this little boy? for I think you told me it was\na boy, M. Bertuccio.\"\n\"No excellency, I do not recollect telling you that.\"\n\"I thought you did; I must have been mistaken.\"\n\"No, you were not, for it was in reality a little boy. But your\nexcellency wished to know two things; what was the second?\"\n\"The second was the crime of which you were accused when you\nasked for a confessor, and the Abbe Busoni came to visit you at\nyour request in the prison at Nimes.\"\n\"The story will be very long, excellency.\"\n\"What matter? you know I take but little sleep, and I do not\nsuppose you are very much inclined for it either.\" Bertuccio bowed,\nand resumed his story.\n\"Partly to drown the recollections of the past that haunted me,\npartly to supply the wants of the poor widow, I eagerly returned to\nmy trade of smuggler, which had become more easy since that\nrelaxation of the laws which always follows a revolution. The\nsouthern districts were ill-watched in particular, in consequence\nof the disturbances that were perpetually breaking out in Avignon,\nNimes, or Uzes. We profited by this respite on the part of the\ngovernment to make friends everywhere. Since my brother's\nassassination in the streets of Nimes, I had never entered the\ntown; the result was that the inn-keeper with whom we were\nconnected, seeing that we would no longer come to him, was forced\nto come to us, and had established a branch to his inn, on the road\nfrom Bellegarde to Beaucaire, at the sign of the Pont du Gard. We\nhad thus, at Aigues-Mortes, Martigues, or Bouc, a dozen places\nwhere we left our goods, and where, in case of necessity, we\nconcealed ourselves from the gendarmes and custom-house officers.\nSmuggling is a profitable trade, when a certain degree of vigor and\nintelligence is employed; as for myself, brought up in the\nmountains, I had a double motive for fearing the gendarmes and\ncustom-house officers, as my appearance before the judges wouldcustom-house officers, as my appearance before the judges would\ncause an inquiry, and an inquiry always looks back into the past.\nAnd in my past life they might find something far more grave than\nthe selling of smuggled cigars, or barrels of brandy without a\npermit. So, preferring death to capture, I accomplished the most\nastonishing deeds, and which, more than once, showed me that the\ntoo great care we take of our bodies is the only obstacle to the\nsuccess of those projects which require rapid decision, and\nvigorous and determined execution. In reality, when you have once\ndevoted your life to your enterprises, you are no longer the equal\nof other men, or, rather, other men are no longer your equals, and\nwhosoever has taken this resolution, feels his strength and\nresources doubled.\"\n\"Philosophy, M. Bertuccio,\" interrupted the Count; \"you have\ndone a little of everything in your life.\"\n\"Oh, excellency,\"\n\"No, no; but philosophy at half-past ten at night is somewhat\nlate; yet I have no other observation to make, for what you say is\ncorrect, which is more than can be said for all philosophy.\"\n\"My journeys became more and more extensive and more productive.\nAssunta took care of all, and our little fortune increased. One day\nas I was setting off on an expedition, `Go,' said she; `at your\nreturn I will give you a surprise.' I questioned her, but in vain;\nshe would tell me nothing, and I departed. Our expedition lasted\nnearly six weeks; we had been to Lucca to take in oil, to Leghorn\nfor English cottons, and we ran our cargo without opposition, and\nreturned home full of joy. When I entered the house, the first\nthing I beheld in the middle of Assunta's chamber was a cradle that\nmight be called sumptuous compared with the rest of the furniture,\nand in it a baby seven or eight months old. I uttered a cry of joy;\nthe only moments of sadness I had known since the assassination of\nthe procureur were caused by the recollection that I had abandoned\nthis child. For the assassination itself I had never felt any"}
{"text": "this child. For the assassination itself I had never felt any\nremorse. Poor Assunta had guessed all. She had profited by my\nabsence, and furnished with the half of the linen, and having\nwritten down the day and hour at which I had deposited the child at\nthe asylum, had set off for Paris, and had reclaimed it. No\nobjection was raised, and the infant was given up to her. Ah, I\nconfess, your excellency, when I saw this poor creature sleeping\npeacefully in its cradle, I felt my eyes filled with tears. `Ah,\nAssunta,' cried I, `you are an excellent woman, and heaven will\nbless you.'\"\n\"This,\" said Monte Cristo, \"is less correct than your\nphilosophy, — it is only faith.\"\n\"Alas, your excellency is right,\" replied Bertuccio, \"and God\nmade this infant the instrument of our punishment. Never did a\nperverse nature declare itself more prematurely, and yet it was not\nowing to any fault in his bringing up. He was a most lovely child,\nwith large blue eyes, of that deep color that harmonizes so well\nwith the blond complexion; only his hair, which was too light, gave\nhis face a most singular expression, and added to the vivacity of\nhis look, and the malice of his smile. Unfortunately, there is a\nproverb which says that `red is either altogether good or\naltogether bad.' The proverb was but too correct as regarded\nBenedetto, and even in his infancy he manifested the worst\ndisposition. It is true that the indulgence of his foster-mother\nencouraged him. This child, for whom my poor sister would go to the\ntown, five or six leagues off, to purchase the earliest fruits and\nthe most tempting sweetmeats, preferred to Palma grapes or Genoese\npreserves, the chestnuts stolen from a neighbor's orchard, or the\ndried apples in his loft, when he could eat as well of the nuts and\napples that grew in my garden. One day, when Benedetto was about\nfive or six, our neighbor Vasilio, who, according to the custom of\nthe country, never locked up his purse or his valuables — for, as\nyour excellency knows, there are no thieves in Corsica — complainedyour excellency knows, there are no thieves in Corsica — complained\nthat he had lost a louis out of his purse; we thought he must have\nmade a mistake in counting his money, but he persisted in the\naccuracy of his statement. One day, Benedetto, who had been gone\nfrom the house since morning, to our great anxiety, did not return\nuntil late in the evening, dragging a monkey after him, which he\nsaid he had found chained to the foot of a tree. For more than a\nmonth past, the mischievous child, who knew not what to wish for,\nhad taken it into his head to have a monkey. A boatman, who had\npassed by Rogliano, and who had several of these animals, whose\ntricks had greatly diverted him, had, doubtless, suggested this\nidea to him. `Monkeys are not found in our woods chained to trees,'\nsaid I; `confess how you obtained this animal.' Benedetto\nmaintained the truth of what he had said, and accompanied it with\ndetails that did more honor to his imagination than to his\nveracity. I became angry; he began to laugh, I threatened to strike\nhim, and he made two steps backwards. `You cannot beat me,' said\nhe; `you have no right, for you are not my father.'\n\"We never knew who had revealed this fatal secret, which we had\nso carefully concealed from him; however, it was this answer, in\nwhich the child's whole character revealed itself, that almost\nterrified me, and my arm fell without touching him. The boy\ntriumphed, and this victory rendered him so audacious, that all the\nmoney of Assunta, whose affection for him seemed to increase as he\nbecame more unworthy of it, was spent in caprices she knew not how\nto contend against, and follies she had not the courage to prevent.\nWhen I was at Rogliano everything went on properly, but no sooner\nwas my back turned than Benedetto became master, and everything\nwent ill. When he was only eleven, he chose his companions from\namong the young men of eighteen or twenty, the worst characters in\nBastia, or, indeed, in Corsica, and they had already, for someBastia, or, indeed, in Corsica, and they had already, for some\nmischievous pranks, been several times threatened with a\nprosecution. I became alarmed, as any prosecution might be attended\nwith serious consequences. I was compelled, at this period, to\nleave Corsica on an important expedition; I reflected for a long\ntime, and with the hope of averting some impending misfortune, I\nresolved that Benedetto should accompany me. I hoped that the\nactive and laborious life of a smuggler, with the severe discipline\non board, would have a salutary effect on his character, which was\nnow well-nigh, if not quite, corrupt. I spoke to Benedetto alone,\nand proposed to him to accompany me, endeavoring to tempt him by\nall the promises most likely to dazzle the imagination of a child\nof twelve. He heard me patiently, and when I had finished, burst\nout laughing.\n\"`Are you mad, uncle?' (he called me by this name when he was in\ngood humor); `do you think I am going to change the life I lead for\nyour mode of existence — my agreeable indolence for the hard and\nprecarious toil you impose on yourself, exposed to the bitter frost\nat night, and the scorching heat by day, compelled to conceal\nyourself, and when you are perceived, receive a volley of bullets,\nall to earn a paltry sum? Why, I have as much money as I want;\nmother Assunta always furnishes me when I ask for it! You see that\nI should be a fool to accept your offer.' The arguments, and his\naudacity, perfectly stupefied me. Benedetto rejoined his\nassociates, and I saw him from a distance point me out to them as a\nfool.\"\n\"Sweet child,\" murmured Monte Cristo.\n\"Oh, had he been my own son,\" replied Bertuccio, \"or even my\nnephew, I would have brought him back to the right road, for the\nknowledge that you are doing your duty gives you strength, but the\nidea that I was striking a child whose father I had killed, made it\nimpossible for me to punish him. I gave my sister, who constantly\ndefended the unfortunate boy, good advice, and as she confessed"}
{"text": "defended the unfortunate boy, good advice, and as she confessed\nthat she had several times missed money to a considerable amount, I\nshowed her a safe place in which to conceal our little treasure for\nthe future. My mind was already made up. Benedetto could read,\nwrite, and cipher perfectly, for when the fit seized him, he\nlearned more in a day than others in a week. My intention was to\nenter him as a clerk in some ship, and without letting him know\nanything of my plan, to convey him some morning on board; by this\nmeans his future treatment would depend upon his own conduct. I set\noff for France, after having fixed upon the plan. Our cargo was to\nbe landed in the Gulf of Lyons, and this was a difficult thing to\ndo because it was then the year 1829. The most perfect tranquillity\nwas restored, and the vigilance of the custom-house officers was\nredoubled, and their strictness was increased at this time, in\nconsequence of the fair at Beaucaire.\n\"Our expedition made a favorable beginning. We anchored our\nvessel — which had a double hold, where our goods were concealed —\namidst a number of other vessels that bordered the banks of the\nRhone from Beaucaire to Arles. On our arrival we began to discharge\nour cargo in the night, and to convey it into the town, by the help\nof the inn-keeper with whom we were connected. Whether success\nrendered us imprudent, or whether we were betrayed, I know not; but\none evening, about five o'clock, our little cabin-boy came\nbreathlessly, to inform us that he had seen a detachment of\ncustom-house officers advancing in our direction. It was not their\nproximity that alarmed us, for detachments were constantly\npatrolling along the banks of the Rhone, but the care, according to\nthe boy's account, that they took to avoid being seen. In an\ninstant we were on the alert, but it was too late; our vessel was\nsurrounded, and amongst the custom-house officers I observed\nseveral gendarmes, and, as terrified at the sight of their uniforms\nas I was brave at the sight of any other, I sprang into the hold,as I was brave at the sight of any other, I sprang into the hold,\nopened a port, and dropped into the river, dived, and only rose at\nintervals to breathe, until I reached a ditch that had recently\nbeen made from the Rhone to the canal that runs from Beaucaire to\nAigues-Mortes. I was now safe, for I could swim along the ditch\nwithout being seen, and I reached the canal in safety. I had\ndesignedly taken this direction. I have already told your\nexcellency of an inn-keeper from Nimes who had set up a little\ntavern on the road from Bellegarde to Beaucaire.\"\n\"Yes,\" said Monte Cristo \"I perfectly recollect him; I think he\nwas your colleague.\"\n\"Precisely,\" answered Bertuccio; \"but he had, seven or eight\nyears before this period, sold his establishment to a tailor at\nMarseilles, who, having almost ruined himself in his old trade,\nwished to make his fortune in another. Of course, we made the same\narrangements with the new landlord that we had with the old; and it\nwas of this man that I intended to ask shelter.\"\n\"What was his name?\" inquired the count, who seemed to become\nsomewhat interested in Bertuccio's story.\n\"Gaspard Caderousse; he had married a woman from the village of\nCarconte, and whom we did not know by any other name than that of\nher village. She was suffering from malarial fever, and seemed\ndying by inches. As for her husband, he was a strapping fellow of\nforty, or five and forty, who had more than once, in time of\ndanger, given ample proof of his presence of mind and courage.\"\n\"And you say,\" interrupted Monte Cristo \"that this took place\ntowards the year\" —\n\"1829, your excellency.\"\n\"In what month?\"\n\"June.\"\n\"The beginning or the end?\"\n\"The evening of the 3d.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Monte Cristo \"the evening of the 3d of June, 1829. Go\non.\"\n\"It was from Caderousse that I intended demanding shelter, and,\nas we never entered by the door that opened onto the road, I\nresolved not to break through the rule, so climbing over the\ngarden-hedge, I crept amongst the olive and wild fig trees, andgarden-hedge, I crept amongst the olive and wild fig trees, and\nfearing that Caderousse might have some guest, I entered a kind of\nshed in which I had often passed the night, and which was only\nseparated from the inn by a partition, in which holes had been made\nin order to enable us to watch an opportunity of announcing our\npresence. My intention was, if Caderousse was alone, to acquaint\nhim with my presence, finish the meal the custom-house officers had\ninterrupted, and profit by the threatened storm to return to the\nRhone, and ascertain the state of our vessel and its crew. I\nstepped into the shed, and it was fortunate I did so, for at that\nmoment Caderousse entered with a stranger.\n\"I waited patiently, not to overhear what they said, but because\nI could do nothing else; besides, the same thing had occurred often\nbefore. The man who was with Caderousse was evidently a stranger to\nthe South of France; he was one of those merchants who come to sell\njewellery at the Beaucaire fair, and who during the month the fair\nlasts, and during which there is so great an influx of merchants\nand customers from all parts of Europe, often have dealings to the\namount of 100,000 to 150,000 francs. Caderousse entered hastily.\nThen, seeing that the room was, as usual, empty, and only guarded\nby the dog, he called to his wife, `Hello, Carconte,' said he, `the\nworthy priest has not deceived us; the diamond is real.' An\nexclamation of joy was heard, and the staircase creaked beneath a\nfeeble step. `What do you say?' asked his wife, pale as death.\n\"`I say that the diamond is real, and that this gentleman, one\nof the first jewellers of Paris, will give us 50,000 francs for it.\nOnly, in order to satisfy himself that it really belongs to us, he\nwishes you to relate to him, as I have done already, the miraculous\nmanner in which the diamond came into our possession. In the\nmeantime please to sit down, monsieur, and I will fetch you some\nrefreshment.' The jeweller examined attentively the interior of the"}
{"text": "refreshment.' The jeweller examined attentively the interior of the\ninn and the apparent poverty of the persons who were about to sell\nhim a diamond that seemed to have come from the casket of a prince.\n`Relate your story, madame,' said he, wishing, no doubt, to profit\nby the absence of the husband, so that the latter could not\ninfluence the wife's story, to see if the two recitals tallied.\n\"`Oh,' returned she, `it was a gift of heaven. My husband was a\ngreat friend, in 1814 or 1815, of a sailor named Edmond Dantes.\nThis poor fellow, whom Caderousse had forgotten, had not forgotten\nhim, and at his death he bequeathed this diamond to him.' — `But\nhow did he obtain it?' asked the jeweller; `had he it before he was\nimprisoned?' — `No, monsieur; but it appears that in prison he made\nthe acquaintance of a rich Englishman, and as in prison he fell\nsick, and Dantes took the same care of him as if he had been his\nbrother, the Englishman, when he was set free, gave this stone to\nDantes, who, less fortunate, died, and, in his turn, left it to us,\nand charged the excellent abbe, who was here this morning, to\ndeliver it.' — `The same story,' muttered the jeweller; `and\nimprobable as it seemed at first, it may be true. There's only the\nprice we are not agreed about.' — `How not agreed about?' said\nCaderousse. `I thought we agreed for the price I asked.' — `That\nis,' replied the jeweller, `I offered 40,000 francs.' — `Forty\nthousand,' cried La Carconte; `we will not part with it for that\nsum. The abbe told us it was worth 50,000 without the setting.'\n\"`What was the abbe's name?' asked the indefatigable questioner.\n— `The Abbe Busoni,' said La Carconte. — `He was a foreigner?' —\n`An Italian, from the neighborhood of Mantua, I believe.' — `Let me\nsee this diamond again,' replied the jeweller; `the first time you\nare often mistaken as to the value of a stone.' Caderousse took\nfrom his pocket a small case of black shagreen, opened, and gave it\nto the jeweller. At the sight of the diamond, which was as large asto the jeweller. At the sight of the diamond, which was as large as\na hazel-nut, La Carconte's eyes sparkled with cupidity.\"\n\"And what did you think of this fine story, eavesdropper?\" said\nMonte Cristo; \"did you credit it?\"\n\"Yes, your excellency. I did not look on Caderousse as a bad\nman, and I thought him incapable of committing a crime, or even a\ntheft.\"\n\"That did more honor to your heart than to your experience, M.\nBertuccio. Had you known this Edmond Dantes, of whom they\nspoke?\"\n\"No, your excellency, I had never heard of him before, and never\nbut once afterwards, and that was from the Abbe Busoni himself,\nwhen I saw him in the prison at Nimes.\"\n\"Go on.\"\n\"The jeweller took the ring, and drawing from his pocket a pair\nof steel pliers and a small set of copper scales, he took the stone\nout of its setting, and weighed it carefully. `I will give you\n45,000,' said he, `but not a sou more; besides, as that is the\nexact value of the stone, I brought just that sum with me.' — `Oh,\nthat's no matter,' replied Caderousse, `I will go back with you to\nfetch the other 5,000 francs.' — `No,' returned the jeweller,\ngiving back the diamond and the ring to Caderousse — `no, it is\nworth no more, and I am sorry I offered so much, for the stone has\na flaw in it, which I had not seen. However, I will not go back on\nmy word, and I will give 45,000.' — `At least, replace the diamond\nin the ring,' said La Carconte sharply. — `Ah, true,' replied the\njeweller, and he reset the stone. — `No matter,' observed\nCaderousse, replacing the box in his pocket, `some one else will\npurchase it.' — `Yes,' continued the jeweller; `but some one else\nwill not be so easy as I am, or content himself with the same\nstory. It is not natural that a man like you should possess such a\ndiamond. He will inform against you. You will have to find the Abbe\nBusoni; and abbes who give diamonds worth two thousand louis are\nrare. The law would seize it, and put you in prison; if at the end\nof three or four months you are set at liberty, the ring will beof three or four months you are set at liberty, the ring will be\nlost, or a false stone, worth three francs, will be given you,\ninstead of a diamond worth 50,000 or perhaps 55,000 francs; from\nwhich you must allow that one runs considerable risk in\npurchasing.' Caderousse and his wife looked eagerly at each other.\n— `No,' said Caderousse, `we are not rich enough to lose 5,000\nfrancs.' — `As you please, my dear sir,' said the, jeweller; `I\nhad, however, as you see, brought you the money in bright coin.'\nAnd he drew from his pocket a handful of gold, and held it\nsparkling before the dazzled eyes of the innkeeper, and in the\nother hand he held a packet of bank-notes.\n\"There was evidently a severe struggle in the mind of\nCaderousse; it was plain that the small shagreen case, which he\nturned over and over in his hand, did not seem to him commensurate\nin value to the enormous sum which fascinated his gaze. He turned\ntowards his wife. `What do you think of this?' he asked in a low\nvoice. — `Let him have it — let him have it,' she said. `If he\nreturns to Beaucaire without the diamond, he will inform against\nus, and, as he says, who knows if we shall ever again see the Abbe\nBusoni? — in all probability we shall never see him.' — `Well,\nthen, so I will!' said Caderousse; `so you may have the diamond for\n45,000 francs. But my wife wants a gold chain, and I want a pair of\nsilver buckles.' The jeweller drew from his pocket a long flat box,\nwhich contained several samples of the articles demanded. `Here,'\nhe said, `I am very straightforward in my dealings — take your\nchoice.' The woman selected a gold chain worth about five louis,\nand the husband a pair of buckles. worth perhaps fifteen francs. —\n`I hope you will not complain now?' said the jeweller.\n\"`The abbe told me it was worth 50,000 francs,' muttered\nCaderousse. `Come, come — give it to me! What a strange fellow you\nare,' said the jeweller, taking the diamond from his hand. `I give\nyou 45,000 francs — that is, 2,500 livres of income, — a fortune"}
{"text": "you 45,000 francs — that is, 2,500 livres of income, — a fortune\nsuch as I wish I had myself, and you are not satisfied!' — `And the\nfive and forty thousand francs,' inquired Caderousse in a hoarse\nvoice, `where are they? Come — let us see them.' — `Here they are,'\nreplied the jeweller, and he counted out upon the table 15,000\nfrancs in gold, and 30,000 francs in bank-notes.\n\"`Wait while I light the lamp,' said La Carconte; `it is growing\ndark, and there may be some mistake.' In fact, night had come on\nduring this conversation, and with night the storm which had been\nthreatening for the last half-hour. The thunder growled in the\ndistance; but it was apparently not heard by the jeweller,\nCaderousse, or La Carconte, absorbed as they were all three with\nthe demon of gain. I myself felt; a strange kind of fascination at\nthe sight of all this gold and all these bank-notes; it seemed to\nme that I was in a dream, and, as it always happens in a dream, I\nfelt myself riveted to the spot. Caderousse counted and again\ncounted the gold and the notes, then handed them to his wife, who\ncounted and counted them again in her turn. During this time, the\njeweller made the diamond play and sparkle in the lamplight, and\nthe gem threw out jets of light which made him unmindful of those\nwhich — precursors of the storm — began to play in at the windows.\n`Well,' inquired the jeweller, `is the cash all right?'\n\"`Yes,' said Caderousse. `Give me the pocket-book, La Carconte,\nand find a bag somewhere.'\n\"La Carconte went to a cupboard, and returned with an old\nleathern pocket-book and a bag. From the former she took some\ngreasy letters, and put in their place the bank-notes, and from the\nbag took two or three crowns of six livres each, which, in all\nprobability, formed the entire fortune of the miserable couple.\n`There,' said Caderousse; `and now, although you have wronged us of\nperhaps 10,000 francs, will you have your supper with us? I invite\nyou with good-will.' — `Thank you,' replied the jeweller, `it mustyou with good-will.' — `Thank you,' replied the jeweller, `it must\nbe getting late, and I must return to Beaucaire — my wife will be\ngetting uneasy.' He drew out his watch, and exclaimed, `Morbleu,\nnearly nine o'clock — why, I shall not get back to Beaucaire before\nmidnight! Good-night, my friends. If the Abbe Busoni should by any\naccident return, think of me.' — `In another week you will have\nleft Beaucaire.' remarked Caderousse, `for the fair ends in a few\ndays.' — `True, but that makes no difference. Write to me at Paris,\nto M. Joannes, in the Palais Royal, arcade Pierre, No. 45. I will\nmake the journey on purpose to see him, if it is worth while.' At\nthis moment there was a tremendous clap of thunder, accompanied by\na flash of lightning so vivid, that it quite eclipsed the light of\nthe lamp.\n\"`See here,' exclaimed Caderousse. `You cannot think of going\nout in such weather as this.' — `Oh, I am not afraid of thunder,'\nsaid the jeweller. — `And then there are robbers,' said La\nCarconte. `The road is never very safe during fair time.' — `Oh, as\nto the robbers,' said Joannes, `here is something for them,' and he\ndrew from his pocket a pair of small pistols, loaded to the muzzle.\n`Here,' said he, `are dogs who bark and bite at the same time, they\nare for the two first who shall have a longing for your diamond,\nFriend Caderousse.'\n\"Caderousse and his wife again interchanged a meaning look. It\nseemed as though they were both inspired at the same time with some\nhorrible thought. `Well, then, a good journey to you,' said\nCaderousse. — `Thanks,' replied the jeweller. He then took his\ncane, which he had placed against an old cupboard, and went out. At\nthe moment when he opened the door, such a gust of wind came in\nthat the lamp was nearly extinguished. `Oh,' said he, `this is very\nnice weather, and two leagues to go in such a storm.' — `Remain,'\nsaid Caderousse. `You can sleep here.' — `Yes; do stay,' added La\nCarconte in a tremulous voice; `we will take every care of you.' —Carconte in a tremulous voice; `we will take every care of you.' —\n`No; I must sleep at Beaucaire. So, once more, good-night.'\nCaderousse followed him slowly to the threshold. `I can see neither\nheaven nor earth,' said the jeweller, who was outside the door. `Do\nI turn to the right, or to the left hand?' — `To the right,' said\nCaderousse. `You cannot go wrong — the road is bordered by trees on\nboth sides.' — `Good — all right,' said a voice almost lost in the\ndistance. `Close the door,' said La Carconte; `I do not like open\ndoors when it thunders.' — `Particularly when there is money in the\nhouse, eh?' answered Caderousse, double-locking the door.\n\"He came into the room, went to the cupboard, took out the bag\nand pocket-book, and both began, for the third time, to count their\ngold and bank-notes. I never saw such an expression of cupidity as\nthe flickering lamp revealed in those two countenances. The woman,\nespecially, was hideous; her usual feverish tremulousness was\nintensified, her countenance had become livid, and her eyes\nresembled burning coals. `Why,' she inquired in a hoarse voice,\n`did you invite him to sleep here to-night?' — `Why?' said\nCaderousse with a shudder; `why, that he might not have the trouble\nof returning to Beaucaire.' — `Ah,' responded the woman, with an\nexpression impossible to describe; `I thought it was for something\nelse.' — `Woman, woman — why do you have such ideas?' cried\nCaderousse; `or, if you have them, why don't you keep them to\nyourself?' — `Well,' said La Carconte, after a moment's pause, `you\nare not a man.' — `What do you mean?' added Caderousse. — `If you\nhad been a man, you would not have let him go from here.' —\n`Woman!' — `Or else he should not have reached Beaucaire.' —\n`Woman!' — `The road takes a turn — he is obliged to follow it —\nwhile alongside of the canal there is a shorter road.' — `Woman! —\nyou offend the good God. There — listen!' And at this moment there\nwas a tremendous peal of thunder, while the livid lightning"}
{"text": "was a tremendous peal of thunder, while the livid lightning\nillumined the room, and the thunder, rolling away in the distance,\nseemed to withdraw unwillingly from the cursed abode. `Mercy!' said\nCaderousse, crossing himself.\nAt the same moment, and in the midst of the terrifying silence\nwhich usually follows a clap of thunder, they heard a knocking at\nthe door. Caderousse and his wife started and looked aghast at each\nother. `Who's there?' cried Caderousse, rising, and drawing up in a\nheap the gold and notes scattered over the table, and which he\ncovered with his two hands. — `It is I,' shouted a voice. — `And\nwho are you?' — `Eh, pardieu, Joannes, the jeweller.' — `Well, and\nyou said I offended the good God,' said La Carconte with a horrid\nsmile. `Why, the good God sends him back again.' Caderousse sank\npale and breathless into his chair. La Carconte, on the contrary,\nrose, and going with a firm step towards the door, opened it,\nsaying, as she did so — `Come in, dear M. Joannes.' — `Ma foi,'\nsaid the jeweller, drenched with rain, `I am not destined to return\nto Beaucaire to-night. The shortest follies are best, my dear\nCaderousse. You offered me hospitality, and I accept it, and have\nreturned to sleep beneath your friendly roof.' Caderousse stammered\nout something, while he wiped away the sweat that started to his\nbrow. La Carconte double-locked the door behind the jeweller.\"As the jeweller returned to the apartment, he cast around him a\nscrutinizing glance — but there was nothing to excite suspicion, if\nit did not exist, or to confirm it, if it were already awakened.\nCaderousse's hands still grasped the gold and bank-notes, and La\nCarconte called up her sweetest smiles while welcoming the\nreappearance of their guest. `Well, well,' said the jeweller, `you\nseem, my good friends, to have had some fears respecting the\naccuracy of your money, by counting it over so carefully directly I\nwas gone.' — `Oh, no,' answered Caderousse, `that was not my\nreason, I can assure you; but the circumstances by which we have\nbecome possessed of this wealth are so unexpected, as to make us\nscarcely credit our good fortune, and it is only by placing the\nactual proof of our riches before our eyes that we can persuade\nourselves that the whole affair is not a dream.' The jeweller\nsmiled. — `Have you any other guests in your house?' inquired he. —\n`Nobody but ourselves,' replied Caderousse; `the fact is, we do not\nlodge travellers — indeed, our tavern is so near the town, that\nnobody would think of stopping here. — `Then I am afraid I shall\nvery much inconvenience you.' — `Inconvenience us? Not at all, my\ndear sir,' said La Carconte in her most gracious manner. `Not at\nall, I assure you.' — `But where will you manage to stow me?' — `In\nthe chamber overhead.' — `Surely that is where you yourselves\nsleep?' — `Never mind that; we have a second bed in the adjoining\nroom.' Caderousse stared at his wife with much astonishment.\n\"The jeweller, meanwhile, was humming a song as he stood warming\nhis back at the fire La Carconte had kindled to dry the wet\ngarments of her guest; and this done, she next occupied herself in\narranging his supper, by spreading a napkin at the end of the\ntable, and placing on it the slender remains of their dinner, to\nwhich she added three or four fresh-laid eggs. Caderousse had once\nmore parted with his treasure — the banknotes were replaced in themore parted with his treasure — the banknotes were replaced in the\npocket-book, the gold put back into the bag, and the whole\ncarefully locked in the cupboard. He then began pacing the room\nwith a pensive and gloomy air, glancing from time to time at the\njeweller, who stood reeking with the steam from his wet clothes,\nand merely changing his place on the warm hearth, to enable the\nwhole of his garments to be dried.\n\"`There,' said La Carconte, as she placed a bottle of wine on\nthe table, `supper is ready whenever you are.' — `And you?' asked\nJoannes. — `I don't want any supper,' said Caderousse. — `We dined\nso very late,' hastily interposed La Carconte. — `Then it seems I\nam to eat alone,' remarked the jeweller. — `Oh, we shall have the\npleasure of waiting upon you,' answered La Carconte, with an eager\nattention she was not accustomed to manifest even to guests who\npaid for what they took.\n\"From time to time Caderousse darted on his wife keen, searching\nglances, but rapid as the lightning flash. The storm still\ncontinued. `There, there,' said La Carconte; `do you hear that?\nupon my word, you did well to come back.' — `Nevertheless,' replied\nthe jeweller, `if by the time I have finished my supper the tempest\nhas at all abated, I shall make another start.' — `It's the\nmistral,' said Caderousse, `and it will be sure to last till\nto-morrow morning.' He sighed heavily. — `Well,' said the jeweller,\nas he placed himself at table, `all I can say is, so much the worse\nfor those who are abroad.' — `Yes,' chimed in La Carconte, `they\nwill have a wretched night of it.'\n\"The jeweller began eating his supper, and the woman, who was\nordinarily so querulous and indifferent to all who approached her,\nwas suddenly transformed into the most smiling and attentive\nhostess. Had the unhappy man on whom she lavished her assiduities\nbeen previously acquainted with her, so sudden an alteration might\nwell have excited suspicion in his mind, or at least have greatly\nastonished him. Caderousse, meanwhile, continued to pace the room"}
{"text": "astonished him. Caderousse, meanwhile, continued to pace the room\nin gloomy silence, sedulously avoiding the sight of his guest; but\nas soon as the stranger had completed his repast, the agitated\ninn-keeper went eagerly to the door and opened it. `I believe the\nstorm is over,' said he. But as if to contradict his statement, at\nthat instant a violent clap of thunder seemed to shake the house to\nits very foundation, while a sudden gust of wind, mingled with\nrain, extinguished the lamp he held in his hand. Trembling and\nawe-struck, Caderousse hastily shut the door and returned to his\nguest, while La Carconte lighted a candle by the smouldering ashes\nthat glimmered on the hearth. `You must be tired,' said she to the\njeweller; `I have spread a pair of white sheets on your bed; go up\nwhen you are ready, and sleep well.'\n\"Joannes stayed for a while to see whether the storm seemed to\nabate in its fury, but a brief space of time sufficed to assure him\nthat, instead of diminishing, the violence of the rain and thunder\nmomentarily increased; resigning himself, therefore, to what seemed\ninevitable, he bade his host good-night, and mounted the stairs. He\npassed over my head and I heard the flooring creak beneath his\nfootsteps. The quick, eager glance of La Carconte followed him as\nhe ascended, while Caderousse, on the contrary, turned his back,\nand seemed most anxiously to avoid even glancing at him.\n\"All these circumstances did not strike me as painfully at the\ntime as they have since done; in fact, all that had happened (with\nthe exception of the story of the diamond, which certainly did wear\nan air of improbability), appeared natural enough, and called for\nneither apprehension nor mistrust; but, worn out as I was with\nfatigue, and fully purposing to proceed onwards directly the\ntempest abated, I determined to obtain a few hours' sleep. Overhead\nI could accurately distinguish every movement of the jeweller, who,\nafter making the best arrangements in his power for passing aafter making the best arrangements in his power for passing a\ncomfortable night, threw himself on his bed, and I could hear it\ncreak and groan beneath his weight. Insensibly my eyelids grew\nheavy, deep sleep stole over me, and having no suspicion of\nanything wrong, I sought not to shake it off. I looked into the\nkitchen once more and saw Caderousse sitting by the side of a long\ntable upon one of the low wooden stools which in country places are\nfrequently used instead of chairs; his back was turned towards me,\nso that I could not see the expression of his countenance — neither\nshould I have been able to do so had he been placed differently, as\nhis head was buried between his two hands. La Carconte continued to\ngaze on him for some time, then shrugging her shoulders, she took\nher seat immediately opposite to him. At this moment the expiring\nembers threw up a fresh flame from the kindling of a piece of wood\nthat lay near, and a bright light flashed over the room. La\nCarconte still kept her eyes fixed on her husband, but as he made\nno sign of changing his position, she extended her hard, bony hand,\nand touched him on the forehead.\n\"Caderousse shuddered. The woman's lips seemed to move, as\nthough she were talking; but because she merely spoke in an\nundertone, or my senses were dulled by sleep, I did not catch a\nword she uttered. Confused sights and sounds seemed to float before\nme, and gradually I fell into a deep, heavy slumber. How long I had\nbeen in this unconscious state I know not, when I was suddenly\naroused by the report of a pistol, followed by a fearful cry. Weak\nand tottering footsteps resounded across the chamber above me, and\nthe next instant a dull, heavy weight seemed to fall powerless on\nthe staircase. I had not yet fully recovered consciousness, when\nagain I heard groans, mingled with half-stifled cries, as if from\npersons engaged in a deadly struggle. A cry more prolonged than the\nothers and ending in a series of groans effectually roused me fromothers and ending in a series of groans effectually roused me from\nmy drowsy lethargy. Hastily raising myself on one arm, I looked\naround, but all was dark; and it seemed to me as if the rain must\nhave penetrated through the flooring of the room above, for some\nkind of moisture appeared to fall, drop by drop, upon my forehead,\nand when I passed my hand across my brow, I felt that it was wet\nand clammy.\n\"To the fearful noises that had awakened me had succeeded the\nmost perfect silence — unbroken, save by the footsteps of a man\nwalking about in the chamber above. The staircase creaked, he\ndescended into the room below, approached the fire and lit a\ncandle. The man was Caderousse — he was pale and his shirt was all\nblood. Having obtained the light, he hurried up-stairs again, and\nonce more I heard his rapid and uneasy footsteps. A moment later he\ncame down again, holding in his hand the small shagreen case, which\nhe opened, to assure himself it contained the diamond, — seemed to\nhesitate as to which pocket he should put it in, then, as if\ndissatisfied with the security of either pocket, he deposited it in\nhis red handkerchief, which he carefully rolled round his head.\nAfter this he took from his cupboard the bank-notes and gold he had\nput there, thrust the one into the pocket of his trousers, and the\nother into that of his waistcoat, hastily tied up a small bundle of\nlinen, and rushing towards the door, disappeared in the darkness of\nthe night.\n\"Then all became clear and manifest to me, and I reproached\nmyself with what had happened, as though I myself had done the\nguilty deed. I fancied that I still heard faint moans, and\nimagining that the unfortunate jeweller might not be quite dead, I\ndetermined to go to his relief, by way of atoning in some slight\ndegree, not for the crime I had committed, but for that which I had\nnot endeavored to prevent. For this purpose I applied all the\nstrength I possessed to force an entrance from the cramped spot in\nwhich I lay to the adjoining room. The poorly fastened boards which"}
{"text": "which I lay to the adjoining room. The poorly fastened boards which\nalone divided me from it yielded to my efforts, and I found myself\nin the house. Hastily snatching up the lighted candle, I hurried to\nthe staircase; about midway a body was lying quite across the\nstairs. It was that of La Carconte. The pistol I had heard had\ndoubtless been fired at her. The shot had frightfully lacerated her\nthroat, leaving two gaping wounds from which, as well as the mouth,\nthe blood was pouring in floods. She was stone dead. I strode past\nher, and ascended to the sleeping chamber, which presented an\nappearance of the wildest disorder. The furniture had been knocked\nover in the deadly struggle that had taken place there, and the\nsheets, to which the unfortunate jeweller had doubtless clung, were\ndragged across the room. The murdered man lay on the floor, his\nhead leaning against the wall, and about him was a pool of blood\nwhich poured forth from three large wounds in his breast; there was\na fourth gash, in which a long table knife was plunged up to the\nhandle.\n\"I stumbled over some object; I stooped to examine — it was the\nsecond pistol, which had not gone off, probably from the powder\nbeing wet. I approached the jeweller, who was not quite dead, and\nat the sound of my footsteps and the creaking of the floor, he\nopened his eyes, fixed them on me with an anxious and inquiring\ngaze, moved his lips as though trying to speak, then, overcome by\nthe effort, fell back and expired. This appalling sight almost\nbereft me of my senses, and finding that I could no longer be of\nservice to any one in the house, my only desire was to fly. I\nrushed towards the staircase, clutching my hair, and uttering a\ngroan of horror. Upon reaching the room below, I found five or six\ncustom-house officers, and two or three gendarmes — all heavily\narmed. They threw themselves upon me. I made no resistance; I was\nno longer master of my senses. When I strove to speak, a few\ninarticulate sounds alone escaped my lips.inarticulate sounds alone escaped my lips.\n\"As I noticed the significant manner in which the whole party\npointed to my blood-stained garments, I involuntarily surveyed\nmyself, and then I discovered that the thick warm drops that had so\nbedewed me as I lay beneath the staircase must have been the blood\nof La Carconte. I pointed to the spot where I had concealed myself.\n`What does he mean?' asked a gendarme. One of the officers went to\nthe place I directed. `He means,' replied the man upon his return,\n`that he got in that way;' and he showed the hole I had made when I\nbroke through.\n\"Then I saw that they took me for the assassin. I recovered\nforce and energy enough to free myself from the hands of those who\nheld me, while I managed to stammer forth — `I did not do it!\nIndeed, indeed I did not!' A couple of gendarmes held the muzzles\nof their carbines against my breast. — `Stir but a step,' said\nthey, `and you are a dead man.' — `Why should you threaten me with\ndeath,' cried I, `when I have already declared my innocence?' —\n`Tush, tush,' cried the men; `keep your innocent stories to tell to\nthe judge at Nimes. Meanwhile, come along with us; and the best\nadvice we can give you is to do so unresistingly.' Alas, resistance\nwas far from my thoughts. I was utterly overpowered by surprise and\nterror; and without a word I suffered myself to be handcuffed and\ntied to a horse's tail, and thus they took me to Nimes.\n\"I had been tracked by a customs-officer, who had lost sight of\nme near the tavern; feeling certain that I intended to pass the\nnight there, he had returned to summon his comrades, who just\narrived in time to hear the report of the pistol, and to take me in\nthe midst of such circumstantial proofs of my guilt as rendered all\nhopes of proving my innocence utterly futile. One only chance was\nleft me, that of beseeching the magistrate before whom I was taken\nto cause every inquiry to be made for the Abbe Busoni, who had\nstopped at the inn of the Pont du Gard on that morning. Ifstopped at the inn of the Pont du Gard on that morning. If\nCaderousse had invented the story relative to the diamond, and\nthere existed no such person as the Abbe Busoni, then, indeed, I\nwas lost past redemption, or, at least, my life hung upon the\nfeeble chance of Caderousse himself being apprehended and\nconfessing the whole truth. Two months passed away in hopeless\nexpectation on my part, while I must do the magistrate the justice\nto say that he used every means to obtain information of the person\nI declared could exculpate me if he would. Caderousse still evaded\nall pursuit, and I had resigned myself to what seemed my inevitable\nfate. My trial was to come on at the approaching assizes; when, on\nthe 8th of September — that is to say, precisely three months and\nfive days after the events which had perilled my life — the Abbe\nBusoni, whom I never ventured to believe I should see, presented\nhimself at the prison doors, saying he understood one of the\nprisoners wished to speak to him; he added, that having learned at\nMarseilles the particulars of my imprisonment, he hastened to\ncomply with my desire. You may easily imagine with what eagerness I\nwelcomed him, and how minutely I related the whole of what I had\nseen and heard. I felt some degree of nervousness as I entered upon\nthe history of the diamond, but, to my inexpressible astonishment,\nhe confirmed it in every particular, and to my equal surprise, he\nseemed to place entire belief in all I said. And then it was that,\nwon by his mild charity, seeing that he was acquainted with all the\nhabits and customs of my own country, and considering also that\npardon for the only crime of which I was really guilty might come\nwith a double power from lips so benevolent and kind, I besought\nhim to receive my confession, under the seal of which I recounted\nthe Auteuil affair in all its details, as well as every other\ntransaction of my life. That which I had done by the impulse of my\nbest feelings produced the same effect as though it had been the"}
{"text": "best feelings produced the same effect as though it had been the\nresult of calculation. My voluntary confession of the assassination\nat Auteuil proved to him that I had not committed that of which I\nstood accused. When he quitted me, he bade me be of good courage,\nand to rely upon his doing all in his power to convince my judges\nof my innocence.\n\"I had speedy proofs that the excellent abbe was engaged in my\nbehalf, for the rigors of my imprisonment were alleviated by many\ntrifling though acceptable indulgences, and I was told that my\ntrial was to be postponed to the assizes following those now being\nheld. In the interim it pleased providence to cause the\napprehension of Caderousse, who was discovered in some distant\ncountry, and brought back to France, where he made a full\nconfession, refusing to make the fact of his wife's having\nsuggested and arranged the murder any excuse for his own guilt. The\nwretched man was sentenced to the galleys for life, and I was\nimmediately set at liberty.\"\n\"And then it was, I presume,\" said Monte Cristo \"that you came\nto me as the bearer of a letter from the Abbe Busoni?\"\n\"It was, your excellency; the benevolent abbe took an evident\ninterest in all that concerned me.\n\"`Your mode of life as a smuggler,' said he to me one day, `will\nbe the ruin of you; if you get out, don't take it up again.' — `But\nhow,' inquired I, `am I to maintain myself and my poor sister?'\n\"`A person, whose confessor I am,' replied he, `and who\nentertains a high regard for me, applied to me a short time since\nto procure him a confidential servant. Would you like such a post?\nIf so, I will give you a letter of introduction to him.' — `Oh,\nfather,' I exclaimed, `you are very good.'\n\"`But you must swear solemnly that I shall never have reason to\nrepent my recommendation.' I extended my hand, and was about to\npledge myself by any promise he would dictate, but he stopped me.\n`It is unnecessary for you to bind yourself by any vow,' said he;\n`I know and admire the Corsican nature too well to fear you. Here,`I know and admire the Corsican nature too well to fear you. Here,\ntake this,' continued he, after rapidly writing the few lines I\nbrought to your excellency, and upon receipt of which you deigned\nto receive me into your service, and proudly I ask whether your\nexcellency has ever had cause to repent having done so?\"\n\"No,\" replied the count; \"I take pleasure in saying that you\nhave served me faithfully, Bertuccio; but you might have shown more\nconfidence in me.\"\n\"I, your excellency?\"\n\"Yes; you. How comes it, that having both a sister and an\nadopted son, you have never spoken to me of either?\"\n\"Alas, I have still to recount the most distressing period of my\nlife. Anxious as you may suppose I was to behold and comfort my\ndear sister, I lost no time in hastening to Corsica, but when I\narrived at Rogliano I found a house of mourning, the consequences\nof a scene so horrible that the neighbors remember and speak of it\nto this day. Acting by my advice, my poor sister had refused to\ncomply with the unreasonable demands of Benedetto, who was\ncontinually tormenting her for money, as long as he believed there\nwas a sou left in her possession. One morning that he had demanded\nmoney, threatening her with the severest consequences if she did\nnot supply him with what he desired, he disappeared and remained\naway all day, leaving the kind-hearted Assunta, who loved him as if\nhe were her own child, to weep over his conduct and bewail his\nabsence. Evening came, and still, with all the patient solicitude\nof a mother, she watched for his return.\n\"As the eleventh hour struck, he entered with a swaggering air,\nattended by two of the most dissolute and reckless of his boon\ncompanions. She stretched out her arms to him, but they seized hold\nof her, and one of the three — none other than the accursed\nBenedetto exclaimed, — `Put her to torture and she'll soon tell us\nwhere her money is.'\n\"It unfortunately happened that our neighbor, Vasilio, was at\nBastia, leaving no person in his house but his wife; no humanBastia, leaving no person in his house but his wife; no human\ncreature beside could hear or see anything that took place within\nour dwelling. Two held poor Assunta, who, unable to conceive that\nany harm was intended to her, smiled in the face of those who were\nsoon to become her executioners. The third proceeded to barricade\nthe doors and windows, then returned, and the three united in\nstifling the cries of terror incited by the sight of these\npreparations, and then dragged Assunta feet foremost towards the\nbrazier, expecting to wring from her an avowal of where her\nsupposed treasure was secreted. In the struggle her clothes caught\nfire, and they were obliged to let go their hold in order to\npreserve themselves from sharing the same fate. Covered with\nflames, Assunta rushed wildly to the door, but it was fastened; she\nflew to the windows, but they were also secured; then the neighbors\nheard frightful shrieks; it was Assunta calling for help. The cries\ndied away in groans, and next morning, as soon as Vasilio's wife\ncould muster up courage to venture abroad, she caused the door of\nour dwelling to be opened by the public authorities, when Assunta,\nalthough dreadfully burnt, was found still breathing; every drawer\nand closet in the house had been forced open, and the money stolen.\nBenedetto never again appeared at Rogliano, neither have I since\nthat day either seen or heard anything concerning him.\n\"It was subsequently to these dreadful events that I waited on\nyour excellency, to whom it would have been folly to have mentioned\nBenedetto, since all trace of him seemed entirely lost; or of my\nsister, since she was dead.\"\n\"And in what light did you view the occurrence?\" inquired Monte\nCristo.\n\"As a punishment for the crime I had committed,\" answered\nBertuccio. \"Oh, those Villeforts are an accursed race!\"\n\"Truly they are,\" murmured the count in a lugubrious tone.\n\"And now,\" resumed Bertuccio, \"your excellency may, perhaps, be\nable to comprehend that this place, which I revisit for the first"}
{"text": "able to comprehend that this place, which I revisit for the first\ntime — this garden, the actual scene of my crime — must have given\nrise to reflections of no very agreeable nature, and produced that\ngloom and depression of spirits which excited the notice of your\nexcellency, who was pleased to express a desire to know the cause.\nAt this instant a shudder passes over me as I reflect that possibly\nI am now standing on the very grave in which lies M. de Villefort,\nby whose hand the ground was dug to receive the corpse of his\nchild.\"\n\"Everything is possible,\" said Monte Cristo, rising from the\nbench on which he had been sitting; \"even,\" he added in an\ninaudible voice, \"even that the procureur be not dead. The Abbe\nBusoni did right to send you to me,\" he went on in his ordinary\ntone, \"and you have done well in relating to me the whole of your\nhistory, as it will prevent my forming any erroneous opinions\nconcerning you in future. As for that Benedetto, who so grossly\nbelied his name, have you never made any effort to trace out\nwhither he has gone, or what has become of him?\"\n\"No; far from wishing to learn whither he has betaken himself, I\nshould shun the possibility of meeting him as I would a wild beast.\nThank God, I have never heard his name mentioned by any person, and\nI hope and believe he is dead.\"\n\"Do not think so, Bertuccio,\" replied the count; \"for the wicked\nare not so easily disposed of, for God seems to have them under his\nspecial watch-care to make of them instruments of his\nvengeance.\"\n\"So be it,\" responded Bertuccio, \"all I ask of heaven is that I\nmay never see him again. And now, your excellency,\" he added,\nbowing his head, \"you know everything — you are my judge on earth,\nas the Almighty is in heaven; have you for me no words of\nconsolation?\"\n\"My good friend, I can only repeat the words addressed to you by\nthe Abbe Busoni. Villefort merited punishment for what he had done\nto you, and, perhaps, to others. Benedetto, if still living, will\nbecome the instrument of divine retribution in some way or other,become the instrument of divine retribution in some way or other,\nand then be duly punished in his turn. As far as you yourself are\nconcerned, I see but one point in which you are really guilty. Ask\nyourself, wherefore, after rescuing the infant from its living\ngrave, you did not restore it to its mother? There was the crime,\nBertuccio — that was where you became really culpable.\"\n\"True, excellency, that was the crime, the real crime, for in\nthat I acted like a coward. My first duty, directly I had succeeded\nin recalling the babe to life, was to restore it to its mother;\nbut, in order to do so, I must have made close and careful inquiry,\nwhich would, in all probability, have led to my own apprehension;\nand I clung to life, partly on my sister's account, and partly from\nthat feeling of pride inborn in our hearts of desiring to come off\nuntouched and victorious in the execution of our vengeance.\nPerhaps, too, the natural and instinctive love of life made me wish\nto avoid endangering my own. And then, again, I am not as brave and\ncourageous as was my poor brother.\" Bertuccio hid his face in his\nhands as he uttered these words, while Monte Cristo fixed on him a\nlook of inscrutable meaning. After a brief silence, rendered still\nmore solemn by the time and place, the count said, in a tone of\nmelancholy wholly unlike his usual manner, \"In order to bring this\nconversation to a fitting termination (the last we shall ever hold\nupon this subject), I will repeat to you some words I have heard\nfrom the lips of the Abbe Busoni. For all evils there are two\nremedies — time and silence. And now leave me, Monsieur Bertuccio,\nto walk alone here in the garden. The very circumstances which\ninflict on you, as a principal in the tragic scene enacted here,\nsuch painful emotions, are to me, on the contrary, a source of\nsomething like contentment, and serve but to enhance the value of\nthis dwelling in my estimation. The chief beauty of trees consists\nin the deep shadow of their umbrageous boughs, while fancy picturesin the deep shadow of their umbrageous boughs, while fancy pictures\na moving multitude of shapes and forms flitting and passing beneath\nthat shade. Here I have a garden laid out in such a way as to\nafford the fullest scope for the imagination, and furnished with\nthickly grown trees, beneath whose leafy screen a visionary like\nmyself may conjure up phantoms at will. This to me, who expected\nbut to find a blank enclosure surrounded by a straight wall, is, I\nassure you, a most agreeable surprise. I have no fear of ghosts,\nand I have never heard it said that so much harm had been done by\nthe dead during six thousand years as is wrought by the living in a\nsingle day. Retire within, Bertuccio, and tranquillize your mind.\nShould your confessor be less indulgent to you in your dying\nmoments than you found the Abbe Busoni, send for me, if I am still\non earth, and I will soothe your ears with words that shall\neffectually calm and soothe your parting soul ere it goes forth to\ntraverse the ocean called eternity.\"\nBertuccio bowed respectfully, and turned away, sighing heavily.\nMonte Cristo, left alone, took three or four steps onwards, and\nmurmured, \"Here, beneath this plane-tree, must have been where the\ninfant's grave was dug. There is the little door opening into the\ngarden. At this corner is the private staircase communicating with\nthe sleeping apartment. There will be no necessity for me to make a\nnote of these particulars, for there, before my eyes, beneath my\nfeet, all around me, I have the plan sketched with all the living\nreality of truth.\" After making the tour of the garden a second\ntime, the count re-entered his carriage, while Bertuccio, who\nperceived the thoughtful expression of his master's features, took\nhis seat beside the driver without uttering a word. The carriage\nproceeded rapidly towards Paris.\nThat same evening, upon reaching his abode in the Champs\nElysees, the Count of Monte Cristo went over the whole building\nwith the air of one long acquainted with each nook or corner. Nor,"}
{"text": "with the air of one long acquainted with each nook or corner. Nor,\nalthough preceding the party, did he once mistake one door for\nanother, or commit the smallest error when choosing any particular\ncorridor or staircase to conduct him to a place or suite of rooms\nhe desired to visit. Ali was his principal attendant during this\nnocturnal survey. Having given various orders to Bertuccio relative\nto the improvements and alterations he desired to make in the\nhouse, the Count, drawing out his watch, said to the attentive\nNubian, \"It is half-past eleven o'clock; Haidee will soon he here.\nHave the French attendants been summoned to await her coming?\" Ali\nextended his hands towards the apartments destined for the fair\nGreek, which were so effectually concealed by means of a tapestried\nentrance, that it would have puzzled the most curious to have\ndivined their existence. Ali, having pointed to the apartments,\nheld up three fingers of his right hand, and then, placing it\nbeneath his head, shut his eyes, and feigned to sleep. \"I\nunderstand,\" said Monte Cristo, well acquainted with Ali's\npantomime; \"you mean to tell me that three female attendants await\ntheir new mistress in her sleeping-chamber.\" Ali, with considerable\nanimation, made a sign in the affirmative.\n\"Madame will be tired to-night,\" continued Monte Cristo, \"and\nwill, no doubt, wish to rest. Desire the French attendants not to\nweary her with questions, but merely to pay their respectful duty\nand retire. You will also see that the Greek servants hold no\ncommunication with those of this country.\" He bowed. Just at that\nmoment voices were heard hailing the concierge. The gate opened, a\ncarriage rolled down the avenue, and stopped at the steps. The\ncount hastily descended, presented himself at the already opened\ncarriage door, and held out his hand to a young woman, completely\nenveloped in a green silk mantle heavily embroidered with gold. She\nraised the hand extended towards her to her lips, and kissed itraised the hand extended towards her to her lips, and kissed it\nwith a mixture of love and respect. Some few words passed between\nthem in that sonorous language in which Homer makes his gods\nconverse. The young woman spoke with an expression of deep\ntenderness, while the count replied with an air of gentle gravity.\nPreceded by Ali, who carried a rose-colored flambeau in his hand,\nthe new-comer, who was no other than the lovely Greek who had been\nMonte Cristo's companion in Italy, was conducted to her apartments,\nwhile the count retired to the pavilion reserved for himself. In\nanother hour every light in the house was extinguished, and it\nmight have been thought that all its inmates slept.About two o'clock the following day a calash, drawn by a pair of\nmagnificent English horses, stopped at the door of Monte Cristo and\na person, dressed in a blue coat, with buttons of a similar color,\na white waistcoat, over which was displayed a massive gold chain,\nbrown trousers, and a quantity of black hair descending so low over\nhis eyebrows as to leave it doubtful whether it were not artificial\nso little did its jetty glossiness assimilate with the deep\nwrinkles stamped on his features — a person, in a word, who,\nalthough evidently past fifty, desired to be taken for not more\nthan forty, bent forwards from the carriage door, on the panels of\nwhich were emblazoned the armorial bearings of a baron, and\ndirected his groom to inquire at the porter's lodge whether the\nCount of Monte Cristo resided there, and if he were within. While\nwaiting, the occupant of the carriage surveyed the house, the\ngarden as far as he could distinguish it, and the livery of\nservants who passed to and fro, with an attention so close as to be\nsomewhat impertinent. His glance was keen but showed cunning rather\nthan intelligence; his lips were straight, and so thin that, as\nthey closed, they were drawn in over the teeth; his cheek-bones\nwere broad and projecting, a never-failing proof of audacity and\ncraftiness; while the flatness of his forehead, and the enlargement\nof the back of his skull, which rose much higher than his large and\ncoarsely shaped ears, combined to form a physiognomy anything but\nprepossessing, save in the eyes of such as considered that the\nowner of so splendid an equipage must needs be all that was\nadmirable and enviable, more especially when they gazed on the\nenormous diamond that glittered in his shirt, and the red ribbon\nthat depended from his button-hole.\nThe groom, in obedience to his orders, tapped at the window of\nthe porter's lodge, saying, \"Pray, does not the Count of Monte\nCristo live here?\"\n\"His excellency does reside here,\" replied the concierge; \"but\"Cristo live here?\"\n\"His excellency does reside here,\" replied the concierge; \"but\"\n— added he, glancing an inquiring look at Ali. Ali returned a sign\nin the negative. \"But what?\" asked the groom.\n\"His excellency does not receive visitors to-day.\"\n\"Then here is my master's card, — the Baron Danglars. You will\ntake it to the count, and say that, although in haste to attend the\nChamber, my master came out of his way to have the honor of calling\nupon him.\"\n\"I never speak to his excellency,\" replied the concierge; \"the\nvalet de chambre will carry your message.\" The groom returned to\nthe carriage. \"Well?\" asked Danglars. The man, somewhat\ncrest-fallen by the rebuke he had received, repeated what the\nconcierge had said. \"Bless me,\" murmured Baron Danglars, \"this must\nsurely be a prince instead of a count by their styling him\n`excellency,' and only venturing to address him by the medium of\nhis valet de chambre. However, it does not signify; he has a letter\nof credit on me, so I must see him when he requires his money.\"\nThen, throwing himself back in his carriage, Danglars called out\nto his coachman, in a voice that might be heard across the road,\n\"To the Chamber of Deputies.\"\nApprised in time of the visit paid him, Monte Cristo had, from\nbehind the blinds of his pavilion, as minutely observed the baron,\nby means of an excellent lorgnette, as Danglars himself had\nscrutinized the house, garden, and servants. \"That fellow has a\ndecidedly bad countenance,\" said the count in a tone of disgust, as\nhe shut up his glass into its ivory case. \"How comes it that all do\nnot retreat in aversion at sight of that flat, receding,\nserpent-like forehead, round, vulture-shaped head, and sharp-hooked\nnose, like the beak of a buzzard? Ali,\" cried he, striking at the\nsame time on the brazen gong. Ali appeared. \"Summon Bertuccio,\"\nsaid the count. Almost immediately Bertuccio entered the apartment.\n\"Did your excellency desire to see me?\" inquired he. \"I did,\"\nreplied the count. \"You no doubt observed the horses standing a few"}
{"text": "replied the count. \"You no doubt observed the horses standing a few\nminutes since at the door?\"\n\"Certainly, your excellency. I noticed them for their remarkable\nbeauty.\"\n\"Then how comes it,\" said Monte Cristo with a frown, \"that, when\nI desired you to purchase for me the finest pair of horses to be\nfound in Paris, there is another pair, fully as fine as mine, not\nin my stables?\" At the look of displeasure, added to the angry tone\nin which the count spoke, Ali turned pale and held down his head.\n\"It is not your fault, my good Ali,\" said the count in the Arabic\nlanguage, and with a gentleness none would have thought him capable\nof showing, either in voice or face — \"it is not your fault. You do\nnot understand the points of English horses.\" The countenance of\npoor Ali recovered its serenity. \"Permit me to assure your\nexcellency,\" said Bertuccio, \"that the horses you speak of were not\nto be sold when I purchased yours.\" Monte Cristo shrugged his\nshoulders. \"It seems, sir steward,\" said he, \"that you have yet to\nlearn that all things are to be sold to such as care to pay the\nprice.\"\n\"His excellency is not, perhaps, aware that M. Danglars gave\n16,000 francs for his horses?\"\n\"Very well. Then offer him double that sum; a banker never loses\nan opportunity of doubling his capital.\"\n\"Is your excellency really in earnest?\" inquired the steward.\nMonte Cristo regarded the person who durst presume to doubt his\nwords with the look of one equally surprised and displeased. \"I\nhave to pay a visit this evening,\" replied he. \"I desire that these\nhorses, with completely new harness, may be at the door with my\ncarriage.\" Bertuccio bowed, and was about to retire; but when he\nreached the door, he paused, and then said, \"At what o'clock does\nyour excellency wish the carriage and horses to be ready?\"\n\"At five o'clock,\" replied the count.\n\"I beg your excellency's pardon,\" interposed the steward in a\ndeprecating manner, \"for venturing to observe that it is already\ntwo o'clock.\"\n\"I am perfectly aware of that fact,\" answered Monte Cristotwo o'clock.\"\n\"I am perfectly aware of that fact,\" answered Monte Cristo\ncalmly. Then, turning towards Ali, he said, \"Let all the horses in\nmy stables be led before the windows of your young lady, that she\nmay select those she prefers for her carriage. Request her also to\noblige me by saying whether it is her pleasure to dine with me; if\nso, let dinner be served in her apartments. Now, leave me, and\ndesire my valet de chambre to come hither.\" Scarcely had Ali\ndisappeared when the valet entered the chamber. \"Monsieur\nBaptistin,\" said the count, \"you have been in my service one year,\nthe time I generally give myself to judge of the merits or demerits\nof those about me. You suit me very well.\" Baptistin bowed low. \"It\nonly remains for me to know whether I also suit you?\"\n\"Oh, your excellency!\" exclaimed Baptistin eagerly.\n\"Listen, if you please, till I have finished speaking,\" replied\nMonte Cristo. \"You receive 1,500 francs per annum for your services\nhere — more than many a brave subaltern, who continually risks his\nlife for his country, obtains. You live in a manner far superior to\nmany clerks who work ten times harder than you do for their money.\nThen, though yourself a servant, you have other servants to wait\nupon you, take care of your clothes, and see that your linen is\nduly prepared for you. Again, you make a profit upon each article\nyou purchase for my toilet, amounting in the course of a year to a\nsum equalling your wages.\"\n\"Nay, indeed, your excellency.\"\n\"I am not condemning you for this, Monsieur Baptistin; but let\nyour profits end here. It would be long indeed ere you would find\nso lucrative a post as that you have now the good fortune to fill.\nI neither ill-use nor ill-treat my servants by word or action. An\nerror I readily forgive, but wilful negligence or forgetfulness,\nnever. My commands are ordinarily short, clear, and precise; and I\nwould rather be obliged to repeat my words twice, or even three\ntimes, than they should be misunderstood. I am rich enough to knowtimes, than they should be misunderstood. I am rich enough to know\nwhatever I desire to know, and I can promise you I am not wanting\nin curiosity. If, then, I should learn that you had taken upon\nyourself to speak of me to any one favorably or unfavorably, to\ncomment on my actions, or watch my conduct, that very instant you\nwould quit my service. You may now retire. I never caution my\nservants a second time — remember that.\" Baptistin bowed, and was\nproceeding towards the door. \"I forgot to mention to you,\" said the\ncount, \"that I lay yearly aside a certain sum for each servant in\nmy establishment; those whom I am compelled to dismiss lose (as a\nmatter of course) all participation in this money, while their\nportion goes to the fund accumulating for those domestics who\nremain with me, and among whom it will be divided at my death. You\nhave been in my service a year, your fund has already begun to\naccumulate — let it continue to do so.\"\nThis address, delivered in the presence of Ali, who, not\nunderstanding one word of the language in which it was spoken,\nstood wholly unmoved, produced an effect on M. Baptistin only to be\nconceived by such as have occasion to study the character and\ndisposition of French domestics. \"I assure your excellency,\" said\nhe, \"that at least it shall be my study to merit your approbation\nin all things, and I will take M. Ali as my model.\"\n\"By no means,\" replied the count in the most frigid tones; \"Ali\nhas many faults mixed with most excellent qualities. He cannot\npossibly serve you as a pattern for your conduct, not being, as you\nare, a paid servant, but a mere slave — a dog, who, should he fail\nin his duty towards me, I should not discharge from my service, but\nkill.\" Baptistin opened his eyes with astonishment.\n\"You seem incredulous,\" said Monte Cristo, who repeated to Ali\nin the Arabic language what he had just been saying to Baptistin in\nFrench. The Nubian smiled assentingly to his master's words, then,\nkneeling on one knee, respectfully kissed the hand of the count."}
{"text": "kneeling on one knee, respectfully kissed the hand of the count.\nThis corroboration of the lesson he had just received put the\nfinishing stroke to the wonder and stupefaction of M. Baptistin.\nThe count then motioned the valet de chambre to retire, and to Ali\nto follow to his study, where they conversed long and earnestly\ntogether. As the hand of the clock pointed to five the count struck\nthrice upon his gong. When Ali was wanted one stroke was given, two\nsummoned Baptistin, and three Bertuccio. The steward entered. \"My\nhorses,\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"They are at the door harnessed to the carriage as your\nexcellency desired. Does your excellency wish me to accompany\nhim?\"\n\"No, the coachman, Ali, and Baptistin will go.\" The count\ndescended to the door of his mansion, and beheld his carriage drawn\nby the very pair of horses he had so much admired in the morning as\nthe property of Danglars. As he passed them he said — \"They are\nextremely handsome certainly, and you have done well to purchase\nthem, although you were somewhat remiss not to have procured them\nsooner.\"\n\"Indeed, your excellency, I had very considerable difficulty in\nobtaining them, and, as it is, they have cost an enormous\nprice.\"\n\"Does the sum you gave for them make the animals less\nbeautiful,\" inquired the count, shrugging his shoulders.\n\"Nay, if your excellency is satisfied, it is all that I could\nwish. Whither does your excellency desire to be driven?\"\n\"To the residence of Baron Danglars, Rue de la Chaussee\nd'Antin.\" This conversation had passed as they stood upon the\nterrace, from which a flight of stone steps led to the\ncarriage-drive. As Bertuccio, with a respectful bow, was moving\naway, the count called him back. \"I have another commission for\nyou, M. Bertuccio,\" said he; \"I am desirous of having an estate by\nthe seaside in Normandy — for instance, between Havre and Boulogne.\nYou see I give you a wide range. It will be absolutely necessary\nthat the place you may select have a small harbor, creek, or bay,that the place you may select have a small harbor, creek, or bay,\ninto which my corvette can enter and remain at anchor. She draws\nonly fifteen feet. She must be kept in constant readiness to sail\nimmediately I think proper to give the signal. Make the requisite\ninquiries for a place of this description, and when you have met\nwith an eligible spot, visit it, and if it possess the advantages\ndesired, purchase it at once in your own name. The corvette must\nnow, I think, be on her way to Fecamp, must she not?\"\n\"Certainly, your excellency; I saw her put to sea the same\nevening we quitted Marseilles.\"\n\"And the yacht.\"\n\"Was ordered to remain at Martigues.\"\n\"'Tis well. I wish you to write from time to time to the\ncaptains in charge of the two vessels so as to keep them on the\nalert.\"\n\"And the steamboat?\"\n\"She is at Chalons?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"The same orders for her as for the two sailing vessels.\"\n\"Very good.\"\n\"When you have purchased the estate I desire, I want constant\nrelays of horses at ten leagues apart along the northern and\nsouthern road.\"\n\"Your excellency may depend upon me.\" The Count made a gesture\nof satisfaction, descended the terrace steps, and sprang into his\ncarriage, which was whirled along swiftly to the banker's house.\nDanglars was engaged at that moment, presiding over a railroad\ncommittee. But the meeting was nearly concluded when the name of\nhis visitor was announced. As the count's title sounded on his ear\nhe rose, and addressing his colleagues, who were members of one or\nthe other Chamber, he said, — \"Gentlemen, pardon me for leaving you\nso abruptly; but a most ridiculous circumstance has occurred, which\nis this, — Thomson & French, the Roman bankers, have sent to me\na certain person calling himself the Count of Monte Cristo, and\nhave given him an unlimited credit with me. I confess this is the\ndrollest thing I have ever met with in the course of my extensive\nforeign transactions, and you may readily suppose it has greatly\nroused my curiosity. I took the trouble this morning to call on theroused my curiosity. I took the trouble this morning to call on the\npretended count — if he were a real count he wouldn't be so rich.\nBut, would you believe it, `He was not receiving.' So the master of\nMonte Cristo gives himself airs befitting a great millionaire or a\ncapricious beauty. I made inquiries, and found that the house in\nthe Champs Elysees is his own property, and certainly it was very\ndecently kept up. But,\" pursued Danglars with one of his sinister\nsmiles, \"an order for unlimited credit calls for something like\ncaution on the part of the banker to whom that order is given. I am\nvery anxious to see this man. I suspect a hoax is intended, but the\ninstigators of it little knew whom they had to deal with. `They\nlaugh best who laugh last!'\"\nHaving delivered himself of this pompous address, uttered with a\ndegree of energy that left the baron almost out of breath, he bowed\nto the assembled party and withdrew to his drawing-room, whose\nsumptuous furnishings of white and gold had caused a great\nsensation in the Chaussee d'Antin. It was to this apartment he had\ndesired his guest to be shown, with the purpose of overwhelming him\nat the sight of so much luxury. He found the count standing before\nsome copies of Albano and Fattore that had been passed off to the\nbanker as originals; but which, mere copies as they were, seemed to\nfeel their degradation in being brought into juxtaposition with the\ngaudy colors that covered the ceiling. The count turned round as he\nheard the entrance of Danglars into the room. With a slight\ninclination of the head, Danglars signed to the count to be seated,\npointing significantly to a gilded arm-chair, covered with white\nsatin embroidered with gold. The count sat down. \"I have the honor,\nI presume, of addressing M. de Monte Cristo.\"\nThe count bowed. \"And I of speaking to Baron Danglars, chevalier\nof the Legion of Honor, and member of the Chamber of Deputies?\"\nMonte Cristo repeated all the titles he had read on the baron's\ncard."}
{"text": "Monte Cristo repeated all the titles he had read on the baron's\ncard.\nDanglars felt the irony and compressed his lips. \"You will, I\ntrust, excuse me, monsieur, for not calling you by your title when\nI first addressed you,\" he said, \"but you are aware that we are\nliving under a popular form of government, and that I am myself a\nrepresentative of the liberties of the people.\"\n\"So much so,\" replied Monte Cristo, \"that while you call\nyourself baron you are not willing to call anybody else count.\"\n\"Upon my word, monsieur,\" said Danglars with affected\ncarelessness, \"I attach no sort of value to such empty\ndistinctions; but the fact is, I was made baron, and also chevalier\nof the Legion of Honor, in return for services rendered, but\" —\n\"But you have discarded your titles after the example set you by\nMessrs. de Montmorency and Lafayette? That was a noble example to\nfollow, monsieur.\"\n\"Why,\" replied Danglars, \"not entirely so; with the servants, —\nyou understand.\"\n\"I see; to your domestics you are `my lord,' the journalists\nstyle you `monsieur,' while your constituents call you `citizen.'\nThese are distinctions very suitable under a constitutional\ngovernment. I understand perfectly.\" Again Danglars bit his lips;\nhe saw that he was no match for Monte Cristo in an argument of this\nsort, and he therefore hastened to turn to subjects more\ncongenial.\n\"Permit me to inform you, Count,\" said he, bowing, \"that I have\nreceived a letter of advice from Thomson & French, of\nRome.\"\n\"I am glad to hear it, baron, — for I must claim the privilege\nof addressing you after the manner of your servants. I have\nacquired the bad habit of calling persons by their titles from\nliving in a country where barons are still barons by right of\nbirth. But as regards the letter of advice, I am charmed to find\nthat it has reached you; that will spare me the troublesome and\ndisagreeable task of coming to you for money myself. You have\nreceived a regular letter of advice?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Danglars, \"but I confess I didn't quite comprehend\nits meaning.\"\n\"Indeed?\"\"Yes,\" said Danglars, \"but I confess I didn't quite comprehend\nits meaning.\"\n\"Indeed?\"\n\"And for that reason I did myself the honor of calling upon you,\nin order to beg for an explanation.\"\n\"Go on, monsieur. Here I am, ready to give you any explanation\nyou desire.\"\n\"Why,\" said Danglers, \"in the letter — I believe I have it about\nme\" — here he felt in his breast-pocket — \"yes, here it is. Well,\nthis letter gives the Count of Monte Cristo unlimited credit on our\nhouse.\"\n\"Well, baron, what is there difficult to understand about\nthat?\"\n\"Merely the term unlimited — nothing else, certainly.\"\n\"Is not that word known in France? The people who wrote are\nAnglo-Germans, you know.\"\n\"Oh, as for the composition of the letter, there is nothing to\nbe said; but as regards the competency of the document, I certainly\nhave doubts.\"\n\"Is it possible?\" asked the count, assuming all air and tone of\nthe utmost simplicity and candor. \"Is it possible that Thomson\n& French are not looked upon as safe and solvent bankers? Pray\ntell me what you think, baron, for I feel uneasy, I can assure you,\nhaving some considerable property in their hands.\"\n\"Thomson & French are perfectly solvent,\" replied Danglars,\nwith an almost mocking smile: \"but the word unlimited, in financial\naffairs, is so extremely vague.\"\n\"Is, in fact, unlimited,\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"Precisely what I was about to say,\" cried Danglars. \"Now what\nis vague is doubtful; and it was a wise man who said, `when in\ndoubt, keep out.'\"\n\"Meaning to say,\" rejoined Monte Cristo, \"that however Thomson\n& French may be inclined to commit acts of imprudence and\nfolly, the Baron Danglars is not disposed to follow their\nexample.\"\n\"Not at all.\"\n\"Plainly enough. Messrs. Thomson & French set no bounds to\ntheir engagements while those of M. Danglars have their limits; he\nis a wise man, according to his own showing.\"\n\"Monsieur,\" replied the banker, drawing himself up with a\nhaughty air, \"the extent of my resources has never yet been\nquestioned.\"haughty air, \"the extent of my resources has never yet been\nquestioned.\"\n\"It seems, then, reserved for me,\" said Monte Cristo coldly, \"to\nbe the first to do so.\"\n\"By what right, sir?\"\n\"By right of the objections you have raised, and the\nexplanations you have demanded, which certainly must have some\nmotive.\"\nOnce more Danglars bit his lips. It was the second time he had\nbeen worsted, and this time on his own ground. His forced\npoliteness sat awkwardly upon him, and approached almost to\nimpertinence. Monte Cristo on the contrary, preserved a graceful\nsuavity of demeanor, aided by a certain degree of simplicity he\ncould assume at pleasure, and thus possessed the advantage.\n\"Well, sir,\" resumed Danglars, after a brief silence, \"I will\nendeavor to make myself understood, by requesting you to inform me\nfor what sum you propose to draw upon me?\"\n\"Why, truly,\" replied Monte Cristo, determined not to lose an\ninch of the ground he had gained, \"my reason for desiring an\n`unlimited' credit was precisely because I did not know how much\nmoney I might need.\"\nThe banker thought the time had come for him to take the upper\nhand. So throwing himself back in his arm-chair, he said, with an\narrogant and purse-proud air, — \"Let me beg of you not to hesitate\nin naming your wishes; you will then be convinced that the\nresources of the house of Danglars, however limited, are still\nequal to meeting the largest demands; and were you even to require\na million\" —\n\"I beg your pardon,\" interposed Monte Cristo.\n\"I said a million,\" replied Danglars, with the confidence of\nignorance.\n\"But could I do with a million?\" retorted the count. \"My dear\nsir, if a trifle like that could suffice me, I should never have\ngiven myself the trouble of opening an account. A million? Excuse\nmy smiling when you speak of a sum I am in the habit of carrying in\nmy pocket-book or dressing-case.\" And with these words Monte Cristo\ntook from his pocket a small case containing his visiting-cards,\nand drew forth two orders on the treasury for 500,000 francs each,"}
{"text": "and drew forth two orders on the treasury for 500,000 francs each,\npayable at sight to the bearer. A man like Danglars was wholly\ninaccessible to any gentler method of correction. The effect of the\npresent revelation was stunning; he trembled and was on the verge\nof apoplexy. The pupils of his eyes, as he gazed at Monte Cristo\ndilated horribly.\n\"Come, come,\" said Monte Cristo, \"confess honestly that you have\nnot perfect confidence in Thomson & French. I understand, and\nforeseeing that such might be the case, I took, in spite of my\nignorance of affairs, certain precautions. See, here are two\nsimilar letters to that you have yourself received; one from the\nhouse of Arstein & Eskeles of Vienna, to Baron Rothschild, the\nother drawn by Baring of London, upon M. Laffitte. Now, sir, you\nhave but to say the word, and I will spare you all uneasiness by\npresenting my letter of credit to one or other of these two firms.\"\nThe blow had struck home, and Danglars was entirely vanquished;\nwith a trembling hand he took the two letters from the count, who\nheld them carelessly between finger and thumb, and proceeded to\nscrutinize the signatures, with a minuteness that the count might\nhave regarded as insulting, had it not suited his present purpose\nto mislead the banker. \"Oh, sir,\" said Danglars, after he had\nconvinced himself of the authenticity of the documents he held, and\nrising as if to salute the power of gold personified in the man\nbefore him, — \"three letters of unlimited credit! I can be no\nlonger mistrustful, but you must pardon me, my dear count, for\nconfessing to some degree of astonishment.\"\n\"Nay,\" answered Monte Cristo, with the most gentlemanly air,\n\"'tis not for such trifling sums as these that your banking house\nis to be incommoded. Then, you can let me have some money, can you\nnot?\"\n\"Whatever you say, my dear count; I am at your orders.\"\n\"Why,\" replied Monte Cristo, \"since we mutually understand each\nother — for such I presume is the case?\" Danglars bowedother — for such I presume is the case?\" Danglars bowed\nassentingly. \"You are quite sure that not a lurking doubt or\nsuspicion lingers in your mind?\"\n\"Oh, my dear count,\" exclaimed Danglars, \"I never for an instant\nentertained such a feeling towards you.\"\n\"No, you merely wished to be convinced, nothing more; but now\nthat we have come to so clear an understanding, and that all\ndistrust and suspicion are laid at rest, we may as well fix a sum\nas the probable expenditure of the first year, suppose we say six\nmillions to\" —\n\"Six millions!\" gasped Danglars — \"so be it.\"\n\"Then, if I should require more,\" continued Monte Cristo in a\ncareless manner, \"why, of course, I should draw upon you; but my\npresent intention is not to remain in France more than a year, and\nduring that period I scarcely think I shall exceed the sum I\nmentioned. However, we shall see. Be kind enough, then, to send me\n500,000 francs to-morrow. I shall be at home till midday, or if\nnot, I will leave a receipt with my steward.\"\n\"The money you desire shall be at your house by ten o'clock\nto-morrow morning, my dear count,\" replied Danglars. \"How would you\nlike to have it? in gold, silver, or notes?\"\n\"Half in gold, and the other half in bank-notes, if you please,\"\nsaid the count, rising from his seat.\n\"I must confess to you, count,\" said Danglars, \"that I have\nhitherto imagined myself acquainted with the degree of all the\ngreat fortunes of Europe, and still wealth such as yours has been\nwholly unknown to me. May I presume to ask whether you have long\npossessed it?\"\n\"It has been in the family a very long while,\" returned Monte\nCristo, \"a sort of treasure expressly forbidden to be touched for a\ncertain period of years, during which the accumulated interest has\ndoubled the capital. The period appointed by the testator for the\ndisposal of these riches occurred only a short time ago, and they\nhave only been employed by me within the last few years. Your\nignorance on the subject, therefore, is easily accounted for.ignorance on the subject, therefore, is easily accounted for.\nHowever, you will be better informed as to me and my possessions\nere long.\" And the count, while pronouncing these latter words,\naccompanied them with one of those ghastly smiles that used to\nstrike terror into poor Franz d'Epinay.\n\"With your tastes, and means of gratifying them,\" continued\nDanglars, \"you will exhibit a splendor that must effectually put us\npoor miserable millionaires quite in the shade. If I mistake not\nyou are an admirer of paintings, at least I judged so from the\nattention you appeared to be bestowing on mine when I entered the\nroom. If you will permit me, I shall be happy to show you my\npicture gallery, composed entirely of works by the ancient masters\n— warranted as such. Not a modern picture among them. I cannot\nendure the modern school of painting.\"\n\"You are perfectly right in objecting to them, for this one\ngreat fault — that they have not yet had time to become old.\"\n\"Or will you allow me to show you several fine statues by\nThorwaldsen, Bartoloni, and Canova? — all foreign artists, for, as\nyou may perceive, I think but very indifferently of our French\nsculptors.\"\n\"You have a right to be unjust to them, monsieur; they are your\ncompatriots.\"\n\"But all this may come later, when we shall be better known to\neach other. For the present, I will confine myself (if perfectly\nagreeable to you) to introducing you to the Baroness Danglars —\nexcuse my impatience, my dear count, but a client like you is\nalmost like a member of the family.\" Monte Cristo bowed, in sign\nthat he accepted the proffered honor; Danglars rang and was\nanswered by a servant in a showy livery. \"Is the baroness at home?\"\ninquired Danglars.\n\"Yes, my lord,\" answered the man.\n\"And alone?\"\n\"No, my lord, madame has visitors.\"\n\"Have you any objection to meet any persons who may be with\nmadame, or do you desire to preserve a strict incognito?\"\n\"No, indeed,\" replied Monte Cristo with a smile, \"I do not\narrogate to myself the right of so doing.\""}
{"text": "arrogate to myself the right of so doing.\"\n\"And who is with madame? — M. Debray?\" inquired Danglars, with\nan air of indulgence and good-nature that made Monte Cristo smile,\nacquainted as he was with the secrets of the banker's domestic\nlife.\n\"Yes, my lord,\" replied the servant, \"M. Debray is with madame.\"\nDanglars nodded his head; then, turning to Monte Cristo, said, \"M.\nLucien Debray is an old friend of ours, and private secretary to\nthe Minister of the Interior. As for my wife, I must tell you, she\nlowered herself by marrying me, for she belongs to one of the most\nancient families in France. Her maiden name was De Servieres, and\nher first husband was Colonel the Marquis of Nargonne.\"\n\"I have not the honor of knowing Madame Danglars; but I have\nalready met M. Lucien Debray.\"\n\"Ah, indeed?\" said Danglars; \"and where was that?\"\n\"At the house of M. de Morcerf.\"\n\"Ah, ha, you are acquainted with the young viscount, are\nyou?\"\n\"We were together a good deal during the Carnival at Rome.\"\n\"True, true,\" cried Danglars. \"Let me see; have I not heard talk\nof some strange adventure with bandits or thieves hid in ruins, and\nof his having had a miraculous escape? I forget how, but I know he\nused to amuse my wife and daughter by telling them about it after\nhis return from Italy.\"\n\"Her ladyship is waiting to receive you, gentlemen,\" said the\nservant, who had gone to inquire the pleasure of his mistress.\n\"With your permission,\" said Danglars, bowing, \"I will precede you,\nto show you the way.\"\n\"By all means,\" replied Monte Cristo; \"I follow you.\"The baron, followed by the count, traversed a long series of\napartments, in which the prevailing characteristics were heavy\nmagnificence and the gaudiness of ostentatious wealth, until he\nreached the boudoir of Madame Danglars — a small octagonal-shaped\nroom, hung with pink satin, covered with white Indian muslin. The\nchairs were of ancient workmanship and materials; over the doors\nwere painted sketches of shepherds and shepherdesses, after the\nstyle and manner of Boucher; and at each side pretty medallions in\ncrayons, harmonizing well with the furnishings of this charming\napartment, the only one throughout the great mansion in which any\ndistinctive taste prevailed. The truth was, it had been entirely\noverlooked in the plan arranged and followed out by M. Danglars and\nhis architect, who had been selected to aid the baron in the great\nwork of improvement solely because he was the most fashionable and\ncelebrated decorator of the day. The decorations of the boudoir had\nthen been left entirely to Madame Danglars and Lucien Debray. M.\nDanglars, however, while possessing a great admiration for the\nantique, as it was understood during the time of the Directory,\nentertained the most sovereign contempt for the simple elegance of\nhis wife's favorite sitting-room, where, by the way, he was never\npermitted to intrude, unless, indeed, he excused his own appearance\nby ushering in some more agreeable visitor than himself; and even\nthen he had rather the air and manner of a person who was himself\nintroduced, than that of being the presenter of another, his\nreception being cordial or frigid, in proportion as the person who\naccompanied him chanced to please or displease the baroness.\nMadame Danglars (who, although past the first bloom of youth,\nwas still strikingly handsome) was now seated at the piano, a most\nelaborate piece of cabinet and inlaid work, while Lucien Debray,\nstanding before a small work-table, was turning over the pages of\nan album. Lucien had found time, preparatory to the count'san album. Lucien had found time, preparatory to the count's\narrival, to relate many particulars respecting him to Madame\nDanglars. It will be remembered that Monte Cristo had made a lively\nimpression on the minds of all the party assembled at the breakfast\ngiven by Albert de Morcerf; and although Debray was not in the\nhabit of yielding to such feelings, he had never been able to shake\noff the powerful influence excited in his mind by the impressive\nlook and manner of the count, consequently the description given by\nLucien to the baroness bore the highly-colored tinge of his own\nheated imagination. Already excited by the wonderful stories\nrelated of the count by De Morcerf, it is no wonder that Madame\nDanglars eagerly listened to, and fully credited, all the\nadditional circumstances detailed by Debray. This posing at the\npiano and over the album was only a little ruse adopted by way of\nprecaution. A most gracious welcome and unusual smile were bestowed\non M. Danglars; the count, in return for his gentlemanly bow,\nreceived a formal though graceful courtesy, while Lucien exchanged\nwith the count a sort of distant recognition, and with Danglars a\nfree and easy nod.\n\"Baroness,\" said Danglars, \"give me leave to present to you the\nCount of Monte Cristo, who has been most warmly recommended to me\nby my correspondents at Rome. I need but mention one fact to make\nall the ladies in Paris court his notice, and that is, that he has\ncome to take up his abode in Paris for a year, during which brief\nperiod he proposes to spend six millions of money. That means\nballs, dinners, and lawn parties without end, in all of which I\ntrust the count will remember us, as he may depend upon it we shall\nhim, in our own humble entertainments.\" In spite of the gross\nflattery and coarseness of this address, Madame Danglars could not\nforbear gazing with considerable interest on a man capable of\nexpending six millions in twelve months, and who had selected Paris\nfor the scene of his princely extravagance. \"And when did you"}
{"text": "for the scene of his princely extravagance. \"And when did you\narrive here?\" inquired she.\n\"Yesterday morning, madame.\"\n\"Coming, as usual, I presume, from the extreme end of the globe?\nPardon me — at least, such I have heard is your custom.\"\n\"Nay, madame. This time I have merely come from Cadiz.\"\n\"You have selected a most unfavorable moment for your first\nvisit. Paris is a horrible place in summer. Balls, parties, and\nfetes are over; the Italian opera is in London; the French opera\neverywhere except in Paris. As for the Theatre Francais, you know,\nof course, that it is nowhere. The only amusements left us are the\nindifferent races at the Champ de Mars and Satory. Do you propose\nentering any horses at either of these races, count?\"\n\"I shall do whatever they do at Paris, madame, if I have the\ngood fortune to find some one who will initiate me into the\nprevalent ideas of amusement.\"\n\"Are you fond of horses, count?\"\n\"I have passed a considerable part of my life in the East,\nmadame, and you are doubtless aware that the Orientals value only\ntwo things — the fine breeding of their horses and the beauty of\ntheir women.\"\n\"Nay, count,\" said the baroness, \"it would have been somewhat\nmore gallant to have placed the ladies first.\"\n\"You see, madame, how rightly I spoke when I said I required a\npreceptor to guide me in all my sayings and doings here.\" At this\ninstant the favorite attendant of Madame Danglars entered the\nboudoir; approaching her mistress, she spoke some words in an\nundertone. Madame Danglars turned very pale, then exclaimed, — \"I\ncannot believe it; the thing is impossible.\"\n\"I assure you, madame,\" replied the woman, \"it is as I have\nsaid.\" Turning impatiently towards her husband, Madame Danglars\ndemanded, \"Is this true?\"\n\"Is what true, madame?\" inquired Danglars, visibly agitated.\n\"What my maid tells me.\"\n\"But what does she tell you?\"\n\"That when my coachman was about to harness the horses to my\ncarriage, he discovered that they had been removed from the stablescarriage, he discovered that they had been removed from the stables\nwithout his knowledge. I desire to know what is the meaning of\nthis?\"\n\"Be kind enough, madame, to listen to me,\" said Danglars.\n\"Oh, yes; I will listen, monsieur, for I am most curious to hear\nwhat explanation you will give. These two gentlemen shall decide\nbetween us; but, first, I will state the case to them. Gentlemen,\"\ncontinued the baroness, \"among the ten horses in the stables of\nBaron Danglars, are two that belong exclusively to me — a pair of\nthe handsomest and most spirited creatures to be found in Paris.\nBut to you, at least, M. Debray, I need not give a further\ndescription, because to you my beautiful pair of dappled grays were\nwell known. Well, I had promised Madame de Villefort the loan of my\ncarriage to drive to-morrow to the Bois; but when my coachman goes\nto fetch the grays from the stables they are gone — positively\ngone. No doubt M. Danglars has sacrificed them to the selfish\nconsideration of gaining some thousands of paltry francs. Oh, what\na detestable crew they are, these mercenary speculators!\"\n\"Madame,\" replied Danglars, \"the horses were not sufficiently\nquiet for you; they were scarcely four years old, and they made me\nextremely uneasy on your account.\"\n\"Nonsense,\" retorted the baroness; \"you could not have\nentertained any alarm on the subject, because you are perfectly\nwell aware that I have had for a month in my service the very best\ncoachman in Paris. But, perhaps, you have disposed of the coachman\nas well as the horses?\"\n\"My dear love, pray do not say any more about them, and I\npromise you another pair exactly like them in appearance, only more\nquiet and steady.\" The baroness shrugged her shoulders with an air\nof ineffable contempt, while her husband, affecting not to observe\nthis unconjugal gesture, turned towards Monte Cristo and said, —\n\"Upon my word, count, I am quite sorry not to have met you sooner.\nYou are setting up an establishment, of course?\"\n\"Why, yes,\" replied the count.You are setting up an establishment, of course?\"\n\"Why, yes,\" replied the count.\n\"I should have liked to have made you the offer of these horses.\nI have almost given them away, as it is; but, as I before said, I\nwas anxious to get rid of them upon any terms. They were only fit\nfor a young man.\"\n\"I am much obliged by your kind intentions towards me,\" said\nMonte Cristo; \"but this morning I purchased a very excellent pair\nof carriage-horses, and I do not think they were dear. There they\nare. Come, M. Debray, you are a connoisseur, I believe, let me have\nyour opinion upon them.\" As Debray walked towards the window,\nDanglars approached his wife. \"I could not tell you before others,\"\nsaid he in a low tone, \"the reason of my parting with the horses;\nbut a most enormous price was offered me this morning for them.\nSome madman or fool, bent upon ruining himself as fast as he can,\nactually sent his steward to me to purchase them at any cost; and\nthe fact is, I have gained 16,000 francs by the sale of them. Come,\ndon't look so angry, and you shall have 4,000 francs of the money\nto do what you like with, and Eugenie shall have 2,000. There, what\ndo you think now of the affair? Wasn't I right to part with the\nhorses?\" Madame Danglars surveyed her husband with a look of\nwithering contempt.\n\"Great heavens?\" suddenly exclaimed Debray.\n\"What is it?\" asked the baroness.\n\"I cannot be mistaken; there are your horses! The very animals\nwe were speaking of, harnessed to the count's carriage!\"\n\"My dappled grays?\" demanded the baroness, springing to the\nwindow. \"'Tis indeed they!\" said she. Danglars looked absolutely\nstupefied. \"How very singular,\" cried Monte Cristo with\nwell-feigned astonishment.\n\"I cannot believe it,\" murmured the banker. Madame Danglars\nwhispered a few words in the ear of Debray, who approached Monte\nCristo, saying, \"The baroness wishes to know what you paid her\nhusband for the horses.\"\n\"I scarcely know,\" replied the count; \"it was a little surprise\nprepared for me by my steward, and cost me — well, somewhere about"}
{"text": "prepared for me by my steward, and cost me — well, somewhere about\n30,000 francs.\" Debray conveyed the count's reply to the baroness.\nPoor Danglars looked so crest-fallen and discomfited that Monte\nCristo assumed a pitying air towards him. \"See,\" said the count,\n\"how very ungrateful women are. Your kind attention, in providing\nfor the safety of the baroness by disposing of the horses, does not\nseem to have made the least impression on her. But so it is; a\nwoman will often, from mere wilfulness, prefer that which is\ndangerous to that which is safe. Therefore, in my opinion, my dear\nbaron, the best and easiest way is to leave them to their fancies,\nand allow them to act as they please, and then, if any mischief\nfollows, why, at least, they have no one to blame but themselves.\"\nDanglars made no reply; he was occupied in anticipations of the\ncoming scene between himself and the baroness, whose frowning brow,\nlike that of Olympic Jove, predicted a storm. Debray, who perceived\nthe gathering clouds, and felt no desire to witness the explosion\nof Madame Danglars' rage, suddenly recollected an appointment,\nwhich compelled him to take his leave; while Monte Cristo,\nunwilling by prolonging his stay to destroy the advantages he hoped\nto obtain, made a farewell bow and departed, leaving Danglars to\nendure the angry reproaches of his wife.\n\"Excellent,\" murmured Monte Cristo to himself, as he came away.\n\"All has gone according to my wishes. The domestic peace of this\nfamily is henceforth in my hands. Now, then, to play another\nmaster-stroke, by which I shall gain the heart of both husband and\nwife — delightful! Still,\" added he, \"amid all this, I have not yet\nbeen presented to Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars, whose acquaintance\nI should have been glad to make. But,\" he went on with his peculiar\nsmile, \"I am here in Paris, and have plenty of time before me — by\nand by will do for that.\" With these reflections he entered his\ncarriage and returned home. Two hours afterwards, Madame Danglarscarriage and returned home. Two hours afterwards, Madame Danglars\nreceived a most flattering epistle from the count, in which he\nentreated her to receive back her favorite \"dappled grays,\"\nprotesting that he could not endure the idea of making his entry\ninto the Parisian world of fashion with the knowledge that his\nsplendid equipage had been obtained at the price of a lovely\nwoman's regrets. The horses were sent back wearing the same harness\nshe had seen on them in the morning; only, by the count's orders,\nin the centre of each rosette that adorned either side of their\nheads, had been fastened a large diamond.\nTo Danglars Monte Cristo also wrote, requesting him to excuse\nthe whimsical gift of a capricious millionaire, and to beg the\nbaroness to pardon the Eastern fashion adopted in the return of the\nhorses.\nDuring the evening, Monte Cristo quitted Paris for Auteuil,\naccompanied by Ali. The following day, about three o'clock, a\nsingle blow struck on the gong summoned Ali to the presence of the\ncount. \"Ali,\" observed his master, as the Nubian entered the\nchamber, \"you have frequently explained to me how more than\ncommonly skilful you are in throwing the lasso, have you not?\" Ali\ndrew himself up proudly, and then returned a sign in the\naffirmative. \"I thought I did not mistake. With your lasso you\ncould stop an ox?\" Again Ali repeated his affirmative gesture. \"Or\na tiger?\" Ali bowed his head in token of assent. \"A lion even?\" Ali\nsprung forwards, imitating the action of one throwing the lasso,\nthen of a strangled lion.\n\"I understand,\" said Monte Cristo; \"you wish to tell me you have\nhunted the lion?\" Ali smiled with triumphant pride as he signified\nthat he had indeed both chased and captured many lions. \"But do you\nbelieve you could arrest the progress of two horses rushing\nforwards with ungovernable fury?\" The Nubian smiled. \"It is well,\"\nsaid Monte Cristo. \"Then listen to me. Ere long a carriage will\ndash past here, drawn by the pair of dappled gray horses you saw medash past here, drawn by the pair of dappled gray horses you saw me\nwith yesterday; now, at the risk of your own life, you must manage\nto stop those horses before my door.\"\nAli descended to the street, and marked a straight line on the\npavement immediately at the entrance of the house, and then pointed\nout the line he had traced to the count, who was watching him. The\ncount patted him gently on the shoulder, his usual mode of praising\nAli, who, pleased and gratified with the commission assigned him,\nwalked calmly towards a projecting stone forming the angle of the\nstreet and house, and, seating himself thereon, began to smoke his\nchibouque, while Monte Cristo re-entered his dwelling, perfectly\nassured of the success of his plan. Still, as five o'clock\napproached, and the carriage was momentarily expected by the count,\nthe indication of more than common impatience and uneasiness might\nbe observed in his manner. He stationed himself in a room\ncommanding a view of the street, pacing the chamber with restless\nsteps, stopping merely to listen from time to time for the sound of\napproaching wheels, then to cast an anxious glance on Ali; but the\nregularity with which the Nubian puffed forth the smoke of his\nchibouque proved that he at least was wholly absorbed in the\nenjoyment of his favorite occupation. Suddenly a distant sound of\nrapidly advancing wheels was heard, and almost immediately a\ncarriage appeared, drawn by a pair of wild, ungovernable horses,\nwhile the terrified coachman strove in vain to restrain their\nfurious speed.\nIn the vehicle was a young woman and a child of about seven or\neight clasped in each other's arms. Terror seemed to have deprived\nthem even of the power of uttering a cry. The carriage creaked and\nrattled as it flew over the rough stones, and the slightest\nobstacle under the wheels would have caused disaster; but it kept\non in the middle of the road, and those who saw it pass uttered\ncries of terror.\nAli suddenly cast aside his chibouque, drew the lasso from his"}
{"text": "cries of terror.\nAli suddenly cast aside his chibouque, drew the lasso from his\npocket, threw it so skilfully as to catch the forelegs of the near\nhorse in its triple fold, and suffered himself to be dragged on for\na few steps by the violence of the shock, then the animal fell over\non the pole, which snapped, and therefore prevented the other horse\nfrom pursuing its way. Gladly availing himself of this opportunity,\nthe coachman leaped from his box; but Ali had promptly seized the\nnostrils of the second horse, and held them in his iron grasp, till\nthe beast, snorting with pain, sunk beside his companion. All this\nwas achieved in much less time than is occupied in the recital. The\nbrief space had, however, been sufficient for a man, followed by a\nnumber of servants, to rush from the house before which the\naccident had occurred, and, as the coachman opened the door of the\ncarriage, to take from it a lady who was convulsively grasping the\ncushions with one hand, while with the other she pressed to her\nbosom the young boy, who had lost consciousness.\nMonte Cristo carried them both to the salon, and deposited them\non a sofa. \"Compose yourself, madame,\" said he; \"all danger is\nover.\" The woman looked up at these words, and, with a glance far\nmore expressive than any entreaties could have been, pointed to her\nchild, who still continued insensible. \"I understand the nature of\nyour alarms, madame,\" said the count, carefully examining the\nchild, \"but I assure you there is not the slightest occasion for\nuneasiness; your little charge has not received the least injury;\nhis insensibility is merely the effects of terror, and will soon\npass.\"\n\"Are you quite sure you do not say so to tranquillize my fears?\nSee how deadly pale he is! My child, my darling Edward; speak to\nyour mother — open your dear eyes and look on me once again! Oh,\nsir, in pity send for a physician; my whole fortune shall not be\nthought too much for the recovery of my boy.\"\nWith a calm smile and a gentle wave of the hand, Monte CristoWith a calm smile and a gentle wave of the hand, Monte Cristo\nsigned to the distracted mother to lay aside her apprehensions;\nthen, opening a casket that stood near, he drew forth a phial of\nBohemian glass incrusted with gold, containing a liquid of the\ncolor of blood, of which he let fall a single drop on the child's\nlips. Scarcely had it reached them, ere the boy, though still pale\nas marble, opened his eyes, and eagerly gazed around him. At this,\nthe delight of the mother was almost frantic. \"Where am I?\"\nexclaimed she; \"and to whom am I indebted for so happy a\ntermination to my late dreadful alarm?\"\n\"Madame,\" answered the count, \"you are under the roof of one who\nesteems himself most fortunate in having been able to save you from\na further continuance of your sufferings.\"\n\"My wretched curiosity has brought all this about,\" pursued the\nlady. \"All Paris rung with the praises of Madame Danglars'\nbeautiful horses, and I had the folly to desire to know whether\nthey really merited the high praise given to them.\"\n\"Is it possible,\" exclaimed the count with well-feigned\nastonishment, \"that these horses belong to the baroness?\"\n\"They do, indeed. May I inquire if you are acquainted with\nMadame Danglars?\"\n\"I have that honor; and my happiness at your escape from the\ndanger that threatened you is redoubled by the consciousness that I\nhave been the unwilling and the unintentional cause of all the\nperil you have incurred. I yesterday purchased these horses of the\nbaron; but as the baroness evidently regretted parting with them, I\nventured to send them back to her, with a request that she would\ngratify me by accepting them from my hands.\"\n\"You are, then, doubtless, the Count of Monte Cristo, of whom\nHermine has talked to me so much?\"\n\"You have rightly guessed, madame,\" replied the count.\n\"And I am Madame Heloise de Villefort.\" The count bowed with the\nair of a person who hears a name for the first time. \"How grateful\nwill M. de Villefort be for all your goodness; how thankfully willwill M. de Villefort be for all your goodness; how thankfully will\nhe acknowledge that to you alone he owes the existence of his wife\nand child! Most certainly, but for the prompt assistance of your\nintrepid servant, this dear child and myself must both have\nperished.\"\n\"Indeed, I still shudder at the fearful danger you were placed\nin.\"\n\"I trust you will allow me to recompense worthily the devotion\nof your man.\"\n\"I beseech you, madame,\" replied Monte Cristo \"not to spoil Ali,\neither by too great praise or rewards. I cannot allow him to\nacquire the habit of expecting to be recompensed for every trifling\nservice he may render. Ali is my slave, and in saving your life he\nwas but discharging his duty to me.\"\n\"Nay,\" interposed Madame de Villefort, on whom the authoritative\nstyle adopted by the count made a deep impression, \"nay, but\nconsider that to preserve my life he has risked his own.\"\n\"His life, madame, belongs not to him; it is mine, in return for\nmy having myself saved him from death.\" Madame de Villefort made no\nfurther reply; her mind was utterly absorbed in the contemplation\nof the person who, from the first instant she saw him, had made so\npowerful an impression on her. During the evident preoccupation of\nMadame de Villefort, Monte Cristo scrutinized the features and\nappearance of the boy she kept folded in her arms, lavishing on him\nthe most tender endearments. The child was small for his age, and\nunnaturally pale. A mass of straight black hair, defying all\nattempts to train or curl it, fell over his projecting forehead,\nand hung down to his shoulders, giving increased vivacity to eyes\nalready sparkling with a youthful love of mischief and fondness for\nevery forbidden enjoyment. His mouth was large, and the lips, which\nhad not yet regained their color, were particularly thin; in fact,\nthe deep and crafty look, giving a predominant expression to the\nchild's face, belonged rather to a boy of twelve or fourteen than\nto one so young. His first movement was to free himself by a"}
{"text": "to one so young. His first movement was to free himself by a\nviolent push from the encircling arms of his mother, and to rush\nforward to the casket from whence the count had taken the phial of\nelixir; then, without asking permission of any one, he proceeded,\nin all the wilfulness of a spoiled child unaccustomed to restrain\neither whims or caprices, to pull the corks out of all the\nbottles.\n\"Touch nothing, my little friend,\" cried the count eagerly;\n\"some of those liquids are not only dangerous to taste, but even to\ninhale.\"\nMadame de Villefort became very pale, and, seizing her son's\narm, drew him anxiously toward her; but, once satisfied of his\nsafety, she also cast a brief but expressive glance on the casket,\nwhich was not lost upon the count. At this moment Ali entered. At\nsight of him Madame de Villefort uttered an expression of pleasure,\nand, holding the child still closer towards her, she said, \"Edward,\ndearest, do you see that good man? He has shown very great courage\nand resolution, for he exposed his own life to stop the horses that\nwere running away with us, and would certainly have dashed the\ncarriage to pieces. Thank him, then, my child, in your very best\nmanner; for, had he not come to our aid, neither you nor I would\nhave been alive to speak our thanks.\" The child stuck out his lips\nand turned away his head in a disdainful manner, saying, \"He's too\nugly.\"\nThe count smiled as if the child bade fair to realize his hopes,\nwhile Madame de Villefort reprimanded her son with a gentleness and\nmoderation very far from conveying the least idea of a fault having\nbeen committed. \"This lady,\" said the Count, speaking to Ali in the\nArabic language, \"is desirous that her son should thank you for\nsaving both their lives; but the boy refuses, saying you are too\nugly.\" Ali turned his intelligent countenance towards the boy, on\nwhom he gazed without any apparent emotion; but the spasmodic\nworking of the nostrils showed to the practiced eye of Monte Cristo\nthat the Arab had been wounded to the heart.that the Arab had been wounded to the heart.\n\"Will you permit me to inquire,\" said Madame de Villefort, as\nshe arose to take her leave, \"whether you usually reside here?\"\n\"No, I do not,\" replied Monte Cristo; \"it is a small place I\nhave purchased quite lately. My place of abode is No. 30, Avenue\ndes Champs Elysees; but I see you have quite recovered from your\nfright, and are, no doubt, desirous of returning home. Anticipating\nyour wishes, I have desired the same horses you came with to be put\nto one of my carriages, and Ali, he whom you think so very ugly,\"\ncontinued he, addressing the boy with a smiling air, \"will have the\nhonor of driving you home, while your coachman remains here to\nattend to the necessary repairs of your calash. As soon as that\nimportant business is concluded, I will have a pair of my own\nhorses harnessed to convey it direct to Madame Danglars.\"\n\"I dare not return with those dreadful horses,\" said Madame de\nVillefort.\n\"You will see,\" replied Monte Cristo, \"that they will be as\ndifferent as possible in the hands of Ali. With him they will be\ngentle and docile as lambs.\" Ali had, indeed, given proof of this;\nfor, approaching the animals, who had been got upon their legs with\nconsiderable difficulty, he rubbed their foreheads and nostrils\nwith a sponge soaked in aromatic vinegar, and wiped off the sweat\nand foam that covered their mouths. Then, commencing a loud\nwhistling noise, he rubbed them well all over their bodies for\nseveral minutes; then, undisturbed by the noisy crowd collected\nround the broken carriage, Ali quietly harnessed the pacified\nanimals to the count's chariot, took the reins in his hands, and\nmounted the box, when to the utter astonishment of those who had\nwitnessed the ungovernable spirit and maddened speed of the same\nhorses, he was actually compelled to apply his whip in no very\ngentle manner before he could induce them to start; and even then\nall that could be obtained from the celebrated \"dappled grays,\" nowall that could be obtained from the celebrated \"dappled grays,\" now\nchanged into a couple of dull, sluggish, stupid brutes, was a slow,\npottering pace, kept up with so much difficulty that Madame de\nVillefort was more than two hours returning to her residence in the\nFaubourg St. Honore.\nScarcely had the first congratulations upon her marvellous\nescape been gone through when she wrote the following letter to\nMadame Danglars: —\nDear Hermine, — I have just had a wonderful escape from the most\nimminent danger, and I owe my safety to the very Count of Monte\nCristo we were talking about yesterday, but whom I little expected\nto see to-day. I remember how unmercifully I laughed at what I\nconsidered your eulogistic and exaggerated praises of him; but I\nhave now ample cause to admit that your enthusiastic description of\nthis wonderful man fell far short of his merits. Your horses got as\nfar as Ranelagh, when they darted forward like mad things, and\ngalloped away at so fearful a rate, that there seemed no other\nprospect for myself and my poor Edward but that of being dashed to\npieces against the first object that impeded their progress, when a\nstrange-looking man, — an Arab, a negro, or a Nubian, at least a\nblack of some nation or other — at a signal from the count, whose\ndomestic he is, suddenly seized and stopped the infuriated animals,\neven at the risk of being trampled to death himself; and certainly\nhe must have had a most wonderful escape. The count then hastened\nto us, and took us into his house, where he speedily recalled my\npoor Edward to life. He sent us home in his own carriage. Yours\nwill be returned to you to-morrow. You will find your horses in bad\ncondition, from the results of this accident; they seem thoroughly\nstupefied, as if sulky and vexed at having been conquered by man.\nThe count, however, his commissioned me to assure you that two or\nthree days' rest, with plenty of barley for their sole food during\nthat time, will bring them back to as fine, that is as terrifying,"}
{"text": "that time, will bring them back to as fine, that is as terrifying,\na condition as they were in yesterday. Adieu! I cannot return you\nmany thanks for the drive of yesterday; but, after all, I ought not\nto blame you for the misconduct of your horses, more especially as\nit procured me the pleasure of an introduction to the Count of\nMonte Cristo, — and certainly that illustrious personage, apart\nfrom the millions he is said to be so very anxious to dispose of,\nseemed to me one of those curiously interesting problems I, for\none, delight in solving at any risk, even if it were to necessitate\nanother drive to the Bois behind your horses. Edward endured the\naccident with miraculous courage — he did not utter a single cry,\nbut fell lifeless into my arms; nor did a tear fall from his eyes\nafter it was over. I doubt not you will consider these praises the\nresult of blind maternal affection, but there is a soul of iron in\nthat delicate, fragile body. Valentine sends many affectionate\nremembrances to your dear Eugenie. I embrace you with all my\nheart.\nHeloise de Villefort.\nP.S. — Do pray contrive some means for me to meet the Count of\nMonte Cristo at your house. I must and will see him again. I have\njust made M. de Villefort promise to call on him, and I hope the\nvisit will be returned.\nThat night the adventure at Auteuil was talked of everywhere.\nAlbert related it to his mother; Chateau-Renaud recounted it at the\nJockey Club, and Debray detailed it at length in the salons of the\nminister; even Beauchamp accorded twenty lines in his journal to\nthe relation of the count's courage and gallantry, thereby\ncelebrating him as the greatest hero of the day in the eyes of all\nthe feminine members of the aristocracy. Vast was the crowd of\nvisitors and inquiring friends who left their names at the\nresidence of Madame de Villefort, with the design of renewing their\nvisit at the right moment, of hearing from her lips all the\ninteresting circumstances of this most romantic adventure. As forinteresting circumstances of this most romantic adventure. As for\nM. de Villefort, he fulfilled the predictions of Heloise to the\nletter, — donned his dress suit, drew on a pair of white gloves,\nordered the servants to attend the carriage dressed in their full\nlivery, and drove that same night to No. 30 in the Avenue des\nChamps-Elysees.If the Count of Monte Cristo had been for a long time familiar\nwith the ways of Parisian society, he would have appreciated better\nthe significance of the step which M. de Villefort had taken.\nStanding well at court, whether the king regnant was of the older\nor younger branch, whether the government was doctrinaire liberal,\nor conservative; looked upon by all as a man of talent, since those\nwho have never experienced a political check are generally so\nregarded; hated by many, but warmly supported by others, without\nbeing really liked by anybody, M. de Villefort held a high position\nin the magistracy, and maintained his eminence like a Harlay or a\nMole. His drawing-room, under the regenerating influence of a young\nwife and a daughter by his first marriage, scarcely eighteen, was\nstill one of the well-regulated Paris salons where the worship of\ntraditional customs and the observance of rigid etiquette were\ncarefully maintained. A freezing politeness, a strict fidelity to\ngovernment principles, a profound contempt for theories and\ntheorists, a deep-seated hatred of ideality, — these were the\nelements of private and public life displayed by M. de\nVillefort.\nHe was not only a magistrate, he was almost a diplomatist. His\nrelations with the former court, of which he always spoke with\ndignity and respect, made him respected by the new one, and he knew\nso many things, that not only was he always carefully considered,\nbut sometimes consulted. Perhaps this would not have been so had it\nbeen possible to get rid of M. de Villefort; but, like the feudal\nbarons who rebelled against their sovereign, he dwelt in an\nimpregnable fortress. This fortress was his post as king's\nattorney, all the advantages of which he exploited with marvellous\nskill, and which he would not have resigned but to be made deputy,\nand thus to replace neutrality by opposition. Ordinarily M. de\nVillefort made and returned very few visits. His wife visited for\nhim, and this was the received thing in the world, where thehim, and this was the received thing in the world, where the\nweighty and multifarious occupations of the magistrate were\naccepted as an excuse for what was really only calculated pride, a\nmanifestation of professed superiority — in fact, the application\nof the axiom, \"Pretend to think well of yourself, and the world\nwill think well of you,\" an axiom a hundred times more useful in\nsociety nowadays than that of the Greeks, \"Know thyself,\" a\nknowledge for which, in our days, we have substituted the less\ndifficult and more advantageous science of knowing others.\nTo his friends M. de Villefort was a powerful protector; to his\nenemies, he was a silent, but bitter opponent; for those who were\nneither the one nor the other, he was a statue of the law-made man.\nHe had a haughty bearing, a look either steady and impenetrable or\ninsolently piercing and inquisitorial. Four successive revolutions\nhad built and cemented the pedestal upon which his fortune was\nbased. M. de Villefort had the reputation of being the least\ncurious and the least wearisome man in France. He gave a ball every\nyear, at which he appeared for a quarter of an hour only, — that is\nto say, five and forty minutes less than the king is visible at his\nballs. He was never seen at the theatres, at concerts, or in any\nplace of public resort. Occasionally, but seldom, he played at\nwhist, and then care was taken to select partners worthy of him —\nsometimes they were ambassadors, sometimes archbishops, or\nsometimes a prince, or a president, or some dowager duchess. Such\nwas the man whose carriage had just now stopped before the Count of\nMonte Cristo's door. The valet de chambre announced M. de Villefort\nat the moment when the count, leaning over a large table, was\ntracing on a map the route from St. Petersburg to China.\nThe procureur entered with the same grave and measured step he\nwould have employed in entering a court of justice. He was the same\nman, or rather the development of the same man, whom we have"}
{"text": "man, or rather the development of the same man, whom we have\nheretofore seen as assistant attorney at Marseilles. Nature,\naccording to her way, had made no deviation in the path he had\nmarked out for himself. From being slender he had now become\nmeagre; once pale, he was now yellow; his deep-set eyes were\nhollow, and the gold spectacles shielding his eyes seemed to be an\nintegral portion of his face. He dressed entirely in black, with\nthe exception of his white tie, and his funeral appearance was only\nmitigated by the slight line of red ribbon which passed almost\nimperceptibly through his button-hole, and appeared like a streak\nof blood traced with a delicate brush. Although master of himself,\nMonte Cristo, scrutinized with irrepressible curiosity the\nmagistrate whose salute he returned, and who, distrustful by habit,\nand especially incredulous as to social prodigies, was much more\ndespised to look upon \"the noble stranger,\" as Monte Cristo was\nalready called, as an adventurer in search of new fields, or an\nescaped criminal, rather than as a prince of the Holy See, or a\nsultan of the Thousand and One Nights.\n\"Sir,\" said Villefort, in the squeaky tone assumed by\nmagistrates in their oratorical periods, and of which they cannot,\nor will not, divest themselves in society, \"sir, the signal service\nwhich you yesterday rendered to my wife and son has made it a duty\nfor me to offer you my thanks. I have come, therefore, to discharge\nthis duty, and to express to you my overwhelming gratitude.\" And as\nhe said this, the \"eye severe\" of the magistrate had lost nothing\nof its habitual arrogance. He spoke in a voice of the\nprocureur-general, with the rigid inflexibility of neck and\nshoulders which caused his flatterers to say (as we have before\nobserved) that he was the living statue of the law.\n\"Monsieur,\" replied the count, with a chilling air, \"I am very\nhappy to have been the means of preserving a son to his mother, for\nthey say that the sentiment of maternity is the most holy of all;they say that the sentiment of maternity is the most holy of all;\nand the good fortune which occurred to me, monsieur, might have\nenabled you to dispense with a duty which, in its discharge,\nconfers an undoubtedly great honor; for I am aware that M. de\nVillefort is not usually lavish of the favor which he now bestows\non me, — a favor which, however estimable, is unequal to the\nsatisfaction which I have in my own consciousness.\" Villefort,\nastonished at this reply, which he by no means expected, started\nlike a soldier who feels the blow levelled at him over the armor he\nwears, and a curl of his disdainful lip indicated that from that\nmoment he noted in the tablets of his brain that the Count of Monte\nCristo was by no means a highly bred gentleman. He glanced around.\nin order to seize on something on which the conversation might\nturn, and seemed to fall easily on a topic. He saw the map which\nMonte Cristo had been examining when he entered, and said, \"You\nseem geographically engaged, sir? It is a rich study for you, who,\nas I learn, have seen as many lands as are delineated on this\nmap.\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied the count; \"I have sought to make of the\nhuman race, taken in the mass, what you practice every day on\nindividuals — a physiological study. I have believed it was much\neasier to descend from the whole to a part than to ascend from a\npart to the whole. It is an algebraic axiom, which makes us proceed\nfrom a known to an unknown quantity, and not from an unknown to a\nknown; but sit down, sir, I beg of you.\"\nMonte Cristo pointed to a chair, which the procureur was obliged\nto take the trouble to move forwards himself, while the count\nmerely fell back into his own, on which he had been kneeling when\nM. Villefort entered. Thus the count was halfway turned towards his\nvisitor, having his back towards the window, his elbow resting on\nthe geographical chart which furnished the theme of conversation\nfor the moment, — a conversation which assumed, as in the case offor the moment, — a conversation which assumed, as in the case of\nthe interviews with Danglars and Morcerf, a turn analogous to the\npersons, if not to the situation. \"Ah, you philosophize,\" replied\nVillefort, after a moment's silence, during which, like a wrestler\nwho encounters a powerful opponent, he took breath; \"well, sir,\nreally, if, like you, I had nothing else to do, I should seek a\nmore amusing occupation.\"\n\"Why, in truth, sir,\" was Monte Cristo's reply, \"man is but an\nugly caterpillar for him who studies him through a solar\nmicroscope; but you said, I think, that I had nothing else to do.\nNow, really, let me ask, sir, have you? — do you believe you have\nanything to do? or to speak in plain terms, do you really think\nthat what you do deserves being called anything?\"\nVillefort's astonishment redoubled at this second thrust so\nforcibly made by his strange adversary. It was a long time since\nthe magistrate had heard a paradox so strong, or rather, to say the\ntruth more exactly, it was the first time he had ever heard of it.\nThe procureur exerted himself to reply. \"Sir,\" he responded, \"you\nare a stranger, and I believe you say yourself that a portion of\nyour life has been spent in Oriental countries, so you are not\naware how human justice, so expeditions in barbarous countries,\ntakes with us a prudent and well-studied course.\"\n\"Oh, yes — yes, I do, sir; it is the pede claudo of the\nancients. I know all that, for it is with the justice of all\ncountries especially that I have occupied myself — it is with the\ncriminal procedure of all nations that I have compared natural\njustice, and I must say, sir, that it is the law of primitive\nnations, that is, the law of retaliation, that I have most\nfrequently found to be according to the law of God.\"\n\"If this law were adopted, sir,\" said the procureur, \"it would\ngreatly simplify our legal codes, and in that case the magistrates\nwould not (as you just observed) have much to do.\"\n\"It may, perhaps, come to this in time,\" observed Monte Cristo;"}
{"text": "\"It may, perhaps, come to this in time,\" observed Monte Cristo;\n\"you know that human inventions march from the complex to the\nsimple, and simplicity is always perfection.\"\n\"In the meanwhile,\" continued the magistrate, \"our codes are in\nfull force, with all their contradictory enactments derived from\nGallic customs, Roman laws, and Frank usages; the knowledge of all\nwhich, you will agree, is not to be acquired without extended\nlabor; it needs tedious study to acquire this knowledge, and, when\nacquired, a strong power of brain to retain it.\"\n\"I agree with you entirely, sir; but all that even you know with\nrespect to the French code, I know, not only in reference to that\ncode, but as regards the codes of all nations. The English,\nTurkish, Japanese, Hindu laws, are as familiar to me as the French\nlaws, and thus I was right, when I said to you, that relatively\n(you know that everything is relative, sir) — that relatively to\nwhat I have done, you have very little to do; but that relatively\nto all I have learned, you have yet a great deal to learn.\"\n\"But with what motive have you learned all this?\" inquired\nVillefort, in astonishment. Monte Cristo smiled. \"Really, sir,\" he\nobserved, \"I see that in spite of the reputation which you have\nacquired as a superior man, you look at everything from the\nmaterial and vulgar view of society, beginning with man, and ending\nwith man — that is to say, in the most restricted, most narrow view\nwhich it is possible for human understanding to embrace.\"\n\"Pray, sir, explain yourself,\" said Villefort, more and more\nastonished, \"I really do — not — understand you — perfectly.\"\n\"I say, sir, that with the eyes fixed on the social organization\nof nations, you see only the springs of the machine, and lose sight\nof the sublime workman who makes them act; I say that you do not\nrecognize before you and around you any but those office-holders\nwhose commissions have been signed by a minister or king; and that\nthe men whom God has put above those office-holders, ministers, andthe men whom God has put above those office-holders, ministers, and\nkings, by giving them a mission to follow out, instead of a post to\nfill — I say that they escape your narrow, limited field of\nobservation. It is thus that human weakness fails, from its\ndebilitated and imperfect organs. Tobias took the angel who\nrestored him to light for an ordinary young man. The nations took\nAttila, who was doomed to destroy them, for a conqueror similar to\nother conquerors, and it was necessary for both to reveal their\nmissions, that they might be known and acknowledged; one was\ncompelled to say, `I am the angel of the Lord'; and the other, `I\nam the hammer of God,' in order that the divine essence in both\nmight be revealed.\"\n\"Then,\" said Villefort, more and more amazed, and really\nsupposing he was speaking to a mystic or a madman, \"you consider\nyourself as one of those extraordinary beings whom you have\nmentioned?\"\n\"And why not?\" said Monte Cristo coldly.\n\"Your pardon, sir,\" replied Villefort, quite astounded, \"but you\nwill excuse me if, when I presented myself to you, I was unaware\nthat I should meet with a person whose knowledge and understanding\nso far surpass the usual knowledge and understanding of men. It is\nnot usual with us corrupted wretches of civilization to find\ngentlemen like yourself, possessors, as you are, of immense fortune\n— at least, so it is said — and I beg you to observe that I do not\ninquire, I merely repeat; — it is not usual, I say, for such\nprivileged and wealthy beings to waste their time in speculations\non the state of society, in philosophical reveries, intended at\nbest to console those whom fate has disinherited from the goods of\nthis world.\"\n\"Really, sir,\" retorted the count, \"have you attained the\neminent situation in which you are, without having admitted, or\neven without having met with exceptions? and do you never use your\neyes, which must have acquired so much finesse and certainty, to\ndivine, at a glance, the kind of man by whom you are confronted?divine, at a glance, the kind of man by whom you are confronted?\nShould not a magistrate be not merely the best administrator of the\nlaw, but the most crafty expounder of the chicanery of his\nprofession, a steel probe to search hearts, a touchstone to try the\ngold which in each soul is mingled with more or less of alloy?\"\n\"Sir,\" said Villefort, \"upon my word, you overcome me. I really\nnever heard a person speak as you do.\"\n\"Because you remain eternally encircled in a round of general\nconditions, and have never dared to raise your wings into those\nupper spheres which God has peopled with invisible or exceptional\nbeings.\"\n\"And you allow then, sir, that spheres exist, and that these\nmarked and invisible beings mingle amongst us?\"\n\"Why should they not? Can you see the air you breathe, and yet\nwithout which you could not for a moment exist?\"\n\"Then we do not see those beings to whom you allude?\"\n\"Yes, we do; you see them whenever God pleases to allow them to\nassume a material form. You touch them, come in contact with them,\nspeak to them, and they reply to you.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Villefort, smiling, \"I confess I should like to be\nwarned when one of these beings is in contact with me.\"\n\"You have been served as you desire, monsieur, for you were\nwarned just now, and I now again warn you.\"\n\"Then you yourself are one of these marked beings?\"\n\"Yes, monsieur, I believe so; for until now, no man has found\nhimself in a position similar to mine. The dominions of kings are\nlimited either by mountains or rivers, or a change of manners, or\nan alteration of language. My kingdom is bounded only by the world,\nfor I am not an Italian, or a Frenchman, or a Hindu, or an\nAmerican, or a Spaniard — I am a cosmopolite. No country can say it\nsaw my birth. God alone knows what country will see me die. I adopt\nall customs, speak all languages. You believe me to be a Frenchman,\nfor I speak French with the same facility and purity as yourself.\nWell, Ali, my Nubian, believes me to be an Arab; Bertuccio, my"}
{"text": "Well, Ali, my Nubian, believes me to be an Arab; Bertuccio, my\nsteward, takes me for a Roman; Haidee, my slave, thinks me a Greek.\nYou may, therefore, comprehend, that being of no country, asking no\nprotection from any government, acknowledging no man as my brother,\nnot one of the scruples that arrest the powerful, or the obstacles\nwhich paralyze the weak, paralyzes or arrests me. I have only two\nadversaries — I will not say two conquerors, for with perseverance\nI subdue even them, — they are time and distance. There is a third,\nand the most terrible — that is my condition as a mortal being.\nThis alone can stop me in my onward career, before I have attained\nthe goal at which I aim, for all the rest I have reduced to\nmathematical terms. What men call the chances of fate — namely,\nruin, change, circumstances — I have fully anticipated, and if any\nof these should overtake me, yet it will not overwhelm me. Unless I\ndie, I shall always be what I am, and therefore it is that I utter\nthe things you have never heard, even from the mouths of kings —\nfor kings have need, and other persons have fear of you. For who is\nthere who does not say to himself, in a society as incongruously\norganized as ours, `Perhaps some day I shall have to do with the\nking's attorney'?\"\n\"But can you not say that, sir? The moment you become an\ninhabitant of France, you are naturally subjected to the French\nlaw.\"\n\"I know it sir,\" replied Monte Cristo; \"but when I visit a\ncountry I begin to study, by all the means which are available, the\nmen from whom I may have anything to hope or to fear, till I know\nthem as well as, perhaps better than, they know themselves. It\nfollows from this, that the king's attorney, be he who he may, with\nwhom I should have to deal, would assuredly be more embarrassed\nthan I should.\"\n\"That is to say,\" replied Villefort with hesitation, \"that human\nnature being weak, every man, according to your creed, has\ncommitted faults.\"\n\"Faults or crimes,\" responded Monte Cristo with a negligent\nair.committed faults.\"\n\"Faults or crimes,\" responded Monte Cristo with a negligent\nair.\n\"And that you alone, amongst the men whom you do not recognize\nas your brothers — for you have said so,\" observed Villefort in a\ntone that faltered somewhat — \"you alone are perfect.\"\n\"No, not perfect,\" was the count's reply; \"only impenetrable,\nthat's all. But let us leave off this strain, sir, if the tone of\nit is displeasing to you; I am no more disturbed by your justice\nthan are you by my second-sight.\"\n\"No, no, — by no means,\" said Villefort, who was afraid of\nseeming to abandon his ground. \"No; by your brilliant and almost\nsublime conversation you have elevated me above the ordinary level;\nwe no longer talk, we rise to dissertation. But you know how the\ntheologians in their collegiate chairs, and philosophers in their\ncontroversies, occasionally say cruel truths; let us suppose for\nthe moment that we are theologizing in a social way, or even\nphilosophically, and I will say to you, rude as it may seem, `My\nbrother, you sacrifice greatly to pride; you may be above others,\nbut above you there is God.'\"\n\"Above us all, sir,\" was Monte Cristo's response, in a tone and\nwith an emphasis so deep that Villefort involuntarily shuddered. \"I\nhave my pride for men — serpents always ready to threaten every one\nwho would pass without crushing them under foot. But I lay aside\nthat pride before God, who has taken me from nothing to make me\nwhat I am.\"\n\"Then, count, I admire you,\" said Villefort, who, for the first\ntime in this strange conversation, used the aristocratic form to\nthe unknown personage, whom, until now, he had only called\nmonsieur. \"Yes, and I say to you, if you are really strong, really\nsuperior, really pious, or impenetrable, which you were right in\nsaying amounts to the same thing — then be proud, sir, for that is\nthe characteristic of predominance. Yet you have unquestionably\nsome ambition.\"\n\"I have, sir.\"\n\"And what may it be?\"\n\"I too, as happens to every man once in his life, have been\"I have, sir.\"\n\"And what may it be?\"\n\"I too, as happens to every man once in his life, have been\ntaken by Satan into the highest mountain in the earth, and when\nthere he showed me all the kingdoms of the world, and as he said\nbefore, so said he to me, `Child of earth, what wouldst thou have\nto make thee adore me?' I reflected long, for a gnawing ambition\nhad long preyed upon me, and then I replied, `Listen, — I have\nalways heard of providence, and yet I have never seen him, or\nanything that resembles him, or which can make me believe that he\nexists. I wish to be providence myself, for I feel that the most\nbeautiful, noblest, most sublime thing in the world, is to\nrecompense and punish.' Satan bowed his head, and groaned. `You\nmistake,' he said, `providence does exist, only you have never seen\nhim, because the child of God is as invisible as the parent. You\nhave seen nothing that resembles him, because he works by secret\nsprings, and moves by hidden ways. All I can do for you is to make\nyou one of the agents of that providence.' The bargain was\nconcluded. I may sacrifice my soul, but what matters it?\" added\nMonte Cristo. \"If the thing were to do again, I would again do it.\"\nVillefort looked at Monte Cristo with extreme amazement. \"Count,\"\nhe inquired, \"have you any relations?\"\n\"No, sir, I am alone in the world.\"\n\"So much the worse.\"\n\"Why?\" asked Monte Cristo.\n\"Because then you might witness a spectacle calculated to break\ndown your pride. You say you fear nothing but death?\"\n\"I did not say that I feared it; I only said that death alone\ncould check the execution of my plans.\"\n\"And old age?\"\n\"My end will be achieved before I grow old.\"\n\"And madness?\"\n\"I have been nearly mad; and you know the axiom, — non bis in\nidem. It is an axiom of criminal law, and, consequently, you\nunderstand its full application.\"\n\"Sir,\" continued Villefort, \"there is something to fear besides\ndeath, old age, and madness. For instance, there is apoplexy — that\nlightning-stroke which strikes but does not destroy you, and yet"}
{"text": "lightning-stroke which strikes but does not destroy you, and yet\nwhich brings everything to an end. You are still yourself as now,\nand yet you are yourself no longer; you who, like Ariel, verge on\nthe angelic, are but an inert mass, which, like Caliban, verges on\nthe brutal; and this is called in human tongues, as I tell you,\nneither more nor less than apoplexy. Come, if so you will, count,\nand continue this conversation at my house, any day you may be\nwilling to see an adversary capable of understanding and anxious to\nrefute you, and I will show you my father, M. Noirtier de\nVillefort, one of the most fiery Jacobins of the French Revolution;\nthat is to say, he had the most remarkable audacity, seconded by a\nmost powerful organization — a man who has not, perhaps, like\nyourself seen all the kingdoms of the earth, but who has helped to\noverturn one of the greatest; in fact, a man who believed himself,\nlike you, one of the envoys, not of God, but of a supreme being;\nnot of providence, but of fate. Well, sir, the rupture of a\nblood-vessel on the lobe of the brain has destroyed all this, not\nin a day, not in an hour, but in a second. M. Noirtier, who, on the\nprevious night, was the old Jacobin, the old senator, the old\nCarbonaro, laughing at the guillotine, the cannon, and the dagger —\nM. Noirtier, playing with revolutions — M. Noirtier, for whom\nFrance was a vast chess-board, from which pawns, rooks, knights,\nand queens were to disappear, so that the king was checkmated — M.\nNoirtier, the redoubtable, was the next morning `poor M. Noirtier,'\nthe helpless old man, at the tender mercies of the weakest creature\nin the household, that is, his grandchild, Valentine; a dumb and\nfrozen carcass, in fact, living painlessly on, that time may be\ngiven for his frame to decompose without his consciousness of its\ndecay.\"\n\"Alas, sir,\" said Monte Cristo \"this spectacle is neither\nstrange to my eye nor my thought. I am something of a physician,\nand have, like my fellows, sought more than once for the soul inand have, like my fellows, sought more than once for the soul in\nliving and in dead matter; yet, like providence, it has remained\ninvisible to my eyes, although present to my heart. A hundred\nwriters since Socrates, Seneca, St. Augustine, and Gall, have made,\nin verse and prose, the comparison you have made, and yet I can\nwell understand that a father's sufferings may effect great changes\nin the mind of a son. I will call on you, sir, since you bid me\ncontemplate, for the advantage of my pride, this terrible\nspectacle, which must have been so great a source of sorrow to your\nfamily.\"\n\"It would have been so unquestionably, had not God given me so\nlarge a compensation. In contrast with the old man, who is dragging\nhis way to the tomb, are two children just entering into life —\nValentine, the daughter by my first wife — Mademoiselle Renee de\nSaint-Meran — and Edward, the boy whose life you have this day\nsaved.\"\n\"And what is your deduction from this compensation, sir?\"\ninquired Monte Cristo.\n\"My deduction is,\" replied Villefort, \"that my father, led away\nby his passions, has committed some fault unknown to human justice,\nbut marked by the justice of God. That God, desirous in his mercy\nto punish but one person, has visited this justice on him alone.\"\nMonte Cristo with a smile on his lips, uttered in the depths of his\nsoul a groan which would have made Villefort fly had he but heard\nit. \"Adieu, sir,\" said the magistrate, who had risen from his seat;\n\"I leave you, bearing a remembrance of you — a remembrance of\nesteem, which I hope will not be disagreeable to you when you know\nme better; for I am not a man to bore my friends, as you will\nlearn. Besides, you have made an eternal friend of Madame de\nVillefort.\" The count bowed, and contented himself with seeing\nVillefort to the door of his cabinet, the procureur being escorted\nto his carriage by two footmen, who, on a signal from their master,\nfollowed him with every mark of attention. When he had gone, Monte\nCristo breathed a profound sigh, and said, — \"Enough of thisCristo breathed a profound sigh, and said, — \"Enough of this\npoison, let me now seek the antidote.\" Then sounding his bell, he\nsaid to Ali, who entered, \"I am going to madam's chamber — have the\ncarriage ready at one o'clock.\"It will be recollected that the new, or rather old,\nacquaintances of the Count of Monte Cristo, residing in the Rue\nMeslay, were no other than Maximilian, Julie, and Emmanuel. The\nvery anticipations of delight to be enjoyed in his forthcoming\nvisits — the bright, pure gleam of heavenly happiness it diffused\nover the almost deadly warfare in which he had voluntarily engaged,\nillumined his whole countenance with a look of ineffable joy and\ncalmness, as, immediately after Villefort's departure, his thoughts\nflew back to the cheering prospect before him, of tasting, at\nleast, a brief respite from the fierce and stormy passions of his\nmind. Even Ali, who had hastened to obey the Count's summons, went\nforth from his master's presence in charmed amazement at the\nunusual animation and pleasure depicted on features ordinarily so\nstern and cold; while, as though dreading to put to flight the\nagreeable ideas hovering over his patron's meditations, whatever\nthey were, the faithful Nubian walked on tiptoe towards the door,\nholding his breath, lest its faintest sound should dissipate his\nmaster's happy reverie.\nIt was noon, and Monte Cristo had set apart one hour to be\npassed in the apartments of Haidee, as though his oppressed spirit\ncould not all at once admit the feeling of pure and unmixed joy,\nbut required a gradual succession of calm and gentle emotions to\nprepare his mind to receive full and perfect happiness, in the same\nmanner as ordinary natures demand to be inured by degrees to the\nreception of strong or violent sensations. The young Greek, as we\nhave already said, occupied apartments wholly unconnected with\nthose of the count. The rooms had been fitted up in strict\naccordance with Oriental ideas; the floors were covered with the\nrichest carpets Turkey could produce; the walls hung with brocaded\nsilk of the most magnificent designs and texture; while around each\nchamber luxurious divans were placed, with piles of soft and\nyielding cushions, that needed only to be arranged at the pleasure"}
{"text": "yielding cushions, that needed only to be arranged at the pleasure\nor convenience of such as sought repose. Haidee and three French\nmaids, and one who was a Greek. The first three remained constantly\nin a small waiting-room, ready to obey the summons of a small\ngolden bell, or to receive the orders of the Romaic slave, who knew\njust enough French to be able to transmit her mistress's wishes to\nthe three other waiting-women; the latter had received most\nperemptory instructions from Monte Cristo to treat Haidee with all\nthe deference they would observe to a queen.\nThe young girl herself generally passed her time in the chamber\nat the farther end of her apartments. This was a sort of boudoir,\ncircular, and lighted only from the roof, which consisted of\nrose-colored glass. Haidee was reclining upon soft downy cushions,\ncovered with blue satin spotted with silver; her head, supported by\none of her exquisitely moulded arms, rested on the divan\nimmediately behind her, while the other was employed in adjusting\nto her lips the coral tube of a rich narghile, through whose\nflexible pipe she drew the smoke fragrant by its passage through\nperfumed water. Her attitude, though perfectly natural for an\nEastern woman would, in a European, have been deemed too full of\ncoquettish straining after effect. Her dress, which was that of the\nwomen of Epirus, consisted of a pair of white satin trousers,\nembroidered with pink roses, displaying feet so exquisitely formed\nand so delicately fair, that they might well have been taken for\nParian marble, had not the eye been undeceived by their movements\nas they constantly shifted in and out of a pair of little slippers\nwith upturned toes, beautifully ornamented with gold and pearls.\nShe wore a blue and white-striped vest, with long open sleeves,\ntrimmed with silver loops and buttons of pearls, and a sort of\nbodice, which, closing only from the centre to the waist, exhibited\nthe whole of the ivory throat and upper part of the bosom; it wasthe whole of the ivory throat and upper part of the bosom; it was\nfastened with three magnificent diamond clasps. The junction of the\nbodice and drawers was entirely concealed by one of the\nmany-colored scarfs, whose brilliant hues and rich silken fringe\nhave rendered them so precious in the eyes of Parisian belles.\nTilted on one side of her head she had a small cap of gold-colored\nsilk, embroidered with pearls; while on the other a purple rose\nmingled its glowing colors with the luxuriant masses of her hair,\nof which the blackness was so intense that it was tinged with blue.\nThe extreme beauty of the countenance, that shone forth in\nloveliness that mocked the vain attempts of dress to augment it,\nwas peculiarly and purely Grecian; there were the large, dark,\nmelting eyes, the finely formed nose, the coral lips, and pearly\nteeth, that belonged to her race and country. And, to complete the\nwhole, Haidee was in the very springtide and fulness of youthful\ncharms — she had not yet numbered more than twenty summers.\nMonte Cristo summoned the Greek attendant, and bade her inquire\nwhether it would be agreeable to her mistress to receive his visit.\nHaidee's only reply was to direct her servant by a sign to withdraw\nthe tapestried curtain that hung before the door of her boudoir,\nthe framework of the opening thus made serving as a sort of border\nto the graceful tableau presented by the young girl's picturesque\nattitude and appearance. As Monte Cristo approached, she leaned\nupon the elbow of the arm that held the narghile, and extending to\nhim her other hand, said, with a smile of captivating sweetness, in\nthe sonorous language spoken by the women of Athens and Sparta,\n\"Why demand permission ere you enter? Are you no longer my master,\nor have I ceased to be your slave?\" Monte Cristo returned her\nsmile. \"Haidee,\" said he, \"you well know.\"\n\"Why do you address me so coldly — so distantly?\" asked the\nyoung Greek. \"Have I by any means displeased you? Oh, if so, punishyoung Greek. \"Have I by any means displeased you? Oh, if so, punish\nme as you will; but do not — do not speak to me in tones and manner\nso formal and constrained.\"\n\"Haidee,\" replied the count, \"you know that you are now in\nFrance, and are free.\"\n\"Free to do what?\" asked the young girl.\n\"Free to leave me.\"\n\"Leave you? Why should I leave you?\"\n\"That is not for me to say; but we are now about to mix in\nsociety — to visit and be visited.\"\n\"I don't wish to see anybody but you.\"\n\"And should you see one whom you could prefer, I would not be so\nunjust\" —\n\"I have never seen any one I preferred to you, and I have never\nloved any one but you and my father.\"\n\"My poor child,\" replied Monte Cristo, \"that is merely because\nyour father and myself are the only men who have ever talked to\nyou.\"\n\"I don't want anybody else to talk to me. My father said I was\nhis `joy' — you style me your `love,' — and both of you have called\nme `my child.'\"\n\"Do you remember your father, Haidee?\" The young Greek smiled.\n\"He is here, and here,\" said she, touching her eyes and her heart.\n\"And where am I?\" inquired Monte Cristo laughingly.\n\"You?\" cried she, with tones of thrilling tenderness, \"you are\neverywhere!\" Monte Cristo took the delicate hand of the young girl\nin his, and was about to raise it to his lips, when the simple\nchild of nature hastily withdrew it, and presented her cheek. \"You\nnow understand, Haidee,\" said the count, \"that from this moment you\nare absolutely free; that here you exercise unlimited sway, and are\nat liberty to lay aside or continue the costume of your country, as\nit may suit your inclination. Within this mansion you are absolute\nmistress of your actions, and may go abroad or remain in your\napartments as may seem most agreeable to you. A carriage waits your\norders, and Ali and Myrtho will accompany you whithersoever you\ndesire to go. There is but one favor I would entreat of you.\"\n\"Speak.\"\n\"Guard carefully the secret of your birth. Make no allusion to\nthe past; nor upon any occasion be induced to pronounce the names"}
{"text": "the past; nor upon any occasion be induced to pronounce the names\nof your illustrious father or ill-fated mother.\"\n\"I have already told you, my lord, that I shall see no one.\"\n\"It is possible, Haidee, that so perfect a seclusion, though\nconformable with the habits and customs of the East, may not be\npracticable in Paris. Endeavor, then, to accustom yourself to our\nmanner of living in these northern climes as you did to those of\nRome, Florence, Milan, and Madrid; it may be useful to you one of\nthese days, whether you remain here or return to the East.\" The\nyoung girl raised her tearful eyes towards Monte Cristo as she said\nwith touching earnestness, \"Whether we return to the East, you mean\nto say, my lord, do you not?\"\n\"My child,\" returned Monte Cristo \"you know full well that\nwhenever we part, it will be no fault or wish of mine; the tree\nforsakes not the flower — the flower falls from the tree.\"\n\"My lord,\" replied Haidee, \"I never will leave you, for I am\nsure I could not exist without you.\"\n\"My poor girl, in ten years I shall be old, and you will be\nstill young.\"\n\"My father had a long white beard, but I loved him; he was sixty\nyears old, but to me he was handsomer than all the fine youths I\nsaw.\"\n\"Then tell me, Haidee, do you believe you shall be able to\naccustom yourself to our present mode of life?\"\n\"Shall I see you?\"\n\"Every day.\"\n\"Then what do you fear, my lord?\"\n\"You might find it dull.\"\n\"No, my lord. In the morning, I shall rejoice in the prospect of\nyour coming, and in the evening dwell with delight on the happiness\nI have enjoyed in your presence; then too, when alone, I can call\nforth mighty pictures of the past, see vast horizons bounded only\nby the towering mountains of Pindus and Olympus. Oh, believe me,\nthat when three great passions, such as sorrow, love, and gratitude\nfill the heart, ennui can find no place.\"\n\"You are a worthy daughter of Epirus, Haidee, and your charming\nand poetical ideas prove well your descent from that race ofand poetical ideas prove well your descent from that race of\ngoddesses who claim your country as their birthplace. Depend on my\ncare to see that your youth is not blighted, or suffered to pass\naway in ungenial solitude; and of this be well assured, that if you\nlove me as a father, I love you as a child.\"\n\"You are wrong, my lord. The love I have for you is very\ndifferent from the love I had for my father. My father died, but I\ndid not die. If you were to die, I should die too.\" The Count, with\na smile of profound tenderness, extended his hand, and she carried\nit to her lips. Monte Cristo, thus attuned to the interview he\nproposed to hold with Morrel and his family, departed, murmuring as\nhe went these lines of Pindar, \"Youth is a flower of which love is\nthe fruit; happy is he who, after having watched its silent growth,\nis permitted to gather and call it his own.\" The carriage was\nprepared according to orders, and stepping lightly into it, the\ncount drove off at his usual rapid pace.In a very few minutes the count reached No. 7 in the Rue Meslay.\nThe house was of white stone, and in a small court before it were\ntwo small beds full of beautiful flowers. In the concierge that\nopened the gate the count recognized Cocles; but as he had but one\neye, and that eye had become somewhat dim in the course of nine\nyears, Cocles did not recognize the count. The carriages that drove\nup to the door were compelled to turn, to avoid a fountain that\nplayed in a basin of rockwork, — an ornament that had excited the\njealousy of the whole quarter, and had gained for the place the\nappellation of \"The Little Versailles.\" It is needless to add that\nthere were gold and silver fish in the basin. The house, with\nkitchens and cellars below, had above the ground-floor, two stories\nand attics. The whole of the property, consisting of an immense\nworkshop, two pavilions at the bottom of the garden, and the garden\nitself, had been purchased by Emmanuel, who had seen at a glance\nthat he could make of it a profitable speculation. He had reserved\nthe house and half the garden, and building a wall between the\ngarden and the workshops, had let them upon lease with the\npavilions at the bottom of the garden. So that for a trifling sum\nhe was as well lodged, and as perfectly shut out from observation,\nas the inhabitants of the finest mansion in the Faubourg St.\nGermain. The breakfast-room was finished in oak; the salon in\nmahogany, and the furnishings were of blue velvet; the bedroom was\nin citronwood and green damask. There was a study for Emmanuel, who\nnever studied, and a music-room for Julie, who never played. The\nwhole of the second story was set apart for Maximilian; it was\nprecisely similar to his sister's apartments, except that for the\nbreakfast-parlor he had a billiard-room, where he received his\nfriends. He was superintending the grooming of his horse, and\nsmoking his cigar at the entrance of the garden, when the count's\ncarriage stopped at the gate.\nCocles opened the gate, and Baptistin, springing from the box,carriage stopped at the gate.\nCocles opened the gate, and Baptistin, springing from the box,\ninquired whether Monsieur and Madame Herbault and Monsieur\nMaximilian Morrel would see his excellency the Count of Monte\nCristo. \"The Count of Monte Cristo?\" cried Morrel, throwing away\nhis cigar and hastening to the carriage; \"I should think we would\nsee him. Ah, a thousand thanks, count, for not having forgotten\nyour promise.\" And the young officer shook the count's hand so\nwarmly, that Monte Cristo could not be mistaken as to the sincerity\nof his joy, and he saw that he had been expected with impatience,\nand was received with pleasure. \"Come, come,\" said Maximilian, \"I\nwill serve as your guide; such a man as you are ought not to be\nintroduced by a servant. My sister is in the garden plucking the\ndead roses; my brother is reading his two papers, the Presse and\nthe Debats, within six steps of her; for wherever you see Madame\nHerbault, you have only to look within a circle of four yards and\nyou will find M. Emmanuel, and `reciprocally,' as they say at the\nPolytechnic School.\" At the sound of their steps a young woman of\ntwenty to five and twenty, dressed in a silk morning gown, and\nbusily engaged in plucking the dead leaves off a noisette\nrose-tree, raised her head. This was Julie, who had become, as the\nclerk of the house of Thomson & French had predicted, Madame\nEmmanuel Herbault. She uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of a\nstranger, and Maximilian began to laugh. \"Don't disturb yourself,\nJulie,\" said he. \"The count has only been two or three days in\nParis, but he already knows what a fashionable woman of the Marais\nis, and if he does not, you will show him.\"\n\"Ah, monsieur,\" returned Julie, \"it is treason in my brother to\nbring you thus, but he never has any regard for his poor sister.\nPenelon, Penelon!\" An old man, who was digging busily at one of the\nbeds, stuck his spade in the earth, and approached, cap in hand,\nstriving to conceal a quid of tobacco he had just thrust into his"}
{"text": "striving to conceal a quid of tobacco he had just thrust into his\ncheek. A few locks of gray mingled with his hair, which was still\nthick and matted, while his bronzed features and determined glance\nwell suited an old sailor who had braved the heat of the equator\nand the storms of the tropics. \"I think you hailed me, Mademoiselle\nJulie?\" said he. Penelon had still preserved the habit of calling\nhis master's daughter \"Mademoiselle Julie,\" and had never been able\nto change the name to Madame Herbault. \"Penelon,\" replied Julie,\n\"go and inform M. Emmanuel of this gentleman's visit, and\nMaximilian will conduct him to the salon.\" Then, turning to Monte\nCristo, — \"I hope you will permit me to leave you for a few\nminutes,\" continued she; and without awaiting any reply,\ndisappeared behind a clump of trees, and escaped to the house by a\nlateral alley.\n\"I am sorry to see,\" observed Monte Cristo to Morrel, \"that I\ncause no small disturbance in your house.\"\n\"Look there,\" said Maximilian, laughing; \"there is her husband\nchanging his jacket for a coat. I assure you, you are well known in\nthe Rue Meslay.\"\n\"Your family appears to be a very happy one,\" said the count, as\nif speaking to himself.\n\"Oh, yes, I assure you, count, they want nothing that can render\nthem happy; they are young and cheerful, they are tenderly attached\nto each other, and with twenty-five thousand francs a year they\nfancy themselves as rich as Rothschild.\"\n\"Five and twenty thousand francs is not a large sum, however,\"\nreplied Monte Cristo, with a tone so sweet and gentle, that it went\nto Maximilian's heart like the voice of a father; \"but they will\nnot be content with that. Your brother-in-law is a barrister? a\ndoctor?\"\n\"He was a merchant, monsieur, and had succeeded to the business\nof my poor father. M. Morrel, at his death, left 500,000 francs,\nwhich were divided between my sister and myself, for we were his\nonly children. Her husband, who, when he married her, had no other\npatrimony than his noble probity, his first-rate ability, and hispatrimony than his noble probity, his first-rate ability, and his\nspotless reputation, wished to possess as much as his wife. He\nlabored and toiled until he had amassed 250,000 francs; six years\nsufficed to achieve this object. Oh, I assure you, sir, it was a\ntouching spectacle to see these young creatures, destined by their\ntalents for higher stations, toiling together, and through their\nunwillingness to change any of the customs of their paternal house,\ntaking six years to accomplish what less scrupulous people would\nhave effected in two or three. Marseilles resounded with their\nwell-earned praises. At last, one day, Emmanuel came to his wife,\nwho had just finished making up the accounts. `Julie,' said he to\nher, `Cocles has just given me the last rouleau of a hundred\nfrancs; that completes the 250,000 francs we had fixed as the\nlimits of our gains. Can you content yourself with the small\nfortune which we shall possess for the future? Listen to me. Our\nhouse transacts business to the amount of a million a year, from\nwhich we derive an income of 40,000 francs. We can dispose of the\nbusiness, if we please, in an hour, for I have received a letter\nfrom M. Delaunay, in which he offers to purchase the good-will of\nthe house, to unite with his own, for 300,000 francs. Advise me\nwhat I had better do.' — `Emmanuel,' returned my sister, `the house\nof Morrel can only be carried on by a Morrel. Is it not worth\n300,000 francs to save our father's name from the chances of evil\nfortune and failure?' — `I thought so,' replied Emmanuel; `but I\nwished to have your advice.' — `This is my counsel: — Our accounts\nare made up and our bills paid; all we have to do is to stop the\nissue of any more, and close our office.' This was done instantly.\nIt was three o'clock; at a quarter past, a merchant presented\nhimself to insure two ships; it was a clear profit of 15,000\nfrancs. `Monsieur,' said Emmanuel, `have the goodness to address\nyourself to M. Delaunay. We have quitted business.' — `How long?'yourself to M. Delaunay. We have quitted business.' — `How long?'\ninquired the astonished merchant. `A quarter of an hour,' was the\nreply. And this is the reason, monsieur,\" continued Maximilian, \"of\nmy sister and brother-in-law having only 25,000 francs a year.\"\nMaximilian had scarcely finished his story, during which the\ncount's heart had swelled within him, when Emmanuel entered wearing\na hat and coat. He saluted the count with the air of a man who is\naware of the rank of his guest; then, after having led Monte Cristo\naround the little garden, he returned to the house. A large vase of\nJapan porcelain, filled with flowers that loaded the air with their\nperfume, stood in the salon. Julie, suitably dressed, and her hair\narranged (she had accomplished this feat in less than ten minutes),\nreceived the count on his entrance. The songs of the birds were\nheard in an aviary hard by, and the branches of laburnums and rose\nacacias formed an exquisite framework to the blue velvet curtains.\nEverything in this charming retreat, from the warble of the birds\nto the smile of the mistress, breathed tranquillity and repose. The\ncount had felt the influence of this happiness from the moment he\nentered the house, and he remained silent and pensive, forgetting\nthat he was expected to renew the conversation, which had ceased\nafter the first salutations had been exchanged. The silence became\nalmost painful when, by a violent effort, tearing himself from his\npleasing reverie — \"Madame,\" said he at length, \"I pray you to\nexcuse my emotion, which must astonish you who are only accustomed\nto the happiness I meet here; but contentment is so new a sight to\nme, that I could never be weary of looking at yourself and your\nhusband.\"\n\"We are very happy, monsieur,\" replied Julie; \"but we have also\nknown unhappiness, and few have ever undergone more bitter\nsufferings than ourselves.\" The Count's features displayed an\nexpression of the most intense curiosity.\n\"Oh, all this is a family history, as Chateau-Renaud told you"}
{"text": "\"Oh, all this is a family history, as Chateau-Renaud told you\nthe other day,\" observed Maximilian. \"This humble picture would\nhave but little interest for you, accustomed as you are to behold\nthe pleasures and the misfortunes of the wealthy and industrious;\nbut such as we are, we have experienced bitter sorrows.\"\n\"And God has poured balm into your wounds, as he does into those\nof all who are in affliction?\" said Monte Cristo inquiringly.\n\"Yes, count,\" returned Julie, \"we may indeed say he has, for he\nhas done for us what he grants only to his chosen; he sent us one\nof his angels.\" The count's cheeks became scarlet, and he coughed,\nin order to have an excuse for putting his handkerchief to his\nmouth. \"Those born to wealth, and who have the means of gratifying\nevery wish,\" said Emmanuel, \"know not what is the real happiness of\nlife, just as those who have been tossed on the stormy waters of\nthe ocean on a few frail planks can alone realize the blessings of\nfair weather.\"\nMonte Cristo rose, and without making any answer (for the\ntremulousness of his voice would have betrayed his emotion) walked\nup and down the apartment with a slow step.\n\"Our magnificence makes you smile, count,\" said Maximilian, who\nhad followed him with his eyes. \"No, no,\" returned Monte Cristo,\npale as death, pressing one hand on his heart to still its\nthrobbings, while with the other he pointed to a crystal cover,\nbeneath which a silken purse lay on a black velvet cushion. \"I was\nwondering what could be the significance of this purse, with the\npaper at one end and the large diamond at the other.\"\n\"Count,\" replied Maximilian, with an air of gravity, \"those are\nour most precious family treasures.\"\n\"The stone seems very brilliant,\" answered the count.\n\"Oh, my brother does not allude to its value, although it has\nbeen estimated at 100,000 francs; he means, that the articles\ncontained in this purse are the relics of the angel I spoke of just\nnow.\"\n\"This I do not comprehend; and yet I may not ask for annow.\"\n\"This I do not comprehend; and yet I may not ask for an\nexplanation, madame,\" replied Monte Cristo bowing. \"Pardon me, I\nhad no intention of committing an indiscretion.\"\n\"Indiscretion, — oh, you make us happy by giving us an excuse\nfor expatiating on this subject. If we wanted to conceal the noble\naction this purse commemorates, we should not expose it thus to\nview. Oh, would we could relate it everywhere, and to every one, so\nthat the emotion of our unknown benefactor might reveal his\npresence.\"\n\"Ah, really,\" said Monte Cristo in a half-stifled voice.\n\"Monsieur,\" returned Maximilian, raising the glass cover, and\nrespectfully kissing the silken purse, \"this has touched the hand\nof a man who saved my father from suicide, us from ruin, and our\nname from shame and disgrace, — a man by whose matchless\nbenevolence we poor children, doomed to want and wretchedness, can\nat present hear every one envying our happy lot. This letter\" (as\nhe spoke, Maximilian drew a letter from the purse and gave it to\nthe count) — \"this letter was written by him the day that my father\nhad taken a desperate resolution, and this diamond was given by the\ngenerous unknown to my sister as her dowry.\" Monte Cristo opened\nthe letter, and read it with an indescribable feeling of delight.\nIt was the letter written (as our readers know) to Julie, and\nsigned \"Sinbad the Sailor.\" \"Unknown you say, is the man who\nrendered you this service — unknown to you?\"\n\"Yes; we have never had the happiness of pressing his hand,\"\ncontinued Maximilian. \"We have supplicated heaven in vain to grant\nus this favor, but the whole affair has had a mysterious meaning\nthat we cannot comprehend — we have been guided by an invisible\nhand, — a hand as powerful as that of an enchanter.\"\n\"Oh,\" cried Julie, \"I have not lost all hope of some day kissing\nthat hand, as I now kiss the purse which he has touched. Four years\nago, Penelon was at Trieste — Penelon, count, is the old sailor you\nsaw in the garden, and who, from quartermaster, has become gardenersaw in the garden, and who, from quartermaster, has become gardener\n— Penelon, when he was at Trieste, saw on the quay an Englishman,\nwho was on the point of embarking on board a yacht, and he\nrecognized him as the person who called on my father the fifth of\nJune, 1829, and who wrote me this letter on the fifth of September.\nHe felt convinced of his identity, but he did not venture to\naddress him.\"\n\"An Englishman,\" said Monte Cristo, who grew uneasy at the\nattention with which Julie looked at him. \"An Englishman you\nsay?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Maximilian, \"an Englishman, who represented\nhimself as the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson &\nFrench, at Rome. It was this that made me start when you said the\nother day, at M. de Morcerf's, that Messrs. Thomson & French\nwere your bankers. That happened, as I told you, in 1829. For God's\nsake, tell me, did you know this Englishman?\"\n\"But you tell me, also, that the house of Thomson & French\nhave constantly denied having rendered you this service?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Then is it not probable that this Englishman may be some one\nwho, grateful for a kindness your father had shown him, and which\nhe himself had forgotten, has taken this method of requiting the\nobligation?\"\n\"Everything is possible in this affair, even a miracle.\"\n\"What was his name?\" asked Monte Cristo.\n\"He gave no other name,\" answered Julie, looking earnestly at\nthe count, \"than that at the end of his letter — `Sinbad the\nSailor.'\"\n\"Which is evidently not his real name, but a fictitious\none.\"\nThen, noticing that Julie was struck with the sound of his\nvoice, —\n\"Tell me,\" continued he, \"was he not about my height, perhaps a\nlittle taller, with his chin imprisoned, as it were, in a high\ncravat; his coat closely buttoned up, and constantly taking out his\npencil?\"\n\"Oh, do you then know him?\" cried Julie, whose eyes sparkled\nwith joy.\n\"No,\" returned Monte Cristo \"I only guessed. I knew a Lord\nWilmore, who was constantly doing actions of this kind.\"\n\"Without revealing himself?\""}
{"text": "Wilmore, who was constantly doing actions of this kind.\"\n\"Without revealing himself?\"\n\"He was an eccentric being, and did not believe in the existence\nof gratitude.\"\n\"Oh, heaven,\" exclaimed Julie, clasping her hands, \"in what did\nhe believe, then?\"\n\"He did not credit it at the period which I knew him,\" said\nMonte Cristo, touched to the heart by the accents of Julie's voice;\n\"but, perhaps, since then he has had proofs that gratitude does\nexist.\"\n\"And do you know this gentleman, monsieur?\" inquired\nEmmanuel.\n\"Oh, if you do know him,\" cried Julie, \"can you tell us where he\nis — where we can find him? Maximilian — Emmanuel — if we do but\ndiscover him, he must believe in the gratitude of the heart!\" Monte\nCristo felt tears start into his eyes, and he again walked hastily\nup and down the room.\n\"In the name of heaven,\" said Maximilian, \"if you know anything\nof him, tell us what it is.\"\n\"Alas,\" cried Monte Cristo, striving to repress his emotion, \"if\nLord Wilmore was your unknown benefactor, I fear you will never see\nhim again. I parted from him two years ago at Palermo, and he was\nthen on the point of setting out for the most remote regions; so\nthat I fear he will never return.\"\n\"Oh, monsieur, this is cruel of you,\" said Julie, much affected;\nand the young lady's eyes swam with tears.\n\"Madame,\" replied Monte Cristo gravely, and gazing earnestly on\nthe two liquid pearls that trickled down Julie's cheeks, \"had Lord\nWilmore seen what I now see, he would become attached to life, for\nthe tears you shed would reconcile him to mankind;\" and he held out\nhis hand to Julie, who gave him hers, carried away by the look and\naccent of the count. \"But,\" continued she, \"Lord Wilmore had a\nfamily or friends, he must have known some one, can we not — \"\n\"Oh, it is useless to inquire,\" returned the count; \"perhaps,\nafter all, he was not the man you seek for. He was my friend: he\nhad no secrets from me, and if this had been so he would have\nconfided in me.\"\n\"And he told you nothing?\"\n\"Not a word.\"\n\"Nothing that would lead you to suppose?\"confided in me.\"\n\"And he told you nothing?\"\n\"Not a word.\"\n\"Nothing that would lead you to suppose?\"\n\"Nothing.\"\n\"And yet you spoke of him at once.\"\n\"Ah, in such a case one supposes\" —\n\"Sister, sister,\" said Maximilian, coming to the count's aid,\n\"monsieur is quite right. Recollect what our excellent father so\noften told us, `It was no Englishman that thus saved us.'\" Monte\nCristo started. \"What did your father tell you, M. Morrel?\" said he\neagerly.\n\"My father thought that this action had been miraculously\nperformed — he believed that a benefactor had arisen from the grave\nto save us. Oh, it was a touching superstition, monsieur, and\nalthough I did not myself believe it, I would not for the world\nhave destroyed my father's faith. How often did he muse over it and\npronounce the name of a dear friend — a friend lost to him forever;\nand on his death-bed, when the near approach of eternity seemed to\nhave illumined his mind with supernatural light, this thought,\nwhich had until then been but a doubt, became a conviction, and his\nlast words were, `Maximilian, it was Edmond Dantes!'\" At these\nwords the count's paleness, which had for some time been\nincreasing, became alarming; he could not speak; he looked at his\nwatch like a man who has forgotten the hour, said a few hurried\nwords to Madame Herbault, and pressing the hands of Emmanuel and\nMaximilian, — \"Madame,\" said he, \"I trust you will allow me to\nvisit you occasionally; I value your friendship, and feel grateful\nto you for your welcome, for this is the first time for many years\nthat I have thus yielded to my feelings;\" and he hastily quitted\nthe apartment.\n\"This Count of Monte Cristo is a strange man,\" said\nEmmanuel.\n\"Yes,\" answered Maximilian, \"but I feel sure he has an excellent\nheart, and that he likes us.\"\n\"His voice went to my heart,\" observed Julie; \"and two or three\ntimes I fancied that I had heard it before.\"About two-thirds of the way along the Faubourg Saint-Honore, and\nin the rear of one of the most imposing mansions in this rich\nneighborhood, where the various houses vie with each other for\nelegance of design and magnificence of construction, extended a\nlarge garden, where the wide-spreading chestnut-trees raised their\nheads high above the walls in a solid rampart, and with the coming\nof every spring scattered a shower of delicate pink and white\nblossoms into the large stone vases that stood upon the two square\npilasters of a curiously wrought iron gate, that dated from the\ntime of Louis XII. This noble entrance, however, in spite of its\nstriking appearance and the graceful effect of the geraniums\nplanted in the two vases, as they waved their variegated leaves in\nthe wind and charmed the eye with their scarlet bloom, had fallen\ninto utter disuse. The proprietors of the mansion had many years\nbefore thought it best to confine themselves to the possession of\nthe house itself, with its thickly planted court-yard, opening into\nthe Faubourg Saint-Honore, and to the garden shut in by this gate,\nwhich formerly communicated with a fine kitchen-garden of about an\nacre. For the demon of speculation drew a line, or in other words\nprojected a street, at the farther side of the kitchen-garden. The\nstreet was laid out, a name was chosen and posted up on an iron\nplate, but before construction was begun, it occurred to the\npossessor of the property that a handsome sum might be obtained for\nthe ground then devoted to fruits and vegetables, by building along\nthe line of the proposed street, and so making it a branch of\ncommunication with the Faubourg Saint-Honore itself, one of the\nmost important thoroughfares in the city of Paris.\nIn matters of speculation, however, though \"man proposes,\"\n\"money disposes.\" From some such difficulty the newly named street\ndied almost in birth, and the purchaser of the kitchen-garden,\nhaving paid a high price for it, and being quite unable to find any"}
{"text": "having paid a high price for it, and being quite unable to find any\none willing to take his bargain off his hands without a\nconsiderable loss, yet still clinging to the belief that at some\nfuture day he should obtain a sum for it that would repay him, not\nonly for his past outlay, but also the interest upon the capital\nlocked up in his new acquisition, contented himself with letting\nthe ground temporarily to some market-gardeners, at a yearly rental\nof 500 francs. And so, as we have said, the iron gate leading into\nthe kitchen-garden had been closed up and left to the rust, which\nbade fair before long to eat off its hinges, while to prevent the\nignoble glances of the diggers and delvers of the ground from\npresuming to sully the aristocratic enclosure belonging to the\nmansion, the gate had been boarded up to a height of six feet.\nTrue, the planks were not so closely adjusted but that a hasty peep\nmight be obtained through their interstices; but the strict decorum\nand rigid propriety of the inhabitants of the house left no grounds\nfor apprehending that advantage would be taken of that\ncircumstance.\nHorticulture seemed, however, to have been abandoned in the\ndeserted kitchen-garden; and where cabbages, carrots, radishes,\npease, and melons had once flourished, a scanty crop of lucerne\nalone bore evidence of its being deemed worthy of cultivation. A\nsmall, low door gave egress from the walled space we have been\ndescribing into the projected street, the ground having been\nabandoned as unproductive by its various renters, and had now\nfallen so completely in general estimation as to return not even\nthe one-half per cent it had originally paid. Towards the house the\nchestnut-trees we have before mentioned rose high above the wall,\nwithout in any way affecting the growth of other luxuriant shrubs\nand flowers that eagerly dressed forward to fill up the vacant\nspaces, as though asserting their right to enjoy the boon of light\nand air. At one corner, where the foliage became so thick as almostand air. At one corner, where the foliage became so thick as almost\nto shut out day, a large stone bench and sundry rustic seats\nindicated that this sheltered spot was either in general favor or\nparticular use by some inhabitant of the house, which was faintly\ndiscernible through the dense mass of verdure that partially\nconcealed it, though situated but a hundred paces off.\nWhoever had selected this retired portion of the grounds as the\nboundary of a walk, or as a place for meditation, was abundantly\njustified in the choice by the absence of all glare, the cool,\nrefreshing shade, the screen it afforded from the scorching rays of\nthe sun, that found no entrance there even during the burning days\nof hottest summer, the incessant and melodious warbling of birds,\nand the entire removal from either the noise of the street or the\nbustle of the mansion. On the evening of one of the warmest days\nspring had yet bestowed on the inhabitants of Paris, might be seen\nnegligently thrown upon the stone bench, a book, a parasol, and a\nwork-basket, from which hung a partly embroidered cambric\nhandkerchief, while at a little distance from these articles was a\nyoung woman, standing close to the iron gate, endeavoring to\ndiscern something on the other side by means of the openings in the\nplanks, — the earnestness of her attitude and the fixed gaze with\nwhich she seemed to seek the object of her wishes, proving how much\nher feelings were interested in the matter. At that instant the\nlittle side-gate leading from the waste ground to the street was\nnoiselessly opened, and a tall, powerful young man appeared. He was\ndressed in a common gray blouse and velvet cap, but his carefully\narranged hair, beard and mustache, all of the richest and glossiest\nblack, ill accorded with his plebeian attire. After casting a rapid\nglance around him, in order to assure himself that he was\nunobserved, he entered by the small gate, and, carefully closing\nand securing it after him, proceeded with a hurried step towards\nthe barrier.and securing it after him, proceeded with a hurried step towards\nthe barrier.\nAt the sight of him she expected, though probably not in such a\ncostume, the young woman started in terror, and was about to make a\nhasty retreat. But the eye of love had already seen, even through\nthe narrow chinks of the wooden palisades, the movement of the\nwhite robe, and observed the fluttering of the blue sash. Pressing\nhis lips close to the planks, he exclaimed, \"Don't be alarmed,\nValentine — it is I!\" Again the timid girl found courage to return\nto the gate, saying, as she did so, \"And why do you come so late\nto-day? It is almost dinner-time, and I had to use no little\ndiplomacy to get rid of my watchful mother-in-law, my too-devoted\nmaid, and my troublesome brother, who is always teasing me about\ncoming to work at my embroidery, which I am in a fair way never to\nget done. So pray excuse yourself as well as you can for having\nmade me wait, and, after that, tell me why I see you in a dress so\nsingular that at first I did not recognize you.\"\n\"Dearest Valentine,\" said the young man, \"the difference between\nour respective stations makes me fear to offend you by speaking of\nmy love, but yet I cannot find myself in your presence without\nlonging to pour forth my soul, and tell you how fondly I adore you.\nIf it be but to carry away with me the recollection of such sweet\nmoments, I could even thank you for chiding me, for it leaves me a\ngleam of hope, that if you did not expect me (and that indeed would\nbe worse than vanity to suppose), at least I was in your thoughts.\nYou asked me the cause of my being late, and why I come disguised.\nI will candidly explain the reason of both, and I trust to your\ngoodness to pardon me. I have chosen a trade.\"\n\"A trade? Oh, Maximilian, how can you jest at a time when we\nhave such deep cause for uneasiness?\"\n\"Heaven keep me from jesting with that which is far dearer to me\nthan life itself! But listen to me, Valentine, and I will tell you\nall about it. I became weary of ranging fields and scaling walls,"}
{"text": "all about it. I became weary of ranging fields and scaling walls,\nand seriously alarmed at the idea suggested by you, that if caught\nhovering about here your father would very likely have me sent to\nprison as a thief. That would compromise the honor of the French\narmy, to say nothing of the fact that the continual presence of a\ncaptain of Spahis in a place where no warlike projects could be\nsupposed to account for it might well create surprise; so I have\nbecome a gardener, and, consequently, adopted the costume of my\ncalling.\"\n\"What excessive nonsense you talk, Maximilian!\"\n\"Nonsense? Pray do not call what I consider the wisest action of\nmy life by such a name. Consider, by becoming a gardener I\neffectually screen our meetings from all suspicion or danger.\"\n\"I beseech of you, Maximilian, to cease trifling, and tell me\nwhat you really mean.\"\n\"Simply, that having ascertained that the piece of ground on\nwhich I stand was to let, I made application for it, was readily\naccepted by the proprietor, and am now master of this fine crop of\nlucerne. Think of that, Valentine! There is nothing now to prevent\nmy building myself a little hut on my plantation, and residing not\ntwenty yards from you. Only imagine what happiness that would\nafford me. I can scarcely contain myself at the bare idea. Such\nfelicity seems above all price — as a thing impossible and\nunattainable. But would you believe that I purchase all this\ndelight, joy, and happiness, for which I would cheerfully have\nsurrendered ten years of my life, at the small cost of 500 francs\nper annum, paid quarterly? Henceforth we have nothing to fear. I am\non my own ground, and have an undoubted right to place a ladder\nagainst the wall, and to look over when I please, without having\nany apprehensions of being taken off by the police as a suspicious\ncharacter. I may also enjoy the precious privilege of assuring you\nof my fond, faithful, and unalterable affection, whenever you visit\nyour favorite bower, unless, indeed, it offends your pride toyour favorite bower, unless, indeed, it offends your pride to\nlisten to professions of love from the lips of a poor workingman,\nclad in a blouse and cap.\" A faint cry of mingled pleasure and\nsurprise escaped from the lips of Valentine, who almost instantly\nsaid, in a saddened tone, as though some envious cloud darkened the\njoy which illumined her heart, \"Alas, no, Maximilian, this must not\nbe, for many reasons. We should presume too much on our own\nstrength, and, like others, perhaps, be led astray by our blind\nconfidence in each other's prudence.\"\n\"How can you for an instant entertain so unworthy a thought,\ndear Valentine? Have I not, from the first blessed hour of our\nacquaintance, schooled all my words and actions to your sentiments\nand ideas? And you have, I am sure, the fullest confidence in my\nhonor. When you spoke to me of experiencing a vague and indefinite\nsense of coming danger, I placed myself blindly and devotedly at\nyour service, asking no other reward than the pleasure of being\nuseful to you; and have I ever since, by word or look, given you\ncause of regret for having selected me from the numbers that would\nwillingly have sacrificed their lives for you? You told me, my dear\nValentine, that you were engaged to M. d'Epinay, and that your\nfather was resolved upon completing the match, and that from his\nwill there was no appeal, as M. de Villefort was never known to\nchange a determination once formed. I kept in the background, as\nyou wished, and waited, not for the decision of your heart or my\nown, but hoping that providence would graciously interpose in our\nbehalf, and order events in our favor. But what cared I for delays\nor difficulties, Valentine, as long as you confessed that you loved\nme, and took pity on me? If you will only repeat that avowal now\nand then, I can endure anything.\"\n\"Ah, Maximilian, that is the very thing that makes you so bold,\nand which renders me at once so happy and unhappy, that I\nfrequently ask myself whether it is better for me to endure thefrequently ask myself whether it is better for me to endure the\nharshness of my mother-in-law, and her blind preference for her own\nchild, or to be, as I now am, insensible to any pleasure save such\nas I find in these meetings, so fraught with danger to both.\"\n\"I will not admit that word,\" returned the young man; \"it is at\nonce cruel and unjust. Is it possible to find a more submissive\nslave than myself? You have permitted me to converse with you from\ntime to time, Valentine, but forbidden my ever following you in\nyour walks or elsewhere — have I not obeyed? And since I found\nmeans to enter this enclosure to exchange a few words with you\nthrough this gate — to be close to you without really seeing you —\nhave I ever asked so much as to touch the hem of your gown or tried\nto pass this barrier which is but a trifle to one of my youth and\nstrength? Never has a complaint or a murmur escaped me. I have been\nbound by my promises as rigidly as any knight of olden times. Come,\ncome, dearest Valentine, confess that what I say is true, lest I be\ntempted to call you unjust.\"\n\"It is true,\" said Valentine, as she passed the end of her\nslender fingers through a small opening in the planks, and\npermitted Maximilian to press his lips to them, \"and you are a true\nand faithful friend; but still you acted from motives of\nself-interest, my dear Maximilian, for you well knew that from the\nmoment in which you had manifested an opposite spirit all would\nhave been ended between us. You promised to bestow on me the\nfriendly affection of a brother. For I have no friend but yourself\nupon earth, who am neglected and forgotten by my father, harassed\nand persecuted by my mother-in-law, and left to the sole\ncompanionship of a paralyzed and speechless old man, whose withered\nhand can no longer press mine, and who can speak to me with the eye\nalone, although there still lingers in his heart the warmest\ntenderness for his poor grandchild. Oh, how bitter a fate is mine,\nto serve either as a victim or an enemy to all who are stronger"}
{"text": "to serve either as a victim or an enemy to all who are stronger\nthan myself, while my only friend and supporter is a living corpse!\nIndeed, indeed, Maximilian, I am very miserable, and if you love me\nit must be out of pity.\"\n\"Valentine,\" replied the young man, deeply affected, \"I will not\nsay you are all I love in the world, for I dearly prize my sister\nand brother-in-law; but my affection for them is calm and tranquil,\nin no manner resembling what I feel for you. When I think of you my\nheart beats fast, the blood burns in my veins, and I can hardly\nbreathe; but I solemnly promise you to restrain all this ardor,\nthis fervor and intensity of feeling, until you yourself shall\nrequire me to render them available in serving or assisting you. M.\nFranz is not expected to return home for a year to come, I am told;\nin that time many favorable and unforeseen chances may befriend us.\nLet us, then, hope for the best; hope is so sweet a comforter.\nMeanwhile, Valentine, while reproaching me with selfishness, think\na little what you have been to me — the beautiful but cold\nresemblance of a marble Venus. What promise of future reward have\nyou made me for all the submission and obedience I have evinced? —\nnone whatever. What granted me? — scarcely more. You tell me of M.\nFranz d'Epinay, your betrothed lover, and you shrink from the idea\nof being his wife; but tell me, Valentine, is there no other sorrow\nin your heart? You see me devoted to you, body and soul, my life\nand each warm drop that circles round my heart are consecrated to\nyour service; you know full well that my existence is bound up in\nyours — that were I to lose you I would not outlive the hour of\nsuch crushing misery; yet you speak with calmness of the prospect\nof your being the wife of another! Oh, Valentine, were I in your\nplace, and did I feel conscious, as you do, of being worshipped,\nadored, with such a love as mine, a hundred times at least should I\nhave passed my hand between these iron bars, and said, `Take thishave passed my hand between these iron bars, and said, `Take this\nhand, dearest Maximilian, and believe that, living or dead, I am\nyours — yours only, and forever!'\" The poor girl made no reply, but\nher lover could plainly hear her sobs and tears. A rapid change\ntook place in the young man's feelings. \"Dearest, dearest\nValentine,\" exclaimed he, \"forgive me if I have offended you, and\nforget the words I spoke if they have unwittingly caused you\npain.\"\n\"No, Maximilian, I am not offended,\" answered she, \"but do you\nnot see what a poor, helpless being I am, almost a stranger and an\noutcast in my father's house, where even he is seldom seen; whose\nwill has been thwarted, and spirits broken, from the age of ten\nyears, beneath the iron rod so sternly held over me; oppressed,\nmortified, and persecuted, day by day, hour by hour, minute by\nminute, no person has cared for, even observed my sufferings, nor\nhave I ever breathed one word on the subject save to yourself.\nOutwardly and in the eyes of the world, I am surrounded by kindness\nand affection; but the reverse is the case. The general remark is,\n`Oh, it cannot be expected that one of so stern a character as M.\nVillefort could lavish the tenderness some fathers do on their\ndaughters. What though she has lost her own mother at a tender age,\nshe has had the happiness to find a second mother in Madame de\nVillefort.' The world, however, is mistaken; my father abandons me\nfrom utter indifference, while my mother-in-law detests me with a\nhatred so much the more terrible because it is veiled beneath a\ncontinual smile.\"\n\"Hate you, sweet Valentine,\" exclaimed the young man; \"how is it\npossible for any one to do that?\"\n\"Alas,\" replied the weeping girl, \"I am obliged to own that my\nmother-in-law's aversion to me arises from a very natural source —\nher overweening love for her own child, my brother Edward.\"\n\"But why should it?\"\n\"I do not know; but, though unwilling to introduce money matters\ninto our present conversation, I will just say this much — that herinto our present conversation, I will just say this much — that her\nextreme dislike to me has its origin there; and I much fear she\nenvies me the fortune I enjoy in right of my mother, and which will\nbe more than doubled at the death of M. and Mme. de Saint-Meran,\nwhose sole heiress I am. Madame de Villefort has nothing of her\nown, and hates me for being so richly endowed. Alas, how gladly\nwould I exchange the half of this wealth for the happiness of at\nleast sharing my father's love. God knows, I would prefer\nsacrificing the whole, so that it would obtain me a happy and\naffectionate home.\"\n\"Poor Valentine!\"\n\"I seem to myself as though living a life of bondage, yet at the\nsame time am so conscious of my own weakness that I fear to break\nthe restraint in which I am held, lest I fall utterly helpless.\nThen, too, my father is not a person whose orders may be infringed\nwith impunity; protected as he is by his high position and firmly\nestablished reputation for talent and unswerving integrity, no one\ncould oppose him; he is all-powerful even with the king; he would\ncrush you at a word. Dear Maximilian, believe me when I assure you\nthat if I do not attempt to resist my father's commands it is more\non your account than my own.\"\n\"But why, Valentine, do you persist in anticipating the worst, —\nwhy picture so gloomy a future?\"\n\"Because I judge it from the past.\"\n\"Still, consider that although I may not be, strictly speaking,\nwhat is termed an illustrious match for you, I am, for many\nreasons, not altogether so much beneath your alliance. The days\nwhen such distinctions were so nicely weighed and considered no\nlonger exist in France, and the first families of the monarchy have\nintermarried with those of the empire. The aristocracy of the lance\nhas allied itself with the nobility of the cannon. Now I belong to\nthis last-named class; and certainly my prospects of military\npreferment are most encouraging as well as certain. My fortune,\nthough small, is free and unfettered, and the memory of my late"}
{"text": "though small, is free and unfettered, and the memory of my late\nfather is respected in our country, Valentine, as that of the most\nupright and honorable merchant of the city; I say our country,\nbecause you were born not far from Marseilles.\"\n\"Don't speak of Marseilles, I beg of you, Maximilian; that one\nword brings back my mother to my recollection — my angel mother,\nwho died too soon for myself and all who knew her; but who, after\nwatching over her child during the brief period allotted to her in\nthis world, now, I fondly hope, watches from her home in heaven.\nOh, if my mother were still living, there would be nothing to fear,\nMaximilian, for I would tell her that I loved you, and she would\nprotect us.\"\n\"I fear, Valentine,\" replied the lover, \"that were she living I\nshould never have had the happiness of knowing you; you would then\nhave been too happy to have stooped from your grandeur to bestow a\nthought on me.\"\n\"Now it is you who are unjust, Maximilian,\" cried Valentine;\n\"but there is one thing I wish to know.\"\n\"And what is that?\" inquired the young man, perceiving that\nValentine hesitated.\n\"Tell me truly, Maximilian, whether in former days, when our\nfathers dwelt at Marseilles, there was ever any misunderstanding\nbetween them?\"\n\"Not that I am aware of,\" replied the young man, \"unless,\nindeed, any ill-feeling might have arisen from their being of\nopposite parties — your father was, as you know, a zealous partisan\nof the Bourbons, while mine was wholly devoted to the emperor;\nthere could not possibly be any other difference between them. But\nwhy do you ask?\"\n\"I will tell you,\" replied the young girl, \"for it is but right\nyou should know. Well, on the day when your appointment as an\nofficer of the Legion of honor was announced in the papers, we were\nall sitting with my grandfather, M. Noirtier; M. Danglars was there\nalso — you recollect M. Danglars, do you not, Maximilian, the\nbanker, whose horses ran away with my mother-in-law and little\nbrother, and very nearly killed them? While the rest of the companybrother, and very nearly killed them? While the rest of the company\nwere discussing the approaching marriage of Mademoiselle Danglars,\nI was reading the paper to my grandfather; but when I came to the\nparagraph about you, although I had done nothing else but read it\nover to myself all the morning (you know you had told me all about\nit the previous evening), I felt so happy, and yet so nervous, at\nthe idea of speaking your name aloud, and before so many people,\nthat I really think I should have passed it over, but for the fear\nthat my doing so might create suspicions as to the cause of my\nsilence; so I summoned up all my courage, and read it as firmly and\nas steadily as I could.\"\n\"Dear Valentine!\"\n\"Well, would you believe it? directly my father caught the sound\nof your name he turned round quite hastily, and, like a poor silly\nthing, I was so persuaded that every one must be as much affected\nas myself by the utterance of your name, that I was not surprised\nto see my father start, and almost tremble; but I even thought\n(though that surely must have been a mistake) that M. Danglars\ntrembled too.\"\n\"`Morrel, Morrel,' cried my father, `stop a bit;' then knitting\nhis brows into a deep frown, he added, `surely this cannot be one\nof the Morrel family who lived at Marseilles, and gave us so much\ntrouble from their violent Bonapartism — I mean about the year\n1815.' — `Yes,' replied M. Danglars, `I believe he is the son of\nthe old shipowner.'\"\n\"Indeed,\" answered Maximilian; \"and what did your father say\nthen, Valentine?\"\n\"Oh, such a dreadful thing, that I don't dare to tell you.\"\n\"Always tell me everything,\" said Maximilian with a smile.\n\"`Ah,' continued my father, still frowning, `their idolized\nemperor treated these madmen as they deserved; he called them `food\nfor powder,' which was precisely all they were good for; and I am\ndelighted to see that the present government have adopted this\nsalutary principle with all its pristine vigor; if Algiers were\ngood for nothing but to furnish the means of carrying so admirablegood for nothing but to furnish the means of carrying so admirable\nan idea into practice, it would be an acquisition well worthy of\nstruggling to obtain. Though it certainly does cost France somewhat\ndear to assert her rights in that uncivilized country.'\"\n\"Brutal politics, I must confess.\" said Maximilian; \"but don't\nattach any serious importance, dear, to what your father said. My\nfather was not a bit behind yours in that sort of talk. `Why,' said\nhe, `does not the emperor, who has devised so many clever and\nefficient modes of improving the art of war, organize a regiment of\nlawyers, judges and legal practitioners, sending them in the\nhottest fire the enemy could maintain, and using them to save\nbetter men?' You see, my dear, that for picturesque expression and\ngenerosity of spirit there is not much to choose between the\nlanguage of either party. But what did M. Danglars say to this\noutburst on the part of the procureur?\"\n\"Oh, he laughed, and in that singular manner so peculiar to\nhimself — half-malicious, half-ferocious; he almost immediately got\nup and took his leave; then, for the first time, I observed the\nagitation of my grandfather, and I must tell you, Maximilian, that\nI am the only person capable of discerning emotion in his paralyzed\nframe. And I suspected that the conversation that had been carried\non in his presence (for they always say and do what they like\nbefore the dear old man, without the smallest regard for his\nfeelings) had made a strong impression on his mind; for, naturally\nenough, it must have pained him to hear the emperor he so devotedly\nloved and served spoken of in that depreciating manner.\"\n\"The name of M. Noirtier,\" interposed Maximilian, \"is celebrated\nthroughout Europe; he was a statesman of high standing, and you may\nor may not know, Valentine, that he took a leading part in every\nBonapartist conspiracy set on foot during the restoration of the\nBourbons.\"\n\"Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me most"}
{"text": "Bourbons.\"\n\"Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me most\nstrange — the father a Bonapartist, the son a Royalist; what can\nhave been the reason of so singular a difference in parties and\npolitics? But to resume my story; I turned towards my grandfather,\nas though to question him as to the cause of his emotion; he looked\nexpressively at the newspaper I had been reading. `What is the\nmatter, dear grandfather?' said I, `are you pleased?' He gave me a\nsign in the affirmative. `With what my father said just now?' He\nreturned a sign in the negative. `Perhaps you liked what M.\nDanglars said?' Another sign in the negative. `Oh, then, you were\nglad to hear that M. Morrel (I didn't dare to say Maximilian) had\nbeen made an officer of the Legion of Honor?' He signified assent;\nonly think of the poor old man's being so pleased to think that\nyou, who were a perfect stranger to him, had been made an officer\nof the Legion of Honor! Perhaps it was a mere whim on his part, for\nhe is falling, they say, into second childhood, but I love him for\nshowing so much interest in you.\"\n\"How singular,\" murmured Maximilian; \"your father hates me,\nwhile your grandfather, on the contrary — What strange feelings are\naroused by politics.\"\n\"Hush,\" cried Valentine, suddenly; \"some one is coming!\"\nMaximilian leaped at one bound into his crop of lucerne, which he\nbegan to pull up in the most ruthless way, under the pretext of\nbeing occupied in weeding it.\n\"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!\" exclaimed a voice from behind the\ntrees. \"Madame is searching for you everywhere; there is a visitor\nin the drawing-room.\"\n\"A visitor?\" inquired Valentine, much agitated; \"who is it?\"\n\"Some grand personage — a prince I believe they said — the Count\nof Monte Cristo.\"\n\"I will come directly,\" cried Valentine aloud. The name of Monte\nCristo sent an electric shock through the young man on the other\nside of the iron gate, to whom Valentine's \"I am coming\" was the\ncustomary signal of farewell. \"Now, then,\" said Maximilian, leaningcustomary signal of farewell. \"Now, then,\" said Maximilian, leaning\non the handle of his spade, \"I would give a good deal to know how\nit comes about that the Count of Monte Cristo is acquainted with M.\nde Villefort.\"It was really the Count of Monte Cristo who had just arrived at\nMadame de Villefort's for the purpose of returning the procureur's\nvisit, and at his name, as may be easily imagined, the whole house\nwas in confusion. Madame de Villefort, who was alone in her\ndrawing-room when the count was announced, desired that her son\nmight be brought thither instantly to renew his thanks to the\ncount; and Edward, who heard this great personage talked of for two\nwhole days, made all possible haste to come to him, not from\nobedience to his mother, or out of any feeling of gratitude to the\ncount, but from sheer curiosity, and that some chance remark might\ngive him the opportunity for making one of the impertinent speeches\nwhich made his mother say, — \"Oh, that naughty child! But I can't\nbe severe with him, he is really so bright.\"\nAfter the usual civilities, the count inquired after M. de\nVillefort. \"My husband dines with the chancellor,\" replied the\nyoung lady; \"he has just gone, and I am sure he'll be exceedingly\nsorry not to have had the pleasure of seeing you before he went.\"\nTwo visitors who were there when the count arrived, having gazed at\nhim with all their eyes, retired after that reasonable delay which\npoliteness admits and curiosity requires. \"What is your sister\nValentine doing?\" inquired Madame de Villefort of Edward; \"tell\nsome one to bid her come here, that I may have the honor of\nintroducing her to the count.\"\n\"You have a daughter, then, madame?\" inquired the count; \"very\nyoung, I presume?\"\n\"The daughter of M. de Villefort by his first marriage,\" replied\nthe young wife, \"a fine well-grown girl.\"\n\"But melancholy,\" interrupted Master Edward, snatching the\nfeathers out of the tail of a splendid parroquet that was screaming\non its gilded perch, in order to make a plume for his hat. Madame\nde Villefort merely cried, — \"Be still, Edward!\" She then added, —\n\"This young madcap is, however, very nearly right, and merely\nre-echoes what he has heard me say with pain a hundred times; forre-echoes what he has heard me say with pain a hundred times; for\nMademoiselle de Villefort is, in spite of all we can do to rouse\nher, of a melancholy disposition and taciturn habit, which\nfrequently injure the effect of her beauty. But what detains her?\nGo, Edward, and see.\"\n\"Because they are looking for her where she is not to be\nfound.\"\n\"And where are they looking for her?\"\n\"With grandpapa Noirtier.\"\n\"And do you think she is not there?\"\n\"No, no, no, no, no, she is not there,\" replied Edward, singing\nhis words.\n\"And where is she, then? If you know, why don't you tell?\"\n\"She is under the big chestnut-tree,\" replied the spoiled brat,\nas he gave, in spite of his mother's commands, live flies to the\nparrot, which seemed keenly to relish such fare. Madame de\nVillefort stretched out her hand to ring, intending to direct her\nwaiting-maid to the spot where she would find Valentine, when the\nyoung lady herself entered the apartment. She appeared much\ndejected; and any person who considered her attentively might have\nobserved the traces of recent tears in her eyes.\nValentine, whom we have in the rapid march of our narrative\npresented to our readers without formally introducing her, was a\ntall and graceful girl of nineteen, with bright chestnut hair, deep\nblue eyes, and that reposeful air of quiet distinction which\ncharacterized her mother. Her white and slender fingers, her pearly\nneck, her cheeks tinted with varying hues reminded one of the\nlovely Englishwomen who have been so poetically compared in their\nmanner to the gracefulness of a swan. She entered the apartment,\nand seeing near her stepmother the stranger of whom she had already\nheard so much, saluted him without any girlish awkwardness, or even\nlowering her eyes, and with an elegance that redoubled the count's\nattention. He rose to return the salutation. \"Mademoiselle de\nVillefort, my daughter-in-law,\" said Madame de Villefort to Monte\nCristo, leaning back on her sofa and motioning towards Valentine"}
{"text": "Cristo, leaning back on her sofa and motioning towards Valentine\nwith her hand. \"And M. de Monte Cristo, King of China, Emperor of\nCochin-China,\" said the young imp, looking slyly towards his\nsister.\nMadame de Villefort at this really did turn pale, and was very\nnearly angry with this household plague, who answered to the name\nof Edward; but the count, on the contrary, smiled, and appeared to\nlook at the boy complacently, which caused the maternal heart to\nbound again with joy and enthusiasm.\n\"But, madame,\" replied the count, continuing the conversation,\nand looking by turns at Madame de Villefort and Valentine, \"have I\nnot already had the honor of meeting yourself and mademoiselle\nbefore? I could not help thinking so just now; the idea came over\nmy mind, and as mademoiselle entered the sight of her was an\nadditional ray of light thrown on a confused remembrance; excuse\nthe remark.\"\n\"I do not think it likely, sir; Mademoiselle de Villefort is not\nvery fond of society, and we very seldom go out,\" said the young\nlady.\n\"Then it was not in society that I met with mademoiselle or\nyourself, madame, or this charming little merry boy. Besides, the\nParisian world is entirely unknown to me, for, as I believe I told\nyou, I have been in Paris but very few days. No, — but, perhaps,\nyou will permit me to call to mind — stay!\" The Count placed his\nhand on his brow as if to collect his thoughts. \"No — it was\nsomewhere — away from here — it was — I do not know — but it\nappears that this recollection is connected with a lovely sky and\nsome religious fete; mademoiselle was holding flowers in her hand,\nthe interesting boy was chasing a beautiful peacock in a garden,\nand you, madame, were under the trellis of some arbor. Pray come to\nmy aid, madame; do not these circumstances appeal to your\nmemory?\"\n\"No, indeed,\" replied Madame de Villefort; \"and yet it appears\nto me, sir, that if I had met you anywhere, the recollection of you\nmust have been imprinted on my memory.\"\n\"Perhaps the count saw us in Italy,\" said Valentine timidly.\"Perhaps the count saw us in Italy,\" said Valentine timidly.\n\"Yes, in Italy; it was in Italy most probably,\" replied Monte\nCristo; \"you have travelled then in Italy, mademoiselle?\"\n\"Yes; madame and I were there two years ago. The doctors,\nanxious for my lungs, had prescribed the air of Naples. We went by\nBologna, Perugia, and Rome.\"\n\"Ah, yes — true, mademoiselle,\" exclaimed Monte Cristo as if\nthis simple explanation was sufficient to revive the recollection\nhe sought. \"It was at Perugia on Corpus Christi Day, in the garden\nof the Hotel des Postes, when chance brought us together; you,\nMadame de Villefort, and her son; I now remember having had the\nhonor of meeting you.\"\n\"I perfectly well remember Perugia, sir, and the Hotel des\nPostes, and the festival of which you speak,\" said Madame de\nVillefort, \"but in vain do I tax my memory, of whose treachery I am\nashamed, for I really do not recall to mind that I ever had the\npleasure of seeing you before.\"\n\"It is strange, but neither do I recollect meeting with you,\"\nobserved Valentine, raising her beautiful eyes to the count.\n\"But I remember it perfectly,\" interposed the darling\nEdward.\n\"I will assist your memory, madame,\" continued the count; \"the\nday had been burning hot; you were waiting for horses, which were\ndelayed in consequence of the festival. Mademoiselle was walking in\nthe shade of the garden, and your son disappeared in pursuit of the\npeacock.\"\n\"And I caught it, mamma, don't you remember?\" interposed Edward,\n\"and I pulled three such beautiful feathers out of his tail.\"\n\"You, madame, remained under the arbor; do you not remember,\nthat while you were seated on a stone bench, and while, as I told\nyou, Mademoiselle de Villefort and your young son were absent, you\nconversed for a considerable time with somebody?\"\n\"Yes, in truth, yes,\" answered the young lady, turning very red,\n\"I do remember conversing with a person wrapped in a long woollen\nmantle; he was a medical man, I think.\"\n\"Precisely so, madame; this man was myself; for a fortnight I\"Precisely so, madame; this man was myself; for a fortnight I\nhad been at that hotel, during which period I had cured my valet de\nchambre of a fever, and my landlord of the jaundice, so that I\nreally acquired a reputation as a skilful physician. We discoursed\na long time, madame, on different subjects; of Perugino, of\nRaffaelle, of manners, customs, of the famous aquatofana, of which\nthey had told you, I think you said, that certain individuals in\nPerugia had preserved the secret.\"\n\"Yes, true,\" replied Madame de Villefort, somewhat uneasily, \"I\nremember now.\"\n\"I do not recollect now all the various subjects of which we\ndiscoursed, madame,\" continued the count with perfect calmness;\n\"but I perfectly remember that, falling into the error which others\nhad entertained respecting me, you consulted me as to the health of\nMademoiselle de Villefort.\"\n\"Yes, really, sir, you were in fact a medical man,\" said Madame\nde Villefort, \"since you had cured the sick.\"\n\"Moliere or Beaumarchais would reply to you, madame, that it was\nprecisely because I was not, that I had cured my patients; for\nmyself, I am content to say to you that I have studied chemistry\nand the natural sciences somewhat deeply, but still only as an\namateur, you understand.\" — At this moment the clock struck six.\n\"It is six o'clock,\" said Madame de Villefort, evidently agitated.\n\"Valentine, will you not go and see if your grandpapa will have his\ndinner?\" Valentine rose, and saluting the count, left the apartment\nwithout speaking.\n\"Oh, madame,\" said the count, when Valentine had left the room,\n\"was it on my account that you sent Mademoiselle de Villefort\naway?\"\n\"By no means,\" replied the young lady quickly; \"but this is the\nhour when we usually give M. Noirtier the unwelcome meal that\nsustains his pitiful existence. You are aware, sir, of the\ndeplorable condition of my husband's father?\"\n\"Yes, madame, M. de Villefort spoke of it to me — a paralysis, I\nthink.\"\n\"Alas, yes; the poor old gentleman is entirely helpless; the"}
{"text": "think.\"\n\"Alas, yes; the poor old gentleman is entirely helpless; the\nmind alone is still active in this human machine, and that is faint\nand flickering, like the light of a lamp about to expire. But\nexcuse me, sir, for talking of our domestic misfortunes; I\ninterrupted you at the moment when you were telling me that you\nwere a skilful chemist.\"\n\"No, madame, I did not say as much as that,\" replied the count\nwith a smile; \"quite the contrary. I have studied chemistry\nbecause, having determined to live in eastern climates I have been\ndesirous of following the example of King Mithridates.\"\n\"Mithridates rex Ponticus,\" said the young scamp, as he tore\nsome beautiful portraits out of a splendid album, \"the individual\nwho took cream in his cup of poison every morning at\nbreakfast.\"\n\"Edward, you naughty boy,\" exclaimed Madame de Villefort,\nsnatching the mutilated book from the urchin's grasp, \"you are\npositively past bearing; you really disturb the conversation; go,\nleave us, and join your sister Valentine in dear grandpapa\nNoirtier's room.\"\n\"The album,\" said Edward sulkily.\n\"What do you mean? — the album!\"\n\"I want the album.\"\n\"How dare you tear out the drawings?\"\n\"Oh, it amuses me.\"\n\"Go — go at once.\"\n\"I won't go unless you give me the album,\" said the boy, seating\nhimself doggedly in an arm-chair, according to his habit of never\ngiving way.\n\"Take it, then, and pray disturb us no longer,\" said Madame de\nVillefort, giving the album to Edward, who then went towards the\ndoor, led by his mother. The count followed her with his eyes.\n\"Let us see if she shuts the door after him,\" he muttered.\nMadame de Villefort closed the door carefully after the child, the\ncount appearing not to notice her; then casting a scrutinizing\nglance around the chamber, the young wife returned to her chair, in\nwhich she seated herself. \"Allow me to observe, madame,\" said the\ncount, with that kind tone he could assume so well, \"you are really\nvery severe with that dear clever child.\"\n\"Oh, sometimes severity is quite necessary,\" replied Madame de\"Oh, sometimes severity is quite necessary,\" replied Madame de\nVillefort, with all a mother's real firmness.\n\"It was his Cornelius Nepos that Master Edward was repeating\nwhen he referred to King Mithridates,\" continued the count, \"and\nyou interrupted him in a quotation which proves that his tutor has\nby no means neglected him, for your son is really advanced for his\nyears.\"\n\"The fact is, count,\" answered the mother, agreeably flattered,\n\"he has great aptitude, and learns all that is set before him. He\nhas but one fault, he is somewhat wilful; but really, on referring\nfor the moment to what he said, do you truly believe that\nMithridates used these precautions, and that these precautions were\nefficacious?\"\n\"I think so, madame, because I myself have made use of them,\nthat I might not be poisoned at Naples, at Palermo, and at Smyrna —\nthat is to say, on three several occasions when, but for these\nprecautions, I must have lost my life.\"\n\"And your precautions were successful?\"\n\"Completely so.\"\n\"Yes, I remember now your mentioning to me at Perugia something\nof this sort.\"\n\"Indeed?\" said the count with an air of surprise, remarkably\nwell counterfeited; \"I really did not remember.\"\n\"I inquired of you if poisons acted equally, and with the same\neffect, on men of the North as on men of the South; and you\nanswered me that the cold and sluggish habits of the North did not\npresent the same aptitude as the rich and energetic temperaments of\nthe natives of the South.\"\n\"And that is the case,\" observed Monte Cristo. \"I have seen\nRussians devour, without being visibly inconvenienced, vegetable\nsubstances which would infallibly have killed a Neapolitan or an\nArab.\"\n\"And you really believe the result would be still more sure with\nus than in the East, and in the midst of our fogs and rains a man\nwould habituate himself more easily than in a warm latitude to this\nprogressive absorption of poison?\"\n\"Certainly; it being at the same time perfectly understood that\nhe should have been duly fortified against the poison to which hehe should have been duly fortified against the poison to which he\nhad not been accustomed.\"\n\"Yes, I understand that; and how would you habituate yourself,\nfor instance, or rather, how did you habituate yourself to it?\"\n\"Oh, very easily. Suppose you knew beforehand the poison that\nwould be made use of against you; suppose the poison was, for\ninstance, brucine\"—\n\"Brucine is extracted from the false angostura* is it not?\"\ninquired Madame de Villefort.\n\"Precisely, madame,\" replied Monte Cristo; \"but I perceive I\nhave not much to teach you. Allow me to compliment you on your\nknowledge; such learning is very rare among ladies.\"\n(* Brucoea ferruginea.)\n\"Oh, I am aware of that,\" said Madame de Villefort; \"but I have\na passion for the occult sciences, which speak to the imagination\nlike poetry, and are reducible to figures, like an algebraic\nequation; but go on, I beg of you; what you say interests me to the\ngreatest degree.\"\n\"Well,\" replied Monte Cristo \"suppose, then, that this poison\nwas brucine, and you were to take a milligramme the first day, two\nmilligrammes the second day, and so on. Well, at the end of ten\ndays you would have taken a centigramme, at the end of twenty days,\nincreasing another milligramme, you would have taken three hundred\ncentigrammes; that is to say, a dose which you would support\nwithout inconvenience, and which would be very dangerous for any\nother person who had not taken the same precautions as yourself.\nWell, then, at the end of a month, when drinking water from the\nsame carafe, you would kill the person who drank with you, without\nyour perceiving, otherwise than from slight inconvenience, that\nthere was any poisonous substance mingled with this water.\"\n\"Do you know any other counter-poisons?\"\n\"I do not.\"\n\"I have often read, and read again, the history of Mithridates,\"\nsaid Madame de Villefort in a tone of reflection, \"and had always\nconsidered it a fable.\"\n\"No, madame, contrary to most history, it is true; but what you\ntell me, madame, what you inquire of me, is not the result of a"}
{"text": "tell me, madame, what you inquire of me, is not the result of a\nchance query, for two years ago you asked me the same questions,\nand said then, that for a very long time this history of\nMithridates had occupied your mind.\"\n\"True, sir. The two favorite studies of my youth were botany and\nmineralogy, and subsequently, when I learned that the use of\nsimples frequently explained the whole history of a people, and the\nentire life of individuals in the East, as flowers betoken and\nsymbolize a love affair, I have regretted that I was not a man,\nthat I might have been a Flamel, a Fontana, or a Cabanis.\"\n\"And the more, madame,\" said Monte Cristo, \"as the Orientals do\nnot confine themselves, as did Mithridates, to make a cuirass of\nhis poisons, but they also made them a dagger. Science becomes, in\ntheir hands, not only a defensive weapon, but still more frequently\nan offensive one; the one serves against all their physical\nsufferings, the other against all their enemies. With opium,\nbelladonna, brucaea, snake-wood, and the cherry-laurel, they put to\nsleep all who stand in their way. There is not one of those women,\nEgyptian, Turkish, or Greek, whom here you call `good women,' who\ndo not know how, by means of chemistry, to stupefy a doctor, and in\npsychology to amaze a confessor.\"\n\"Really,\" said Madame de Villefort, whose eyes sparkled with\nstrange fire at this conversation.\n\"Oh, yes, indeed, madame,\" continued Monte Cristo, \"the secret\ndramas of the East begin with a love philtre and end with a death\npotion — begin with paradise and end with — hell. There are as many\nelixirs of every kind as there are caprices and peculiarities in\nthe physical and moral nature of humanity; and I will say further —\nthe art of these chemists is capable with the utmost precision to\naccommodate and proportion the remedy and the bane to yearnings for\nlove or desires for vengeance.\"\n\"But, sir,\" remarked the young woman, \"these Eastern societies,\nin the midst of which you have passed a portion of your existence,in the midst of which you have passed a portion of your existence,\nare as fantastic as the tales that come from their strange land. A\nman can easily be put out of the way there, then; it is, indeed,\nthe Bagdad and Bassora of the `Thousand and One Nights.' The\nsultans and viziers who rule over society there, and who constitute\nwhat in France we call the government, are really\nHaroun-al-Raschids and Giaffars, who not only pardon a poisoner,\nbut even make him a prime minister, if his crime has been an\ningenious one, and who, under such circumstances, have the whole\nstory written in letters of gold, to divert their hours of idleness\nand ennui.\"\n\"By no means, madame; the fanciful exists no longer in the East.\nThere, disguised under other names, and concealed under other\ncostumes, are police agents, magistrates, attorneys-general, and\nbailiffs. They hang, behead, and impale their criminals in the most\nagreeable possible manner; but some of these, like clever rogues,\nhave contrived to escape human justice, and succeed in their\nfraudulent enterprises by cunning stratagems. Amongst us a\nsimpleton, possessed by the demon of hate or cupidity, who has an\nenemy to destroy, or some near relation to dispose of, goes\nstraight to the grocer's or druggist's, gives a false name, which\nleads more easily to his detection than his real one, and under the\npretext that the rats prevent him from sleeping, purchases five or\nsix grammes of arsenic — if he is really a cunning fellow, he goes\nto five or six different druggists or grocers, and thereby becomes\nonly five or six times more easily traced; — then, when he has\nacquired his specific, he administers duly to his enemy, or near\nkinsman, a dose of arsenic which would make a mammoth or mastodon\nburst, and which, without rhyme or reason, makes his victim utter\ngroans which alarm the entire neighborhood. Then arrive a crowd of\npolicemen and constables. They fetch a doctor, who opens the dead\nbody, and collects from the entrails and stomach a quantity ofbody, and collects from the entrails and stomach a quantity of\narsenic in a spoon. Next day a hundred newspapers relate the fact,\nwith the names of the victim and the murderer. The same evening the\ngrocer or grocers, druggist or druggists, come and say, `It was I\nwho sold the arsenic to the gentleman;' and rather than not\nrecognize the guilty purchaser, they will recognize twenty. Then\nthe foolish criminal is taken, imprisoned, interrogated,\nconfronted, confounded, condemned, and cut off by hemp or steel; or\nif she be a woman of any consideration, they lock her up for life.\nThis is the way in which you Northerns understand chemistry,\nmadame. Desrues was, however, I must confess, more skilful.\"\n\"What would you have, sir?\" said the lady, laughing; \"we do what\nwe can. All the world has not the secret of the Medicis or the\nBorgias.\"\n\"Now,\" replied the count, shrugging his shoulders, \"shall I tell\nyou the cause of all these stupidities? It is because, at your\ntheatres, by what at least I could judge by reading the pieces they\nplay, they see persons swallow the contents of a phial, or suck the\nbutton of a ring, and fall dead instantly. Five minutes afterwards\nthe curtain falls, and the spectators depart. They are ignorant of\nthe consequences of the murder; they see neither the police\ncommissary with his badge of office, nor the corporal with his four\nmen; and so the poor fools believe that the whole thing is as easy\nas lying. But go a little way from France — go either to Aleppo or\nCairo, or only to Naples or Rome, and you will see people passing\nby you in the streets — people erect, smiling, and fresh-colored,\nof whom Asmodeus, if you were holding on by the skirt of his\nmantle, would say, `That man was poisoned three weeks ago; he will\nbe a dead man in a month.'\"\n\"Then,\" remarked Madame de Villefort, \"they have again\ndiscovered the secret of the famous aquatofana that they said was\nlost at Perugia.\"\n\"Ah, but madame, does mankind ever lose anything? The arts"}
{"text": "lost at Perugia.\"\n\"Ah, but madame, does mankind ever lose anything? The arts\nchange about and make a tour of the world; things take a different\nname, and the vulgar do not follow them — that is all; but there is\nalways the same result. Poisons act particularly on some organ or\nanother — one on the stomach, another on the brain, another on the\nintestines. Well, the poison brings on a cough, the cough an\ninflammation of the lungs, or some other complaint catalogued in\nthe book of science, which, however, by no means precludes it from\nbeing decidedly mortal; and if it were not, would be sure to become\nso, thanks to the remedies applied by foolish doctors, who are\ngenerally bad chemists, and which will act in favor of or against\nthe malady, as you please; and then there is a human being killed\naccording to all the rules of art and skill, and of whom justice\nlearns nothing, as was said by a terrible chemist of my\nacquaintance, the worthy Abbe Adelmonte of Taormina, in Sicily, who\nhas studied these national phenomena very profoundly.\"\n\"It is quite frightful, but deeply interesting,\" said the young\nlady, motionless with attention. \"I thought, I must confess, that\nthese tales, were inventions of the Middle Ages.\"\n\"Yes, no doubt, but improved upon by ours. What is the use of\ntime, rewards of merit, medals, crosses, Monthyon prizes, if they\ndo not lead society towards more complete perfection? Yet man will\nnever be perfect until he learns to create and destroy; he does\nknow how to destroy, and that is half the battle.\"\n\"So,\" added Madame de Villefort, constantly returning to her\nobject, \"the poisons of the Borgias, the Medicis, the Renes, the\nRuggieris, and later, probably, that of Baron de Trenck, whose\nstory has been so misused by modern drama and romance\" —\n\"Were objects of art, madame, and nothing more,\" replied the\ncount. \"Do you suppose that the real savant addresses himself\nstupidly to the mere individual? By no means. Science loves\neccentricities, leaps and bounds, trials of strength, fancies, if Ieccentricities, leaps and bounds, trials of strength, fancies, if I\nmay be allowed so to term them. Thus, for instance, the excellent\nAbbe Adelmonte, of whom I spoke just now, made in this way some\nmarvellous experiments.\"\n\"Really?\"\n\"Yes; I will mention one to you. He had a remarkably fine\ngarden, full of vegetables, flowers, and fruit. From amongst these\nvegetables he selected the most simple — a cabbage, for instance.\nFor three days he watered this cabbage with a distillation of\narsenic; on the third, the cabbage began to droop and turn yellow.\nAt that moment he cut it. In the eyes of everybody it seemed fit\nfor table, and preserved its wholesome appearance. It was only\npoisoned to the Abbe Adelmonte. He then took the cabbage to the\nroom where he had rabbits — for the Abbe Adelmonte had a collection\nof rabbits, cats, and guinea-pigs, fully as fine as his collection\nof vegetables, flowers, and fruit. Well, the Abbe Adelmonte took a\nrabbit, and made it eat a leaf of the cabbage. The rabbit died.\nWhat magistrate would find, or even venture to insinuate, anything\nagainst this? What procureur has ever ventured to draw up an\naccusation against M. Magendie or M. Flourens, in consequence of\nthe rabbits, cats, and guinea-pigs they have killed? — not one. So,\nthen, the rabbit dies, and justice takes no notice. This rabbit\ndead, the Abbe Adelmonte has its entrails taken out by his cook and\nthrown on the dunghill; on this dunghill is a hen, who, pecking\nthese intestines, is in her turn taken ill, and dies next day. At\nthe moment when she is struggling in the convulsions of death, a\nvulture is flying by (there are a good many vultures in Adelmonte's\ncountry); this bird darts on the dead fowl, and carries it away to\na rock, where it dines off its prey. Three days afterwards, this\npoor vulture, which has been very much indisposed since that\ndinner, suddenly feels very giddy while flying aloft in the clouds,\nand falls heavily into a fish-pond. The pike, eels, and carp eatand falls heavily into a fish-pond. The pike, eels, and carp eat\ngreedily always, as everybody knows — well, they feast on the\nvulture. Now suppose that next day, one of these eels, or pike, or\ncarp, poisoned at the fourth remove, is served up at your table.\nWell, then, your guest will be poisoned at the fifth remove, and\ndie, at the end of eight or ten days, of pains in the intestines,\nsickness, or abscess of the pylorus. The doctors open the body and\nsay with an air of profound learning, `The subject has died of a\ntumor on the liver, or of typhoid fever!'\"\n\"But,\" remarked Madame de Villefort, \"all these circumstances\nwhich you link thus to one another may be broken by the least\naccident; the vulture may not see the fowl, or may fall a hundred\nyards from the fish-pond.\"\n\"Ah, that is where the art comes in. To be a great chemist in\nthe East, one must direct chance; and this is to be achieved.\" —\nMadame de Villefort was in deep thought, yet listened attentively.\n\"But,\" she exclaimed, suddenly, \"arsenic is indelible,\nindestructible; in whatsoever way it is absorbed, it will be found\nagain in the body of the victim from the moment when it has been\ntaken in sufficient quantity to cause death.\"\n\"Precisely so,\" cried Monte Cristo — \"precisely so; and this is\nwhat I said to my worthy Adelmonte. He reflected, smiled, and\nreplied to me by a Sicilian proverb, which I believe is also a\nFrench proverb, `My son, the world was not made in a day — but in\nseven. Return on Sunday.' On the Sunday following I did return to\nhim. Instead of having watered his cabbage with arsenic, he had\nwatered it this time with a solution of salts, having their basis\nin strychnine, strychnos colubrina, as the learned term it. Now,\nthe cabbage had not the slightest appearance of disease in the\nworld, and the rabbit had not the smallest distrust; yet, five\nminutes afterwards, the rabbit was dead. The fowl pecked at the\nrabbit, and the next day was a dead hen. This time we were the\nvultures; so we opened the bird, and this time all special symptoms"}
{"text": "vultures; so we opened the bird, and this time all special symptoms\nhad disappeared, there were only general symptoms. There was no\npeculiar indication in any organ — an excitement of the nervous\nsystem — that was it; a case of cerebral congestion — nothing more.\nThe fowl had not been poisoned — she had died of apoplexy. Apoplexy\nis a rare disease among fowls, I believe, but very common among\nmen.\" Madame de Villefort appeared more and more thoughtful.\n\"It is very fortunate,\" she observed, \"that such substances\ncould only be prepared by chemists; otherwise, all the world would\nbe poisoning each other.\"\n\"By chemists and persons who have a taste for chemistry,\" said\nMonte Cristo carelessly.\n\"And then,\" said Madame de Villefort, endeavoring by a struggle,\nand with effort, to get away from her thoughts, \"however skilfully\nit is prepared, crime is always crime, and if it avoid human\nscrutiny, it does not escape the eye of God. The Orientals are\nstronger than we are in cases of conscience, and, very prudently,\nhave no hell — that is the point.\"\n\"Really, madame, this is a scruple which naturally must occur to\na pure mind like yours, but which would easily yield before sound\nreasoning. The bad side of human thought will always be defined by\nthe paradox of Jean Jacques Rousseau, — you remember, — the\nmandarin who is killed five hundred leagues off by raising the tip\nof the finger. Man's whole life passes in doing these things, and\nhis intellect is exhausted by reflecting on them. You will find\nvery few persons who will go and brutally thrust a knife in the\nheart of a fellow-creature, or will administer to him, in order to\nremove him from the surface of the globe on which we move with life\nand animation, that quantity of arsenic of which we just now\ntalked. Such a thing is really out of rule — eccentric or stupid.\nTo attain such a point, the blood must be heated to thirty-six\ndegrees, the pulse be, at least, at ninety, and the feelings\nexcited beyond the ordinary limit. But suppose one pass, as isexcited beyond the ordinary limit. But suppose one pass, as is\npermissible in philology, from the word itself to its softened\nsynonym, then, instead of committing an ignoble assassination you\nmake an `elimination;' you merely and simply remove from your path\nthe individual who is in your way, and that without shock or\nviolence, without the display of the sufferings which, in the case\nof becoming a punishment, make a martyr of the victim, and a\nbutcher, in every sense of the word, of him who inflicts them. Then\nthere will be no blood, no groans, no convulsions, and above all,\nno consciousness of that horrid and compromising moment of\naccomplishing the act, — then one escapes the clutch of the human\nlaw, which says, `Do not disturb society!' This is the mode in\nwhich they manage these things, and succeed in Eastern climes,\nwhere there are grave and phlegmatic persons who care very little\nfor the questions of time in conjunctures of importance.\"\n\"Yet conscience remains,\" remarked Madame de Villefort in an\nagitated voice, and with a stifled sigh.\n\"Yes,\" answered Monte Cristo \"happily, yes, conscience does\nremain; and if it did not, how wretched we should be! After every\naction requiring exertion, it is conscience that saves us, for it\nsupplies us with a thousand good excuses, of which we alone are\njudges; and these reasons, howsoever excellent in producing sleep,\nwould avail us but very little before a tribunal, when we were\ntried for our lives. Thus Richard III., for instance, was\nmarvellously served by his conscience after the putting away of the\ntwo children of Edward IV.; in fact, he could say, `These two\nchildren of a cruel and persecuting king, who have inherited the\nvices of their father, which I alone could perceive in their\njuvenile propensities — these two children are impediments in my\nway of promoting the happiness of the English people, whose\nunhappiness they (the children) would infallibly have caused.' Thus\nwas Lady Macbeth served by her conscience, when she sought to givewas Lady Macbeth served by her conscience, when she sought to give\nher son, and not her husband (whatever Shakespeare may say), a\nthrone. Ah, maternal love is a great virtue, a powerful motive — so\npowerful that it excuses a multitude of things, even if, after\nDuncan's death, Lady Macbeth had been at all pricked by her\nconscience.\"\nMadame de Villefort listened with avidity to these appalling\nmaxims and horrible paradoxes, delivered by the count with that\nironical simplicity which was peculiar to him. After a moment's\nsilence, the lady inquired, \"Do you know, my dear count,\" she said,\n\"that you are a very terrible reasoner, and that you look at the\nworld through a somewhat distempered medium? Have you really\nmeasured the world by scrutinies, or through alembics and\ncrucibles? For you must indeed be a great chemist, and the elixir\nyou administered to my son, which recalled him to life almost\ninstantaneously\" —\n\"Oh, do not place any reliance on that, madame; one drop of that\nelixir sufficed to recall life to a dying child, but three drops\nwould have impelled the blood into his lungs in such a way as to\nhave produced most violent palpitations; six would have suspended\nhis respiration, and caused syncope more serious than that in which\nhe was; ten would have destroyed him. You know, madame, how\nsuddenly I snatched him from those phials which he so imprudently\ntouched?\"\n\"Is it then so terrible a poison?\"\n\"Oh, no. In the first place, let us agree that the word poison\ndoes not exist, because in medicine use is made of the most violent\npoisons, which become, according as they are employed, most\nsalutary remedies.\"\n\"What, then, is it?\"\n\"A skilful preparation of my friend's the worthy Abbe Adelmonte,\nwho taught me the use of it.\"\n\"Oh,\" observed Madame de Villefort, \"it must be an admirable\nanti-spasmodic.\"\n\"Perfect, madame, as you have seen,\" replied the count; \"and I\nfrequently make use of it — with all possible prudence though, be\nit observed,\" he added with a smile of intelligence."}
{"text": "it observed,\" he added with a smile of intelligence.\n\"Most assuredly,\" responded Madame de Villefort in the same\ntone. \"As for me, so nervous, and so subject to fainting fits, I\nshould require a Doctor Adelmonte to invent for me some means of\nbreathing freely and tranquillizing my mind, in the fear I have of\ndying some fine day of suffocation. In the meanwhile, as the thing\nis difficult to find in France, and your abbe is not probably\ndisposed to make a journey to Paris on my account, I must continue\nto use Monsieur Planche's anti-spasmodics; and mint and Hoffman's\ndrops are among my favorite remedies. Here are some lozenges which\nI have made up on purpose; they are compounded doubly strong.\"\nMonte Cristo opened the tortoise-shell box, which the lady\npresented to him, and inhaled the odor of the lozenges with the air\nof an amateur who thoroughly appreciated their composition. \"They\nare indeed exquisite,\" he said; \"but as they are necessarily\nsubmitted to the process of deglutition — a function which it is\nfrequently impossible for a fainting person to accomplish — I\nprefer my own specific.\"\n\"Undoubtedly, and so should I prefer it, after the effects I\nhave seen produced; but of course it is a secret, and I am not so\nindiscreet as to ask it of you.\"\n\"But I,\" said Monte Cristo, rising as he spoke — \"I am gallant\nenough to offer it you.\"\n\"How kind you are.\"\n\"Only remember one thing — a small dose is a remedy, a large one\nis poison. One drop will restore life, as you have seen; five or\nsix will inevitably kill, and in a way the more terrible inasmuch\nas, poured into a glass of wine, it would not in the slightest\ndegree affect its flavor. But I say no more, madame; it is really\nas if I were prescribing for you.\" The clock struck half-past six,\nand a lady was announced, a friend of Madame de Villefort, who came\nto dine with her.\n\"If I had had the honor of seeing you for the third or fourth\ntime, count, instead of only for the second,\" said Madame de\nVillefort; \"if I had had the honor of being your friend, instead ofVillefort; \"if I had had the honor of being your friend, instead of\nonly having the happiness of being under an obligation to you, I\nshould insist on detaining you to dinner, and not allow myself to\nbe daunted by a first refusal.\"\n\"A thousand thanks, madame,\" replied Monte Cristo \"but I have an\nengagement which I cannot break. I have promised to escort to the\nAcademie a Greek princess of my acquaintance who has never seen\nyour grand opera, and who relies on me to conduct her thither.\"\n\"Adieu, then, sir, and do not forget the prescription.\"\n\"Ah, in truth, madame, to do that I must forget the hour's\nconversation I have had with you, which is indeed impossible.\"\nMonte Cristo bowed, and left the house. Madame de Villefort\nremained immersed in thought. \"He is a very strange man,\" she said,\n\"and in my opinion is himself the Adelmonte he talks about.\" As to\nMonte Cristo the result had surpassed his utmost expectations.\n\"Good,\" said he, as he went away; \"this is a fruitful soil, and I\nfeel certain that the seed sown will not be cast on barren ground.\"\nNext morning, faithful to his promise, he sent the prescription\nrequested.Our readers must now allow us to transport them again to the\nenclosure surrounding M. de Villefort's house, and, behind the\ngate, half screened from view by the large chestnut-trees, which on\nall sides spread their luxuriant branches, we shall find some\npeople of our acquaintance. This time Maximilian was the first to\narrive. He was intently watching for a shadow to appear among the\ntrees, and awaiting with anxiety the sound of a light step on the\ngravel walk. At length, the long-desired sound was heard, and\ninstead of one figure, as he had expected, he perceived that two\nwere approaching him. The delay had been occasioned by a visit from\nMadame Danglars and Eugenie, which had been prolonged beyond the\ntime at which Valentine was expected. That she might not appear to\nfail in her promise to Maximilian, she proposed to Mademoiselle\nDanglars that they should take a walk in the garden, being anxious\nto show that the delay, which was doubtless a cause of vexation to\nhim, was not occasioned by any neglect on her part. The young man,\nwith the intuitive perception of a lover, quickly understood the\ncircumstances in which she was involuntarily placed, and he was\ncomforted. Besides, although she avoided coming within speaking\ndistance, Valentine arranged so that Maximilian could see her pass\nand repass, and each time she went by, she managed, unperceived by\nher companion, to cast an expressive look at the young man, which\nseemed to say, \"Have patience! You see it is not my fault.\" And\nMaximilian was patient, and employed himself in mentally\ncontrasting the two girls, — one fair, with soft languishing eyes,\na figure gracefully bending like a weeping willow; the other a\nbrunette, with a fierce and haughty expression, and as straight as\na poplar. It is unnecessary to state that, in the eyes of the young\nman, Valentine did not suffer by the contrast. In about half an\nhour the girls went away, and Maximilian understood that\nMademoiselle Danglars' visit had at last come to an end. In a fewMademoiselle Danglars' visit had at last come to an end. In a few\nminutes Valentine re-entered the garden alone. For fear that any\none should be observing her return, she walked slowly; and instead\nof immediately directing her steps towards the gate, she seated\nherself on a bench, and, carefully casting her eyes around, to\nconvince herself that she was not watched, she presently arose, and\nproceeded quickly to join Maximilian.\n\"Good-evening, Valentine,\" said a well-known voice.\n\"Good-evening, Maximilian; I know I have kept you waiting, but\nyou saw the cause of my delay.\"\n\"Yes, I recognized Mademoiselle Danglars. I was not aware that\nyou were so intimate with her.\"\n\"Who told you we were intimate, Maximilian?\"\n\"No one, but you appeared to be so. From the manner in which you\nwalked and talked together, one would have thought you were two\nschool-girls telling your secrets to each other.\"\n\"We were having a confidential conversation,\" returned\nValentine; \"she was owning to me her repugnance to the marriage\nwith M. de Morcerf; and I, on the other hand, was confessing to her\nhow wretched it made me to think of marrying M. d'Epinay.\"\n\"Dear Valentine!\"\n\"That will account to you for the unreserved manner which you\nobserved between me and Eugenie, as in speaking of the man whom I\ncould not love, my thoughts involuntarily reverted to him on whom\nmy affections were fixed.\"\n\"Ah, how good you are to say so, Valentine! You possess a\nquality which can never belong to Mademoiselle Danglars. It is that\nindefinable charm which is to a woman what perfume is to the flower\nand flavor to the fruit, for the beauty of either is not the only\nquality we seek.\"\n\"It is your love which makes you look upon everything in that\nlight.\"\n\"No, Valentine, I assure you such is not the case. I was\nobserving you both when you were walking in the garden, and, on my\nhonor, without at all wishing to depreciate the beauty of\nMademoiselle Danglars, I cannot understand how any man can really\nlove her.\""}
{"text": "Mademoiselle Danglars, I cannot understand how any man can really\nlove her.\"\n\"The fact is, Maximilian, that I was there, and my presence had\nthe effect of rendering you unjust in your comparison.\"\n\"No; but tell me — it is a question of simple curiosity, and\nwhich was suggested by certain ideas passing in my mind relative to\nMademoiselle Danglars\" —\n\"I dare say it is something disparaging which you are going to\nsay. It only proves how little indulgence we may expect from your\nsex,\" interrupted Valentine.\n\"You cannot, at least, deny that you are very harsh judges of\neach other.\"\n\"If we are so, it is because we generally judge under the\ninfluence of excitement. But return to your question.\"\n\"Does Mademoiselle Danglars object to this marriage with M. de\nMorcerf on account of loving another?\"\n\"I told you I was not on terms of strict intimacy with\nEugenie.\"\n\"Yes, but girls tell each other secrets without being\nparticularly intimate; own, now, that you did question her on the\nsubject. Ah, I see you are smiling.\"\n\"If you are already aware of the conversation that passed, the\nwooden partition which interposed between us and you has proved but\na slight security.\"\n\"Come, what did she say?\"\n\"She told me that she loved no one,\" said Valentine; \"that she\ndisliked the idea of being married; that she would infinitely\nprefer leading an independent and unfettered life; and that she\nalmost wished her father might lose his fortune, that she might\nbecome an artist, like her friend, Mademoiselle Louise\nd'Armilly.\"\n\"Ah, you see\" —\n\"Well, what does that prove?\" asked Valentine.\n\"Nothing,\" replied Maximilian.\n\"Then why did you smile?\"\n\"Why, you know very well that you are reflecting on yourself,\nValentine.\"\n\"Do you want me to go away?\"\n\"Ah, no, no. But do not let us lose time; you are the subject on\nwhich I wish to speak.\"\n\"True, we must be quick, for we have scarcely ten minutes more\nto pass together.\"\n\"Ma foi,\" said Maximilian, in consternation.\n\"Yes, you are right; I am but a poor friend to you. What a life\"Yes, you are right; I am but a poor friend to you. What a life\nI cause you to lead, poor Maximilian, you who are formed for\nhappiness! I bitterly reproach myself, I assure you.\"\n\"Well, what does it signify, Valentine, so long as I am\nsatisfied, and feel that even this long and painful suspense is\namply repaid by five minutes of your society, or two words from\nyour lips? And I have also a deep conviction that heaven would not\nhave created two hearts, harmonizing as ours do, and almost\nmiraculously brought us together, to separate us at last.\"\n\"Those are kind and cheering words. You must hope for us both,\nMaximilian; that will make me at least partly happy.\"\n\"But why must you leave me so soon?\"\n\"I do not know particulars. I can only tell you that Madame de\nVillefort sent to request my presence, as she had a communication\nto make on which a part of my fortune depended. Let them take my\nfortune, I am already too rich; and, perhaps, when they have taken\nit, they will leave me in peace and quietness. You would love me as\nmuch if I were poor, would you not, Maximilian?\"\n\"Oh, I shall always love you. What should I care for either\nriches or poverty, if my Valentine was near me, and I felt certain\nthat no one could deprive me of her? But do you not fear that this\ncommunication may relate to your marriage?\"\n\"I do not think that is the case.\"\n\"However it may be, Valentine, you must not be alarmed. I assure\nyou that, as long as I live, I shall never love any one else!\"\n\"You think to reassure me when you say that, Maximilian.\"\n\"Pardon me, you are right. I am a brute. But I was going to tell\nyou that I met M. de Morcerf the other day.\"\n\"Well?\"\n\"Monsieur Franz is his friend, you know.\"\n\"What then?\"\n\"Monsieur de Morcerf has received a letter from Franz,\nannouncing his immediate return.\" Valentine turned pale, and leaned\nher hand against the gate. \"Ah heavens, if it were that! But no,\nthe communication would not come through Madame de Villefort.\"\n\"Why not?\"\n\"Because — I scarcely know why — but it has appeared as if\"Why not?\"\n\"Because — I scarcely know why — but it has appeared as if\nMadame de Villefort secretly objected to the marriage, although she\ndid not choose openly to oppose it.\"\n\"Is it so? Then I feel as if I could adore Madame de\nVillefort.\"\n\"Do not be in such a hurry to do that,\" said Valentine, with a\nsad smile.\n\"If she objects to your marrying M. d'Epinay, she would be all\nthe more likely to listen to any other proposition.\"\n\"No, Maximilian, it is not suitors to which Madame de Villefort\nobjects, it is marriage itself.\"\n\"Marriage? If she dislikes that so much, why did she ever marry\nherself?\"\n\"You do not understand me, Maximilian. About a year ago, I\ntalked of retiring to a convent. Madame de Villefort, in spite of\nall the remarks which she considered it her duty to make, secretly\napproved of the proposition, my father consented to it at her\ninstigation, and it was only on account of my poor grandfather that\nI finally abandoned the project. You can form no idea of the\nexpression of that old man's eye when he looks at me, the only\nperson in the world whom he loves, and, I had almost said, by whom\nhe is beloved in return. When he learned my resolution, I shall\nnever forget the reproachful look which he cast on me, and the\ntears of utter despair which chased each other down his lifeless\ncheeks. Ah, Maximilian, I experienced, at that moment, such remorse\nfor my intention, that, throwing myself at his feet, I exclaimed, —\n`Forgive me, pray forgive me, my dear grandfather; they may do what\nthey will with me, I will never leave you.' When I had ceased\nspeaking, he thankfully raised his eyes to heaven, but without\nuttering a word. Ah, Maximilian, I may have much to suffer, but I\nfeel as if my grandfather's look at that moment would more than\ncompensate for all.\"\n\"Dear Valentine, you are a perfect angel, and I am sure I do not\nknow what I — sabring right and left among the Bedouins — can have\ndone to merit your being revealed to me, unless, indeed, heaven"}
{"text": "done to merit your being revealed to me, unless, indeed, heaven\ntook into consideration the fact that the victims of my sword were\ninfidels. But tell me what interest Madame de Villefort can have in\nyour remaining unmarried?\"\n\"Did I not tell you just now that I was rich, Maximilian — too\nrich? I possess nearly 50,000 livres in right of my mother; my\ngrandfather and my grandmother, the Marquis and Marquise de\nSaint-Meran, will leave me as much, and M. Noirtier evidently\nintends making me his heir. My brother Edward, who inherits nothing\nfrom his mother, will, therefore, be poor in comparison with me.\nNow, if I had taken the veil, all this fortune would have descended\nto my father, and, in reversion, to his son.\"\n\"Ah, how strange it seems that such a young and beautiful woman\nshould be so avaricious.\"\n\"It is not for herself that she is so, but for her son, and what\nyou regard as a vice becomes almost a virtue when looked at in the\nlight of maternal love.\"\n\"But could you not compromise matters, and give up a portion of\nyour fortune to her son?\"\n\"How could I make such a proposition, especially to a woman who\nalways professes to be so entirely disinterested?\"\n\"Valentine, I have always regarded our love in the light of\nsomething sacred; consequently, I have covered it with the veil of\nrespect, and hid it in the innermost recesses of my soul. No human\nbeing, not even my sister, is aware of its existence. Valentine,\nwill you permit me to make a confidant of a friend and reveal to\nhim the love I bear you?\"\nValentine started. \"A friend, Maximilian; and who is this\nfriend? I tremble to give my permission.\"\n\"Listen, Valentine. Have you never experienced for any one that\nsudden and irresistible sympathy which made you feel as if the\nobject of it had been your old and familiar friend, though, in\nreality, it was the first time you had ever met? Nay, further, have\nyou never endeavored to recall the time, place, and circumstances\nof your former intercourse, and failing in this attempt, haveof your former intercourse, and failing in this attempt, have\nalmost believed that your spirits must have held converse with each\nother in some state of being anterior to the present, and that you\nare only now occupied in a reminiscence of the past?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, that is precisely the feeling which I experienced when I\nfirst saw that extraordinary man.\"\n\"Extraordinary, did you say?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You have known him for some time, then?\"\n\"Scarcely longer than eight or ten days.\"\n\"And do you call a man your friend whom you have only known for\neight or ten days? Ah, Maximilian, I had hoped you set a higher\nvalue on the title of friend.\"\n\"Your logic is most powerful, Valentine, but say what you will,\nI can never renounce the sentiment which has instinctively taken\npossession of my mind. I feel as if it were ordained that this man\nshould be associated with all the good which the future may have in\nstore for me, and sometimes it really seems as if his eye was able\nto see what was to come, and his hand endowed with the power of\ndirecting events according to his own will.\"\n\"He must be a prophet, then,\" said Valentine, smiling.\n\"Indeed,\" said Maximilian, \"I have often been almost tempted to\nattribute to him the gift of prophecy; at all events, he has a\nwonderful power of foretelling any future good.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Valentine in a mournful tone, \"do let me see this\nman, Maximilian; he may tell me whether I shall ever be loved\nsufficiently to make amends for all I have suffered.\"\n\"My poor girl, you know him already.\"\n\"I know him?\"\n\"Yes; it was he who saved the life of your step-mother and her\nson.\"\n\"The Count of Monte Cristo?\"\n\"The same.\"\n\"Ah,\" cried Valentine, \"he is too much the friend of Madame de\nVillefort ever to be mine.\"\n\"The friend of Madame de Villefort! It cannot be; surely,\nValentine, you are mistaken?\"\n\"No, indeed, I am not; for I assure you, his power over our\nhousehold is almost unlimited. Courted by my step-mother, who\nregards him as the epitome of human wisdom; admired by my father,regards him as the epitome of human wisdom; admired by my father,\nwho says he has never before heard such sublime ideas so eloquently\nexpressed; idolized by Edward, who, notwithstanding his fear of the\ncount's large black eyes, runs to meet him the moment he arrives,\nand opens his hand, in which he is sure to find some delightful\npresent, — M. de Monte Cristo appears to exert a mysterious and\nalmost uncontrollable influence over all the members of our\nfamily.\"\n\"If such be the case, my dear Valentine, you must yourself have\nfelt, or at all events will soon feel, the effects of his presence.\nHe meets Albert de Morcerf in Italy — it is to rescue him from the\nhands of the banditti; he introduces himself to Madame Danglars —\nit is that he may give her a royal present; your step-mother and\nher son pass before his door — it is that his Nubian may save them\nfrom destruction. This man evidently possesses the power of\ninfluencing events, both as regards men and things. I never saw\nmore simple tastes united to greater magnificence. His smile is so\nsweet when he addresses me, that I forget it ever can be bitter to\nothers. Ah, Valentine, tell me, if he ever looked on you with one\nof those sweet smiles? if so, depend on it, you will be happy.\"\n\"Me?\" said the young girl, \"he never even glances at me; on the\ncontrary, if I accidentally cross his path, he appears rather to\navoid me. Ah, he is not generous, neither does he possess that\nsupernatural penetration which you attribute to him, for if he did,\nhe would have perceived that I was unhappy; and if he had been\ngenerous, seeing me sad and solitary, he would have used his\ninfluence to my advantage, and since, as you say, he resembles the\nsun, he would have warmed my heart with one of his life-giving\nrays. You say he loves you, Maximilian; how do you know that he\ndoes? All would pay deference to an officer like you, with a fierce\nmustache and a long sabre, but they think they may crush a poor\nweeping girl with impunity.\"\n\"Ah, Valentine, I assure you you are mistaken.\""}
{"text": "weeping girl with impunity.\"\n\"Ah, Valentine, I assure you you are mistaken.\"\n\"If it were otherwise — if he treated me diplomatically — that\nis to say, like a man who wishes, by some means or other, to obtain\na footing in the house, so that he may ultimately gain the power of\ndictating to its occupants — he would, if it had been but once,\nhave honored me with the smile which you extol so loudly; but no,\nhe saw that I was unhappy, he understood that I could be of no use\nto him, and therefore paid no attention to me whatever. Who knows\nbut that, in order to please Madame de Villefort and my father, he\nmay not persecute me by every means in his power? It is not just\nthat he should despise me so, without any reason. Ah, forgive me,\"\nsaid Valentine, perceiving the effect which her words were\nproducing on Maximilian: \"I have done wrong, for I have given\nutterance to thoughts concerning that man which I did not even know\nexisted in my heart. I do not deny the influence of which you\nspeak, or that I have not myself experienced it, but with me it has\nbeen productive of evil rather than good.\"\n\"Well, Valentine,\" said Morrel with a sigh, \"we will not discuss\nthe matter further. I will not make a confidant of him.\"\n\"Alas,\" said Valentine, \"I see that I have given you pain. I can\nonly say how sincerely I ask pardon for having griefed you. But,\nindeed, I am not prejudiced beyond the power of conviction. Tell me\nwhat this Count of Monte Cristo has done for you.\"\n\"I own that your question embarrasses me, Valentine, for I\ncannot say that the count has rendered me any ostensible service.\nStill, as I have already told you I have an instinctive affection\nfor him, the source of which I cannot explain to you. Has the sun\ndone anything for me? No; he warms me with his rays, and it is by\nhis light that I see you — nothing more. Has such and such a\nperfume done anything for me? No; its odor charms one of my senses\n— that is all I can say when I am asked why I praise it. My— that is all I can say when I am asked why I praise it. My\nfriendship for him is as strange and unaccountable as his for me. A\nsecret voice seems to whisper to me that there must be something\nmore than chance in this unexpected reciprocity of friendship. In\nhis most simple actions, as well as in his most secret thoughts, I\nfind a relation to my own. You will perhaps smile at me when I tell\nyou that, ever since I have known this man, I have involuntarily\nentertained the idea that all the good fortune which his befallen\nme originated from him. However, I have managed to live thirty\nyears without this protection, you will say; but I will endeavor a\nlittle to illustrate my meaning. He invited me to dine with him on\nSaturday, which was a very natural thing for him to do. Well, what\nhave I learned since? That your mother and M. de Villefort are both\ncoming to this dinner. I shall meet them there, and who knows what\nfuture advantages may result from the interview? This may appear to\nyou to be no unusual combination of circumstances; nevertheless, I\nperceive some hidden plot in the arrangement — something, in fact,\nmore than is apparent on a casual view of the subject. I believe\nthat this singular man, who appears to fathom the motives of every\none, has purposely arranged for me to meet M. and Madame de\nVillefort, and sometimes, I confess, I have gone so far as to try\nto read in his eyes whether he was in possession of the secret of\nour love.\"\n\"My good friend,\" said Valentine, \"I should take you for a\nvisionary, and should tremble for your reason, if I were always to\nhear you talk in a strain similar to this. Is it possible that you\ncan see anything more than the merest chance in this meeting? Pray\nreflect a little. My father, who never goes out, has several times\nbeen on the point of refusing this invitation; Madame de Villefort,\non the contrary, is burning with the desire of seeing this\nextraordinary nabob in his own house, therefore, she has with greatextraordinary nabob in his own house, therefore, she has with great\ndifficulty prevailed on my father to accompany her. No, no; it is\nas I have said, Maximilian, — there is no one in the world of whom\nI can ask help but yourself and my grandfather, who is little\nbetter than a corpse.\"\n\"I see that you are right, logically speaking,\" said Maximilian;\n\"but the gentle voice which usually has such power over me fails to\nconvince me to-day.\"\n\"I feel the same as regards yourself.\" said Valentine; \"and I\nown that, if you have no stronger proof to give me\" —\n\"I have another,\" replied Maximilian; \"but I fear you will deem\nit even more absurd than the first.\"\n\"So much the worse,\" said Valentine, smiling.\n\"It is, nevertheless, conclusive to my mind. My ten years of\nservice have also confirmed my ideas on the subject of sudden\ninspirations, for I have several times owed my life to a mysterious\nimpulse which directed me to move at once either to the right or to\nthe left, in order to escape the ball which killed the comrade\nfighting by my side, while it left me unharmed.\"\n\"Dear Maximilian, why not attribute your escape to my constant\nprayers for your safety? When you are away, I no longer pray for\nmyself, but for you.\"\n\"Yes, since you have known me,\" said Morrel, smiling; \"but that\ncannot apply to the time previous to our acquaintance,\nValentine.\"\n\"You are very provoking, and will not give me credit for\nanything; but let me hear this second proof, which you yourself own\nto be absurd.\"\n\"Well, look through this opening, and you will see the beautiful\nnew horse which I rode here.\"\n\"Ah, what a beautiful creature!\" cried Valentine; \"why did you\nnot bring him close to the gate, so that I could talk to him and\npat him?\"\n\"He is, as you see, a very valuable animal,\" said Maximilian.\n\"You know that my means are limited, and that I am what would be\ndesignated a man of moderate pretensions. Well, I went to a horse\ndealer's, where I saw this magnificent horse, which I have named"}
{"text": "dealer's, where I saw this magnificent horse, which I have named\nMedeah. I asked the price; they told me it was 4,500 francs. I was,\ntherefore, obliged to give it up, as you may imagine, but I own I\nwent away with rather a heavy heart, for the horse had looked at me\naffectionately, had rubbed his head against me and, when I mounted\nhim, had pranced in the most delightful way imaginable, so that I\nwas altogether fascinated with him. The same evening some friends\nof mine visited me, — M. de Chateau-Renaud, M. Debray, and five or\nsix other choice spirits, whom you do not know, even by name. They\nproposed a game of bouillotte. I never play, for I am not rich\nenough to afford to lose, or sufficiently poor to desire to gain.\nBut I was at my own house, you understand, so there was nothing to\nbe done but to send for the cards, which I did.\n\"Just as they were sitting down to table, M. de Monte Cristo\narrived. He took his seat amongst them; they played, and I won. I\nam almost ashamed to say that my gains amounted to 5,000 francs. We\nseparated at midnight. I could not defer my pleasure, so I took a\ncabriolet and drove to the horse dealer's. Feverish and excited, I\nrang at the door. The person who opened it must have taken me for a\nmadman, for I rushed at once to the stable. Medeah was standing at\nthe rack, eating his hay. I immediately put on the saddle and\nbridle, to which operation he lent himself with the best grace\npossible; then, putting the 4,500 francs into the hands of the\nastonished dealer, I proceeded to fulfil my intention of passing\nthe night in riding in the Champs Elysees. As I rode by the count's\nhouse I perceived a light in one of the windows, and fancied I saw\nthe shadow of his figure moving behind the curtain. Now, Valentine,\nI firmly believe that he knew of my wish to possess this horse, and\nthat he lost expressly to give me the means of procuring him.\"\n\"My dear Maximilian, you are really too fanciful; you will not\nlove even me long. A man who accustoms himself to live in such alove even me long. A man who accustoms himself to live in such a\nworld of poetry and imagination must find far too little excitement\nin a common, every-day sort of attachment such as ours. But they\nare calling me. Do you hear?\"\n\"Ah, Valentine,\" said Maximilian, \"give me but one finger\nthrough this opening in the grating, one finger, the littlest\nfinger of all, that I may have the happiness of kissing it.\"\n\"Maximilian, we said we would be to each other as two voices,\ntwo shadows.\"\n\"As you will, Valentine.\"\n\"Shall you be happy if I do what you wish?\"\n\"Oh, yes!\" Valentine mounted on a bench, and passed not only her\nfinger but her whole hand through the opening. Maximilian uttered a\ncry of delight, and, springing forwards, seized the hand extended\ntowards him, and imprinted on it a fervent and impassioned kiss.\nThe little hand was then immediately withdrawn, and the young man\nsaw Valentine hurrying towards the house, as though she were almost\nterrified at her own sensations.We will now relate what was passing in the house of the king's\nattorney after the departure of Madame Danglars and her daughter,\nand during the time of the conversation between Maximilian and\nValentine, which we have just detailed. M. de Villefort entered his\nfather's room, followed by Madame de Villefort. Both of the\nvisitors, after saluting the old man and speaking to Barrois, a\nfaithful servant, who had been twenty-five years in his service,\ntook their places on either side of the paralytic.\nM. Noirtier was sitting in an arm-chair, which moved upon\ncasters, in which he was wheeled into the room in the morning, and\nin the same way drawn out again at night. He was placed before a\nlarge glass, which reflected the whole apartment, and so, without\nany attempt to move, which would have been impossible, he could see\nall who entered the room and everything which was going on around\nhim. M. Noirtier, although almost as immovable as a corpse, looked\nat the newcomers with a quick and intelligent expression,\nperceiving at once, by their ceremonious courtesy, that they were\ncome on business of an unexpected and official character. Sight and\nhearing were the only senses remaining, and they, like two solitary\nsparks, remained to animate the miserable body which seemed fit for\nnothing but the grave; it was only, however, by means of one of\nthese senses that he could reveal the thoughts and feelings that\nstill occupied his mind, and the look by which he gave expression\nto his inner life was like the distant gleam of a candle which a\ntraveller sees by night across some desert place, and knows that a\nliving being dwells beyond the silence and obscurity. Noirtier's\nhair was long and white, and flowed over his shoulders; while in\nhis eyes, shaded by thick black lashes, was concentrated, as it\noften happens with an organ which is used to the exclusion of the\nothers, all the activity, address, force, and intelligence which\nwere formerly diffused over his whole body; and so although thewere formerly diffused over his whole body; and so although the\nmovement of the arm, the sound of the voice, and the agility of the\nbody, were wanting, the speaking eye sufficed for all. He commanded\nwith it; it was the medium through which his thanks were conveyed.\nIn short, his whole appearance produced on the mind the impression\nof a corpse with living eyes, and nothing could be more startling\nthan to observe the expression of anger or joy suddenly lighting up\nthese organs, while the rest of the rigid and marble-like features\nwere utterly deprived of the power of participation. Three persons\nonly could understand this language of the poor paralytic; these\nwere Villefort, Valentine, and the old servant of whom we have\nalready spoken. But as Villefort saw his father but seldom, and\nthen only when absolutely obliged, and as he never took any pains\nto please or gratify him when he was there, all the old man's\nhappiness was centred in his granddaughter. Valentine, by means of\nher love, her patience, and her devotion, had learned to read in\nNoirtier's look all the varied feelings which were passing in his\nmind. To this dumb language, which was so unintelligible to others,\nshe answered by throwing her whole soul into the expression of her\ncountenance, and in this manner were the conversations sustained\nbetween the blooming girl and the helpless invalid, whose body\ncould scarcely be called a living one, but who, nevertheless,\npossessed a fund of knowledge and penetration, united with a will\nas powerful as ever although clogged by a body rendered utterly\nincapable of obeying its impulses. Valentine had solved the\nproblem, and was able easily to understand his thoughts, and to\nconvey her own in return, and, through her untiring and devoted\nassiduity, it was seldom that, in the ordinary transactions of\nevery-day life, she failed to anticipate the wishes of the living,\nthinking mind, or the wants of the almost inanimate body. As to the\nservant, he had, as we have said, been with his master for five and"}
{"text": "servant, he had, as we have said, been with his master for five and\ntwenty years, therefore he knew all his habits, and it was seldom\nthat Noirtier found it necessary to ask for anything, so prompt was\nhe in administering to all the necessities of the invalid.\nVillefort did not need the help of either Valentine or the domestic\nin order to carry on with his father the strange conversation which\nhe was about to begin. As we have said, he perfectly understood the\nold man's vocabulary, and if he did not use it more often, it was\nonly indifference and ennui which prevented him from so doing. He\ntherefore allowed Valentine to go into the garden, sent away\nBarrois, and after having seated himself at his father's right\nhand, while Madame de Villefort placed herself on the left, he\naddressed him thus: —\n\"I trust you will not be displeased, sir, that Valentine has not\ncome with us, or that I dismissed Barrois, for our conference will\nbe one which could not with propriety be carried on in the presence\nof either. Madame de Villefort and I have a communication to make\nto you.\"\nNoirtier's face remained perfectly passive during this long\npreamble, while, on the contrary, Villefort's eye was endeavoring\nto penetrate into the inmost recesses of the old man's heart.\n\"This communication,\" continued the procureur, in that cold and\ndecisive tone which seemed at once to preclude all discussion,\n\"will, we are sure, meet with your approbation.\" The eye of the\ninvalid still retained that vacancy of expression which prevented\nhis son from obtaining any knowledge of the feelings which were\npassing in his mind; he listened, nothing more. \"Sir,\" resumed\nVillefort, \"we are thinking of marrying Valentine.\" Had the old\nman's face been moulded in wax it could not have shown less emotion\nat this news than was now to be traced there. \"The marriage will\ntake place in less than three months,\" said Villefort. Noirtier's\neye still retained its inanimate expression.\nMadame de Villefort now took her part in the conversation andMadame de Villefort now took her part in the conversation and\nadded, — \"We thought this news would possess an interest for you,\nsir, who have always entertained a great affection for Valentine;\nit therefore only now remains for us to tell you the name of the\nyoung man for whom she is destined. It is one of the most desirable\nconnections which could possibly be formed; he possesses fortune, a\nhigh rank in society, and every personal qualification likely to\nrender Valentine supremely happy, — his name, moreover, cannot be\nwholly unknown to you. It is M. Franz de Quesnel, Baron\nd'Epinay.\"\nWhile his wife was speaking, Villefort had narrowly watched the\nold man's countenance. When Madame de Villefort pronounced the name\nof Franz, the pupil of M. Noirtier's eye began to dilate, and his\neyelids trembled with the same movement that may be perceived on\nthe lips of an individual about to speak, and he darted a lightning\nglance at Madame de Villefort and his son. The procureur, who knew\nthe political hatred which had formerly existed between M. Noirtier\nand the elder d'Epinay, well understood the agitation and anger\nwhich the announcement had produced; but, feigning not to perceive\neither, he immediately resumed the narrative begun by his wife.\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"you are aware that Valentine is about to enter her\nnineteenth year, which renders it important that she should lose no\ntime in forming a suitable alliance. Nevertheless, you have not\nbeen forgotten in our plans, and we have fully ascertained\nbeforehand that Valentine's future husband will consent, not to\nlive in this house, for that might not be pleasant for the young\npeople, but that you should live with them; so that you and\nValentine, who are so attached to each other, would not be\nseparated, and you would be able to pursue exactly the same course\nof life which you have hitherto done, and thus, instead of losing,\nyou will be a gainer by the change, as it will secure to you two\nchildren instead of one, to watch over and comfort you.\"children instead of one, to watch over and comfort you.\"\nNoirtier's look was furious; it was very evident that something\ndesperate was passing in the old man's mind, for a cry of anger and\ngrief rose in his throat, and not being able to find vent in\nutterance, appeared almost to choke him, for his face and lips\nturned quite purple with the struggle. Villefort quietly opened a\nwindow, saying, \"It is very warm, and the heat affects M.\nNoirtier.\" He then returned to his place, but did not sit down.\n\"This marriage,\" added Madame de Villefort, \"is quite agreeable to\nthe wishes of M. d'Epinay and his family; besides, he had no\nrelations nearer than an uncle and aunt, his mother having died at\nhis birth, and his father having been assassinated in 1815, that is\nto say, when he was but two years old; it naturally followed that\nthe child was permitted to choose his own pursuits, and he has,\ntherefore, seldom acknowledged any other authority but that of his\nown will.\"\n\"That assassination was a mysterious affair,\" said Villefort,\n\"and the perpetrators have hitherto escaped detection, although\nsuspicion has fallen on the head of more than one person.\" Noirtier\nmade such an effort that his lips expanded into a smile.\n\"Now,\" continued Villefort, \"those to whom the guilt really\nbelongs, by whom the crime was committed, on whose heads the\njustice of man may probably descend here, and the certain judgment\nof God hereafter, would rejoice in the opportunity thus afforded of\nbestowing such a peace-offering as Valentine on the son of him\nwhose life they so ruthlessly destroyed.\" Noirtier had succeeded in\nmastering his emotion more than could have been deemed possible\nwith such an enfeebled and shattered frame. \"Yes, I understand,\"\nwas the reply contained in his look; and this look expressed a\nfeeling of strong indignation, mixed with profound contempt.\nVillefort fully understood his father's meaning, and answered by a\nslight shrug of his shoulders. He then motioned to his wife to take"}
{"text": "slight shrug of his shoulders. He then motioned to his wife to take\nleave. \"Now sir,\" said Madame de Villefort, \"I must bid you\nfarewell. Would you like me to send Edward to you for a short\ntime?\"\nIt had been agreed that the old man should express his\napprobation by closing his eyes, his refusal by winking them\nseveral times, and if he had some desire or feeling to express, he\nraised them to heaven. If he wanted Valentine, he closed his right\neye only, and if Barrois, the left. At Madame de Villefort's\nproposition he instantly winked his eyes. Provoked by a complete\nrefusal, she bit her lip and said, \"Then shall I send Valentine to\nyou?\" The old man closed his eyes eagerly, thereby intimating that\nsuch was his wish. M. and Madame de Villefort bowed and left the\nroom, giving orders that Valentine should be summoned to her\ngrandfather's presence, and feeling sure that she would have much\nto do to restore calmness to the perturbed spirit of the invalid.\nValentine, with a color still heightened by emotion, entered the\nroom just after her parents had quitted it. One look was sufficient\nto tell her that her grandfather was suffering, and that there was\nmuch on his mind which he was wishing to communicate to her. \"Dear\ngrandpapa,\" cried she, \"what has happened? They have vexed you, and\nyou are angry?\" The paralytic closed his eyes in token of assent.\n\"Who has displeased you? Is it my father?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Madame de Villefort?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Me?\" The former sign was repeated. \"Are you displeased with\nme?\" cried Valentine in astonishment. M. Noirtier again closed his\neyes. \"And what have I done, dear grandpapa, that you should be\nangry with me?\" cried Valentine.\nThere was no answer, and she continued. \"I have not seen you all\nday. Has any one been speaking to you against me?\"\n\"Yes,\" said the old man's look, with eagerness.\n\"Let me think a moment. I do assure you, grandpapa — Ah — M. and\nMadame de Villefort have just left this room, have they not?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And it was they who told you something which made you angry?\"Yes.\"\n\"And it was they who told you something which made you angry?\nWhat was it then? May I go and ask them, that I may have the\nopportunity of making my peace with you?\"\n\"No, no,\" said Noirtier's look.\n\"Ah, you frighten me. What can they have said?\" and she again\ntried to think what it could be.\n\"Ah, I know,\" said she, lowering her voice and going close to\nthe old man. \"They have been speaking of my marriage, — have they\nnot?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied the angry look.\n\"I understand; you are displeased at the silence I have\npreserved on the subject. The reason of it was, that they had\ninsisted on my keeping the matter a secret, and begged me not to\ntell you anything of it. They did not even acquaint me with their\nintentions, and I only discovered them by chance, that is why I\nhave been so reserved with you, dear grandpapa. Pray forgive me.\"\nBut there was no look calculated to reassure her; all it seemed to\nsay was, \"It is not only your reserve which afflicts me.\"\n\"What is it, then?\" asked the young girl. \"Perhaps you think I\nshall abandon you, dear grandpapa, and that I shall forget you when\nI am married?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"They told you, then, that M. d'Epinay consented to our all\nliving together?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Then why are you still vexed and grieved?\" The old man's eyes\nbeamed with an expression of gentle affection. \"Yes, I understand,\"\nsaid Valentine; \"it is because you love me.\" The old man assented.\n\"And you are afraid I shall be unhappy?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You do not like M. Franz?\" The eyes repeated several times,\n\"No, no, no.\"\n\"Then you are vexed with the engagement?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, listen,\" said Valentine, throwing herself on her knees,\nand putting her arm round her grandfather's neck, \"I am vexed, too,\nfor I do not love M. Franz d'Epinay.\" An expression of intense joy\nillumined the old man's eyes. \"When I wished to retire into a\nconvent, you remember how angry you were with me?\" A tear trembled\nin the eye of the invalid. \"Well,\" continued Valentine, \"the reason\nof my proposing it was that I might escape this hateful marriage,of my proposing it was that I might escape this hateful marriage,\nwhich drives me to despair.\" Noirtier's breathing came thick and\nshort. \"Then the idea of this marriage really grieves you too? Ah,\nif you could but help me — if we could both together defeat their\nplan! But you are unable to oppose them, — you, whose mind is so\nquick, and whose will is so firm are nevertheless, as weak and\nunequal to the contest as I am myself. Alas, you, who would have\nbeen such a powerful protector to me in the days of your health and\nstrength, can now only sympathize in my joys and sorrows, without\nbeing able to take any active part in them. However, this is much,\nand calls for gratitude and heaven has not taken away all my\nblessings when it leaves me your sympathy and kindness.\"\nAt these words there appeared in Noirtier's eye an expression of\nsuch deep meaning that the young girl thought she could read these\nwords there: \"You are mistaken; I can still do much for you.\"\n\"Do you think you can help me, dear grandpapa?\" said\nValentine.\n\"Yes.\" Noirtier raised his eyes, it was the sign agreed on\nbetween him and Valentine when he wanted anything.\n\"What is it you want, dear grandpapa?\" said Valentine, and she\nendeavored to recall to mind all the things which he would be\nlikely to need; and as the ideas presented themselves to her mind,\nshe repeated them aloud, then, — finding that all her efforts\nelicited nothing but a constant \"No,\" — she said, \"Come, since this\nplan does not answer, I will have recourse to another.\" She then\nrecited all the letters of the alphabet from A down to N. When she\narrived at that letter the paralytic made her understand that she\nhad spoken the initial letter of the thing he wanted. \"Ah,\" said\nValentine, \"the thing you desire begins with the letter N; it is\nwith N that we have to do, then. Well, let me see, what can you\nwant that begins with N? Na — Ne — Ni — No\" —\n\"Yes, yes, yes,\" said the old man's eye.\n\"Ah, it is No, then?\"\n\"Yes.\" Valentine fetched a dictionary, which she placed on a"}
{"text": "\"Ah, it is No, then?\"\n\"Yes.\" Valentine fetched a dictionary, which she placed on a\ndesk before Noirtier; she opened it, and, seeing that the odd man's\neye was thoroughly fixed on its pages, she ran her finger quickly\nup and down the columns. During the six years which had passed\nsince Noirtier first fell into this sad state, Valentine's powers\nof invention had been too often put to the test not to render her\nexpert in devising expedients for gaining a knowledge of his\nwishes, and the constant practice had so perfected her in the art\nthat she guessed the old man's meaning as quickly as if he himself\nhad been able to seek for what he wanted. At the word \"Notary,\"\nNoirtier made a sign to her to stop. \"Notary,\" said she, \"do you\nwant a notary, dear grandpapa?\" The old man again signified that it\nwas a notary he desired.\n\"You would wish a notary to be sent for then?\" said\nValentine.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Shall my father be informed of your wish?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Do you wish the notary to be sent for immediately?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Then they shall go for him directly, dear grandpapa. Is that\nall you want?\"\n\"Yes.\" Valentine rang the bell, and ordered the servant to tell\nMonsieur or Madame de Villefort that they were requested to come to\nM. Noirtier's room. \"Are you satisfied now?\" inquired\nValentine.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"I am sure you are; it is not very difficult to discover that,\"\n— and the young girl smiled on her grandfather, as if he had been a\nchild. M. de Villefort entered, followed by Barrois. \"What do you\nwant me for, sir?\" demanded he of the paralytic.\n\"Sir,\" said Valentine, \"my grandfather wishes for a notary.\" At\nthis strange and unexpected demand M. de Villefort and his father\nexchanged looks. \"Yes,\" motioned the latter, with a firmness which\nseemed to declare that with the help of Valentine and his old\nservant, who both knew what his wishes were, he was quite prepared\nto maintain the contest. \"Do you wish for a notary?\" asked\nVillefort.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"What to do?\"\nNoirtier made no answer. \"What do you want with a notary?\" againVillefort.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"What to do?\"\nNoirtier made no answer. \"What do you want with a notary?\" again\nrepeated Villefort. The invalid's eye remained fixed, by which\nexpression he intended to intimate that his resolution was\nunalterable. \"Is it to do us some ill turn? Do you think it is\nworth while?\" said Villefort.\n\"Still,\" said Barrois, with the freedom and fidelity of an old\nservant, \"if M. Noirtier asks for a notary, I suppose he really\nwishes for a notary; therefore I shall go at once and fetch one.\"\nBarrois acknowledged no master but Noirtier, and never allowed his\ndesires in any way to be contradicted.\n\"Yes, I do want a notary,\" motioned the old man, shutting his\neyes with a look of defiance, which seemed to say, \"and I should\nlike to see the person who dares to refuse my request.\"\n\"You shall have a notary, as you absolutely wish for one, sir,\"\nsaid Villefort; \"but I shall explain to him your state of health,\nand make excuses for you, for the scene cannot fail of being a most\nridiculous one.\"\n\"Never mind that,\" said Barrois; \"I shall go and fetch a notary,\nnevertheless,\" — and the old servant departed triumphantly on his\nmission.At the Place Louis XV. the three young people separated — that\nis to say, Morrel went to the Boulevards, Chateau-Renaud to the\nPont de la Revolution, and Debray to the Quai. Most probably Morrel\nand Chateau-Renaud returned to their \"domestic hearths,\" as they\nsay in the gallery of the Chamber in well-turned speeches, and in\nthe theatre of the Rue Richelieu in well-written pieces; but it was\nnot the case with Debray. When he reached the wicket of the Louvre,\nhe turned to the left, galloped across the Carrousel, passed\nthrough the Rue Saint-Roch, and, issuing from the Rue de la\nMichodiere, he arrived at M. Danglars' door just at the same time\nthat Villefort's landau, after having deposited him and his wife at\nthe Faubourg St. Honore, stopped to leave the baroness at her own\nhouse. Debray, with the air of a man familiar with the house,\nentered first into the court, threw his bridle into the hands of a\nfootman, and returned to the door to receive Madame Danglars, to\nwhom he offered his arm, to conduct her to her apartments. The gate\nonce closed, and Debray and the baroness alone in the court, he\nasked, — \"What was the matter with you, Hermine? and why were you\nso affected at that story, or rather fable, which the count\nrelated?\"\n\"Because I have been in such shocking spirits all the evening,\nmy friend,\" said the baroness.\n\"No, Hermine,\" replied Debray; \"you cannot make me believe that;\non the contrary, you were in excellent spirits when you arrived at\nthe count's. M. Danglars was disagreeable, certainly, but I know\nhow much you care for his ill-humor. Some one has vexed you; I will\nallow no one to annoy you.\"\n\"You are deceived, Lucien, I assure you,\" replied Madame\nDanglars; \"and what I have told you is really the case, added to\nthe ill-humor you remarked, but which I did not think it worth\nwhile to allude to.\" It was evident that Madame Danglars was\nsuffering from that nervous irritability which women frequently\ncannot account for even to themselves; or that, as Debray hadcannot account for even to themselves; or that, as Debray had\nguessed, she had experienced some secret agitation that she would\nnot acknowledge to any one. Being a man who knew that the former of\nthese symptoms was one of the inherent penalties of womanhood, he\ndid not then press his inquiries, but waited for a more appropriate\nopportunity when he should again interrogate her, or receive an\navowal proprio motu. At the door of her apartment the baroness met\nMademoiselle Cornelie, her confidential maid. \"What is my daughter\ndoing?\" asked Madame Danglars.\n\"She practiced all the evening, and then went to bed,\" replied\nMademoiselle Cornelie.\n\"Yet I think I hear her piano.\"\n\"It is Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, who is playing while\nMademoiselle Danglars is in bed.\"\n\"Well,\" said Madame Danglars, \"come and undress me.\" They\nentered the bedroom. Debray stretched himself upon a large couch,\nand Madame Danglars passed into her dressing-room with Mademoiselle\nCornelie. \"My dear M. Lucien,\" said Madame Danglars through the\ndoor, \"you are always complaining that Eugenie will not address a\nword to you.\"\n\"Madame,\" said Lucien, playing with a little dog, who,\nrecognizing him as a friend of the house, expected to be caressed,\n\"I am not the only one who makes similar complaints, I think I\nheard Morcerf say that he could not extract a word from his\nbetrothed.\"\n\"True,\" said Madame Danglars; \"yet I think this will all pass\noff, and that you will one day see her enter your study.\"\n\"My study?\"\n\"At least that of the minister.\"\n\"Why so!\"\n\"To ask for an engagement at the Opera. Really, I never saw such\nan infatuation for music; it is quite ridiculous for a young lady\nof fashion.\" Debray smiled. \"Well,\" said he, \"let her come, with\nyour consent and that of the baron, and we will try and give her an\nengagement, though we are very poor to pay such talent as\nhers.\"\n\"Go, Cornelie,\" said Madame Danglars, \"I do not require you any\nlonger.\"\nCornelie obeyed, and the next minute Madame Danglars left her"}
{"text": "longer.\"\nCornelie obeyed, and the next minute Madame Danglars left her\nroom in a charming loose dress, and came and sat down close to\nDebray. Then she began thoughtfully to caress the little spaniel.\nLucien looked at her for a moment in silence. \"Come, Hermine,\" he\nsaid, after a short time, \"answer candidly, — something vexes you —\nis it not so?\"\n\"Nothing,\" answered the baroness.\nAnd yet, as she could scarcely breathe, she rose and went\ntowards a looking-glass. \"I am frightful to-night,\" she said.\nDebray rose, smiling, and was about to contradict the baroness upon\nthis latter point, when the door opened suddenly. M. Danglars\nappeared; Debray reseated himself. At the noise of the door Madame\nDanglars turned round, and looked upon her husband with an\nastonishment she took no trouble to conceal. \"Good-evening,\nmadame,\" said the banker; \"good-evening, M. Debray.\"\nProbably the baroness thought this unexpected visit signified a\ndesire to make up for the sharp words he had uttered during the\nday. Assuming a dignified air, she turned round to Debray, without\nanswering her husband. \"Read me something, M. Debray,\" she said.\nDebray, who was slightly disturbed at this visit, recovered himself\nwhen he saw the calmness of the baroness, and took up a book marked\nby a mother-of-pearl knife inlaid with gold. \"Excuse me,\" said the\nbanker, \"but you will tire yourself, baroness, by such late hours,\nand M. Debray lives some distance from here.\"\nDebray was petrified, not only to hear Danglars speak so calmly\nand politely, but because it was apparent that beneath outward\npoliteness there really lurked a determined spirit of opposition to\nanything his wife might wish to do. The baroness was also\nsurprised, and showed her astonishment by a look which would\ndoubtless have had some effect upon her husband if he had not been\nintently occupied with the paper, where he was looking to see the\nclosing stock quotations. The result was, that the proud look\nentirely failed of its purpose.closing stock quotations. The result was, that the proud look\nentirely failed of its purpose.\n\"M. Lucien,\" said the baroness, \"I assure you I have no desire\nto sleep, and that I have a thousand things to tell you this\nevening, which you must listen to, even though you slept while\nhearing me.\"\n\"I am at your service, madame,\" replied Lucien coldly.\n\"My dear M. Debray,\" said the banker, \"do not kill yourself\nto-night listening to the follies of Madame Danglars, for you can\nhear them as well to-morrow; but I claim to-night and will devote\nit, if you will allow me, to talk over some serious matters with my\nwife.\" This time the blow was so well aimed, and hit so directly,\nthat Lucien and the baroness were staggered, and they interrogated\neach other with their eyes, as if to seek help against this\naggression, but the irresistible will of the master of the house\nprevailed, and the husband was victorious.\n\"Do not think I wish to turn you out, my dear Debray,\" continued\nDanglars; \"oh, no, not at all. An unexpected occurrence forces me\nto ask my wife to have a little conversation with me; it is so\nrarely I make such a request, I am sure you cannot grudge it to\nme.\" Debray muttered something, bowed and went out, knocking\nhimself against the edge of the door, like Nathan in \"Athalie.\"\n\"It is extraordinary,\" he said, when the door was closed behind\nhim, \"how easily these husbands, whom we ridicule, gain an\nadvantage over us.\"\nLucien having left, Danglars took his place on the sofa, closed\nthe open book, and placing himself in a dreadfully dictatorial\nattitude, he began playing with the dog; but the animal, not liking\nhim as well as Debray, and attempting to bite him, Danglars seized\nhim by the skin of his neck and threw him upon a couch on the other\nside of the room. The animal uttered a cry during the transit, but,\narrived at its destination, it crouched behind the cushions, and\nstupefied at such unusual treatment remained silent and motionless.\n\"Do you know, sir,\" asked the baroness, \"that you are improving?\"Do you know, sir,\" asked the baroness, \"that you are improving?\nGenerally you are only rude, but to-night you are brutal.\"\n\"It is because I am in a worse humor than usual,\" replied\nDanglars. Hermine looked at the banker with supreme disdain. These\nglances frequently exasperated the pride of Danglars, but this\nevening he took no notice of them.\n\"And what have I to do with your ill-humor?\" said the baroness,\nirritated at the impassibility of her husband; \"do these things\nconcern me? Keep your ill-humor at home in your money boxes, or,\nsince you have clerks whom you pay, vent it upon them.\"\n\"Not so,\" replied Danglars; \"your advice is wrong, so I shall\nnot follow it. My money boxes are my Pactolus, as, I think, M.\nDemoustier says, and I will not retard its course, or disturb its\ncalm. My clerks are honest men, who earn my fortune, whom I pay\nmuch below their deserts, if I may value them according to what\nthey bring in; therefore I shall not get into a passion with them;\nthose with whom I will be in a passion are those who eat my\ndinners, mount my horses, and exhaust my fortune.\"\n\"And pray who are the persons who exhaust your fortune? Explain\nyourself more clearly, I beg, sir.\"\n\"Oh, make yourself easy! — I am not speaking riddles, and you\nwill soon know what I mean. The people who exhaust my fortune are\nthose who draw out 700,000 francs in the course of an hour.\"\n\"I do not understand you, sir,\" said the baroness, trying to\ndisguise the agitation of her voice and the flush of her face. \"You\nunderstand me perfectly, on the contrary,\" said Danglars: \"but, if\nyou will persist, I will tell you that I have just lost 700,000\nfrancs upon the Spanish loan.\"\n\"And pray,\" asked the baroness, \"am I responsible for this\nloss?\"\n\"Why not?\"\n\"Is it my fault you have lost 700,000 francs?\"\n\"Certainly it is not mine.\"\n\"Once for all, sir,\" replied the baroness sharply, \"I tell you I\nwill not hear cash named; it is a style of language I never heard\nin the house of my parents or in that of my first husband.\""}
{"text": "in the house of my parents or in that of my first husband.\"\n\"Oh, I can well believe that, for neither of them was worth a\npenny.\"\n\"The better reason for my not being conversant with the slang of\nthe bank, which is here dinning in my ears from morning to night;\nthat noise of jingling crowns, which are constantly being counted\nand re-counted, is odious to me. I only know one thing I dislike\nmore, which is the sound of your voice.\"\n\"Really?\" said Danglars. \"Well, this surprises me, for I thought\nyou took the liveliest interest in all my affairs!\"\n\"I? What could put such an idea into your head?\"\n\"Yourself.\"\n\"Ah? — what next?\"\n\"Most assuredly.\"\n\"I should like to know upon what occasion?\"\n\"Oh, mon Dieu, that is very easily done. Last February you were\nthe first who told me of the Haitian funds. You had dreamed that a\nship had entered the harbor at Havre, that this ship brought news\nthat a payment we had looked upon as lost was going to be made. I\nknow how clear-sighted your dreams are; I therefore purchased\nimmediately as many shares as I could of the Haitian debt, and I\ngained 400,000 francs by it, of which 100,000 have been honestly\npaid to you. You spent it as you pleased; that was your business.\nIn March there was a question about a grant to a railway. Three\ncompanies presented themselves, each offering equal securities. You\ntold me that your instinct, — and although you pretend to know\nnothing about speculations, I think on the contrary, that your\ncomprehension is very clear upon certain affairs, — well, you told\nme that your instinct led you to believe the grant would be given\nto the company called the Southern. I bought two thirds of the\nshares of that company; as you had foreseen, the shares trebled in\nvalue, and I picked up a million, from which 250,000 francs were\npaid to you for pin-money. How have you spent this 250,000 francs?\n— it is no business of mine.\"\n\"When are you coming to the point?\" cried the baroness,\nshivering with anger and impatience.\n\"Patience, madame, I am coming to it.\"\n\"That's fortunate.\"shivering with anger and impatience.\n\"Patience, madame, I am coming to it.\"\n\"That's fortunate.\"\n\"In April you went to dine at the minister's. You heard a\nprivate conversation respecting Spanish affairs — on the expulsion\nof Don Carlos. I bought some Spanish shares. The expulsion took\nplace and I pocketed 600,000 francs the day Charles V. repassed the\nBidassoa. Of these 600,000 francs you took 50,000 crowns. They were\nyours, you disposed of them according to your fancy, and I asked no\nquestions; but it is not the less true that you have this year\nreceived 500,000 livres.\"\n\"Well, sir, and what then?\"\n\"Ah, yes, it was just after this that you spoiled\neverything.\"\n\"Really, your manner of speaking\" —\n\"It expresses my meaning, and that is all I want. Well, three\ndays after that you talked politics with M. Debray, and you fancied\nfrom his words that Don Carlos had returned to Spain. Well, I sold\nmy shares, the news got out, and I no longer sold — I gave them\naway, next day I find the news was false, and by this false report\nI have lost 700,000 francs.\"\n\"Well?\"\n\"Well, since I gave you a fourth of my gains, I think you owe me\na fourth of my losses; the fourth of 700,000 francs is 175,000\nfrancs.\"\n\"What you say is absurd, and I cannot see why M. Debray's name\nis mixed up in this affair.\"\n\"Because if you do not possess the 175,000 francs I reclaim, you\nmust have lent them to your friends, and M. Debray is one of your\nfriends.\"\n\"For shame!\" exclaimed the baroness.\n\"Oh, let us have no gestures, no screams, no modern drama, or\nyou will oblige me to tell you that I see Debray leave here,\npocketing the whole of the 500,000 livres you have handed over to\nhim this year, while he smiles to himself, saying that he has found\nwhat the most skilful players have never discovered — that is, a\nroulette where he wins without playing, and is no loser when he\nloses.\" The baroness became enraged. \"Wretch!\" she cried, \"will you\ndare to tell me you did not know what you now reproach me\nwith?\"dare to tell me you did not know what you now reproach me\nwith?\"\n\"I do not say that I did know it, and I do not say that I did\nnot know it. I merely tell you to look into my conduct during the\nlast four years that we have ceased to be husband and wife, and see\nwhether it has not always been consistent. Some time after our\nrupture, you wished to study music, under the celebrated baritone\nwho made such a successful appearance at the Theatre Italien; at\nthe same time I felt inclined to learn dancing of the danseuse who\nacquired such a reputation in London. This cost me, on your account\nand mine, 100,000 francs. I said nothing, for we must have peace in\nthe house; and 100,000 francs for a lady and gentleman to be\nproperly instructed in music and dancing are not too much. Well,\nyou soon become tired of singing, and you take a fancy to study\ndiplomacy with the minister's secretary. You understand, it\nsignifies nothing to me so long as you pay for your lessons out of\nyour own cashbox. But to-day I find you are drawing on mine, and\nthat your apprenticeship may cost me 700,000 francs per month. Stop\nthere, madame, for this cannot last. Either the diplomatist must\ngive his lessons gratis, and I will tolerate him, or he must never\nset his foot again in my house; — do you understand, madame?\"\n\"Oh, this is too much,\" cried Hermine, choking, \"you are worse\nthan despicable.\"\n\"But,\" continued Danglars, \"I find you did not even pause there\"\n—\n\"Insults!\"\n\"You are right; let us leave these facts alone, and reason\ncoolly. I have never interfered in your affairs excepting for your\ngood; treat me in the same way. You say you have nothing to do with\nmy cash-box. Be it so. Do as you like with your own, but do not\nfill or empty mine. Besides, how do I know that this was not a\npolitical trick, that the minister enraged at seeing me in the\nopposition, and jealous of the popular sympathy I excite, has not\nconcerted with M. Debray to ruin me?\"\n\"A probable thing!\"\n\"Why not? Who ever heard of such an occurrence as this? — a"}
{"text": "\"A probable thing!\"\n\"Why not? Who ever heard of such an occurrence as this? — a\nfalse telegraphic despatch — it is almost impossible for wrong\nsignals to be made as they were in the last two telegrams. It was\ndone on purpose for me — I am sure of it.\"\n\"Sir,\" said the baroness humbly, \"are you not aware that the man\nemployed there was dismissed, that they talked of going to law with\nhim, that orders were issued to arrest him and that this order\nwould have been put into execution if he had not escaped by flight,\nwhich proves that he was either mad or guilty? It was a\nmistake.\"\n\"Yes, which made fools laugh, which caused the minister to have\na sleepless night, which has caused the minister's secretaries to\nblacken several sheets of paper, but which has cost me 700,000\nfrancs.\"\n\"But, sir,\" said Hermine suddenly, \"if all this is, as you say,\ncaused by M. Debray, why, instead of going direct to him, do you\ncome and tell me of it? Why, to accuse the man, do you address the\nwoman?\"\n\"Do I know M. Debray? — do I wish to know him? — do I wish to\nknow that he gives advice? — do I wish to follow it? — do I\nspeculate? No; you do all this, not I.\"\n\"Still it seems to me, that as you profit by it — \"\nDanglars shrugged his shoulders. \"Foolish creature,\" he\nexclaimed. \"Women fancy they have talent because they have managed\ntwo or three intrigues without being the talk of Paris! But know\nthat if you had even hidden your irregularities from your husband,\nwho has but the commencement of the art — for generally husbands\nwill not see — you would then have been but a faint imitation of\nmost of your friends among the women of the world. But it has not\nbeen so with me, — I see, and always have seen, during the last\nsixteen years. You may, perhaps, have hidden a thought; but not a\nstep, not an action, not a fault, has escaped me, while you\nflattered yourself upon your address, and firmly believed you had\ndeceived me. What has been the result? — that, thanks to my\npretended ignorance, there is none of your friends, from M. depretended ignorance, there is none of your friends, from M. de\nVillefort to M. Debray, who has not trembled before me. There is\nnot one who has not treated me as the master of the house, — the\nonly title I desire with respect to you; there is not one, in fact,\nwho would have dared to speak of me as I have spoken of them this\nday. I will allow you to make me hateful, but I will prevent your\nrendering me ridiculous, and, above all, I forbid you to ruin\nme.\"\nThe baroness had been tolerably composed until the name of\nVillefort had been pronounced; but then she became pale, and,\nrising, as if touched by a spring, she stretched out her hands as\nthough conjuring an apparition; she then took two or three steps\ntowards her husband, as though to tear the secret from him, of\nwhich he was ignorant, or which he withheld from some odious\ncalculation, — odious, as all his calculations were. \"M. de\nVillefort! — What do you mean?\"\n\"I mean that M. de Nargonne, your first husband, being neither a\nphilosopher nor a banker, or perhaps being both, and seeing there\nwas nothing to be got out of a king's attorney, died of grief or\nanger at finding, after an absence of nine months, that you had\nbeen enceinte six. I am brutal, — I not only allow it, but boast of\nit; it is one of the reasons of my success in commercial business.\nWhy did he kill himself instead of you? Because he had no cash to\nsave. My life belongs to my cash. M. Debray has made me lose\n700,000 francs; let him bear his share of the loss, and we will go\non as before; if not, let him become bankrupt for the 250,000\nlivres, and do as all bankrupts do — disappear. He is a charming\nfellow, I allow, when his news is correct; but when it is not,\nthere are fifty others in the world who would do better than\nhe.\"\nMadame Danglars was rooted to the spot; she made a violent\neffort to reply to this last attack, but she fell upon a chair\nthinking of Villefort, of the dinner scene, of the strange series\nof misfortunes which had taken place in her house during the lastof misfortunes which had taken place in her house during the last\nfew days, and changed the usual calm of her establishment to a\nscene of scandalous debate. Danglars did not even look at her,\nthough she did her best to faint. He shut the bedroom door after\nhim, without adding another word, and returned to his apartments;\nand when Madame Danglars recovered from her half-fainting\ncondition, she could almost believe that she had had a disagreeable\ndream.Let us leave the banker driving his horses at their fullest\nspeed, and follow Madame Danglars in her morning excursion. We have\nsaid that at half-past twelve o'clock Madame Danglars had ordered\nher horses, and had left home in the carriage. She directed her\ncourse towards the Faubourg Saint Germain, went down the Rue\nMazarine, and stopped at the Passage du Pont-Neuf. She descended,\nand went through the passage. She was very plainly dressed, as\nwould be the case with a woman of taste walking in the morning. At\nthe Rue Guenegaud she called a cab, and directed the driver to go\nto the Rue de Harlay. As soon as she was seated in the vehicle, she\ndrew from her pocket a very thick black veil, which she tied on to\nher straw bonnet. She then replaced the bonnet, and saw with\npleasure, in a little pocket-mirror, that her white complexion and\nbrilliant eyes were alone visible. The cab crossed the Pont-Neuf\nand entered the Rue de Harlay by the Place Dauphine; the driver was\npaid as the door opened, and stepping lightly up the stairs Madame\nDanglars soon reached the Salle des Pas-Perdus.\nThere was a great deal going on that morning, and many\nbusiness-like persons at the Palais; business-like persons pay very\nlittle attention to women, and Madame Danglars crossed the hall\nwithout exciting any more attention than any other woman calling\nupon her lawyer. There was a great press of people in M. de\nVillefort's ante-chamber, but Madame Danglars had no occasion even\nto pronounce her name. The instant she appeared the door-keeper\nrose, came to her, and asked her whether she was not the person\nwith whom the procureur had made an appointment; and on her\naffirmative answer being given, he conducted her by a private\npassage to M. de Villefort's office. The magistrate was seated in\nan arm-chair, writing, with his back towards the door; he did not\nmove as he heard it open, and the door-keeper pronounce the words,\n\"Walk in, madame,\" and then reclose it; but no sooner had the man's"}
{"text": "\"Walk in, madame,\" and then reclose it; but no sooner had the man's\nfootsteps ceased, than he started up, drew the bolts, closed the\ncurtains, and examined every corner of the room. Then, when he had\nassured himself that he could neither be seen nor heard, and was\nconsequently relieved of doubts, he said, — \"Thanks, madame, —\nthanks for your punctuality; \"and he offered a chair to Madame\nDanglars, which she accepted, for her heart beat so violently that\nshe felt nearly suffocated.\n\"It is a long time, madame,\" said the procureur, describing a\nhalf-circle with his chair, so as to place himself exactly opposite\nto Madame Danglars, — \"it is a long time since I had the pleasure\nof speaking alone with you, and I regret that we have only now met\nto enter upon a painful conversation.\"\n\"Nevertheless, sir, you see I have answered your first appeal,\nalthough certainly the conversation must be much more painful for\nme than for you.\" Villefort smiled bitterly.\n\"It is true, then,\" he said, rather uttering his thoughts aloud\nthan addressing his companion, — \"it is true, then, that all our\nactions leave their traces — some sad, others bright — on our\npaths; it is true that every step in our lives is like the course\nof an insect on the sands; — it leaves its track! Alas, to many the\npath is traced by tears.\"\n\"Sir,\" said Madame Danglars, \"you can feel for my emotion, can\nyou not? Spare me, then, I beseech you. When I look at this room, —\nwhence so many guilty creatures have departed, trembling and\nashamed, when I look at that chair before which I now sit trembling\nand ashamed, — oh, it requires all my reason to convince me that I\nam not a very guilty woman and you a menacing judge.\" Villefort\ndropped his head and sighed. \"And I,\" he said, \"I feel that my\nplace is not in the judge's seat, but on the prisoner's stool.\"\n\"You?\" said Madame Danglars.\n\"Yes, I.\"\n\"I think, sir, you exaggerate your situation,\" said Madame\nDanglars, whose beautiful eyes sparkled for a moment. \"The paths ofDanglars, whose beautiful eyes sparkled for a moment. \"The paths of\nwhich you were just speaking have been traced by all young men of\nardent imaginations. Besides the pleasure, there is always remorse\nfrom the indulgence of our passions, and, after all, what have you\nmen to fear from all this? the world excuses, and notoriety\nennobles you.\"\n\"Madame,\" replied Villefort, \"you know that I am no hypocrite,\nor, at least, that I never deceive without a reason. If my brow be\nsevere, it is because many misfortunes have clouded it; if my heart\nbe petrified, it is that it might sustain the blows it has\nreceived. I was not so in my youth, I was not so on the night of\nthe betrothal, when we were all seated around a table in the Rue du\nCours at Marseilles. But since then everything has changed in and\nabout me; I am accustomed to brave difficulties, and, in the\nconflict to crush those who, by their own free will, or by chance,\nvoluntarily or involuntarily, interfere with me in my career. It is\ngenerally the case that what we most ardently desire is as ardently\nwithheld from us by those who wish to obtain it, or from whom we\nattempt to snatch it. Thus, the greater number of a man's errors\ncome before him disguised under the specious form of necessity;\nthen, after error has been committed in a moment of excitement, of\ndelirium, or of fear, we see that we might have avoided and escaped\nit. The means we might have used, which we in our blindness could\nnot see, then seem simple and easy, and we say, `Why did I not do\nthis, instead of that?' Women, on the contrary, are rarely\ntormented with remorse; for the decision does not come from you, —\nyour misfortunes are generally imposed upon you, and your faults\nthe results of others' crimes.\"\n\"In any case, sir, you will allow,\" replied Madame Danglars,\n\"that, even if the fault were alone mine, I last night received a\nsevere punishment for it.\"\n\"Poor thing,\" said Villefort, pressing her hand, \"it was too\nsevere for your strength, for you were twice overwhelmed, and yet\"\n—\n\"Well?\"severe for your strength, for you were twice overwhelmed, and yet\"\n—\n\"Well?\"\n\"Well, I must tell you. Collect all your courage, for you have\nnot yet heard all.\"\n\"Ah,\" exclaimed Madame Danglars, alarmed, \"what is there more to\nhear?\"\n\"You only look back to the past, and it is, indeed, bad enough.\nWell, picture to yourself a future more gloomy still — certainly\nfrightful, perhaps sanguinary.\" The baroness knew how calm\nVillefort naturally was, and his present excitement frightened her\nso much that she opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died in\nher throat. \"How has this terrible past been recalled?\" cried\nVillefort; \"how is it that it has escaped from the depths of the\ntomb and the recesses of our hearts, where it was buried, to visit\nus now, like a phantom, whitening our cheeks and flushing our brows\nwith shame?\"\n\"Alas,\" said Hermine, \"doubtless it is chance.\"\n\"Chance?\" replied Villefort; \"No, no, madame, there is no such\nthing as chance.\"\n\"Oh, yes; has not a fatal chance revealed all this? Was it not\nby chance the Count of Monte Cristo bought that house? Was it not\nby chance he caused the earth to be dug up? Is it not by chance\nthat the unfortunate child was disinterred under the trees? — that\npoor innocent offspring of mine, which I never even kissed, but for\nwhom I wept many, many tears. Ah, my heart clung to the count when\nhe mentioned the dear spoil found beneath the flowers.\"\n\"Well, no, madame, — this is the terrible news I have to tell\nyou,\" said Villefort in a hollow voice — \"no, nothing was found\nbeneath the flowers; there was no child disinterred — no. You must\nnot weep, no, you must not groan, you must tremble!\"\n\"What can you mean?\" asked Madame Danglars, shuddering.\n\"I mean that M. de Monte Cristo, digging underneath these trees,\nfound neither skeleton nor chest, because neither of them was\nthere!\"\n\"Neither of them there?\" repeated Madame Danglars, her staring,\nwide-open eyes expressing her alarm.\n\"Neither of them there!\" she again said, as though striving to"}
{"text": "wide-open eyes expressing her alarm.\n\"Neither of them there!\" she again said, as though striving to\nimpress herself with the meaning of the words which escaped\nher.\n\"No,\" said Villefort, burying his face in his hands, \"no, a\nhundred times no!\"\n\"Then you did not bury the poor child there, sir? Why did you\ndeceive me? Where did you place it? tell me — where?\"\n\"There! But listen to me — listen — and you will pity me who has\nfor twenty years alone borne the heavy burden of grief I am about\nto reveal, without casting the least portion upon you.\"\n\"Oh, you frighten me! But speak; I will listen.\"\n\"You recollect that sad night, when you were half-expiring on\nthat bed in the red damask room, while I, scarcely less agitated\nthan you, awaited your delivery. The child was born, was given to\nme — motionless, breathless, voiceless; we thought it dead.\" Madame\nDanglars moved rapidly, as though she would spring from her chair,\nbut Villefort stopped, and clasped his hands as if to implore her\nattention. \"We thought it dead,\" he repeated; \"I placed it in the\nchest, which was to take the place of a coffin; I descended to the\ngarden, I dug a hole, and then flung it down in haste. Scarcely had\nI covered it with earth, when the arm of the Corsican was stretched\ntowards me; I saw a shadow rise, and, at the same time, a flash of\nlight. I felt pain; I wished to cry out, but an icy shiver ran\nthrough my veins and stifled my voice; I fell lifeless, and fancied\nmyself killed. Never shall I forget your sublime courage, when,\nhaving returned to consciousness, I dragged myself to the foot of\nthe stairs, and you, almost dying yourself, came to meet me. We\nwere obliged to keep silent upon the dreadful catastrophe. You had\nthe fortitude to regain the house, assisted by your nurse. A duel\nwas the pretext for my wound. Though we scarcely expected it, our\nsecret remained in our own keeping alone. I was taken to\nVersailles; for three months I struggled with death; at last, as I\nseemed to cling to life, I was ordered to the South. Four menseemed to cling to life, I was ordered to the South. Four men\ncarried me from Paris to Chalons, walking six leagues a day; Madame\nde Villefort followed the litter in her carriage. At Chalons I was\nput upon the Saone, thence I passed on to the Rhone, whence I\ndescended, merely with the current, to Arles; at Arles I was again\nplaced on my litter, and continued my journey to Marseilles. My\nrecovery lasted six months. I never heard you mentioned, and I did\nnot dare inquire for you. When I returned to Paris, I learned that\nyou, the widow of M. de Nargonne, had married M. Danglars.\n\"What was the subject of my thoughts from the time consciousness\nreturned to me? Always the same — always the child's corpse, coming\nevery night in my dreams, rising from the earth, and hovering over\nthe grave with menacing look and gesture. I inquired immediately on\nmy return to Paris; the house had not been inhabited since we left\nit, but it had just been let for nine years. I found the tenant. I\npretended that I disliked the idea that a house belonging to my\nwife's father and mother should pass into the hands of strangers. I\noffered to pay them for cancelling the lease; they demanded 6,000\nfrancs. I would have given 10,000 — I would have given 20,000. I\nhad the money with me; I made the tenant sign the deed of\nresilition, and when I had obtained what I so much wanted, I\ngalloped to Auteuil.\n\"No one had entered the house since I had left it. It was five\no'clock in the afternoon; I ascended into the red room, and waited\nfor night. There all the thoughts which had disturbed me during my\nyear of constant agony came back with double force. The Corsican,\nwho had declared the vendetta against me, who had followed me from\nNimes to Paris, who had hid himself in the garden, who had struck\nme, had seen me dig the grave, had seen me inter the child, — he\nmight become acquainted with your person, — nay, he might even then\nhave known it. Would he not one day make you pay for keeping this\nterrible secret? Would it not be a sweet revenge for him when heterrible secret? Would it not be a sweet revenge for him when he\nfound that I had not died from the blow of his dagger? It was\ntherefore necessary, before everything else, and at all risks, that\nI should cause all traces of the past to disappear — that I should\ndestroy every material vestige; too much reality would always\nremain in my recollection. It was for this I had annulled the lease\n— it was for this I had come — it was for this I was waiting. Night\narrived; I allowed it to become quite dark. I was without a light\nin that room; when the wind shook all the doors, behind which I\ncontinually expected to see some spy concealed, I trembled. I\nseemed everywhere to hear your moans behind me in the bed, and I\ndared not turn around. My heart beat so violently that I feared my\nwound would open. At length, one by one, all the noises in the\nneighborhood ceased. I understood that I had nothing to fear, that\nI should neither be seen nor heard, so I decided upon descending to\nthe garden.\n\"Listen, Hermine; I consider myself as brave as most men, but\nwhen I drew from my breast the little key of the staircase, which I\nhad found in my coat — that little key we both used to cherish so\nmuch, which you wished to have fastened to a golden ring — when I\nopened the door, and saw the pale moon shedding a long stream of\nwhite light on the spiral staircase like a spectre, I leaned\nagainst the wall, and nearly shrieked. I seemed to be going mad. At\nlast I mastered my agitation. I descended the staircase step by\nstep; the only thing I could not conquer was a strange trembling in\nmy knees. I grasped the railings; if I had relaxed my hold for a\nmoment, I should have fallen. I reached the lower door. Outside\nthis door a spade was placed against the wall; I took it, and\nadvanced towards the thicket. I had provided myself with a dark\nlantern. In the middle of the lawn I stopped to light it, then I\ncontinued my path.\n\"It was the end of November, all the verdure of the garden had"}
{"text": "continued my path.\n\"It was the end of November, all the verdure of the garden had\ndisappeared, the trees were nothing more than skeletons with their\nlong bony arms, and the dead leaves sounded on the gravel under my\nfeet. My terror overcame me to such a degree as I approached the\nthicket, that I took a pistol from my pocket and armed myself. I\nfancied continually that I saw the figure of the Corsican between\nthe branches. I examined the thicket with my dark lantern; it was\nempty. I looked carefully around; I was indeed alone, — no noise\ndisturbed the silence but the owl, whose piercing cry seemed to be\ncalling up the phantoms of the night. I tied my lantern to a forked\nbranch I had noticed a year before at the precise spot where I\nstopped to dig the hole.\n\"The grass had grown very thickly there during the summer, and\nwhen autumn arrived no one had been there to mow it. Still one\nplace where the grass was thin attracted my attention; it evidently\nwas there I had turned up the ground. I went to work. The hour,\nthen, for which I had been waiting during the last year had at\nlength arrived. How I worked, how I hoped, how I struck every piece\nof turf, thinking to find some resistance to my spade! But no, I\nfound nothing, though I had made a hole twice as large as the\nfirst. I thought I had been deceived — had mistaken the spot. I\nturned around, I looked at the trees, I tried to recall the details\nwhich had struck me at the time. A cold, sharp wind whistled\nthrough the leafless branches, and yet the drops fell from my\nforehead. I recollected that I was stabbed just as I was trampling\nthe ground to fill up the hole; while doing so I had leaned against\na laburnum; behind me was an artificial rockery, intended to serve\nas a resting-place for persons walking in the garden; in falling,\nmy hand, relaxing its hold of the laburnum, felt the coldness of\nthe stone. On my right I saw the tree, behind me the rock. I stood\nin the same attitude, and threw myself down. I rose, and againin the same attitude, and threw myself down. I rose, and again\nbegan digging and enlarging the hole; still I found nothing,\nnothing — the chest was no longer there!\"\n\"The chest no longer there?\" murmured Madame Danglars, choking\nwith fear.\nThink not I contented myself with this one effort,\" continued\nVillefort. \"No; I searched the whole thicket. I thought the\nassassin, having discovered the chest, and supposing it to be a\ntreasure, had intended carrying it off, but, perceiving his error,\nhad dug another hole, and deposited it there; but I could find\nnothing. Then the idea struck me that he had not taken these\nprecautions, and had simply thrown it in a corner. In the last case\nI must wait for daylight to renew my search. I remained the room\nand waited.\"\n\"Oh, heavens!\"\nWhen daylight dawned I went down again. My first visit was to\nthe thicket. I hoped to find some traces which had escaped me in\nthe darkness. I had turned up the earth over a surface of more than\ntwenty feet square, and a depth of two feet. A laborer would not\nhave done in a day what occupied me an hour. But I could find\nnothing — absolutely nothing. Then I renewed the search. Supposing\nit had been thrown aside, it would probably be on the path which\nled to the little gate; but this examination was as useless as the\nfirst, and with a bursting heart I returned to the thicket, which\nnow contained no hope for me.\"\n\"Oh,\" cried Madame Danglars, \"it was enough to drive you\nmad!\"\n\"I hoped for a moment that it might,\" said Villefort; \"but that\nhappiness was denied me. However, recovering my strength and my\nideas, `Why,' said I, `should that man have carried away the\ncorpse?'\"\n\"But you said,\" replied Madame Danglars, \"he would require it as\na proof.\"\n\"Ah, no, madame, that could not be. Dead bodies are not kept a\nyear; they are shown to a magistrate, and the evidence is taken.\nNow, nothing of the kind has happened.\"\n\"What then?\" asked Hermine, trembling violently.\n\"Something more terrible, more fatal, more alarming for us — the\"Something more terrible, more fatal, more alarming for us — the\nchild was, perhaps, alive, and the assassin may have saved it!\"\nMadame Danglars uttered a piercing cry, and, seizing Villefort's\nhands, exclaimed, \"My child was alive?\" said she; \"you buried my\nchild alive? You were not certain my child was dead, and you buried\nit? Ah\" —\nMadame Danglars had risen, and stood before the procureur, whose\nhands she wrung in her feeble grasp. \"I know not; I merely suppose\nso, as I might suppose anything else,\" replied Villefort with a\nlook so fixed, it indicated that his powerful mind was on the verge\nof despair and madness. \"Ah, my child, my poor child!\" cried the\nbaroness, falling on her chair, and stifling her sobs in her\nhandkerchief. Villefort, becoming somewhat reassured, perceived\nthat to avert the maternal storm gathering over his head, he must\ninspire Madame Danglars with the terror he felt. \"You understand,\nthen, that if it were so,\" said he, rising in his turn, and\napproaching the baroness, to speak to her in a lower tone, \"we are\nlost. This child lives, and some one knows it lives — some one is\nin possession of our secret; and since Monte Cristo speaks before\nus of a child disinterred, when that child could not be found, it\nis he who is in possession of our secret.\"\n\"Just God, avenging God!\" murmured Madame Danglars.\nVillefort's only answer was a stifled groan.\n\"But the child — the child, sir?\" repeated the agitated\nmother.\n\"How I have searched for him,\" replied Villefort, wringing his\nhands; \"how I have called him in my long sleepless nights; how I\nhave longed for royal wealth to purchase a million of secrets from\na million of men, and to find mine among them! At last, one day,\nwhen for the hundredth time I took up my spade, I asked myself\nagain and again what the Corsican could have done with the child. A\nchild encumbers a fugitive; perhaps, on perceiving it was still\nalive, he had thrown it into the river.\"\n\"Impossible!\" cried Madame Danglars: \"a man may murder another"}
{"text": "\"Impossible!\" cried Madame Danglars: \"a man may murder another\nout of revenge, but he would not deliberately drown a child.\"\n\"Perhaps,\" continued Villefort, \"he had put it in the foundling\nhospital.\"\n\"Oh, yes, yes,\" cried the baroness; \"my child is there!\"\n\"I ran to the hospital, and learned that the same night — the\nnight of the 20th of September — a child had been brought there,\nwrapped in part of a fine linen napkin, purposely torn in half.\nThis portion of the napkin was marked with half a baron's crown,\nand the letter H.\"\n\"Truly, truly,\" said Madame Danglars, \"all my linen is marked\nthus; Monsieur de Nargonne was a baronet, and my name is Hermine.\nThank God, my child was not then dead!\"\n\"No, it was not dead.\"\n\"And you can tell me so without fearing to make me die of joy?\nWhere is the child?\" Villefort shrugged his shoulders. \"Do I know?\"\nsaid he; \"and do you believe that if I knew I would relate to you\nall its trials and all its adventures as would a dramatist or a\nnovel writer? Alas, no, I know not. A woman, about six months\nafter, came to claim it with the other half of the napkin. This\nwoman gave all the requisite particulars, and it was intrusted to\nher.\"\n\"But you should have inquired for the woman; you should have\ntraced her.\"\n\"And what do you think I did? I feigned a criminal process, and\nemployed all the most acute bloodhounds and skilful agents in\nsearch of her. They traced her to Chalons, and there they lost\nher.\"\n\"They lost her?\"\n\"Yes, forever.\" Madame Danglars had listened to this recital\nwith a sigh, a tear, or a shriek for every detail. \"And this is\nall?\" said she; \"and you stopped there?\"\n\"Oh, no,\" said Villefort; \"I never ceased to search and to\ninquire. However, the last two or three years I had allowed myself\nsome respite. But now I will begin with more perseverance and fury\nthan ever, since fear urges me, not my conscience.\"\n\"But,\" replied Madame Danglars, \"the Count of Monte Cristo can\nknow nothing, or he would not seek our society as he does.\"know nothing, or he would not seek our society as he does.\"\n\"Oh, the wickedness of man is very great,\" said Villefort,\n\"since it surpasses the goodness of God. Did you observe that man's\neyes while he was speaking to us?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"But have you ever watched him carefully?\"\n\"Doubtless he is capricious, but that is all; one thing alone\nstruck me, — of all the exquisite things he placed before us, he\ntouched nothing. I might have suspected he was poisoning us.\"\n\"And you see you would have been deceived.\"\n\"Yes, doubtless.\"\n\"But believe me, that man has other projects. For that reason I\nwished to see you, to speak to you, to warn you against every one,\nbut especially against him. Tell me,\" cried Villefort, fixing his\neyes more steadfastly on her than he had ever done before, \"did you\never reveal to any one our connection?\"\n\"Never, to any one.\"\n\"You understand me,\" replied Villefort, affectionately; \"when I\nsay any one, — pardon my urgency, — to any one living I mean?\"\n\"Yes, yes, I understand very well,\" ejaculated the baroness;\n\"never, I swear to you.\"\n\"Were you ever in the habit of writing in the evening what had\ntranspired in the morning? Do you keep a journal?\"\n\"No, my life has been passed in frivolity; I wish to forget it\nmyself.\"\n\"Do you talk in your sleep?\"\n\"I sleep soundly, like a child; do you not remember?\" The color\nmounted to the baroness's face, and Villefort turned awfully\npale.\n\"It is true,\" said he, in so low a tone that he could hardly be\nheard.\n\"Well?\" said the baroness.\n\"Well, I understand what I now have to do,\" replied Villefort.\n\"In less than one week from this time I will ascertain who this M.\nde Monte Cristo is, whence he comes, where he goes, and why he\nspeaks in our presence of children that have been disinterred in a\ngarden.\" Villefort pronounced these words with an accent which\nwould have made the count shudder had he heard him. Then he pressed\nthe hand the baroness reluctantly gave him, and led her\nrespectfully back to the door. Madame Danglars returned in anotherrespectfully back to the door. Madame Danglars returned in another\ncab to the passage, on the other side of which she found her\ncarriage, and her coachman sleeping peacefully on his box while\nwaiting for her.A gloomy scene had indeed just passed at the house of M. de\nVillefort. After the ladies had departed for the ball, whither all\nthe entreaties of Madame de Villefort had failed in persuading him\nto accompany them, the procureur had shut himself up in his study,\naccording to his custom, with a heap of papers calculated to alarm\nany one else, but which generally scarcely satisfied his inordinate\ndesires. But this time the papers were a mere matter of form.\nVillefort had secluded himself, not to study, but to reflect; and\nwith the door locked and orders given that he should not be\ndisturbed excepting for important business, he sat down in his\narm-chair and began to ponder over the events, the remembrance of\nwhich had during the last eight days filled his mind with so many\ngloomy thoughts and bitter recollections. Then, instead of plunging\ninto the mass of documents piled before him, he opened the drawer\nof his desk. touched a spring, and drew out a parcel of cherished\nmemoranda, amongst which he had carefully arranged, in characters\nonly known to himself, the names of all those who, either in his\npolitical career, in money matters, at the bar, or in his\nmysterious love affairs, had become his enemies.\nTheir number was formidable, now that he had begun to fear, and\nyet these names, powerful though they were, had often caused him to\nsmile with the same kind of satisfaction experienced by a traveller\nwho from the summit of a mountain beholds at his feet the craggy\neminences, the almost impassable paths, and the fearful chasms,\nthrough which he has so perilously climbed. When he had run over\nall these names in his memory, again read and studied them,\ncommenting meanwhile upon his lists, he shook his head.\n\"No,\" he murmured, \"none of my enemies would have waited so\npatiently and laboriously for so long a space of time, that they\nmight now come and crush me with this secret. Sometimes, as Hamlet\nsays —\n`Foul deeds will rise, Tho' all the earth o'erwhelm them to\nmen's eyes;'"}
{"text": "says —\n`Foul deeds will rise, Tho' all the earth o'erwhelm them to\nmen's eyes;'\nbut, like a phosphoric light, they rise but to mislead. The\nstory has been told by the Corsican to some priest, who in his turn\nhas repeated it. M. de Monte Cristo may have heard it, and to\nenlighten himself — but why should he wish to enlighten himself\nupon the subject?\" asked Villefort, after a moment's reflection,\n\"what interest can this M. de Monte Cristo or M. Zaccone, — son of\na shipowner of Malta, discoverer of a mine in Thessaly, now\nvisiting Paris for the first time, — what interest, I say, can he\ntake in discovering a gloomy, mysterious, and useless fact like\nthis? However, among all the incoherent details given to me by the\nAbbe Busoni and by Lord Wilmore, by that friend and that enemy, one\nthing appears certain and clear in my opinion — that in no period,\nin no case, in no circumstance, could there have been any contact\nbetween him and me.\"\nBut Villefort uttered words which even he himself did not\nbelieve. He dreaded not so much the revelation, for he could reply\nto or deny its truth; — he cared little for that mene, tekel,\nupharsin, which appeared suddenly in letters of blood upon the\nwall; — but what he was really anxious for was to discover whose\nhand had traced them. While he was endeavoring to calm his fears, —\nand instead of dwelling upon the political future that had so often\nbeen the subject of his ambitious dreams, was imagining a future\nlimited to the enjoyments of home, in fear of awakening the enemy\nthat had so long slept, — the noise of a carriage sounded in the\nyard, then he heard the steps of an aged person ascending the\nstairs, followed by tears and lamentations, such as servants always\ngive vent to when they wish to appear interested in their master's\ngrief. He drew back the bolt of his door, and almost directly an\nold lady entered, unannounced, carrying her shawl on her arm, and\nher bonnet in her hand. The white hair was thrown back from her\nyellow forehead, and her eyes, already sunken by the furrows ofyellow forehead, and her eyes, already sunken by the furrows of\nage, now almost disappeared beneath the eyelids swollen with grief.\n\"Oh, sir,\" she said; \"oh, sir, what a misfortune! I shall die of\nit; oh, yes, I shall certainly die of it!\"\nAnd then, falling upon the chair nearest the door, she burst\ninto a paroxysm of sobs. The servants, standing in the doorway, not\ndaring to approach nearer, were looking at Noirtier's old servant,\nwho had heard the noise from his master's room, and run there also,\nremaining behind the others. Villefort rose, and ran towards his\nmother-in-law, for it was she.\n\"Why, what can have happened?\" he exclaimed, \"what has thus\ndisturbed you? Is M. de Saint-Meran with you?\"\n\"M. de Saint-Meran is dead,\" answered the old marchioness,\nwithout preface and without expression; she appeared to be\nstupefied. Villefort drew back, and clasping his hands together,\nexclaimed — \"Dead! — so suddenly?\"\n\"A week ago,\" continued Madame de Saint-Meran, \"we went out\ntogether in the carriage after dinner. M. de Saint-Meran had been\nunwell for some days; still, the idea of seeing our dear Valentine\nagain inspired him with courage, and notwithstanding his illness he\nwould leave. At six leagues from Marseilles, after having eaten\nsome of the lozenges he is accustomed to take, he fell into such a\ndeep sleep, that it appeared to me unnatural; still I hesitated to\nwake him, although I fancied that his face was flushed, and that\nthe veins of his temples throbbed more violently than usual.\nHowever, as it became dark, and I could no longer see, I fell\nasleep; I was soon aroused by a piercing shriek, as from a person\nsuffering in his dreams, and he suddenly threw his head back\nviolently. I called the valet, I stopped the postilion, I spoke to\nM. de Saint-Meran, I applied my smelling-salts; but all was over,\nand I arrived at Aix by the side of a corpse.\" Villefort stood with\nhis mouth half open, quite stupefied.\n\"Of course you sent for a doctor?\"\n\"Immediately; but, as I have told you, it was too late.\"\"Of course you sent for a doctor?\"\n\"Immediately; but, as I have told you, it was too late.\"\n\"Yes; but then he could tell of what complaint the poor marquis\nhad died.\"\n\"Oh, yes, sir, he told me; it appears to have been an apoplectic\nstroke.\"\n\"And what did you do then?\"\n\"M. de Saint-Meran had always expressed a desire, in case his\ndeath happened during his absence from Paris, that his body might\nbe brought to the family vault. I had him put into a leaden coffin,\nand I am preceding him by a few days.\"\n\"Oh, my poor mother,\" said Villefort, \"to have such duties to\nperform at your age after such a blow!\"\n\"God has supported me through all; and then, my dear marquis, he\nwould certainly have done everything for me that I performed for\nhim. It is true that since I left him, I seem to have lost my\nsenses. I cannot cry; at my age they say that we have no more\ntears, — still I think that when one is in trouble one should have\nthe power of weeping. Where is Valentine, sir? It is on her account\nI am here; I wish to see Valentine.\" Villefort thought it would be\nterrible to reply that Valentine was at a ball; so he only said\nthat she had gone out with her step-mother, and that she should be\nfetched. \"This instant, sir — this instant, I beseech you!\" said\nthe old lady. Villefort placed the arm of Madame de Saint-Meran\nwithin his own, and conducted her to his apartment. \"Rest yourself,\nmother,\" he said.\nThe marchioness raised her head at this word, and beholding the\nman who so forcibly reminded her of her deeply-regretted child, who\nstill lived for her in Valentine, she felt touched at the name of\nmother, and bursting into tears, she fell on her knees before an\narm-chair, where she buried her venerable head. Villefort left her\nto the care of the women, while old Barrois ran, half-scared, to\nhis master; for nothing frightens old people so much as when death\nrelaxes its vigilance over them for a moment in order to strike\nsome other old person. Then, while Madame de Saint-Meran remained"}
{"text": "some other old person. Then, while Madame de Saint-Meran remained\non her knees, praying fervently, Villefort sent for a cab, and went\nhimself to fetch his wife and daughter from Madame de Morcerf's. He\nwas so pale when he appeared at the door of the ball-room, that\nValentine ran to him, saying —\n\"Oh, father, some misfortune has happened!\"\n\"Your grandmamma has just arrived, Valentine,\" said M. de\nVillefort.\n\"And grandpapa?\" inquired the young girl, trembling with\napprehension. M. de Villefort only replied by offering his arm to\nhis daughter. It was just in time, for Valentine's head swam, and\nshe staggered; Madame de Villefort instantly hastened to her\nassistance, and aided her husband in dragging her to the carriage,\nsaying — \"What a singular event! Who could have thought it? Ah,\nyes, it is indeed strange!\" And the wretched family departed,\nleaving a cloud of sadness hanging over the rest of the evening. At\nthe foot of the stairs, Valentine found Barrois awaiting her.\n\"M. Noirtier wishes to see you to-night, he said, in an\nundertone.\n\"Tell him I will come when I leave my dear grandmamma,\" she\nreplied, feeling, with true delicacy, that the person to whom she\ncould be of the most service just then was Madame de Saint-Meran.\nValentine found her grandmother in bed; silent caresses, heartwrung\nsobs, broken sighs, burning tears, were all that passed in this sad\ninterview, while Madame de Villefort, leaning on her husband's arm,\nmaintained all outward forms of respect, at least towards the poor\nwidow. She soon whispered to her husband, \"I think it would be\nbetter for me to retire, with your permission, for the sight of me\nappears still to afflict your mother-in-law.\" Madame de Saint-Meran\nheard her. \"Yes, yes,\" she said softly to Valentine, \"let her\nleave; but do you stay.\" Madame de Villefort left, and Valentine\nremained alone beside the bed, for the procureur, overcome with\nastonishment at the unexpected death, had followed his wife.\nMeanwhile, Barrois had returned for the first time to old Noirtier,Meanwhile, Barrois had returned for the first time to old Noirtier,\nwho having heard the noise in the house, had, as we have said, sent\nhis old servant to inquire the cause; on his return, his quick\nintelligent eye interrogated the messenger. \"Alas, sir,\" exclaimed\nBarrois, \"a great misfortune has happened. Madame de Saint-Meran\nhas arrived, and her husband is dead!\"\nM. de Saint-Meran and Noirtier had never been on strict terms of\nfriendship; still, the death of one old man always considerably\naffects another. Noirtier let his head fall upon his chest,\napparently overwhelmed and thoughtful; then he closed one eye, in\ntoken of inquiry. \"Mademoiselle Valentine?\" Noirtier nodded his\nhead. \"She is at the ball, as you know, since she came to say\ngood-by to you in full dress.\" Noirtier again closed his left eye.\n\"Do you wish to see her?\" Noirtier again made an affirmative sign.\n\"Well, they have gone to fetch her, no doubt, from Madame de\nMorcerf's; I will await her return, and beg her to come up here. Is\nthat what you wish for?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied the invalid.\nBarrois, therefore, as we have seen, watched for Valentine, and\ninformed her of her grandfather's wish. Consequently, Valentine\ncame up to Noirtier, on leaving Madame de Saint-Meran, who in the\nmidst of her grief had at last yielded to fatigue and fallen into a\nfeverish sleep. Within reach of her hand they placed a small table\nupon which stood a bottle of orangeade, her usual beverage, and a\nglass. Then, as we have said, the young girl left the bedside to\nsee M. Noirtier. Valentine kissed the old man, who looked at her\nwith such tenderness that her eyes again filled with tears, whose\nsources he thought must be exhausted. The old gentleman continued\nto dwell upon her with the same expression. \"Yes, yes,\" said\nValentine, \"you mean that I have yet a kind grandfather left, do\nyou not.\" The old man intimated that such was his meaning. \"Ah,\nyes, happily I have,\" replied Valentine. \"Without that, what would\nbecome of me?\"yes, happily I have,\" replied Valentine. \"Without that, what would\nbecome of me?\"\nIt was one o'clock in the morning. Barrois, who wished to go to\nbed himself, observed that after such sad events every one stood in\nneed of rest. Noirtier would not say that the only rest he needed\nwas to see his child, but wished her good-night, for grief and\nfatigue had made her appear quite ill. The next morning she found\nher grandmother in bed; the fever had not abated, on the contrary\nher eyes glistened and she appeared to be suffering from violent\nnervous irritability. \"Oh, dear grandmamma, are you worse?\"\nexclaimed Valentine, perceiving all these signs of agitation.\n\"No, my child, no,\" said Madame de Saint-Meran; \"but I was\nimpatiently waiting for your arrival, that I might send for your\nfather.\"\n\"My father?\" inquired Valentine, uneasily.\n\"Yes, I wish to speak to him.\" Valentine durst not oppose her\ngrandmother's wish, the cause of which she did not know, and an\ninstant afterwards Villefort entered. \"Sir,\" said Madame de\nSaint-Meran, without using any circumlocution, and as if fearing\nshe had no time to lose, \"you wrote to me concerning the marriage\nof this child?\"\n\"Yes, madame,\" replied Villefort, \"it is not only projected but\narranged.\"\n\"Your intended son-in-law is named M. Franz d'Epinay?\"\n\"Yes, madame.\"\n\"Is he not the son of General d'Epinay who was on our side, and\nwho was assassinated some days before the usurper returned from the\nIsland of Elba?\"\n\"The same.\"\n\"Does he not dislike the idea of marrying the granddaughter of a\nJacobin?\"\n\"Our civil dissensions are now happily extinguished, mother,\"\nsaid Villefort; \"M. d'Epinay was quite a child when his father\ndied, he knows very little of M. Noirtier, and will meet him, if\nnot with pleasure, at least with indifference.\"\n\"Is it a suitable match?\"\n\"In every respect.\"\n\"And the young man?\"\n\"Is regarded with universal esteem.\"\n\"You approve of him?\"\n\"He is one of the most well-bred young men I know.\" During the\nwhole of this conversation Valentine had remained silent. \"Well,"}
{"text": "whole of this conversation Valentine had remained silent. \"Well,\nsir,\" said Madame de Saint-Meran, after a few minutes' reflection,\n\"I must hasten the marriage, for I have but a short time to\nlive.\"\n\"You, madame?\" \"You, dear mamma?\" exclaimed M. de Villefort and\nValentine at the same time.\n\"I know what I am saying,\" continued the marchioness; \"I must\nhurry you, so that, as she has no mother, she may at least have a\ngrandmother to bless her marriage. I am all that is left to her\nbelonging to my poor Renee, whom you have so soon forgotten,\nsir.\"\n\"Ah, madame,\" said Villefort, \"you forget that I was obliged to\ngive a mother to my child.\"\n\"A stepmother is never a mother, sir. But this is not to the\npurpose, — our business concerns Valentine, let us leave the dead\nin peace.\"\nAll this was said with such exceeding rapidity, that there was\nsomething in the conversation that seemed like the beginning of\ndelirium.\n\"It shall be as you wish, madame,\" said Villefort; \"more\nespecially since your wishes coincide with mine, and as soon as M.\nd'Epinay arrives in Paris\" —\n\"My dear grandmother,\" interrupted Valentine, \"consider decorum\n— the recent death. You would not have me marry under such sad\nauspices?\"\n\"My child,\" exclaimed the old lady sharply, \"let us hear none of\nthe conventional objections that deter weak minds from preparing\nfor the future. I also was married at the death-bed of my mother,\nand certainly I have not been less happy on that account.\"\n\"Still that idea of death, madame,\" said Villefort.\n\"Still? — Always! I tell you I am going to die — do you\nunderstand? Well, before dying, I wish to see my son-in-law. I wish\nto tell him to make my child happy; I wish to read in his eyes\nwhether he intends to obey me; — in fact, I will know him — I\nwill!\" continued the old lady, with a fearful expression, \"that I\nmay rise from the depths of my grave to find him, if he should not\nfulfil his duty!\"\n\"Madame,\" said Villefort, \"you must lay aside these exalted\nideas, which almost assume the appearance of madness. The dead,ideas, which almost assume the appearance of madness. The dead,\nonce buried in their graves, rise no more.\"\n\"And I tell you, sir, that you are mistaken. This night I have\nhad a fearful sleep. It seemed as though my soul were already\nhovering over my body, my eyes, which I tried to open, closed\nagainst my will, and what will appear impossible above all to you,\nsir, I saw, with my eyes shut, in the spot where you are now\nstanding, issuing from that corner where there is a door leading\ninto Madame Villefort's dressing-room — I saw, I tell you, silently\nenter, a white figure.\" Valentine screamed. \"It was the fever that\ndisturbed you, madame,\" said Villefort.\n\"Doubt, if you please, but I am sure of what I say. I saw a\nwhite figure, and as if to prevent my discrediting the testimony of\nonly one of my senses, I heard my glass removed — the same which is\nthere now on the table.\"\n\"Oh, dear mother, it was a dream.\"\n\"So little was it a dream, that I stretched my hand towards the\nbell; but when I did so, the shade disappeared; my maid then\nentered with a light.\"\n\"But she saw no one?\"\n\"Phantoms are visible to those only who ought to see them. It\nwas the soul of my husband! — Well, if my husband's soul can come\nto me, why should not my soul reappear to guard my granddaughter?\nthe tie is even more direct, it seems to me.\"\n\"Oh, madame,\" said Villefort, deeply affected, in spite of\nhimself, \"do not yield to those gloomy thoughts; you will long live\nwith us, happy, loved, and honored, and we will make you forget\"\n—\n\"Never, never, never,\" said the marchioness. \"when does M.\nd'Epinay return?\"\n\"We expect him every moment.\"\n\"It is well. As soon as he arrives inform me. We must be\nexpeditious. And then I also wish to see a notary, that I may be\nassured that all our property returns to Valentine.\"\n\"Ah, grandmamma,\" murmured Valentine, pressing her lips on the\nburning brow, \"do you wish to kill me? Oh, how feverish you are; we\nmust not send for a notary, but for a doctor.\"\n\"A doctor?\" said she, shrugging her shoulders, \"I am not ill; I\"A doctor?\" said she, shrugging her shoulders, \"I am not ill; I\nam thirsty — that is all.\"\n\"What are you drinking, dear grandmamma?\"\n\"The same as usual, my dear, my glass is there on the table —\ngive it to me, Valentine.\" Valentine poured the orangeade into a\nglass and gave it to her grandmother with a certain degree of\ndread, for it was the same glass she fancied that had been touched\nby the spectre. The marchioness drained the glass at a single\ndraught, and then turned on her pillow, repeating, — \"The notary,\nthe notary!\"\nM. de Villefort left the room, and Valentine seated herself at\nthe bedside of her grandmother. The poor child appeared herself to\nrequire the doctor she had recommended to her aged relative. A\nbright spot burned in either cheek, her respiration was short and\ndifficult, and her pulse beat with feverish excitement. She was\nthinking of the despair of Maximilian, when he should be informed\nthat Madame de Saint-Meran, instead of being an ally, was\nunconsciously acting as his enemy. More than once she thought of\nrevealing all to her grandmother, and she would not have hesitated\na moment, if Maximilian Morrel had been named Albert de Morcerf or\nRaoul de Chateau-Renaud; but Morrel was of plebeian extraction, and\nValentine knew how the haughty Marquise de Saint-Meran despised all\nwho were not noble. Her secret had each time been repressed when\nshe was about to reveal it, by the sad conviction that it would be\nuseless to do so; for, were it once discovered by her father and\nmother, all would be lost. Two hours passed thus; Madame de\nSaint-Meran was in a feverish sleep, and the notary had arrived.\nThough his coming was announced in a very low tone, Madame de\nSaint-Meran arose from her pillow. \"The notary!\" she exclaimed,\n\"let him come in.\"\nThe notary, who was at the door, immediately entered. \"Go,\nValentine,\" said Madame de Saint-Meran, \"and leave me with this\ngentleman.\"\n\"But, grandmamma\" —\n\"Leave me — go!\" The young girl kissed her grandmother, and left"}
{"text": "gentleman.\"\n\"But, grandmamma\" —\n\"Leave me — go!\" The young girl kissed her grandmother, and left\nwith her handkerchief to her eyes; at the door she found the valet\nde chambre, who told her that the doctor was waiting in the\ndining-room. Valentine instantly ran down. The doctor was a friend\nof the family, and at the same time one of the cleverest men of the\nday, and very fond of Valentine, whose birth he had witnessed. He\nhad himself a daughter about her age, but whose life was one\ncontinued source of anxiety and fear to him from her mother having\nbeen consumptive.\n\"Oh,\" said Valentine, \"we have been waiting for you with such\nimpatience, dear M. d'Avrigny. But, first of all, how are Madeleine\nand Antoinette?\" Madeleine was the daughter of M. d'Avrigny, and\nAntoinette his niece. M. d'Avrigny smiled sadly. \"Antoinette is\nvery well,\" he said, \"and Madeleine tolerably so. But you sent for\nme, my dear child. It is not your father or Madame de Villefort who\nis ill. As for you, although we doctors cannot divest our patients\nof nerves, I fancy you have no further need of me than to recommend\nyou not to allow your imagination to take too wide a field.\"\nValentine colored. M. d'Avrigny carried the science of divination\nalmost to a miraculous extent, for he was one of the physicians who\nalways work upon the body through the mind. \"No,\" she replied, \"it\nis for my poor grandmother. You know the calamity that has happened\nto us, do you not?\"\n\"I know nothing.\" said M. d'Avrigny.\n\"Alas,\" said Valentine, restraining her tears, \"my grandfather\nis dead.\"\n\"M. de Saint-Meran?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Suddenly?\"\n\"From an apoplectic stroke.\"\n\"An apoplectic stroke?\" repeated the doctor.\n\"Yes, and my poor grandmother fancies that her husband, whom she\nnever left, has called her, and that she must go and join him. Oh,\nM. d'Avrigny, I beseech you, do something for her!\"\n\"Where is she?\"\n\"In her room with the notary.\"\n\"And M. Noirtier?\"\n\"Just as he was, his mind perfectly clear, but the same\nincapability of moving or speaking.\"\"Just as he was, his mind perfectly clear, but the same\nincapability of moving or speaking.\"\n\"And the same love for you — eh, my dear child?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Valentine, \"he was very fond of me.\"\n\"Who does not love you?\" Valentine smiled sadly. \"What are your\ngrandmother's symptoms?\"\n\"An extreme nervous excitement and a strangely agitated sleep;\nshe fancied this morning in her sleep that her soul was hovering\nabove her body, which she at the same time watched. It must have\nbeen delirium; she fancies, too, that she saw a phantom enter her\nchamber and even heard the noise it made on touching her\nglass.\"\n\"It is singular,\" said the doctor; \"I was not aware that Madame\nde Saint-Meran was subject to such hallucinations.\"\n\"It is the first time I ever saw her in this condition,\" said\nValentine; \"and this morning she frightened me so that I thought\nher mad; and my father, who you know is a strong-minded man,\nhimself appeared deeply impressed.\"\n\"We will go and see,\" said the doctor; \"what you tell me seems\nvery strange.\" The notary here descended, and Valentine was\ninformed that her grandmother was alone. \"Go upstairs,\" she said to\nthe doctor.\n\"And you?\"\n\"Oh, I dare not — she forbade my sending for you; and, as you\nsay, I am myself agitated, feverish and out of sorts. I will go and\ntake a turn in the garden to recover myself.\" The doctor pressed\nValentine's hand, and while he visited her grandmother, she\ndescended the steps. We need not say which portion of the garden\nwas her favorite walk. After remaining for a short time in the\nparterre surrounding the house, and gathering a rose to place in\nher waist or hair, she turned into the dark avenue which led to the\nbench; then from the bench she went to the gate. As usual,\nValentine strolled for a short time among her flowers, but without\ngathering them. The mourning in her heart forbade her assuming this\nsimple ornament, though she had not yet had time to put on the\noutward semblance of woe. She then turned towards the avenue. Asoutward semblance of woe. She then turned towards the avenue. As\nshe advanced she fancied she heard a voice speaking her name. She\nstopped astonished, then the voice reached her ear more distinctly,\nand she recognized it to be that of Maximilian.It was, indeed, Maximilian Morrel, who had passed a wretched\nexistence since the previous day. With the instinct peculiar to\nlovers he had anticipated after the return of Madame de Saint-Meran\nand the death of the marquis, that something would occur at M. de\nVillefort's in connection with his attachment for Valentine. His\npresentiments were realized, as we shall see, and his uneasy\nforebodings had goaded him pale and trembling to the gate under the\nchestnut-trees. Valentine was ignorant of the cause of this sorrow\nand anxiety, and as it was not his accustomed hour for visiting\nher, she had gone to the spot simply by accident or perhaps through\nsympathy. Morrel called her, and she ran to the gate. \"You here at\nthis hour?\" said she. \"Yes, my poor girl,\" replied Morrel; \"I come\nto bring and to hear bad tidings.\"\n\"This is, indeed, a house of mourning,\" said Valentine; \"speak,\nMaximilian, although the cup of sorrow seems already full.\"\n\"Dear Valentine,\" said Morrel, endeavoring to conceal his own\nemotion, \"listen, I entreat you; what I am about to say is very\nserious. When are you to be married?\"\n\"I will tell you all,\" said Valentine; \"from you I have nothing\nto conceal. This morning the subject was introduced, and my dear\ngrandmother, on whom I depended as my only support, not only\ndeclared herself favorable to it, but is so anxious for it, that\nthey only await the arrival of M. d'Epinay, and the following day\nthe contract will be signed.\" A deep sigh escaped the young man,\nwho gazed long and mournfully at her he loved. \"Alas,\" replied he,\n\"it is dreadful thus to hear my condemnation from your own lips.\nThe sentence is passed, and, in a few hours, will be executed; it\nmust be so, and I will not endeavor to prevent it. But, since you\nsay nothing remains but for M. d'Epinay to arrive that the contract\nmay be signed, and the following day you will be his, to-morrow you\nwill be engaged to M. d'Epinay, for he came this morning to Paris.\"\nValentine uttered a cry."}
{"text": "will be engaged to M. d'Epinay, for he came this morning to Paris.\"\nValentine uttered a cry.\n\"I was at the house of Monte Cristo an hour since,\" said Morrel;\n\"we were speaking, he of the sorrow your family had experienced,\nand I of your grief, when a carriage rolled into the court-yard.\nNever, till then, had I placed any confidence in presentiments, but\nnow I cannot help believing them, Valentine. At the sound of that\ncarriage I shuddered; soon I heard steps on the staircase, which\nterrified me as much as the footsteps of the commander did Don\nJuan. The door at last opened; Albert de Morcerf entered first, and\nI began to hope my fears were vain, when, after him, another young\nman advanced, and the count exclaimed — `Ah, here is the Baron\nFranz d'Epinay!' I summoned all my strength and courage to my\nsupport. Perhaps I turned pale and trembled, but certainly I\nsmiled; and five minutes after I left, without having heard one\nword that had passed.\"\n\"Poor Maximilian!\" murmured Valentine.\n\"Valentine, the time has arrived when you must answer me. And\nremember my life depends on your answer. What do you intend doing?\"\nValentine held down her head; she was overwhelmed.\n\"Listen,\" said Morrel; \"it is not the first time you have\ncontemplated our present position, which is a serious and urgent\none; I do not think it is a moment to give way to useless sorrow;\nleave that for those who like to suffer at their leisure and\nindulge their grief in secret. There are such in the world, and God\nwill doubtless reward them in heaven for their resignation on\nearth, but those who mean to contend must not lose one precious\nmoment, but must return immediately the blow which fortune strikes.\nDo you intend to struggle against our ill-fortune? Tell me,\nValentine for it is that I came to know.\"\nValentine trembled, and looked at him with amazement. The idea\nof resisting her father, her grandmother, and all the family, had\nnever occurred to her. \"What do you say, Maximilian?\" asked\nValentine. \"What do you mean by a struggle? Oh, it would be aValentine. \"What do you mean by a struggle? Oh, it would be a\nsacrilege. What? I resist my father's order, and my dying\ngrandmother's wish? Impossible!\" Morrel started. \"You are too noble\nnot to understand me, and you understand me so well that you\nalready yield, dear Maximilian. No, no; I shall need all my\nstrength to struggle with myself and support my grief in secret, as\nyou say. But to grieve my father — to disturb my grandmother's last\nmoments — never!\"\n\"You are right,\" said Morrel, calmly.\n\"In what a tone you speak!\" cried Valentine.\n\"I speak as one who admires you, mademoiselle.\"\n\"Mademoiselle,\" cried Valentine; \"mademoiselle! Oh, selfish man,\n— he sees me in despair, and pretends he cannot understand me!\"\n\"You mistake — I understand you perfectly. You will not oppose\nM. Villefort, you will not displease the marchioness, and to-morrow\nyou will sign the contract which will bind you to your\nhusband.\"\n\"But, mon Dieu, tell me, how can I do otherwise?\"\n\"Do not appeal to me, mademoiselle; I shall be a bad judge in\nsuch a case; my selfishness will blind me,\" replied Morrel, whose\nlow voice and clinched hands announced his growing desperation.\n\"What would you have proposed, Maximilian, had you found me\nwilling to accede?\"\n\"It is not for me to say.\"\n\"You are wrong; you must advise me what to do.\"\n\"Do you seriously ask my advice, Valentine?\"\n\"Certainly, dear Maximilian, for if it is good, I will follow\nit; you know my devotion to you.\"\n\"Valentine,\" said Morrel pushing aside a loose plank, \"give me\nyour hand in token of forgiveness of my anger; my senses are\nconfused, and during the last hour the most extravagant thoughts\nhave passed through my brain. Oh, if you refuse my advice\" —\n\"What do you advise?\" said Valentine, raising her eyes to heaven\nand sighing. \"I am free,\" replied Maximilian, \"and rich enough to\nsupport you. I swear to make you my lawful wife before my lips even\nshall have approached your forehead.\"\n\"You make me tremble!\" said the young girl.shall have approached your forehead.\"\n\"You make me tremble!\" said the young girl.\n\"Follow me,\" said Morrel; \"I will take you to my sister, who is\nworthy also to be yours. We will embark for Algiers, for England,\nfor America, or, if your prefer it, retire to the country and only\nreturn to Paris when our friends have reconciled your family.\"\nValentine shook her head. \"I feared it, Maximilian,\" said she; \"it\nis the counsel of a madman, and I should be more mad than you, did\nI not stop you at once with the word `Impossible, impossible!'\"\n\"You will then submit to what fate decrees for you without even\nattempting to contend with it?\" said Morrel sorrowfully. \"Yes, — if\nI die!\"\n\"Well, Valentine,\" resumed Maximilian, \"I can only say again\nthat you are right. Truly, it is I who am mad, and you prove to me\nthat passion blinds the most well-meaning. I appreciate your calm\nreasoning. It is then understood that to-morrow you will be\nirrevocably promised to M. Franz d'Epinay, not only by that\ntheatrical formality invented to heighten the effect of a comedy\ncalled the signature of the contract, but your own will?\"\n\"Again you drive me to despair, Maximilian,\" said Valentine,\n\"again you plunge the dagger into the wound! What would you do,\ntell me, if your sister listened to such a proposition?\"\n\"Mademoiselle,\" replied Morrel with a bitter smile, \"I am\nselfish — you have already said so — and as a selfish man I think\nnot of what others would do in my situation, but of what I intend\ndoing myself. I think only that I have known you not a whole year.\nFrom the day I first saw you, all my hopes of happiness have been\nin securing your affection. One day you acknowledged that you loved\nme, and since that day my hope of future happiness has rested on\nobtaining you, for to gain you would be life to me. Now, I think no\nmore; I say only that fortune has turned against me — I had thought\nto gain heaven, and now I have lost it. It is an every-day\noccurrence for a gambler to lose not only what he possesses but"}
{"text": "occurrence for a gambler to lose not only what he possesses but\nalso what he has not.\" Morrel pronounced these words with perfect\ncalmness; Valentine looked at him a moment with her large,\nscrutinizing eyes, endeavoring not to let Morrel discover the grief\nwhich struggled in her heart. \"But, in a word, what are you going\nto do?\" asked she.\n\"I am going to have the honor of taking my leave of you,\nmademoiselle, solemnly assuring you that I wish your life may be so\ncalm, so happy, and so fully occupied, that there may be no place\nfor me even in your memory.\"\n\"Oh!\" murmured Valentine.\n\"Adieu, Valentine, adieu!\" said Morrel, bowing.\n\"Where are you going?\" cried the young girl, extending her hand\nthrough the opening, and seizing Maximilian by his coat, for she\nunderstood from her own agitated feelings that her lover's calmness\ncould not be real; \"where are you going?\"\n\"I am going, that I may not bring fresh trouble into your\nfamily: and to set an example which every honest and devoted man,\nsituated as I am, may follow.\"\n\"Before you leave me, tell me what you are going to do,\nMaximilian.\" The young man smiled sorrowfully. \"Speak, speak!\" said\nValentine; \"I entreat you.\"\n\"Has your resolution changed, Valentine?\"\n\"It cannot change, unhappy man; you know it must not!\" cried the\nyoung girl. \"Then adieu, Valentine!\" Valentine shook the gate with\na strength of which she could not have been supposed to be\npossessed, as Morrel was going away, and passing both her hands\nthrough the opening, she clasped and wrung them. \"I must know what\nyou mean to do!\" said she. \"Where are you going?\"\n\"Oh, fear not,\" said Maximilian, stopping at a short distance,\n\"I do not intend to render another man responsible for the rigorous\nfate reserved for me. Another might threaten to seek M. Franz, to\nprovoke him, and to fight with him; all that would be folly. What\nhas M. Franz to do with it? He saw me this morning for the first\ntime, and has already forgotten he has seen me. He did not eventime, and has already forgotten he has seen me. He did not even\nknow I existed when it was arranged by your two families that you\nshould be united. I have no enmity against M. Franz, and promise\nyou the punishment shall not fall on him.\"\n\"On whom, then! — on me?\"\n\"On you? Valentine! Oh, heaven forbid! Woman is sacred; the\nwoman one loves is holy.\"\n\"On yourself, then, unhappy man; on yourself?\"\n\"I am the only guilty person, am I not?' said Maximilian.\n\"Maximilian!\" said Valentine, \"Maximilian, come back, I entreat\nyou!\" He drew near with his sweet smile, and but for his paleness\none might have thought him in his usual happy mood. \"Listen, my\ndear, my adored Valentine,\" said he in his melodious and grave\ntone; \"those who, like us, have never had a thought for which we\nneed blush before the world, such may read each other's hearts. I\nnever was romantic, and am no melancholy hero. I imitate neither\nManfred nor Anthony; but without words, protestations, or vows, my\nlife has entwined itself with yours; you leave me, and you are\nright in doing so, — I repeat it, you are right; but in losing you,\nI lose my life.\n\"The moment you leave me, Valentine, I am alone in the world. My\nsister is happily married; her husband is only my brother-in-law,\nthat is, a man whom the ties of social life alone attach to me; no\none then longer needs my useless life. This is what I shall do; I\nwill wait until the very moment you are married, for I will not\nlose the shadow of one of those unexpected chances which are\nsometimes reserved for us, since M. Franz may, after all, die\nbefore that time, a thunderbolt may fall even on the altar as you\napproach it, — nothing appears impossible to one condemned to die,\nand miracles appear quite reasonable when his escape from death is\nconcerned. I will, then, wait until the last moment, and when my\nmisery is certain, irremediable, hopeless, I will write a\nconfidential letter to my brother-in-law, another to the prefect of\npolice, to acquaint them with my intention, and at the corner ofpolice, to acquaint them with my intention, and at the corner of\nsome wood, on the brink of some abyss, on the bank of some river, I\nwill put an end to my existence, as certainly as I am the son of\nthe most honest man who ever lived in France.\"\nValentine trembled convulsively; she loosened her hold of the\ngate, her arms fell by her side, and two large tears rolled down\nher cheeks. The young man stood before her, sorrowful and resolute.\n\"Oh, for pity's sake,\" said she, \"you will live, will you not?\"\n\"No, on my honor,\" said Maximilian; \"but that will not affect\nyou. You have done your duty, and your conscience will be at rest.\"\nValentine fell on her knees, and pressed her almost bursting heart.\n\"Maximilian,\" said she, \"Maximilian, my friend, my brother on\nearth, my true husband in heaven, I entreat you, do as I do, live\nin suffering; perhaps we may one day be united.\"\n\"Adieu, Valentine,\" repeated Morrel.\n\"My God,\" said Valentine, raising both her hands to heaven with\na sublime expression, \"I have done my utmost to remain a submissive\ndaughter; I have begged, entreated, implored; he has regarded\nneither my prayers, my entreaties, nor my tears. It is done,\" cried\nshe, willing away her tears, and resuming her firmness, \"I am\nresolved not to die of remorse, but rather of shame. Live,\nMaximilian, and I will be yours. Say when shall it be? Speak,\ncommand, I will obey.\" Morrel, who had already gone some few steps\naway, again returned, and pale with joy extended both hands towards\nValentine through the opening. \"Valentine,\" said he, \"dear\nValentine, you must not speak thus — rather let me die. Why should\nI obtain you by violence, if our love is mutual? Is it from mere\nhumanity you bid me live? I would then rather die.\"\n\"Truly,\" murmured Valentine, \"who on this earth cares for me, if\nhe does not? Who has consoled me in my sorrow but he? On whom do my\nhopes rest? On whom does my bleeding heart repose? On him, on him,\nalways on him! Yes, you are right, Maximilian, I will follow you. I"}
{"text": "always on him! Yes, you are right, Maximilian, I will follow you. I\nwill leave the paternal home, I will give up all. Oh, ungrateful\ngirl that I am,\" cried Valentine, sobbing, \"I will give up all,\neven my dear old grandfather, whom I had nearly forgotten.\"\n\"No,\" said Maximilian, \"you shall not leave him. M. Noirtier has\nevinced, you say, a kind feeling towards me. Well, before you\nleave, tell him all; his consent would be your justification in\nGod's sight. As soon as we are married, he shall come and live with\nus, instead of one child, he shall have two. You have told me how\nyou talk to him and how he answers you; I shall very soon learn\nthat language by signs, Valentine, and I promise you solemnly, that\ninstead of despair, it is happiness that awaits us.\"\n\"Oh, see, Maximilian, see the power you have over me, you almost\nmake me believe you; and yet, what you tell me is madness, for my\nfather will curse me — he is inflexible — he will never pardon me.\nNow listen to me, Maximilian; if by artifice, by entreaty, by\naccident — in short, if by any means I can delay this marriage,\nwill you wait?\"\n\"Yes, I promise you, as faithfully as you have promised me that\nthis horrible marriage shall not take place, and that if you are\ndragged before a magistrate or a priest, you will refuse.\"\n\"I promise you by all that is most sacred to me in the world,\nnamely, by my mother.\"\n\"We will wait, then,\" said Morrel.\n\"Yes, we will wait,\" replied Valentine, who revived at these\nwords; \"there are so many things which may save unhappy beings such\nas we are.\"\n\"I rely on you, Valentine,\" said Morrel; \"all you do will be\nwell done; only if they disregard your prayers, if your father and\nMadame de Saint-Meran insist that M. d'Epinay should be called\nto-morrow to sign the contract\" —\n\"Then you have my promise, Maximilian.\"\n\"Instead of signing\" —\n\"I will go to you, and we will fly; but from this moment until\nthen, let us not tempt providence, let us not see each other. It is\na miracle, it is a providence that we have not been discovered. Ifa miracle, it is a providence that we have not been discovered. If\nwe were surprised, if it were known that we met thus, we should\nhave no further resource.\"\n\"You are right, Valentine; but how shall I ascertain?\"\n\"From the notary, M. Deschamps.\"\n\"I know him.\"\n\"And for myself — I will write to you, depend on me. I dread\nthis marriage, Maximilian, as much as you.\"\n\"Thank you, my adored Valentine, thank you; that is enough. When\nonce I know the hour, I will hasten to this spot, you can easily\nget over this fence with my assistance, a carriage will await us at\nthe gate, in which you will accompany me to my sister's; there\nliving, retired or mingling in society, as you wish, we shall be\nenabled to use our power to resist oppression, and not suffer\nourselves to be put to death like sheep, which only defend\nthemselves by sighs.\"\n\"Yes,\" said Valentine, \"I will now acknowledge you are right,\nMaximilian; and now are you satisfied with your betrothal?\" said\nthe young girl sorrowfully.\n\"My adored Valentine, words cannot express one half of my\nsatisfaction.\" Valentine had approached, or rather, had placed her\nlips so near the fence, that they nearly touched those of Morrel,\nwhich were pressed against the other side of the cold and\ninexorable barrier. \"Adieu, then, till we meet again,\" said\nValentine, tearing herself away. \"I shall hear from you?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Thanks, thanks, dear love, adieu!\" The sound of a kiss was\nheard, and Valentine fled through the avenue. Morrel listened to\ncatch the last sound of her dress brushing the branches, and of her\nfootstep on the gravel, then raised his eyes with an ineffable\nsmile of thankfulness to heaven for being permitted to be thus\nloved, and then also disappeared. The young man returned home and\nwaited all the evening and all the next day without getting any\nmessage. It was only on the following day, at about ten o'clock in\nthe morning, as he was starting to call on M. Deschamps, the\nnotary, that he received from the postman a small billet, which henotary, that he received from the postman a small billet, which he\nknew to be from Valentine, although he had not before seen her\nwriting. It was to this effect: —\nTears, entreaties, prayers, have availed me nothing. Yesterday,\nfor two hours, I was at the church of Saint-Phillippe du Roule, and\nfor two hours I prayed most fervently. Heaven is as inflexible as\nman, and the signature of the contract is fixed for this evening at\nnine o'clock. I have but one promise and but one heart to give;\nthat promise is pledged to you, that heart is also yours. This\nevening, then, at a quarter to nine at the gate.\nYour betrothed,\nValentine de Villefort.\nP.S. — My poor grandmother gets worse and worse; yesterday her\nfever amounted to delirium; to-day her delirium is almost madness.\nYou will be very kind to me, will you not, Morrel, to make me\nforget my sorrow in leaving her thus? I think it is kept a secret\nfrom grandpapa Noirtier, that the contract is to be signed this\nevening.\nMorrel went also to the notary, who confirmed the news that the\ncontract was to be signed that evening. Then he went to call on\nMonte Cristo and heard still more. Franz had been to announce the\nceremony, and Madame de Villefort had also written to beg the count\nto excuse her not inviting him; the death of M. de Saint-Meran and\nthe dangerous illness of his widow would cast a gloom over the\nmeeting which she would regret should be shared by the count whom\nshe wished every happiness. The day before Franz had been presented\nto Madame de Saint-Meran, who had left her bed to receive him, but\nhad been obliged to return to it immediately after. It is easy to\nsuppose that Morrel's agitation would not escape the count's\npenetrating eye. Monte Cristo was more affectionate than ever, —\nindeed, his manner was so kind that several times Morrel was on the\npoint of telling him all. But he recalled the promise he had made\nto Valentine, and kept his secret.\nThe young man read Valentine's letter twenty times in the course"}
{"text": "to Valentine, and kept his secret.\nThe young man read Valentine's letter twenty times in the course\nof the day. It was her first, and on what an occasion! Each time he\nread it he renewed his vow to make her happy. How great is the\npower of a woman who has made so courageous a resolution! What\ndevotion does she deserve from him for whom she has sacrificed\neverything! How ought she really to be supremely loved! She becomes\nat once a queen and a wife, and it is impossible to thank and love\nher sufficiently. Morrel longed intensely for the moment when he\nshould hear Valentine say, \"Here I am, Maximilian; come and help\nme.\" He had arranged everything for her escape; two ladders were\nhidden in the clover-field; a cabriolet was ordered for Maximilian\nalone, without a servant, without lights; at the turning of the\nfirst street they would light the lamps, as it would be foolish to\nattract the notice of the police by too many precautions.\nOccasionally he shuddered; he thought of the moment when, from the\ntop of that wall, he should protect the descent of his dear\nValentine, pressing in his arms for the first time her of whom he\nhad yet only kissed the delicate hand.\nWhen the afternoon arrived and he felt that the hour was drawing\nnear, he wished for solitude, his agitation was extreme; a simple\nquestion from a friend would have irritated him. He shut himself in\nhis room, and tried to read, but his eye glanced over the page\nwithout understanding a word, and he threw away the book, and for\nthe second time sat down to sketch his plan, the ladders and the\nfence. At length the hour drew near. Never did a man deeply in love\nallow the clocks to go on peacefully. Morrel tormented his so\neffectually that they struck eight at half-past six. He then said,\n\"It is time to start; the signature was indeed fixed to take place\nat nine o'clock, but perhaps Valentine will not wait for that.\"\nConsequently, Morrel, having left the Rue Meslay at half-past eight\nby his timepiece, entered the clover-field while the clock ofby his timepiece, entered the clover-field while the clock of\nSaint-Phillippe du Roule was striking eight. The horse and\ncabriolet were concealed behind a small ruin, where Morrel had\noften waited.\nThe night gradually drew on, and the foliage in the garden\nassumed a deeper hue. Then Morrel came out from his hiding-place\nwith a beating heart, and looked through the small opening in the\ngate; there was yet no one to be seen. The clock struck half-past\neight, and still another half-hour was passed in waiting, while\nMorrel walked to and fro, and gazed more and more frequently\nthrough the opening. The garden became darker still, but in the\ndarkness he looked in vain for the white dress, and in the silence\nhe vainly listened for the sound of footsteps. The house, which was\ndiscernible through the trees, remained in darkness, and gave no\nindication that so important an event as the signature of a\nmarriage-contract was going on. Morrel looked at his watch, which\nwanted a quarter to ten; but soon the same clock he had already\nheard strike two or three times rectified the error by striking\nhalf-past nine.\nThis was already half an hour past the time Valentine had fixed.\nIt was a terrible moment for the young man. The slightest rustling\nof the foliage, the least whistling of the wind, attracted his\nattention, and drew the perspiration to his brow; then he\ntremblingly fixed his ladder, and, not to lose a moment, placed his\nfoot on the first step. Amidst all these alternations of hope and\nfear, the clock struck ten. \"It is impossible,\" said Maximilian,\n\"that the signing of a contract should occupy so long a time\nwithout unexpected interruptions. I have weighed all the chances,\ncalculated the time required for all the forms; something must have\nhappened.\" And then he walked rapidly to and fro, and pressed his\nburning forehead against the fence. Had Valentine fainted? or had\nshe been discovered and stopped in her flight? These were the only\nobstacles which appeared possible to the young man.obstacles which appeared possible to the young man.\nThe idea that her strength had failed her in attempting to\nescape, and that she had fainted in one of the paths, was the one\nthat most impressed itself upon his mind. \"In that case,\" said he,\n\"I should lose her, and by my own fault.\" He dwelt on this idea for\na moment, then it appeared reality. He even thought he could\nperceive something on the ground at a distance; he ventured to\ncall, and it seemed to him that the wind wafted back an almost\ninarticulate sigh. At last the half-hour struck. It was impossible\nto wait longer, his temples throbbed violently, his eyes were\ngrowing dim; he passed one leg over the wall, and in a moment\nleaped down on the other side. He was on Villefort's premises — had\narrived there by scaling the wall. What might be the consequences?\nHowever, he had not ventured thus far to draw back. He followed a\nshort distance close under the wall, then crossed a path, hid\nentered a clump of trees. In a moment he had passed through them,\nand could see the house distinctly. Then Morrel saw that he had\nbeen right in believing that the house was not illuminated. Instead\nof lights at every window, as is customary on days of ceremony, he\nsaw only a gray mass, which was veiled also by a cloud, which at\nthat moment obscured the moon's feeble light. A light moved rapidly\nfrom time to time past three windows of the second floor. These\nthree windows were in Madame de Saint-Meran's room. Another\nremained motionless behind some red curtains which were in Madame\nde Villefort's bedroom. Morrel guessed all this. So many times, in\norder to follow Valentine in thought at every hour in the day, had\nhe made her describe the whole house, that without having seen it\nhe knew it all.\nThis darkness and silence alarmed Morrel still more than\nValentine's absence had done. Almost mad with grief, and determined\nto venture everything in order to see Valentine once more, and be\ncertain of the misfortune he feared, Morrel gained the edge of the"}
{"text": "certain of the misfortune he feared, Morrel gained the edge of the\nclump of trees, and was going to pass as quickly as possible\nthrough the flower-garden, when the sound of a voice, still at some\ndistance, but which was borne upon the wind, reached him.\nAt this sound, as he was already partially exposed to view, he\nstepped back and concealed himself completely, remaining perfectly\nmotionless. He had formed his resolution. If it was Valentine\nalone, he would speak as she passed; if she was accompanied, and he\ncould not speak, still he should see her, and know that she was\nsafe; if they were strangers, he would listen to their\nconversation, and might understand something of this hitherto\nincomprehensible mystery. The moon had just then escaped from\nbehind the cloud which had concealed it, and Morrel saw Villefort\ncome out upon the steps, followed by a gentleman in black. They\ndescended, and advanced towards the clump of trees, and Morrel soon\nrecognized the other gentleman as Doctor d'Avrigny.\nThe young man, seeing them approach, drew back mechanically,\nuntil he found himself stopped by a sycamore-tree in the centre of\nthe clump; there he was compelled to remain. Soon the two gentlemen\nstopped also.\n\"Ah, my dear doctor,\" said the procureur, \"heaven declares\nitself against my house! What a dreadful death — what a blow! Seek\nnot to console me; alas, nothing can alleviate so great a sorrow —\nthe wound is too deep and too fresh! Dead, dead!\" The cold sweat\nsprang to the young man's brow, and his teeth chattered. Who could\nbe dead in that house, which Villefort himself had called accursed?\n\"My dear M. de Villefort,\" replied the doctor, with a tone which\nredoubled the terror of the young man, \"I have not led you here to\nconsole you; on the contrary\" —\n\"What can you mean?\" asked the procureur, alarmed.\n\"I mean that behind the misfortune which has just happened to\nyou, there is another, perhaps, still greater.\"\n\"Can it be possible?\" murmured Villefort, clasping his hands.\n\"What are you going to tell me?\"\"Can it be possible?\" murmured Villefort, clasping his hands.\n\"What are you going to tell me?\"\n\"Are we quite alone, my friend?\"\n\"Yes, quite; but why all these precautions?\"\n\"Because I have a terrible secret to communicate to you,\" said\nthe doctor. \"Let us sit down.\"\nVillefort fell, rather than seated himself The doctor stood\nbefore him, with one hand placed on his shoulder. Morrel,\nhorrified, supported his head with one hand, and with the other\npressed his heart, lest its beatings should be heard. \"Dead, dead!\"\nrepeated he within himself; and he felt as if he were also\ndying.\n\"Speak, doctor — I am listening,\" said Villefort; \"strike — I am\nprepared for everything!\"\n\"Madame de Saint-Meran was, doubtless, advancing in years, but\nshe enjoyed excellent health.\" Morrel began again to breathe\nfreely, which he had not done during the last ten minutes.\n\"Grief has consumed her,\" said Villefort — \"yes, grief, doctor!\nAfter living forty years with the marquis\" —\n\"It is not grief, my dear Villefort,\" said the doctor; \"grief\nmay kill, although it rarely does, and never in a day, never in an\nhour, never in ten minutes.\" Villefort answered nothing, he simply\nraised his head, which had been cast down before, and looked at the\ndoctor with amazement.\n\"Were you present during the last struggle?\" asked M.\nd'Avrigny.\n\"I was,\" replied the procureur; \"you begged me not to\nleave.\"\n\"Did you notice the symptoms of the disease to which Madame de\nSaint-Meran has fallen a victim?\"\n\"I did. Madame de Saint-Meran had three successive attacks, at\nintervals of some minutes, each one more serious than the former.\nWhen you arrived, Madame de Saint-Meran had already been panting\nfor breath some minutes; she then had a fit, which I took to be\nsimply a nervous attack, and it was only when I saw her raise\nherself in the bed, and her limbs and neck appear stiffened, that I\nbecame really alarmed. Then I understood from your countenance\nthere was more to fear than I had thought. This crisis past, Ithere was more to fear than I had thought. This crisis past, I\nendeavored to catch your eye, but could not. You held her hand —\nyou were feeling her pulse — and the second fit came on before you\nhad turned towards me. This was more terrible than the first; the\nsame nervous movements were repeated, and the mouth contracted and\nturned purple.\"\n\"And at the third she expired.\"\n\"At the end of the first attack I discovered symptoms of\ntetanus; you confirmed my opinion.\"\n\"Yes, before others,\" replied the doctor; \"but now we are alone\"\n—\n\"What are you going to say? Oh, spare me!\"\n\"That the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable\nsubstances are the same.\" M. de Villefort started from his seat,\nthen in a moment fell down again, silent and motionless. Morrel\nknew not if he were dreaming or awake. \"Listen,\" said the doctor;\n\"I know the full importance of the statement I have just made, and\nthe disposition of the man to whom I have made it.\"\n\"Do you speak to me as a magistrate or as a friend?\" asked\nVillefort.\n\"As a friend, and only as a friend, at this moment. The\nsimilarity in the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable\nsubstances is so great, that were I obliged to affirm by oath what\nI have now stated, I should hesitate; I therefore repeat to you, I\nspeak not to a magistrate, but to a friend. And to that friend I\nsay. `During the three-quarters of an hour that the struggle\ncontinued, I watched the convulsions and the death of Madame de\nSaint-Meran, and am thoroughly convinced that not only did her\ndeath proceed from poison, but I could also specify the\npoison.'\"\n\"Can it be possible?\"\n\"The symptoms are marked, do you see? — sleep broken by nervous\nspasms, excitation of the brain, torpor of the nerve centres.\nMadame de Saint-Meran succumbed to a powerful dose of brucine or of\nstrychnine, which by some mistake, perhaps, has been given to her.\"\nVillefort seized the doctor's hand. \"Oh, it is impossible,\" said\nhe, \"I must be dreaming! It is frightful to hear such things from"}
{"text": "he, \"I must be dreaming! It is frightful to hear such things from\nsuch a man as you! Tell me, I entreat you, my dear doctor, that you\nmay be deceived.\"\n\"Doubtless I may, but\" —\n\"But?\"\n\"But I do not think so.\"\n\"Have pity on me doctor! So many dreadful things have happened\nto me lately that I am on the verge of madness.\"\n\"Has any one besides me seen Madame de Saint-Meran?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Has anything been sent for from a chemist's that I have not\nexamined?\"\n\"Nothing.\"\n\"Had Madame de Saint-Meran any enemies?\"\n\"Not to my knowledge.\"\n\"Would her death affect any one's interest?\"\n\"It could not indeed, my daughter is her only heiress —\nValentine alone. Oh, if such a thought could present itself, I\nwould stab myself to punish my heart for having for one instant\nharbored it.\"\n\"Indeed, my dear friend,\" said M. d'Avrigny, \"I would not accuse\nany one; I speak only of an accident, you understand, — of a\nmistake, — but whether accident or mistake, the fact is there; it\nis on my conscience and compels me to speak aloud to you. Make\ninquiry.\"\n\"Of whom? — how? — of what?\"\n\"May not Barrois, the old servant, have made a mistake, and have\ngiven Madame de Saint-Meran a dose prepared for his master?\"\n\"For my father?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"But how could a dose prepared for M. Noirtier poison Madame de\nSaint-Meran?\"\n\"Nothing is more simple. You know poisons become remedies in\ncertain diseases, of which paralysis is one. For instance, having\ntried every other remedy to restore movement and speech to M.\nNoirtier, I resolved to try one last means, and for three months I\nhave been giving him brucine; so that in the last dose I ordered\nfor him there were six grains. This quantity, which is perfectly\nsafe to administer to the paralyzed frame of M. Noirtier, which has\nbecome gradually accustomed to it, would be sufficient to kill\nanother person.\"\n\"My dear doctor, there is no communication between M. Noirtier's\napartment and that of Madame de Saint-Meran, and Barrois never\nentered my mother-in-law's room. In short, doctor although I knowentered my mother-in-law's room. In short, doctor although I know\nyou to be the most conscientious man in the world, and although I\nplace the utmost reliance in you, I want, notwithstanding my\nconviction, to believe this axiom, errare humanum est.\"\n\"Is there one of my brethren in whom you have equal confidence\nwith myself?\"\n\"Why do you ask me that? — what do you wish?\"\n\"Send for him; I will tell him what I have seen, and we will\nconsult together, and examine the body.\"\n\"And you will find traces of poison?\"\n\"No, I did not say of poison, but we can prove what was the\nstate of the body; we shall discover the cause of her sudden death,\nand we shall say, `Dear Villefort, if this thing has been caused by\nnegligence, watch over your servants; if from hatred, watch your\nenemies.'\"\n\"What do you propose to me, d'Avrigny?\" said Villefort in\ndespair; \"so soon as another is admitted into our secret, an\ninquest will become necessary; and an inquest in my house —\nimpossible! Still,\" continued the procureur, looking at the doctor\nwith uneasiness, \"if you wish it — if you demand it, why then it\nshall be done. But, doctor, you see me already so grieved — how can\nI introduce into my house so much scandal, after so much sorrow? My\nwife and my daughter would die of it! And I, doctor — you know a\nman does not arrive at the post I occupy — one has not been king's\nattorney twenty-five years without having amassed a tolerable\nnumber of enemies; mine are numerous. Let this affair be talked of,\nit will be a triumph for them, which will make them rejoice, and\ncover me with shame. Pardon me, doctor, these worldly ideas; were\nyou a priest I should not dare tell you that, but you are a man,\nand you know mankind. Doctor, pray recall your words; you have said\nnothing, have you?\"\n\"My dear M. de Villefort,\" replied the doctor, \"my first duty is\nto humanity. I would have saved Madame de Saint-Meran, if science\ncould have done it; but she is dead and my duty regards the living.\nLet us bury this terrible secret in the deepest recesses of ourLet us bury this terrible secret in the deepest recesses of our\nhearts; I am willing, if any one should suspect this, that my\nsilence on the subject should be imputed to my ignorance.\nMeanwhile, sir, watch always — watch carefully, for perhaps the\nevil may not stop here. And when you have found the culprit, if you\nfind him, I will say to you, `You are a magistrate, do as you\nwill!'\"\n\"I thank you, doctor,\" said Villefort with indescribable joy; \"I\nnever had a better friend than you.\" And, as if he feared Doctor\nd'Avrigny would recall his promise, he hurried him towards the\nhouse.\nWhen they were gone, Morrel ventured out from under the trees,\nand the moon shone upon his face, which was so pale it might have\nbeen taken for that of a ghost. \"I am manifestly protected in a\nmost wonderful, but most terrible manner,\" said he; \"but Valentine,\npoor girl, how will she bear so much sorrow?\"\nAs he thought thus, he looked alternately at the window with red\ncurtains and the three windows with white curtains. The light had\nalmost disappeared from the former; doubtless Madame de Villefort\nhad just put out her lamp, and the nightlamp alone reflected its\ndull light on the window. At the extremity of the building, on the\ncontrary, he saw one of the three windows open. A wax-light placed\non the mantle-piece threw some of its pale rays without, and a\nshadow was seen for one moment on the balcony. Morrel shuddered; he\nthought he heard a sob.\nIt cannot be wondered at that his mind, generally so courageous,\nbut now disturbed by the two strongest human passions, love and\nfear, was weakened even to the indulgence of superstitious\nthoughts. Although it was impossible that Valentine should see him,\nhidden as he was, he thought he heard the shadow at the window call\nhim; his disturbed mind told him so. This double error became an\nirresistible reality, and by one of the incomprehensible transports\nof youth, he bounded from his hiding-place, and with two strides,\nat the risk of being seen, at the risk of alarming Valentine, at"}
{"text": "at the risk of being seen, at the risk of alarming Valentine, at\nthe risk of being discovered by some exclamation which might escape\nthe young girl, he crossed the flower-garden, which by the light of\nthe moon resembled a large white lake, and having passed the rows\nof orange-trees which extended in front of the house, he reached\nthe step, ran quickly up and pushed the door, which opened without\noffering any resistance. Valentine had not seen him. Her eyes,\nraised towards heaven, were watching a silvery cloud gliding over\nthe azure, its form that of a shadow mounting towards heaven. Her\npoetic and excited mind pictured it as the soul of her\ngrandmother.\nMeanwhile, Morrel had traversed the anteroom and found the\nstaircase, which, being carpeted, prevented his approach being\nheard, and he had regained that degree of confidence that the\npresence of M. de Villefort even would not have alarmed him. He was\nquite prepared for any such encounter. He would at once approach\nValentine's father and acknowledge all, begging Villefort to pardon\nand sanction the love which united two fond and loving hearts.\nMorrel was mad. Happily he did not meet any one. Now, especially,\ndid he find the description Valentine had given of the interior of\nthe house useful to him; he arrived safely at the top of the\nstaircase, and while he was feeling his way, a sob indicated the\ndirection he was to take. He turned back, a door partly open\nenabled him to see his road, and to hear the voice of one in\nsorrow. He pushed the door open and entered. At the other end of\nthe room, under a white sheet which covered it, lay the corpse,\nstill more alarming to Morrel since the account he had so\nunexpectedly overheard. By its side, on her knees, and with her\nhead buried in the cushion of an easy-chair, was Valentine,\ntrembling and sobbing, her hands extended above her head, clasped\nand stiff. She had turned from the window, which remained open, and\nwas praying in accents that would have affected the most unfeeling;was praying in accents that would have affected the most unfeeling;\nher words were rapid, incoherent, unintelligible, for the burning\nweight of grief almost stopped her utterance. The moon shining\nthrough the open blinds made the lamp appear to burn paler, and\ncast a sepulchral hue over the whole scene. Morrel could not resist\nthis; he was not exemplary for piety, he was not easily impressed,\nbut Valentine suffering, weeping, wringing her hands before him,\nwas more than he could bear in silence. He sighed, and whispered a\nname, and the head bathed in tears and pressed on the velvet\ncushion of the chair — a head like that of a Magdalen by Correggio\n— was raised and turned towards him. Valentine perceived him\nwithout betraying the least surprise. A heart overwhelmed with one\ngreat grief is insensible to minor emotions. Morrel held out his\nhand to her. Valentine, as her only apology for not having met him,\npointed to the corpse under the sheet, and began to sob again.\nNeither dared for some time to speak in that room. They hesitated\nto break the silence which death seemed to impose; at length\nValentine ventured.\n\"My friend,\" said she, \"how came you here? Alas, I would say you\nare welcome, had not death opened the way for you into this\nhouse.\"\n\"Valentine,\" said Morrel with a trembling voice, \"I had waited\nsince half-past eight, and did not see you come; I became uneasy,\nleaped the wall, found my way through the garden, when voices\nconversing about the fatal event\" —\n\"What voices ?\" asked Valentine. Morrel shuddered as he\nthought of the conversation of the doctor and M. de Villefort, and\nhe thought he could see through the sheet the extended hands, the\nstiff neck, and the purple lips.\n\"Your servants,\" said he, \"who were repeating the whole of the\nsorrowful story; from them I learned it all.\"\n\"But it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here,\nlove.\"\n\"Forgive me,\" replied Morrel; \"I will go away.\"\n\"No,\" said Valentine, \"you might meet some one; stay.\"\n\"But if any one should come here\" —\"No,\" said Valentine, \"you might meet some one; stay.\"\n\"But if any one should come here\" —\nThe young girl shook her head. \"No one will come,\" said she; \"do\nnot fear, there is our safeguard,\" pointing to the bed.\n\"But what has become of M. d'Epinay?\" replied Morrel.\n\"M. Franz arrived to sign the contract just as my dear\ngrandmother was dying.\"\n\"Alas,\" said Morrel with a feeling of selfish joy; for he\nthought this death would cause the wedding to be postponed\nindefinitely. \"But what redoubles my sorrow,\" continued the young\ngirl, as if this feeling was to receive its immediate punishment,\n\"is that the poor old lady, on her death-bed, requested that the\nmarriage might take place as soon as possible; she also, thinking\nto protect me, was acting against me.\"\n\"Hark!\" said Morrel. They both listened; steps were distinctly\nheard in the corridor and on the stairs.\n\"It is my father, who has just left his study.\"\n\"To accompany the doctor to the door,\" added Morrel.\n\"How do you know it is the doctor?\" asked Valentine,\nastonished.\n\"I imagined it must be,\" said Morrel. Valentine looked at the\nyoung man; they heard the street door close, then M. de Villefort\nlocked the garden door, and returned up-stairs. He stopped a moment\nin the anteroom, as if hesitating whether to turn to his own\napartment or into Madame de Saint-Meran's; Morrel concealed himself\nbehind a door; Valentine remained motionless, grief seeming to\ndeprive her of all fear. M. de Villefort passed on to his own room.\n\"Now,\" said Valentine, \"you can neither go out by the front door\nnor by the garden.\" Morrel looked at her with astonishment. \"There\nis but one way left you that is safe,\" said she; \"it is through my\ngrandfather's room.\" She rose, \"Come,\" she added. — \"Where?\" asked\nMaximilian.\n\"To my grandfather's room.\"\n\"I in M. Noirtier's apartment?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Can you mean it, Valentine?\"\n\"I have long wished it; he is my only remaining friend and we\nboth need his help, — come.\"\n\"Be careful, Valentine,\" said Morrel, hesitating to comply with"}
{"text": "both need his help, — come.\"\n\"Be careful, Valentine,\" said Morrel, hesitating to comply with\nthe young girl's wishes; \"I now see my error — I acted like a\nmadman in coming in here. Are you sure you are more\nreasonable?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Valentine; \"and I have but one scruple, — that of\nleaving my dear grandmother's remains, which I had undertaken to\nwatch.\"\n\"Valentine,\" said Morrel, \"death is in itself sacred.\"\n\"Yes,\" said Valentine; \"besides, it will not be for long.\" She\nthen crossed the corridor, and led the way down a narrow staircase\nto M. Noirtier's room; Morrel followed her on tiptoe; at the door\nthey found the old servant. \"Barrois,\" said Valentine, \"shut the\ndoor, and let no one come in.\" She passed first. Noirtier, seated\nin his chair, and listening to every sound, was watching the door;\nhe saw Valentine, and his eye brightened. There was something grave\nand solemn in the approach of the young girl which struck the old\nman, and immediately his bright eye began to interrogate. \"Dear\ngrandfather.\" said she hurriedly, \"you know poor grandmamma died an\nhour since, and now I have no friend in the world but you.\" His\nexpressive eyes evinced the greatest tenderness. \"To you alone,\nthen, may I confide my sorrows and my hopes?\" The paralytic\nmotioned \"Yes.\" Valentine took Maximilian's hand. \"Look\nattentively, then, at this gentleman.\" The old man fixed his\nscrutinizing gaze with slight astonishment on Morrel. \"It is M.\nMaximilian Morrel,\" said she; \"the son of that good merchant of\nMarseilles, whom you doubtless recollect.\"\n\"Yes,\" said the old man. \"He brings an irreproachable name,\nwhich Maximilian is likely to render glorious, since at thirty\nyears of age he is a captain, an officer of the Legion of Honor.\"\nThe old man signified that he recollected him. \"Well, grandpapa,\"\nsaid Valentine, kneeling before him, and pointing to Maximilian, \"I\nlove him, and will be only his; were I compelled to marry another,\nI would destroy myself.\"\nThe eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of tumultuousI would destroy myself.\"\nThe eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of tumultuous\nthoughts. \"You like M. Maximilian Morrel, do you not, grandpapa?\"\nasked Valentine.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And you will protect us, who are your children, against the\nwill of my father?\" — Noirtier cast an intelligent glance at\nMorrel, as if to say, \"perhaps I may.\" Maximilian understood\nhim.\n\"Mademoiselle,\" said he, \"you have a sacred duty to fulfil in\nyour deceased grandmother's room, will you allow me the honor of a\nfew minutes' conversation with M. Noirtier?\"\n\"That is it,\" said the old man's eye. Then he looked anxiously\nat Valentine.\n\"Do you fear he will not understand?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Oh, we have so often spoken of you, that he knows exactly how I\ntalk to you.\" Then turning to Maximilian, with an adorable smile;\nalthough shaded by sorrow, — \"He knows everything I know,\" said\nshe.\nValentine arose, placed a chair for Morrel, requested Barrois\nnot to admit any one, and having tenderly embraced her grandfather,\nand sorrowfully taken leave of Morrel, she went away. To prove to\nNoirtier that he was in Valentine's confidence and knew all their\nsecrets, Morrel took the dictionary, a pen, and some paper, and\nplaced them all on a table where there was a light.\n\"But first,\" said Morrel, \"allow me, sir, to tell you who I am,\nhow much I love Mademoiselle Valentine, and what are my designs\nrespecting her.\" Noirtier made a sign that he would listen.\nIt was an imposing sight to witness this old man, apparently a\nmere useless burden, becoming the sole protector, support, and\nadviser of the lovers who were both young, beautiful, and strong.\nHis remarkably noble and austere expression struck Morrel, who\nbegan his story with trembling. He related the manner in which he\nhad become acquainted with Valentine, and how he had loved her, and\nthat Valentine, in her solitude and her misfortune, had accepted\nthe offer of his devotion. He told him his birth, his position, his\nfortune, and more than once, when he consulted the look of thefortune, and more than once, when he consulted the look of the\nparalytic, that look answered, \"That is good, proceed.\"\n\"And now,\" said Morrel, when he had finished the first part of\nhis recital, \"now I have told you of my love and my hopes, may I\ninform you of my intentions?\"\n\"Yes,\" signified the old man.\n\"This was our resolution; a cabriolet was in waiting at the\ngate, in which I intended to carry off Valentine to my sister's\nhouse, to marry her, and to wait respectfully M. de Villefort's\npardon.\"\n\"No,\" said Noirtier.\n\"We must not do so?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"You do not sanction our project?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"There is another way,\" said Morrel. The old man's interrogative\neye said, \"What?\"\n\"I will go,\" continued Maximilian, \"I will seek M. Franz\nd'Epinay — I am happy to be able to mention this in Mademoiselle de\nVillefort's absence — and will conduct myself toward him so as to\ncompel him to challenge me.\" Noirtier's look continued to\ninterrogate. \"You wish to know what I will do?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"I will find him, as I told you. I will tell him the ties which\nbind me to Mademoiselle Valentine; if he be a sensible man, he will\nprove it by renouncing of his own accord the hand of his betrothed,\nand will secure my friendship, and love until death; if he refuse,\neither through interest or ridiculous pride, after I have proved to\nhim that he would be forcing my wife from me, that Valentine loves\nme, and will have no other, I will fight with him, give him every\nadvantage, and I shall kill him, or he will kill me; if I am\nvictorious, he will not marry Valentine, and if I die, I am very\nsure Valentine will not marry him.\" Noirtier watched, with\nindescribable pleasure, this noble and sincere countenance, on\nwhich every sentiment his tongue uttered was depicted, adding by\nthe expression of his fine features all that coloring adds to a\nsound and faithful drawing. Still, when Morrel had finished, he\nshut his eyes several times, which was his manner of saying\n\"No.\"\n\"No?\" said Morrel; \"you disapprove of this second project, as\nyou did of the first?\""}
{"text": "\"No.\"\n\"No?\" said Morrel; \"you disapprove of this second project, as\nyou did of the first?\"\n\"I do,\" signified the old man.\n\"But what then must be done?\" asked Morrel. \"Madame de\nSaint-Meran's last request was, that the marriage might not be\ndelayed; must I let things take their course?\" Noirtier did not\nmove. \"I understand,\" said Morrel; \"I am to wait.\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"But delay may ruin our plan, sir,\" replied the young man.\n\"Alone, Valentine has no power; she will be compelled to submit. I\nam here almost miraculously, and can scarcely hope for so good an\nopportunity to occur again. Believe me, there are only the two\nplans I have proposed to you; forgive my vanity, and tell me which\nyou prefer. Do you authorize Mademoiselle Valentine to intrust\nherself to my honor?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Do you prefer I should seek M. d'Epinay?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Whence then will come the help we need — from chance?\" resumed\nMorrel.\n\"No.\"\n\"From you?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You thoroughly understand me, sir? Pardon my eagerness, for my\nlife depends on your answer. Will our help come from you?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You are sure of it?\"\n\"Yes.\" There was so much firmness in the look which gave this\nanswer, no one could, at any rate, doubt his will, if they did his\npower. \"Oh, thank you a thousand times! But how, unless a miracle\nshould restore your speech, your gesture, your movement, how can\nyou, chained to that arm-chair, dumb and motionless, oppose this\nmarriage?\" A smile lit up the old man's face, a strange smile of\nthe eyes in a paralyzed face. \"Then I must wait?\" asked the young\nman.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"But the contract?\" The same smile returned. \"Will you assure me\nit shall not be signed?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Noirtier.\n\"The contract shall not be signed!\" cried Morrel. \"Oh, pardon\nme, sir; I can scarcely realize so great a happiness. Will they not\nsign it?\"\n\"No,\" said the paralytic. Notwithstanding that assurance, Morrel\nstill hesitated. This promise of an impotent old man was so strange\nthat, instead of being the result of the power of his will, itthat, instead of being the result of the power of his will, it\nmight emanate from enfeebled organs. Is it not natural that the\nmadman, ignorant of his folly, should attempt things beyond his\npower? The weak man talks of burdens he can raise, the timid of\ngiants he can confront, the poor of treasures he spends, the most\nhumble peasant, in the height of his pride, calls himself Jupiter.\nWhether Noirtier understood the young man's indecision, or whether\nhe had not full confidence in his docility, he looked uneasily at\nhim. \"What do you wish, sir?\" asked Morrel; \"that I should renew my\npromise of remaining tranquil?\" Noirtier's eye remained fixed and\nfirm, as if to imply that a promise did not suffice; then it passed\nfrom his face to his hands.\n\"Shall I swear to you, sir?\" asked Maximilian.\n\"Yes?\" said the paralytic with the same solemnity. Morrel\nunderstood that the old man attached great importance to an oath.\nHe extended his hand.\n\"I swear to you, on my honor,\" said he, \"to await your decision\nrespecting the course I am to pursue with M. d'Epinay.\"\n\"That is right,\" said the old man.\n\"Now,\" said Morrel, \"do you wish me to retire?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Without seeing Mademoiselle Valentine?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nMorrel made a sign that he was ready to obey. \"But,\" said he,\n\"first allow me to embrace you as your daughter did just now.\"\nNoirtier's expression could not be understood. The young man\npressed his lips on the same spot, on the old man's forehead, where\nValentine's had been. Then he bowed a second time and retired. He\nfound outside the door the old servant, to whom Valentine had given\ndirections. Morrel was conducted along a dark passage, which led to\na little door opening on the garden, soon found the spot where he\nhad entered, with the assistance of the shrubs gained the top of\nthe wall, and by his ladder was in an instant in the clover-field\nwhere his cabriolet was still waiting for him. He got in it, and\nthoroughly wearied by so many emotions, arrived about midnight in\nthe Rue Meslay, threw himself on his bed and slept soundly.Two days after, a considerable crowd was assembled, towards ten\no'clock in the morning, around the door of M. de Villefort's house,\nand a long file of mourning-coaches and private carriages extended\nalong the Faubourg Saint-Honore and the Rue de la Pepiniere. Among\nthem was one of a very singular form, which appeared to have come\nfrom a distance. It was a kind of covered wagon, painted black, and\nwas one of the first to arrive. Inquiry was made, and it was\nascertained that, by a strange coincidence, this carriage contained\nthe corpse of the Marquis de Saint-Meran, and that those who had\ncome thinking to attend one funeral would follow two. Their number\nwas great. The Marquis de Saint-Meran, one of the most zealous and\nfaithful dignitaries of Louis XVIII. and King Charles X., had\npreserved a great number of friends, and these, added to the\npersonages whom the usages of society gave Villefort a claim on,\nformed a considerable body.\nDue information was given to the authorities, and permission\nobtained that the two funerals should take place at the same time.\nA second hearse, decked with the same funereal pomp, was brought to\nM. de Villefort's door, and the coffin removed into it from the\npost-wagon. The two bodies were to be interred in the cemetery of\nPere-la-Chaise, where M. de Villefort had long since had a tomb\nprepared for the reception of his family. The remains of poor Renee\nwere already deposited there, and now, after ten years of\nseparation, her father and mother were to be reunited with her. The\nParisians, always curious, always affected by funereal display,\nlooked on with religious silence while the splendid procession\naccompanied to their last abode two of the number of the old\naristocracy — the greatest protectors of commerce and sincere\ndevotees to their principles. In one of the mourning-coaches\nBeauchamp, Debray, and Chateau-Renaud were talking of the very\nsudden death of the marchioness. \"I saw Madame de Saint-Meran only\nlast year at Marseilles, when I was coming back from Algiers,\" said"}
{"text": "last year at Marseilles, when I was coming back from Algiers,\" said\nChateau-Renaud; \"she looked like a woman destined to live to be a\nhundred years old, from her apparent sound health and great\nactivity of mind and body. How old was she?\"\n\"Franz assured me,\" replied Albert, \"that she was sixty-six\nyears old. But she has not died of old age, but of grief; it\nappears that since the death of the marquis, which affected her\nvery deeply, she has not completely recovered her reason.\"\n\"But of what disease, then, did she die?\" asked Debray.\n\"It is said to have been a congestion of the brain, or apoplexy,\nwhich is the same thing, is it not?\"\n\"Nearly.\"\n\"It is difficult to believe that it was apoplexy,\" said\nBeauchamp. \"Madame de Saint-Meran, whom I once saw, was short, of\nslender form, and of a much more nervous than sanguine temperament;\ngrief could hardly produce apoplexy in such a constitution as that\nof Madame de Saint-Meran.\"\n\"At any rate,\" said Albert, \"whatever disease or doctor may have\nkilled her, M. de Villefort, or rather, Mademoiselle Valentine, —\nor, still rather, our friend Franz, inherits a magnificent fortune,\namounting, I believe, to 80,000 livres per annum.\"\n\"And this fortune will be doubled at the death of the old\nJacobin, Noirtier.\"\n\"That is a tenacious old grandfather,\" said Beauchamp. \"Tenacem\npropositi virum. I think he must have made an agreement with death\nto outlive all his heirs, and he appears likely to succeed. He\nresembles the old Conventionalist of '93, who said to Napoleon, in\n1814, `You bend because your empire is a young stem, weakened by\nrapid growth. Take the Republic for a tutor; let us return with\nrenewed strength to the battle-field, and I promise you 500,000\nsoldiers, another Marengo, and a second Austerlitz. Ideas do not\nbecome extinct, sire; they slumber sometimes, but only revive the\nstronger before they sleep entirely.' Ideas and men appeared the\nsame to him. One thing only puzzles me, namely, how Franz d'Epinay\nwill like a grandfather who cannot be separated from his wife. Butwill like a grandfather who cannot be separated from his wife. But\nwhere is Franz?\"\n\"In the first carriage, with M. de Villefort, who considers him\nalready as one of the family.\"\nSuch was the conversation in almost all the carriages; these two\nsudden deaths, so quickly following each other, astonished every\none, but no one suspected the terrible secret which M. d'Avrigny\nhad communicated, in his nocturnal walk to M. de Villefort. They\narrived in about an hour at the cemetery; the weather was mild, but\ndull, and in harmony with the funeral ceremony. Among the groups\nwhich flocked towards the family vault, Chateau-Renaud recognized\nMorrel, who had come alone in a cabriolet, and walked silently\nalong the path bordered with yew-trees. \"You here?\" said\nChateau-Renaud, passing his arms through the young captain's; \"are\nyou a friend of Villefort's? How is it that I have never met you at\nhis house?\"\n\"I am no acquaintance of M. de Villefort's.\" answered Morrel,\n\"but I was of Madame de Saint-Meran.\" Albert came up to them at\nthis moment with Franz.\n\"The time and place are but ill-suited for an introduction.\"\nsaid Albert; \"but we are not superstitious. M. Morrel, allow me to\npresent to you M. Franz d'Epinay, a delightful travelling\ncompanion, with whom I made the tour of Italy. My dear Franz, M.\nMaximilian Morrel, an excellent friend I have acquired in your\nabsence, and whose name you will hear me mention every time I make\nany allusion to affection, wit, or amiability.\" Morrel hesitated\nfor a moment; he feared it would be hypocritical to accost in a\nfriendly manner the man whom he was tacitly opposing, but his oath\nand the gravity of the circumstances recurred to his memory; he\nstruggled to conceal his emotion and bowed to Franz. \"Mademoiselle\nde Villefort is in deep sorrow, is she not?\" said Debray to\nFranz.\n\"Extremely,\" replied he; \"she looked so pale this morning, I\nscarcely knew her.\" These apparently simple words pierced Morrel to\nthe heart. This man had seen Valentine, and spoken to her! Thethe heart. This man had seen Valentine, and spoken to her! The\nyoung and high-spirited officer required all his strength of mind\nto resist breaking his oath. He took the arm of Chateau-Renaud, and\nturned towards the vault, where the attendants had already placed\nthe two coffins. \"This is a magnificent habitation,\" said\nBeauchamp, looking towards the mausoleum; \"a summer and winter\npalace. You will, in turn, enter it, my dear d'Epinay, for you will\nsoon be numbered as one of the family. I, as a philosopher, should\nlike a little country-house, a cottage down there under the trees,\nwithout so many free-stones over my poor body. In dying, I will say\nto those around me what Voltaire wrote to Piron: `Eo rus, and all\nwill be over.' But come, Franz, take courage, your wife is an\nheiress.\"\n\"Indeed, Beauchamp, you are unbearable. Politics has made you\nlaugh at everything, and political men have made you disbelieve\neverything. But when you have the honor of associating with\nordinary men, and the pleasure of leaving politics for a moment,\ntry to find your affectionate heart, which you leave with your\nstick when you go to the Chamber.\"\n\"But tell me,\" said Beauchamp, \"what is life? Is it not a hall\nin Death's anteroom?\"\n\"I am prejudiced against Beauchamp,\" said Albert, drawing Franz\naway, and leaving the former to finish his philosophical\ndissertation with Debray. The Villefort vault formed a square of\nwhite stones, about twenty feet high; an interior partition\nseparated the two families, and each apartment had its entrance\ndoor. Here were not, as in other tombs, ignoble drawers, one above\nanother, where thrift bestows its dead and labels them like\nspecimens in a museum; all that was visible within the bronze gates\nwas a gloomy-looking room, separated by a wall from the vault\nitself. The two doors before mentioned were in the middle of this\nwall, and enclosed the Villefort and Saint-Meran coffins. There\ngrief might freely expend itself without being disturbed by the\ntrifling loungers who came from a picnic party to visit"}
{"text": "trifling loungers who came from a picnic party to visit\nPere-la-Chaise, or by lovers who make it their rendezvous.\nThe two coffins were placed on trestles previously prepared for\ntheir reception in the right-hand crypt belonging to the\nSaint-Meran family. Villefort, Franz, and a few near relatives\nalone entered the sanctuary.\nAs the religious ceremonies had all been performed at the door,\nand there was no address given, the party all separated;\nChateau-Renaud, Albert, and Morrel, went one way, and Debray and\nBeauchamp the other. Franz remained with M. de Villefort; at the\ngate of the cemetery Morrel made an excuse to wait; he saw Franz\nand M. de Villefort get into the same mourning coach, and thought\nthis meeting forboded evil. He then returned to Paris, and although\nin the same carriage with Chateau-Renaud and Albert, he did not\nhear one word of their conversation. As Franz was about to take\nleave of M. de Villefort, \"When shall I see you again?\" said the\nlatter.\n\"At what time you please, sir,\" replied Franz.\n\"As soon as possible.\"\n\"I am at your command, sir; shall we return together?\"\n\"If not unpleasant to you.\"\n\"On the contrary, I shall feel much pleasure.\" Thus, the future\nfather and son-in-law stepped into the same carriage, and Morrel,\nseeing them pass, became uneasy. Villefort and Franz returned to\nthe Faubourg Saint-Honore. The procureur, without going to see\neither his wife or his daughter, went at once to his study, and,\noffering the young man a chair, — \"M. d'Epinay,\" said he, \"allow me\nto remind you at this moment, — which is perhaps not so ill-chosen\nas at first sight may appear, for obedience to the wishes of the\ndeparted is the first offering which should be made at their tomb,\n— allow me then to remind you of the wish expressed by Madame de\nSaint-Meran on her death-bed, that Valentine's wedding might not be\ndeferred. You know the affairs of the deceased are in perfect\norder, and her will bequeaths to Valentine the entire property of\nthe Saint-Meran family; the notary showed me the documentsthe Saint-Meran family; the notary showed me the documents\nyesterday, which will enable us to draw up the contract\nimmediately. You may call on the notary, M. Deschamps, Place\nBeauveau, Faubourg Saint-Honore, and you have my authority to\ninspect those deeds.\"\n\"Sir,\" replied M. d'Epinay, \"it is not, perhaps, the moment for\nMademoiselle Valentine, who is in deep distress, to think of a\nhusband; indeed, I fear\" —\n\"Valentine will have no greater pleasure than that of fulfilling\nher grandmother's last injunctions; there will be no obstacle from\nthat quarter, I assure you.\"\n\"In that case,\" replied Franz, \"as I shall raise none, you may\nmake arrangements when you please; I have pledged my word, and\nshall feel pleasure and happiness in adhering to it.\"\n\"Then,\" said Villefort, \"nothing further is required. The\ncontract was to have been signed three days since; we shall find it\nall ready, and can sign it to-day.\"\n\"But the mourning?\" said Franz, hesitating.\n\"Don't be uneasy on that score,\" replied Villefort; \"no ceremony\nwill be neglected in my house. Mademoiselle de Villefort may retire\nduring the prescribed three months to her estate of Saint-Meran; I\nsay hers, for she inherits it to-day. There, after a few days, if\nyou like, the civil marriage shall be celebrated without pomp or\nceremony. Madame de Saint-Meran wished her daughter should be\nmarried there. When that is over, you, sir, can return to Paris,\nwhile your wife passes the time of her mourning with her\nmother-in-law.\"\n\"As you please, sir,\" said Franz.\n\"Then,\" replied M. de Villefort, \"have the kindness to wait half\nan hour; Valentine shall come down into the drawing-room. I will\nsend for M. Deschamps; we will read and sign the contract before we\nseparate, and this evening Madame de Villefort shall accompany\nValentine to her estate, where we will rejoin them in a week.\"\n\"Sir,\" said Franz, \"I have one request to make.\"\n\"What is it?\"\n\"I wish Albert de Morcerf and Raoul de Chateau-Renaud to be\npresent at this signature; you know they are my witnesses.\"present at this signature; you know they are my witnesses.\"\n\"Half an hour will suffice to apprise them; will you go for them\nyourself, or shall you send?\"\n\"I prefer going, sir.\"\n\"I shall expect you, then, in half an hour, baron, and Valentine\nwill be ready.\" Franz bowed and left the room. Scarcely had the\ndoor closed, when M. de Villefort sent to tell Valentine to be\nready in the drawing-room in half an hour, as he expected the\nnotary and M. d'Epinay and his witnesses. The news caused a great\nsensation throughout the house; Madame de Villefort would not\nbelieve it, and Valentine was thunderstruck. She looked around for\nhelp, and would have gone down to her grandfather's room, but on\nthe stairs she met M. de Villefort, who took her arm and led her\ninto the drawing-room. In the anteroom, Valentine met Barrois, and\nlooked despairingly at the old servant. A moment later, Madame de\nVillefort entered the drawing-room with her little Edward. It was\nevident that she had shared the grief of the family, for she was\npale and looked fatigued. She sat down, took Edward on her knees,\nand from time to time pressed this child, on whom her affections\nappeared centred, almost convulsively to her bosom. Two carriages\nwere soon heard to enter the court yard. One was the notary's; the\nother, that of Franz and his friends. In a moment the whole party\nwas assembled. Valentine was so pale one might trace the blue veins\nfrom her temples, round her eyes and down her cheeks. Franz was\ndeeply affected. Chateau-Renaud and Albert looked at each other\nwith amazement; the ceremony which was just concluded had not\nappeared more sorrowful than did that which was about to begin.\nMadame de Villefort had placed herself in the shadow behind a\nvelvet curtain, and as she constantly bent over her child, it was\ndifficult to read the expression of her face. M. de Villefort was,\nas usual, unmoved.\nThe notary, after having according to the customary method\narranged the papers on the table, taken his place in an armchair,"}
{"text": "arranged the papers on the table, taken his place in an armchair,\nand raised his spectacles, turned towards Franz:\n\"Are you M. Franz de Quesnel, baron d'Epinay?\" asked he,\nalthough he knew it perfectly.\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied Franz. The notary bowed. \"I have, then, to\ninform you, sir, at the request of M. de Villefort, that your\nprojected marriage with Mademoiselle de Villefort has changed the\nfeeling of M. Noirtier towards his grandchild, and that he\ndisinherits her entirely of the fortune he would have left her. Let\nme hasten to add,\" continued he, \"that the testator, having only\nthe right to alienate a part of his fortune, and having alienated\nit all, the will will not bear scrutiny, and is declared null and\nvoid.\"\n\"Yes.\" said Villefort; \"but I warn M. d'Epinay, that during my\nlife-time my father's will shall never be questioned, my position\nforbidding any doubt to be entertained.\"\n\"Sir,\" said Franz, \"I regret much that such a question has been\nraised in the presence of Mademoiselle Valentine; I have never\ninquired the amount of her fortune, which, however limited it may\nbe, exceeds mine. My family has sought consideration in this\nalliance with M. de Villefort; all I seek is happiness.\" Valentine\nimperceptibly thanked him, while two silent tears rolled down her\ncheeks. \"Besides, sir,\" said Villefort, addressing himself to his\nfuture son-in-law, \"excepting the loss of a portion of your hopes,\nthis unexpected will need not personally wound you; M. Noirtier's\nweakness of mind sufficiently explains it. It is not because\nMademoiselle Valentine is going to marry you that he is angry, but\nbecause she will marry, a union with any other would have caused\nhim the same sorrow. Old age is selfish, sir, and Mademoiselle de\nVillefort has been a faithful companion to M. Noirtier, which she\ncannot be when she becomes the Baroness d'Epinay. My father's\nmelancholy state prevents our speaking to him on any subjects,\nwhich the weakness of his mind would incapacitate him fromwhich the weakness of his mind would incapacitate him from\nunderstanding, and I am perfectly convinced that at the present\ntime, although, he knows that his granddaughter is going to be\nmarried, M. Noirtier has even forgotten the name of his intended\ngrandson.\" M. de Villefort had scarcely said this, when the door\nopened, and Barrois appeared.\n\"Gentlemen,\" said he, in a tone strangely firm for a servant\nspeaking to his masters under such solemn circumstances, —\n\"gentlemen, M. Noirtier de Villefort wishes to speak immediately to\nM. Franz de Quesnel, baron d'Epinay;\" he, as well as the notary,\nthat there might be no mistake in the person, gave all his titles\nto the bride-groom elect.\nVillefort started, Madame de Villefort let her son slip from her\nknees, Valentine rose, pale and dumb as a statue. Albert and\nChateau-Renaud exchanged a second look, more full of amazement than\nthe first. The notary looked at Villefort. \"It is impossible,\" said\nthe procureur. \"M. d'Epinay cannot leave the drawing-room at\npresent.\"\n\"It is at this moment,\" replied Barrois with the same firmness,\n\"that M. Noirtier, my master, wishes to speak on important subjects\nto M. Franz d'Epinay.\"\n\"Grandpapa Noirtier can speak now, then,\" said Edward, with his\nhabitual quickness. However, his remark did not make Madame de\nVillefort even smile, so much was every mind engaged, and so solemn\nwas the situation. Astonishment was at its height. Something like a\nsmile was perceptible on Madame de Villefort's countenance.\nValentine instinctively raised her eyes, as if to thank heaven.\n\"Pray go, Valentine,\" said; M. de Villefort, \"and see what this\nnew fancy of your grandfather's is.\" Valentine rose quickly, and\nwas hastening joyfully towards the door, when M. de Villefort\naltered his intention.\n\"Stop,\" said he; \"I will go with you.\"\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" said Franz, \"since M. Noirtier sent for me, I\nam ready to attend to his wish; besides, I shall be happy to pay my\nrespects to him, not having yet had the honor of doing so.\"respects to him, not having yet had the honor of doing so.\"\n\"Pray, sir,\" said Villefort with marked uneasiness, \"do not\ndisturb yourself.\"\n\"Forgive me, sir,\" said Franz in a resolute tone. \"I would not\nlose this opportunity of proving to M. Noirtier how wrong it would\nbe of him to encourage feelings of dislike to me, which I am\ndetermined to conquer, whatever they may be, by my devotion.\" And\nwithout listening to Villefort he arose, and followed Valentine,\nwho was running down-stairs with the joy of a shipwrecked mariner\nwho finds a rock to cling to. M. de Villefort followed them.\nChateau-Renaud and Morcerf exchanged a third look of still\nincreasing wonder.Noirtier was prepared to receive them, dressed in black, and\ninstalled in his arm-chair. When the three persons he expected had\nentered, he looked at the door, which his valet immediately\nclosed.\n\"Listen,\" whispered Villefort to Valentine, who could not\nconceal her joy; \"if M. Noirtier wishes to communicate anything\nwhich would delay your marriage, I forbid you to understand him.\"\nValentine blushed, but did not answer. Villefort, approaching\nNoirtier — \"Here is M. Franz d'Epinay,\" said he; \"you requested to\nsee him. We have all wished for this interview, and I trust it will\nconvince you how ill-formed are your objections to Valentine's\nmarriage.\"\nNoirtier answered only by a look which made Villefort's blood\nrun cold. He motioned to Valentine to approach. In a moment, thanks\nto her habit of conversing with her grandfather, she understood\nthat he asked for a key. Then his eye was fixed on the drawer of a\nsmall chest between the windows. She opened the drawer, and found a\nkey; and, understanding that was what he wanted, again watched his\neyes, which turned toward an old secretary which had been neglected\nfor many years and was supposed to contain nothing but useless\ndocuments. \"Shall I open the secretary?\" asked Valentine.\n\"Yes,\" said the old man.\n\"And the drawers?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Those at the side?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"The middle one?\"\n\"Yes.\" Valentine opened it and drew out a bundle of papers. \"Is\nthat what you wish for?\" asked she.\n\"No.\"\nShe took successively all the other papers out till the drawer\nwas empty. \"But there are no more,\" said she. Noirtier's eye was\nfixed on the dictionary. \"Yes, I understand, grandfather,\" said the\nyoung girl.\n\"He pointed to each letter of the alphabet. At the letter S the\nold man stopped her. She opened, and found the word \"secret.\"\n\"Ah, is there a secret spring?\" said Valentine.\n\"Yes,\" said Noirtier.\n\"And who knows it?\" Noirtier looked at the door where the\nservant had gone out. \"Barrois?\" said she.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Shall I call him?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nValentine went to the door, and called Barrois. Villefort's"}
{"text": "\"Yes.\"\n\"Shall I call him?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nValentine went to the door, and called Barrois. Villefort's\nimpatience during this scene made the perspiration roll from his\nforehead, and Franz was stupefied. The old servant came. \"Barrois,\"\nsaid Valentine, \"my grandfather has told me to open that drawer in\nthe secretary, but there is a secret spring in it, which you know —\nwill you open it?\"\nBarrois looked at the old man. \"Obey,\" said Noirtier's\nintelligent eye. Barrois touched a spring, the false bottom came\nout, and they saw a bundle of papers tied with a black string.\n\"Is that what you wish for?\" said Barrois.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Shall I give these papers to M. de Villefort?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"To Mademoiselle Valentine?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"To M. Franz d'Epinay?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nFranz, astonished, advanced a step. \"To me, sir?\" said he.\n\"Yes.\" Franz took them from Barrois and casting a glance at the\ncover, read: —\n\"`To be given, after my death, to General Durand, who shall\nbequeath the packet to his son, with an injunction to preserve it\nas containing an important document.'\n\"Well, sir,\" asked Franz, \"what do you wish me to do with this\npaper?\"\n\"To preserve it, sealed up as it is, doubtless,\" said the\nprocureur.\n\"No,\" replied Noirtier eagerly.\n\"Do you wish him to read it?\" said Valentine.\n\"Yes,\" replied the old man. \"You understand, baron, my\ngrandfather wishes you to read this paper,\" said Valentine.\n\"Then let us sit down,\" said Villefort impatiently, \"for it will\ntake some time.\"\n\"Sit down,\" said the old man. Villefort took a chair, but\nValentine remained standing by her father's side, and Franz before\nhim, holding the mysterious paper in his hand. \"Read,\" said the old\nman. Franz untied it, and in the midst of the most profound silence\nread:\n\"`Extract from the Report of a meeting of the Bonapartist Club\nin the Rue Saint-Jacques, held February 5th, 1815.'\"\nFranz stopped. \"February 5th, 1815!\" said he; \"it is the day my\nfather was murdered.\" Valentine and Villefort were dumb; the eye of\nthe old man alone seemed to say clearly, \"Go on.\"the old man alone seemed to say clearly, \"Go on.\"\n\"But it was on leaving this club,\" said he, \"my father\ndisappeared.\" Noirtier's eye continued to say, \"Read.\" He resumed:\n—\n\"`The undersigned Louis Jacques Beaurepaire, lieutenant-colonel\nof artillery, Etienne Duchampy, general of brigade, and Claude\nLecharpal, keeper of woods and forests, Declare, that on the 4th of\nFebruary, a letter arrived from the Island of Elba, recommending to\nthe kindness and the confidence of the Bonapartist Club, General\nFlavien de Quesnel, who having served the emperor from 1804 to 1814\nwas supposed to be devoted to the interests of the Napoleon\ndynasty, notwithstanding the title of baron which Louis XVIII. had\njust granted to him with his estate of Epinay.\n\"`A note was in consequence addressed to General de Quesnel,\nbegging him to be present at the meeting next day, the 5th. The\nnote indicated neither the street nor the number of the house where\nthe meeting was to be held; it bore no signature, but it announced\nto the general that some one would call for him if he would be\nready at nine o'clock. The meetings were always held from that time\ntill midnight. At nine o'clock the president of the club presented\nhimself; the general was ready, the president informed him that one\nof the conditions of his introduction was that he should be\neternally ignorant of the place of meeting, and that he would allow\nhis eyes to be bandaged, swearing that he would not endeavor to\ntake off the bandage. General de Quesnel accepted the condition,\nand promised on his honor not to seek to discover the road they\ntook. The general's carriage was ready, but the president told him\nit was impossible for him to use it, since it was useless to\nblindfold the master if the coachman knew through what streets he\nwent. \"What must be done then?\" asked the general. — \"I have my\ncarriage here,\" said the president.\n\"`\"Have you, then, so much confidence in your servant that you\ncan intrust him with a secret you will not allow me to know?\"can intrust him with a secret you will not allow me to know?\"\n\"`\"Our coachman is a member of the club,\" said the president;\n\"we shall be driven by a State-Councillor.\"\n\"`\"Then we run another risk,\" said the general, laughing, \"that\nof being upset.\" We insert this joke to prove that the general was\nnot in the least compelled to attend the meeting, but that he came\nwillingly. When they were seated in the carriage the president\nreminded the general of his promise to allow his eyes to be\nbandaged, to which he made no opposition. On the road the president\nthought he saw the general make an attempt to remove the\nhandkerchief, and reminded him of his oath. \"Sure enough,\" said the\ngeneral. The carriage stopped at an alley leading out of the Rue\nSaint-Jacques. The general alighted, leaning on the arm of the\npresident, of whose dignity he was not aware, considering him\nsimply as a member of the club; they went through the alley,\nmounted a flight of stairs, and entered the assembly-room.\n\"`\"The deliberations had already begun. The members, apprised of\nthe sort of presentation which was to be made that evening, were\nall in attendance. When in the middle of the room the general was\ninvited to remove his bandage, he did so immediately, and was\nsurprised to see so many well-known faces in a society of whose\nexistence he had till then been ignorant. They questioned him as to\nhis sentiments, but he contented himself with answering, that the\nletters from the Island of Elba ought to have informed them'\" —\nFranz interrupted himself by saying, \"My father was a royalist;\nthey need not have asked his sentiments, which were well\nknown.\"\n\"And hence,\" said Villefort, \"arose my affection for your\nfather, my dear M. Franz. Opinions held in common are a ready bond\nof union.\"\n\"Read again,\" said the old man. Franz continued: —\n\"`The president then sought to make him speak more explicitly,\nbut M. de Quesnel replied that he wished first to know what they\nwanted with him. He was then informed of the contents of the letter"}
{"text": "wanted with him. He was then informed of the contents of the letter\nfrom the Island of Elba, in which he was recommended to the club as\na man who would be likely to advance the interests of their party.\nOne paragraph spoke of the return of Bonaparte and promised another\nletter and further details, on the arrival of the Pharaon belonging\nto the shipbuilder Morrel, of Marseilles, whose captain was\nentirely devoted to the emperor. During all this time, the general,\non whom they thought to have relied as on a brother, manifested\nevidently signs of discontent and repugnance. When the reading was\nfinished, he remained silent, with knitted brows.\n\"`\"Well,\" asked the president, \"what do you say to this letter,\ngeneral?\"\n\"`\"I say that it is too soon after declaring myself for Louis\nXVIII. to break my vow in behalf of the ex-emperor.\" This answer\nwas too clear to permit of any mistake as to his sentiments.\n\"General,\" said the president, \"we acknowledge no King Louis\nXVIII., or an ex-emperor, but his majesty the emperor and king,\ndriven from France, which is his kingdom, by violence and\ntreason.\"\n\"`\"Excuse me, gentlemen,\" said the general; \"you may not\nacknowledge Louis XVIII., but I do, as he has made me a baron and a\nfield-marshal, and I shall never forget that for these two titles I\nam indebted to his happy return to France.\"\n\"`\"Sir,\" said the president, rising with gravity, \"be careful\nwhat you say; your words clearly show us that they are deceived\nconcerning you in the Island of Elba, and have deceived us! The\ncommunication has been made to you in consequence of the confidence\nplaced in you, and which does you honor. Now we discover our error;\na title and promotion attach you to the government we wish to\noverturn. We will not constrain you to help us; we enroll no one\nagainst his conscience, but we will compel you to act generously,\neven if you are not disposed to do so.\"\n\"`\"You would call acting generously, knowing your conspiracy and\nnot informing against you, that is what I should call becoming yournot informing against you, that is what I should call becoming your\naccomplice. You see I am more candid than you.\"'\"\n\"Ah, my father!\" said Franz, interrupting himself. \"I understand\nnow why they murdered him.\" Valentine could not help casting one\nglance towards the young man, whose filial enthusiasm it was\ndelightful to behold. Villefort walked to and fro behind them.\nNoirtier watched the expression of each one, and preserved his\ndignified and commanding attitude. Franz returned to the\nmanuscript, and continued: —\n\"`\"Sir,\" said the president, \"you have been invited to join this\nassembly — you were not forced here; it was proposed to you to come\nblindfolded — you accepted. When you complied with this twofold\nrequest you well knew we did not wish to secure the throne of Louis\nXVIII., or we should not take so much care to avoid the vigilance\nof the police. It would be conceding too much to allow you to put\non a mask to aid you in the discovery of our secret, and then to\nremove it that you may ruin those who have confided in you. No, no,\nyou must first say if you declare yourself for the king of a day\nwho now reigns, or for his majesty the emperor.\"\n\"`\"I am a royalist,\" replied the general; \"I have taken the oath\nof allegiance to Louis XVIII., and I will adhere to it.\" These\nwords were followed by a general murmur, and it was evident that\nseveral of the members were discussing the propriety of making the\ngeneral repent of his rashness.\n\"`The president again arose, and having imposed silence, said, —\n\"Sir, you are too serious and too sensible a man not to understand\nthe consequences of our present situation, and your candor has\nalready dictated to us the conditions which remain for us to offer\nyou.\" The general, putting his hand on his sword, exclaimed, — \"If\nyou talk of honor, do not begin by disavowing its laws, and impose\nnothing by violence.\"\n\"`\"And you, sir,\" continued the president, with a calmness still\nmore terrible than the general's anger, \"I advise you not to touchmore terrible than the general's anger, \"I advise you not to touch\nyour sword.\" The general looked around him with slight uneasiness;\nhowever he did not yield, but calling up all his fortitude, said, —\n\"I will not swear.\"\n\"`\"Then you must die,\" replied the president calmly. M. d'Epinay\nbecame very pale; he looked round him a second time, several\nmembers of the club were whispering, and getting their arms from\nunder their cloaks. \"General,\" said the president, \"do not alarm\nyourself; you are among men of honor who will use every means to\nconvince you before resorting to the last extremity, but as you\nhave said, you are among conspirators, you are in possession of our\nsecret, and you must restore it to us.\" A significant silence\nfollowed these words, and as the general did not reply, — \"Close\nthe doors,\" said the president to the door-keeper.\n\"`The same deadly silence succeeded these words. Then the\ngeneral advanced, and making a violent effort to control his\nfeelings, — \"I have a son,\" said he, \"and I ought to think of him,\nfinding myself among assassins.\"\n\"`\"General,\" said the chief of the assembly, \"one man may insult\nfifty — it is the privilege of weakness. But he does wrong to use\nhis privilege. Follow my advice, swear, and do not insult.\" The\ngeneral, again daunted by the superiority of the chief, hesitated a\nmoment; then advancing to the president's desk, — \"What is the\nform, said he.\n\"`\"It is this: — `I swear by my honor not to reveal to any one\nwhat I have seen and heard on the 5th of February, 1815, between\nnine and ten o'clock in the evening; and I plead guilty of death\nshould I ever violate this oath.'\" The general appeared to be\naffected by a nervous tremor, which prevented his answering for\nsome moments; then, overcoming his manifest repugnance, he\npronounced the required oath, but in so low a tone as to be\nscarcely audible to the majority of the members, who insisted on\nhis repeating it clearly and distinctly, which he did.\n\"`\"Now am I at liberty to retire?\" said the general. The"}
{"text": "\"`\"Now am I at liberty to retire?\" said the general. The\npresident rose, appointed three members to accompany him, and got\ninto the carriage with the general after bandaging his eyes. One of\nthose three members was the coachman who had driven them there. The\nother members silently dispersed. \"Where do you wish to be taken?\"\nasked the president. — \"Anywhere out of your presence,\" replied M.\nd'Epinay. \"Beware, sir,\" replied the president, \"you are no longer\nin the assembly, and have only to do with individuals; do not\ninsult them unless you wish to be held responsible.\" But instead of\nlistening, M. d'Epinay went on, — \"You are still as brave in your\ncarriage as in your assembly because you are still four against\none.\" The president stopped the coach. They were at that part of\nthe Quai des Ormes where the steps lead down to the river. \"Why do\nyou stop here?\" asked d'Epinay.\n\"`\"Because, sir,\" said the president, \"you have insulted a man,\nand that man will not go one step farther without demanding\nhonorable reparation.\"\n\"`\"Another method of assassination?\" said the general, shrugging\nhis shoulders.\n\"`\"Make no noise, sir, unless you wish me to consider you as one\nof the men of whom you spoke just now as cowards, who take their\nweakness for a shield. You are alone, one alone shall answer you;\nyou have a sword by your side, I have one in my cane; you have no\nwitness, one of these gentlemen will serve you. Now, if you please,\nremove your bandage.\" The general tore the handkerchief from his\neyes. \"At last,\" said he, \"I shall know with whom I have to do.\"\nThey opened the door and the four men alighted.'\"\nFranz again interrupted himself, and wiped the cold drops from\nhis brow; there was something awful in hearing the son read aloud\nin trembling pallor these details of his father's death, which had\nhitherto been a mystery. Valentine clasped her hands as if in\nprayer. Noirtier looked at Villefort with an almost sublime\nexpression of contempt and pride. Franz continued: —expression of contempt and pride. Franz continued: —\n\"`It was, as we said, the fifth of February. For three days the\nmercury had been five or six degrees below freezing and the steps\nwere covered with ice. The general was stout and tall, the\npresident offered him the side of the railing to assist him in\ngetting down. The two witnesses followed. It was a dark night. The\nground from the steps to the river was covered with snow and\nhoarfrost, the water of the river looked black and deep. One of the\nseconds went for a lantern in a coal-barge near, and by its light\nthey examined the weapons. The president's sword, which was simply,\nas he had said, one he carried in his cane, was five inches shorter\nthan the general's, and had no guard. The general proposed to cast\nlots for the swords, but the president said it was he who had given\nthe provocation, and when he had given it he had supposed each\nwould use his own arms. The witnesses endeavored to insist, but the\npresident bade them be silent. The lantern was placed on the\nground, the two adversaries took their stations, and the duel\nbegan. The light made the two swords appear like flashes of\nlightning; as for the men, they were scarcely perceptible, the\ndarkness was so great.\n\"`General d'Epinay passed for one of the best swordsmen in the\narmy, but he was pressed so closely in the onset that he missed his\naim and fell. The witnesses thought he was dead, but his adversary,\nwho knew he had not struck him, offered him the assistance of his\nhand to rise. The circumstance irritated instead of calming the\ngeneral, and he rushed on his adversary. But his opponent did not\nallow his guard to be broken. He received him on his sword and\nthree times the general drew back on finding himself too closely\nengaged, and then returned to the charge. At the third he fell\nagain. They thought he slipped, as at first, and the witnesses,\nseeing he did not move, approached and endeavored to raise him, but\nthe one who passed his arm around the body found it was moistenedthe one who passed his arm around the body found it was moistened\nwith blood. The general, who had almost fainted, revived. \"Ah,\"\nsaid he, \"they have sent some fencing-master to fight with me.\" The\npresident, without answering, approached the witness who held the\nlantern, and raising his sleeve, showed him two wounds he had\nreceived in his arm; then opening his coat, and unbuttoning his\nwaistcoat, displayed his side, pierced with a third wound. Still he\nhad not even uttered a sigh. General d'Epinay died five minutes\nafter.'\"\nFranz read these last words in a voice so choked that they were\nhardly audible, and then stopped, passing his hand over his eyes as\nif to dispel a cloud; but after a moment's silence, he continued:\n—\n\"`The president went up the steps, after pushing his sword into\nhis cane; a track of blood on the snow marked his course. He had\nscarcely arrived at the top when he heard a heavy splash in the\nwater — it was the general's body, which the witnesses had just\nthrown into the river after ascertaining that he was dead. The\ngeneral fell, then, in a loyal duel, and not in ambush as it might\nhave been reported. In proof of this we have signed this paper to\nestablish the truth of the facts, lest the moment should arrive\nwhen either of the actors in this terrible scene should be accused\nof premeditated murder or of infringement of the laws of honor.\n\"`Signed, Beaurepaire, Deschamps, and Lecharpal.'\"\nWhen Franz had finished reading this account, so dreadful for a\nson; when Valentine, pale with emotion, had wiped away a tear; when\nVillefort, trembling, and crouched in a corner, had endeavored to\nlessen the storm by supplicating glances at the implacable old man,\n— \"Sir,\" said d'Epinay to Noirtier, \"since you are well acquainted\nwith all these details, which are attested by honorable signatures,\n— since you appear to take some interest in me, although you have\nonly manifested it hitherto by causing me sorrow, refuse me not one\nfinal satisfaction — tell me the name of the president of the club,"}
{"text": "final satisfaction — tell me the name of the president of the club,\nthat I may at least know who killed my father.\" Villefort\nmechanically felt for the handle of the door; Valentine, who\nunderstood sooner than anyone her grandfather's answer, and who had\noften seen two scars upon his right arm, drew back a few steps.\n\"Mademoiselle,\" said Franz, turning towards Valentine, \"unite your\nefforts with mine to find out the name of the man who made me an\norphan at two years of age.\" Valentine remained dumb and\nmotionless.\n\"Hold, sir,\" said Villefort, \"do not prolong this dreadful\nscene. The names have been purposely concealed; my father himself\ndoes not know who this president was, and if he knows, he cannot\ntell you; proper names are not in the dictionary.\"\n\"Oh, misery,\" cried Franz: \"the only hope which sustained me and\nenabled me to read to the end was that of knowing, at least, the\nname of him who killed my father! Sir, sir,\" cried he, turning to\nNoirtier, \"do what you can — make me understand in some way!\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Noirtier.\n\"Oh, mademoiselle, — mademoiselle!\" cried Franz, \"your\ngrandfather says he can indicate the person. Help me, — lend me\nyour assistance!\" Noirtier looked at the dictionary. Franz took it\nwith a nervous trembling, and repeated the letters of the alphabet\nsuccessively, until he came to M. At that letter the old man\nsignified \"Yes.\"\n\"M,\" repeated Franz. The young man's finger, glided over the\nwords, but at each one Noirtier answered by a negative sign.\nValentine hid her head between her hands. At length, Franz arrived\nat the word MYSELF.\n\"Yes!\"\n\"You?\" cried Franz, whose hair stood on end; \"you, M. Noirtier —\nyou killed my father?\"\n\"Yes!\" replied Noirtier, fixing a majestic look on the young\nman. Franz fell powerless on a chair; Villefort opened the door and\nescaped, for the idea had entered his mind to stifle the little\nremaining life in the heart of this terrible old man.Scarcely had the count's horses cleared the angle of the\nboulevard, than Albert, turning towards the count, burst into a\nloud fit of laughter — much too loud in fact not to give the idea\nof its being rather forced and unnatural. \"Well,\" said he, \"I will\nask you the same question which Charles IX. put to Catherine de\nMedicis, after the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, `How have I\nplayed my little part?'\"\n\"To what do you allude?\" asked Monte Cristo.\n\"To the installation of my rival at M. Danglars'.\"\n\"What rival?\"\n\"Ma foi, what rival? Why, your protege, M. Andrea\nCavalcanti!\"\n\"Ah, no joking, viscount, if you please; I do not patronize M.\nAndrea — at least, not as concerns M. Danglars.\"\n\"And you would be to blame for not assisting him, if the young\nman really needed your help in that quarter, but, happily for me,\nhe can dispense with it.\"\n\"What, do you think he is paying his addresses?\"\n\"I am certain of it; his languishing looks and modulated tones\nwhen addressing Mademoiselle Danglars fully proclaim his\nintentions. He aspires to the hand of the proud Eugenie.\"\n\"What does that signify, so long as they favor your suit?\"\n\"But it is not the case, my dear count: on the contrary. I am\nrepulsed on all sides.\"\n\"What!\"\n\"It is so indeed; Mademoiselle Eugenie scarcely answers me, and\nMademoiselle d'Armilly, her confidant, does not speak to me at\nall.\"\n\"But the father has the greatest regard possible for you,\" said\nMonte Cristo.\n\"He? Oh, no, he has plunged a thousand daggers into my heart,\ntragedy-weapons, I own, which instead of wounding sheathe their\npoints in their own handles, but daggers which he nevertheless\nbelieved to be real and deadly.\"\n\"Jealousy indicates affection.\"\n\"True; but I am not jealous.\"\n\"He is.\"\n\"Of whom? — of Debray?\"\n\"No, of you.\"\n\"Of me? I will engage to say that before a week is past the door\nwill be closed against me.\"\n\"You are mistaken, my dear viscount.\"\n\"Prove it to me.\"\n\"Do you wish me to do so?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to induce\"Do you wish me to do so?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to induce\nthe Comte de Morcerf to make some definite arrangement with the\nbaron.\"\n\"By whom are you charged?\"\n\"By the baron himself.\"\n\"Oh,\" said Albert with all the cajolery of which he was capable.\n\"You surely will not do that, my dear count?\"\n\"Certainly I shall, Albert, as I have promised to do it.\"\n\"Well,\" said Albert, with a sigh, \"it seems you are determined\nto marry me.\"\n\"I am determined to try and be on good terms with everybody, at\nall events,\" said Monte Cristo. \"But apropos of Debray, how is it\nthat I have not seen him lately at the baron's house?\"\n\"There has been a misunderstanding.\"\n\"What, with the baroness?\"\n\"No, with the baron.\"\n\"Has he perceived anything?\"\n\"Ah, that is a good joke!\"\n\"Do you think he suspects?\" said Monte Cristo with charming\nartlessness.\n\"Where have you come from, my dear count?\" said Albert.\n\"From Congo, if you will.\"\n\"It must be farther off than even that.\"\n\"But what do I know of your Parisian husbands?\"\n\"Oh, my dear count, husbands are pretty much the same\neverywhere; an individual husband of any country is a pretty fair\nspecimen of the whole race.\"\n\"But then, what can have led to the quarrel between Danglars and\nDebray? They seemed to understand each other so well,\" said Monte\nCristo with renewed energy.\n\"Ah, now you are trying to penetrate into the mysteries of Isis,\nin which I am not initiated. When M. Andrea Cavalcanti has become\none of the family, you can ask him that question.\" The carriage\nstopped. \"Here we are,\" said Monte Cristo; \"it is only half-past\nten o'clock, come in.\"\n\"Certainly I will.\"\n\"My carriage shall take you back.\"\n\"No, thank you; I gave orders for my coupe to follow me.\"\n\"There it is, then,\" said Monte Cristo, as he stepped out of the\ncarriage. They both went into the house; the drawing-room was\nlighted up — they went in there. \"You will make tea for us,\nBaptistin,\" said the count. Baptistin left the room without waiting"}
{"text": "Baptistin,\" said the count. Baptistin left the room without waiting\nto answer, and in two seconds reappeared, bringing on a waiter all\nthat his master had ordered, ready prepared, and appearing to have\nsprung from the ground, like the repasts which we read of in fairy\ntales. \"Really, my dear count,\" said Morcerf. \"what I admire in you\nis, not so much your riches, for perhaps there are people even\nwealthier than yourself, nor is it only your wit, for Beaumarchais\nmight have possessed as much, — but it is your manner of being\nserved, without any questions, in a moment, in a second; it is as\nif they guessed what you wanted by your manner of ringing, and made\na point of keeping everything you can possibly desire in constant\nreadiness.\"\n\"What you say is perhaps true; they know my habits. For\ninstance, you shall see; how do you wish to occupy yourself during\ntea-time?\"\n\"Ma foi, I should like to smoke.\"\nMonte Cristo took the gong and struck it once. In about the\nspace of a second a private door opened, and Ali appeared, bringing\ntwo chibouques filled with excellent latakia. \"It is quite\nwonderful,\" said Albert.\n\"Oh no, it is as simple as possible,\" replied Monte Cristo. \"Ali\nknows I generally smoke while I am taking my tea or coffee; he has\nheard that I ordered tea, and he also knows that I brought you home\nwith me; when I summoned him he naturally guessed the reason of my\ndoing so, and as he comes from a country where hospitality is\nespecially manifested through the medium of smoking, he naturally\nconcludes that we shall smoke in company, and therefore brings two\nchibouques instead of one — and now the mystery is solved.\"\n\"Certainly you give a most commonplace air to your explanation,\nbut it is not the less true that you — Ah, but what do I hear?\" and\nMorcerf inclined his head towards the door, through which sounds\nseemed to issue resembling those of a guitar.\n\"Ma foi, my dear viscount, you are fated to hear music this\nevening; you have only escaped from Mademoiselle Danglars' piano,\nto be attacked by Haidee's guzla.\"to be attacked by Haidee's guzla.\"\n\"Haidee — what an adorable name! Are there, then, really women\nwho bear the name of Haidee anywhere but in Byron's poems?\"\n\"Certainly there are. Haidee is a very uncommon name in France,\nbut is common enough in Albania and Epirus; it is as it you said,\nfor example, Chastity, Modesty, Innocence, — it is a kind of\nbaptismal name, as you Parisians call it.\"\n\"Oh, that is charming,\" said Albert, \"how I should like to hear\nmy countrywomen called Mademoiselle Goodness, Mademoiselle Silence,\nMademoiselle Christian Charity! Only think, then, if Mademoiselle\nDanglars, instead of being called Claire-Marie-Eugenie, had been\nnamed Mademoiselle Chastity-Modesty-Innocence Danglars; what a fine\neffect that would have produced on the announcement of her\nmarriage!\"\n\"Hush,\" said the count, \"do not joke in so loud a tone; Haidee\nmay hear you, perhaps.\"\n\"And you think she would be angry?\"\n\"No, certainly not,\" said the count with a haughty\nexpression.\n\"She is very amiable, then, is she not?\" said Albert.\n\"It is not to be called amiability, it is her duty; a slave does\nnot dictate to a master.\"\n\"Come; you are joking yourself now. Are there any more slaves to\nbe had who bear this beautiful name?\"\n\"Undoubtedly.\"\n\"Really, count, you do nothing, and have nothing like other\npeople. The slave of the Count of Monte Cristo! Why, it is a rank\nof itself in France, and from the way in which you lavish money, it\nis a place that must be worth a hundred thousand francs a\nyear.\"\n\"A hundred thousand francs! The poor girl originally possessed\nmuch more than that; she was born to treasures in comparison with\nwhich those recorded in the `Thousand and One Nights' would seem\nbut poverty.\"\n\"She must be a princess then.\"\n\"You are right; and she is one of the greatest in her country\ntoo.\"\n\"I thought so. But how did it happen that such a great princess\nbecame a slave?\"\n\"How was it that Dionysius the Tyrant became a schoolmaster? The\nfortune of war, my dear viscount, — the caprice of fortune; that isfortune of war, my dear viscount, — the caprice of fortune; that is\nthe way in which these things are to be accounted for.\"\n\"And is her name a secret?\"\n\"As regards the generality of mankind it is; but not for you, my\ndear viscount, who are one of my most intimate friends, and on\nwhose silence I feel I may rely, if I consider it necessary to\nenjoin it — may I not do so?\"\n\"Certainly; on my word of honor.\"\n\"You know the history of the pasha of Yanina, do you not?\"\n\"Of Ali Tepelini?* Oh, yes; it was in his service that my father\nmade his fortune.\"\n\"True, I had forgotten that.\"\n(* Ali Pasha, \"The Lion,\" was born at Tepelini, an Albanian\nvillage at the foot of the Klissoura Mountains, in 1741. By\ndiplomacy and success in arms he became almost supreme ruler of\nAlbania, Epirus, and adjacent territory. Having aroused the enmity\nof the Sultan, he was proscribed and put to death by treachery in\n1822, at the age of eighty. — Ed.)\n\"Well, what is Haidee to Ali Tepelini?\"\n\"Merely his daughter.\"\n\"What? the daughter of Ali Pasha?\"\n\"Of Ali Pasha and the beautiful Vasiliki.\"\n\"And your slave?\"\n\"Ma foi, yes.\"\n\"But how did she become so?\"\n\"Why, simply from the circumstance of my having bought her one\nday, as I was passing through the market at Constantinople.\"\n\"Wonderful! Really, my dear count, you seem to throw a sort of\nmagic influence over all in which you are concerned; when I listen\nto you, existence no longer seems reality, but a waking dream. Now,\nI am perhaps going to make an imprudent and thoughtless request,\nbut\" —\n\"Say on.\"\n\"But, since you go out with Haidee, and sometimes even take her\nto the opera\" —\n\"Well?\"\n\"I think I may venture to ask you this favor.\"\n\"You may venture to ask me anything.\"\n\"Well then, my dear count, present me to your princess.\"\n\"I will do so; but on two conditions.\"\n\"I accept them at once.\"\n\"The first is, that you will never tell any one that I have\ngranted the interview.\"\n\"Very well,\" said Albert, extending his hand; \"I swear I will\nnot.\""}
{"text": "granted the interview.\"\n\"Very well,\" said Albert, extending his hand; \"I swear I will\nnot.\"\n\"The second is, that you will not tell her that your father ever\nserved hers.\"\n\"I give you my oath that I will not.\"\n\"Enough, viscount; you will remember those two vows, will you\nnot? But I know you to be a man of honor.\" The count again struck\nthe gong. Ali reappeared. \"Tell Haidee,\" said he, \"that I will take\ncoffee with her, and give her to understand that I desire\npermission to present one of my friends to her.\" Ali bowed and left\nthe room. \"Now, understand me,\" said the count, \"no direct\nquestions, my dear Morcerf; if you wish to know anything, tell me,\nand I will ask her.\"\n\"Agreed.\" Ali reappeared for the third time, and drew back the\ntapestried hanging which concealed the door, to signify to his\nmaster and Albert that they were at liberty to pass on. \"Let us go\nin,\" said Monte Cristo.\nAlbert passed his hand through his hair, and curled his\nmustache, then, having satisfied himself as to his personal\nappearance, followed the count into the room, the latter having\npreviously resumed his hat and gloves. Ali was stationed as a kind\nof advanced guard, and the door was kept by the three French\nattendants, commanded by Myrtho. Haidee was awaiting her visitors\nin the first room of her apartments, which was the drawing-room.\nHer large eyes were dilated with surprise and expectation, for it\nwas the first time that any man, except Monte Cristo, had been\naccorded an entrance into her presence. She was sitting on a sofa\nplaced in an angle of the room, with her legs crossed under her in\nthe Eastern fashion, and seemed to have made for herself, as it\nwere, a kind of nest in the rich Indian silks which enveloped her.\nNear her was the instrument on which she had just been playing; it\nwas elegantly fashioned, and worthy of its mistress. On perceiving\nMonte Cristo, she arose and welcomed him with a smile peculiar to\nherself, expressive at once of the most implicit obedience and alsoherself, expressive at once of the most implicit obedience and also\nof the deepest love. Monte Cristo advanced towards her and extended\nhis hand, which she as usual raised to her lips.\nAlbert had proceeded no farther than the door, where he remained\nrooted to the spot, being completely fascinated by the sight of\nsuch surpassing beauty, beheld as it was for the first time, and of\nwhich an inhabitant of more northern climes could form no adequate\nidea.\n\"Whom do you bring?\" asked the young girl in Romaic, of Monte\nCristo; \"is it a friend, a brother, a simple acquaintance, or an\nenemy.\"\n\"A friend,\" said Monte Cristo in the same language.\n\"What is his name?\"\n\"Count Albert; it is the same man whom I rescued from the hands\nof the banditti at Rome.\"\n\"In what language would you like me to converse with him?\"\nMonte Cristo turned to Albert. \"Do you know modern Greek,\" asked\nhe.\n\"Alas, no,\" said Albert; \"nor even ancient Greek, my dear count;\nnever had Homer or Plato a more unworthy scholar than myself.\"\n\"Then,\" said Haidee, proving by her remark that she had quite\nunderstood Monte Cristo's question and Albert's answer, \"then I\nwill speak either in French or Italian, if my lord so wills\nit.\"\nMonte Cristo reflected one instant. \"You will speak in Italian,\"\nsaid he. Then, turning towards Albert, — \"It is a pity you do not\nunderstand either ancient or modern Greek, both of which Haidee\nspeaks so fluently; the poor child will be obliged to talk to you\nin Italian, which will give you but a very false idea of her powers\nof conversation.\" The count made a sign to Haidee to address his\nvisitor. \"Sir,\" she said to Morcerf, \"you are most welcome as the\nfriend of my lord and master.\" This was said in excellent Tuscan,\nand with that soft Roman accent which makes the language of Dante\nas sonorous as that of Homer. Then, turning to Ali, she directed\nhim to bring coffee and pipes, and when he had left the room to\nexecute the orders of his young mistress she beckoned Albert toexecute the orders of his young mistress she beckoned Albert to\napproach nearer to her. Monte Cristo and Morcerf drew their seats\ntowards a small table, on which were arranged music, drawings, and\nvases of flowers. Ali then entered bringing coffee and chibouques;\nas to M. Baptistin, this portion of the building was interdicted to\nhim. Albert refused the pipe which the Nubian offered him. \"Oh,\ntake it — take it,\" said the count; \"Haidee is almost as civilized\nas a Parisian; the smell of an Havana is disagreeable to her, but\nthe tobacco of the East is a most delicious perfume, you know.\"\nAli left the room. The cups of coffee were all prepared, with\nthe addition of sugar, which had been brought for Albert. Monte\nCristo and Haidee took the beverage in the original Arabian manner,\nthat is to say, without sugar. Haidee took the porcelain cup in her\nlittle slender fingers and conveyed it to her mouth with all the\ninnocent artlessness of a child when eating or drinking something\nwhich it likes. At this moment two women entered, bringing salvers\nfilled with ices and sherbet, which they placed on two small tables\nappropriated to that purpose. \"My dear host, and you, signora,\"\nsaid Albert, in Italian, \"excuse my apparent stupidity. I am quite\nbewildered, and it is natural that it should be so. Here I am in\nthe heart of Paris; but a moment ago I heard the rumbling of the\nomnibuses and the tinkling of the bells of the lemonade-sellers,\nand now I feel as if I were suddenly transported to the East; not\nsuch as I have seen it, but such as my dreams have painted it. Oh,\nsignora, if I could but speak Greek, your conversation, added to\nthe fairy-scene which surrounds me, would furnish an evening of\nsuch delight as it would be impossible for me ever to forget.\"\n\"I speak sufficient Italian to enable me to converse with you,\nsir,\" said Haidee quietly; \"and if you like what is Eastern, I will\ndo my best to secure the gratification of your tastes while you are\nhere.\"\n\"On what subject shall I converse with her?\" said Albert, in a"}
{"text": "here.\"\n\"On what subject shall I converse with her?\" said Albert, in a\nlow tone to Monte Cristo.\n\"Just what you please; you may speak of her country and of her\nyouthful reminiscences, or if you like it better you can talk of\nRome, Naples, or Florence.\"\n\"Oh,\" said Albert, \"it is of no use to be in the company of a\nGreek if one converses just in the same style as with a Parisian;\nlet me speak to her of the East.\"\n\"Do so then, for of all themes which you could choose that will\nbe the most agreeable to her taste.\" Albert turned towards Haidee.\n\"At what age did you leave Greece, signora?\" asked he.\n\"I left it when I was but five years old,\" replied Haidee.\n\"And have you any recollection of your country?\"\n\"When I shut my eyes and think, I seem to see it all again. The\nmind can see as well as the body. The body forgets sometimes — but\nthe mind never forgets.\"\n\"And how far back into the past do your recollections\nextend?\"\n\"I could scarcely walk when my mother, who was called Vasiliki,\nwhich means royal,\" said the young girl, tossing her head proudly,\n\"took me by the hand, and after putting in our purse all the money\nwe possessed, we went out, both covered with veils, to solicit alms\nfor the prisoners, saying, `He who giveth to the poor lendeth to\nthe Lord.' Then when our purse was full we returned to the palace,\nand without saying a word to my father, we sent it to the convent,\nwhere it was divided amongst the prisoners.\"\n\"And how old were you at that time?\"\n\"I was three years old,\" said Haidee.\n\"Then you remember everything that went on about you from the\ntime when you were three years old?\" said Albert.\n\"Everything.\"\n\"Count,\" said Albert, in a low tone to Monte Cristo, \"do allow\nthe signora to tell me something of her history. You prohibited my\nmentioning my father's name to her, but perhaps she will allude to\nhim of her own accord in the course of the recital, and you have no\nidea how delighted I should be to hear our name pronounced by such\nbeautiful lips.\" Monte Cristo turned to Haidee, and with anbeautiful lips.\" Monte Cristo turned to Haidee, and with an\nexpression of countenance which commanded her to pay the most\nimplicit attention to his words, he said in Greek, — \"Tell us the\nfate of your father; but neither the name of the traitor nor the\ntreason.\" Haidee sighed deeply, and a shade of sadness clouded her\nbeautiful brow.\n\"What are you saying to her?\" said Morcerf in an undertone.\n\"I again reminded her that you were a friend, and that she need\nnot conceal anything from you.\"\n\"Then,\" said Albert, \"this pious pilgrimage in behalf of the\nprisoners was your first remembrance; what is the next?\"\n\"Oh, then I remember as if it were but yesterday sitting under\nthe shade of some sycamore-trees, on the borders of a lake, in the\nwaters of which the trembling foliage was reflected as in a mirror.\nUnder the oldest and thickest of these trees, reclining on\ncushions, sat my father; my mother was at his feet, and I,\nchildlike, amused myself by playing with his long white beard which\ndescended to his girdle, or with the diamond-hilt of the scimitar\nattached to his girdle. Then from time to time there came to him an\nAlbanian who said something to which I paid no attention, but which\nhe always answered in the same tone of voice, either `Kill,' or\n`Pardon.'\"\n\"It is very strange,\" said Albert, \"to hear such words proceed\nfrom the mouth of any one but an actress on the stage, and one\nneeds constantly to be saying to one's self, `This is no fiction,\nit is all reality,' in order to believe it. And how does France\nappear in your eyes, accustomed as they have been to gaze on such\nenchanted scenes?\"\n\"I think it is a fine country,\" said Haidee, \"but I see France\nas it really is, because I look on it with the eyes of a woman;\nwhereas my own country, which I can only judge of from the\nimpression produced on my childish mind, always seems enveloped in\na vague atmosphere, which is luminous or otherwise, according as my\nremembrances of it are sad or joyous.\"\n\"So young,\" said Albert, forgetting at the moment the Count's\"So young,\" said Albert, forgetting at the moment the Count's\ncommand that he should ask no questions of the slave herself, \"is\nit possible that you can have known what suffering is except by\nname?\"\nHaidee turned her eyes towards Monte Cristo, who, making at the\nsame time some imperceptible sign, murmured, — \"Go on.\"\n\"Nothing is ever so firmly impressed on the mind as the memory\nof our early childhood, and with the exception of the two scenes I\nhave just described to you, all my earliest reminiscences are\nfraught with deepest sadness.\"\n\"Speak, speak, signora,\" said Albert, \"I am listening with the\nmost intense delight and interest to all you say.\"\nHaidee answered his remark with a melancholy smile. \"You wish\nme, then, to relate the history of my past sorrows?\" said she.\n\"I beg you to do so,\" replied Albert.\n\"Well, I was but four years old when one night I was suddenly\nawakened by my mother. We were in the palace of Yanina; she\nsnatched me from the cushions on which I was sleeping, and on\nopening my eyes I saw hers filled with tears. She took me away\nwithout speaking. When I saw her weeping I began to cry too. `Hush,\nchild!' said she. At other times in spite of maternal endearments\nor threats, I had with a child's caprice been accustomed to indulge\nmy feelings of sorrow or anger by crying as much as I felt\ninclined; but on this occasion there was an intonation of such\nextreme terror in my mother's voice when she enjoined me to\nsilence, that I ceased crying as soon as her command was given. She\nbore me rapidly away.\n\"I saw then that we were descending a large staircase; around us\nwere all my mother's servants carrying trunks, bags, ornaments,\njewels, purses of gold, with which they were hurrying away in the\ngreatest distraction.\n\"Behind the women came a guard of twenty men armed with long\nguns and pistols, and dressed in the costume which the Greeks have\nassumed since they have again become a nation. You may imagine\nthere was something startling and ominous,\" said Haidee, shaking"}
{"text": "there was something startling and ominous,\" said Haidee, shaking\nher head and turning pale at the mere remembrance of the scene, \"in\nthis long file of slaves and women only half-aroused from sleep, or\nat least so they appeared to me, who was myself scarcely awake.\nHere and there on the walls of the staircase, were reflected\ngigantic shadows, which trembled in the flickering light of the\npine-torches till they seemed to reach to the vaulted roof\nabove.\n\"`Quick!' said a voice at the end of the gallery. This voice\nmade every one bow before it, resembling in its effect the wind\npassing over a field of wheat, by its superior strength forcing\nevery ear to yield obeisance. As for me, it made me tremble. This\nvoice was that of my father. He came last, clothed in his splendid\nrobes and holding in his hand the carbine which your emperor\npresented him. He was leaning on the shoulder of his favorite\nSelim, and he drove us all before him, as a shepherd would his\nstraggling flock. My father,\" said Haidee, raising her head, \"was\nthat illustrious man known in Europe under the name of Ali\nTepelini, pasha of Yanina, and before whom Turkey trembled.\"\nAlbert, without knowing why, started on hearing these words\npronounced with such a haughty and dignified accent; it appeared to\nhim as if there was something supernaturally gloomy and terrible in\nthe expression which gleamed from the brilliant eyes of Haidee at\nthis moment; she appeared like a Pythoness evoking a spectre, as\nshe recalled to his mind the remembrance of the fearful death of\nthis man, to the news of which all Europe had listened with horror.\n\"Soon,\" said Haidee, \"we halted on our march, and found ourselves\non the borders of a lake. My mother pressed me to her throbbing\nheart, and at the distance of a few paces I saw my father, who was\nglancing anxiously around. Four marble steps led down to the\nwater's edge, and below them was a boat floating on the tide.\n\"From where we stood I could see in the middle of the lake a\"From where we stood I could see in the middle of the lake a\nlarge blank mass; it was the kiosk to which we were going. This\nkiosk appeared to me to be at a considerable distance, perhaps on\naccount of the darkness of the night, which prevented any object\nfrom being more than partially discerned. We stepped into the boat.\nI remember well that the oars made no noise whatever in striking\nthe water, and when I leaned over to ascertain the cause I saw that\nthey were muffled with the sashes of our Palikares.* Besides the\nrowers, the boat contained only the women, my father, mother,\nSelim, and myself. The Palikares had remained on the shore of the\nlake, ready to cover our retreat; they were kneeling on the lowest\nof the marble steps, and in that manner intended making a rampart\nof the three others, in case of pursuit. Our bark flew before the\nwind. `Why does the boat go so fast?' asked I of my mother.\n(* Greek militiamen in the war for independence. — Ed.)\n\"`Silence, child! Hush, we are flying!' I did not understand.\nWhy should my father fly? — he, the all-powerful — he, before whom\nothers were accustomed to fly — he, who had taken for his device,\n`They hate me; then they fear me!' It was, indeed, a flight which\nmy father was trying to effect. I have been told since that the\ngarrison of the castle of Yanina, fatigued with long service\" —\nHere Haidee cast a significant glance at Monte Cristo, whose\neyes had been riveted on her countenance during the whole course of\nher narrative. The young girl then continued, speaking slowly, like\na person who is either inventing or suppressing some feature of the\nhistory which he is relating. \"You were saying, signora,\" said\nAlbert, who was paying the most implicit attention to the recital,\n\"that the garrison of Yanina, fatigued with long service\" —\n\"Had treated with the Serasker* Koorshid, who had been sent by\nthe sultan to gain possession of the person of my father; it was\nthen that Ali Tepelini — after having sent to the sultan a Frenchthen that Ali Tepelini — after having sent to the sultan a French\nofficer in whom he reposed great confidence — resolved to retire to\nthe asylum which he had long before prepared for himself, and which\nhe called kataphygion, or the refuge.\"\n\"And this officer,\" asked Albert, \"do you remember his name,\nsignora?\" Monte Cristo exchanged a rapid glance with the young\ngirl, which was quite unperceived by Albert. \"No,\" said she, \"I do\nnot remember it just at this moment; but if it should occur to me\npresently, I will tell you.\" Albert was on the point of pronouncing\nhis father's name, when Monte Cristo gently held up his finger in\ntoken of reproach; the young man recollected his promise, and was\nsilent.\n(* A Turkish pasha in command of the troops of a province. —\nEd.)\n\"It was towards this kiosk that we were rowing. A ground-floor,\nornamented with arabesques, bathing its terraces in the water, and\nanother floor, looking on the lake, was all which was visible to\nthe eye. But beneath the ground-floor, stretching out into the\nisland, was a large subterranean cavern, to which my mother,\nmyself, and the women were conducted. In this place were together\n60,000 pouches and 200 barrels; the pouches contained 25,000,000 of\nmoney in gold, and the barrels were filled with 30,000 pounds of\ngunpowder.\n\"Near the barrels stood Selim, my father's favorite, whom I\nmentioned to you just now. He stood watch day and night with a\nlance provided with a lighted slowmatch in his hand, and he had\norders to blow up everything — kiosk, guards, women, gold, and Ali\nTepelini himself — at the first signal given by my father. I\nremember well that the slaves, convinced of the precarious tenure\non which they held their lives, passed whole days and nights in\npraying, crying, and groaning. As for me, I can never forget the\npale complexion and black eyes of the young soldier, and whenever\nthe angel of death summons me to another world, I am quite sure I\nshall recognize Selim. I cannot tell you how long we remained in"}
{"text": "shall recognize Selim. I cannot tell you how long we remained in\nthis state; at that period I did not even know what time meant.\nSometimes, but very rarely, my father summoned me and my mother to\nthe terrace of the palace; these were hours of recreation for me,\nas I never saw anything in the dismal cavern but the gloomy\ncountenances of the slaves and Selim's fiery lance. My father was\nendeavoring to pierce with his eager looks the remotest verge of\nthe horizon, examining attentively every black speck which appeared\non the lake, while my mother, reclining by his side, rested her\nhead on his shoulder, and I played at his feet, admiring everything\nI saw with that unsophisticated innocence of childhood which throws\na charm round objects insignificant in themselves, but which in its\neyes are invested with the greatest importance. The heights of\nPindus towered above us; the castle of Yanina rose white and\nangular from the blue waters of the lake, and the immense masses of\nblack vegetation which, viewed in the distance, gave the idea of\nlichens clinging to the rocks, were in reality gigantic fir-trees\nand myrtles.\n\"One morning my father sent for us; my mother had been crying\nall the night, and was very wretched; we found the pasha calm, but\npaler than usual. `Take courage, Vasiliki,' said he; `to-day\narrives the firman of the master, and my fate will be decided. If\nmy pardon be complete, we shall return triumphant to Yanina; if the\nnews be inauspicious, we must fly this night.' — `But supposing our\nenemy should not allow us to do so?' said my mother. `Oh, make\nyourself easy on that head,' said Ali, smiling; `Selim and his\nflaming lance will settle that matter. They would be glad to see me\ndead, but they would not like themselves to die with me.'\n\"My mother only answered by sighs to consolations which she knew\ndid not come from my father's heart. She prepared the iced water\nwhich he was in the habit of constantly drinking, — for since his\nsojourn at the kiosk he had been parched by the most violent fever,sojourn at the kiosk he had been parched by the most violent fever,\n— after which she anointed his white beard with perfumed oil, and\nlighted his chibouque, which he sometimes smoked for hours\ntogether, quietly watching the wreaths of vapor that ascended in\nspiral clouds and gradually melted away in the surrounding\natmosphere. Presently he made such a sudden movement that I was\nparalyzed with fear. Then, without taking his eyes from the object\nwhich had first attracted his attention, he asked for his\ntelescope. My mother gave it him. and as she did so, looked whiter\nthan the marble against which she leaned. I saw my father's hand\ntremble. `A boat! — two! — three!' murmured my, father; — `four!'\nHe then arose, seizing his arms and priming his pistols.\n`Vasiliki,' said he to my mother, trembling perceptibly, `the\ninstant approaches which will decide everything. In the space of\nhalf an hour we shall know the emperor's answer. Go into the cavern\nwith Haidee.' — `I will not quit you,' said Vasiliki; `if you die,\nmy lord, I will die with you.' — `Go to Selim!' cried my father.\n`Adieu, my lord,' murmured my mother, determining quietly to await\nthe approach of death. `Take away Vasiliki!' said my father to his\nPalikares.\n\"As for me, I had been forgotten in the general confusion; I ran\ntoward Ali Tepelini; he saw me hold out my arms to him, and he\nstooped down and pressed my forehead with his lips. Oh, how\ndistinctly I remember that kiss! — it was the last he ever gave me,\nand I feel as if it were still warm on my forehead. On descending,\nwe saw through the lattice-work several boats which were gradually\nbecoming more distinct to our view. At first they appeared like\nblack specks, and now they looked like birds skimming the surface\nof the waves. During this time, in the kiosk at my father's feet,\nwere seated twenty Palikares, concealed from view by an angle of\nthe wall and watching with eager eyes the arrival of the boats.\nThey were armed with their long guns inlaid with mother-of-pearlThey were armed with their long guns inlaid with mother-of-pearl\nand silver, and cartridges in great numbers were lying scattered on\nthe floor. My father looked at his watch, and paced up and down\nwith a countenance expressive of the greatest anguish. This was the\nscene which presented itself to my view as I quitted my father\nafter that last kiss. My mother and I traversed the gloomy passage\nleading to the cavern. Selim was still at his post, and smiled\nsadly on us as we entered. We fetched our cushions from the other\nend of the cavern, and sat down by Selim. In great dangers the\ndevoted ones cling to each other; and, young as I was, I quite\nunderstood that some imminent danger was hanging over our\nheads.\"\nAlbert had often heard — not from his father, for he never spoke\non the subject, but from strangers — the description of the last\nmoments of the vizier of Yanina; he had read different accounts of\nhis death, but the story seemed to acquire fresh meaning from the\nvoice and expression of the young girl, and her sympathetic accent\nand the melancholy expression of her countenance at once charmed\nand horrified him. As to Haidee, these terrible reminiscences\nseemed to have overpowered her for a moment, for she ceased\nspeaking, her head leaning on her hand like a beautiful flower\nbowing beneath the violence of the storm; and her eyes gazing on\nvacancy indicated that she was mentally contemplating the green\nsummit of the Pindus and the blue waters of the lake of Yanina,\nwhich, like a magic mirror, seemed to reflect the sombre picture\nwhich she sketched. Monte Cristo looked at her with an\nindescribable expression of interest and pity.\n\"Go on,\" said the count in the Romaic language.\nHaidee looked up abruptly, as if the sonorous tones of Monte\nCristo's voice had awakened her from a dream; and she resumed her\nnarrative. \"It was about four o'clock in the afternoon, and\nalthough the day was brilliant out-of-doors, we were enveloped in\nthe gloomy darkness of the cavern. One single, solitary light was"}
{"text": "the gloomy darkness of the cavern. One single, solitary light was\nburning there, and it appeared like a star set in a heaven of\nblackness; it was Selim's flaming lance. My mother was a Christian,\nand she prayed. Selim repeated from time to time the sacred words:\n`God is great!' However, my mother had still some hope. As she was\ncoming down, she thought she recognized the French officer who had\nbeen sent to Constantinople, and in whom my father placed so much\nconfidence; for he knew that all the soldiers of the French emperor\nwere naturally noble and generous. She advanced some steps towards\nthe staircase, and listened. `They are approaching,' said she;\n`perhaps they bring us peace and liberty!' — `What do you fear,\nVasiliki?' said Selim, in a voice at once so gentle and yet so\nproud. `If they do not bring us peace, we will give them war; if\nthey do not bring life, we will give them death.' And he renewed\nthe flame of his lance with a gesture which made one think of\nDionysus of Crete.* But I, being only a little child, was terrified\nby this undaunted courage, which appeared to me both ferocious and\nsenseless, and I recoiled with horror from the idea of the\nfrightful death amidst fire and flames which probably awaited\nus.\n(* The god of fruitfulness in Grecian mythology. In Crete he was\nsupposed to be slain in winter with the decay of vegetation and to\nrevive in the spring. Haidee's learned reference is to the behavior\nof an actor in the Dionysian festivals. — Ed.)\n\"My mother experienced the same sensations, for I felt her\ntremble. `Mamma, mamma,' said I, `are we really to be killed?' And\nat the sound of my voice the slaves redoubled their cries and\nprayers and lamentations. `My child,' said Vasiliki, `may God\npreserve you from ever wishing for that death which to-day you so\nmuch dread!' Then, whispering to Selim, she asked what were her\nmaster's orders. `If he send me his poniard, it will signify that\nthe emperor's intentions are not favorable, and I am to set fire tothe emperor's intentions are not favorable, and I am to set fire to\nthe powder; if, on the contrary, he send me his ring, it will be a\nsign that the emperor pardons him, and I am to extinguish the match\nand leave the magazine untouched.' — `My friend,' said my mother,\n`when your master's orders arrive, if it is the poniard which he\nsends, instead of despatching us by that horrible death which we\nboth so much dread, you will mercifully kill us with this same\nponiard, will you not?' — `Yes, Vasiliki,' replied Selim\ntranquilly.\n\"Suddenly we heard loud cries; and, listening, discerned that\nthey were cries of joy. The name of the French officer who had been\nsent to Constantinople resounded on all sides amongst our\nPalikares; it was evident that he brought the answer of the\nemperor, and that it was favorable.\"\n\"And do you not remember the Frenchman's name?\" said Morcerf,\nquite ready to aid the memory of the narrator. Monte Cristo made a\nsign to him to be silent.\n\"I do not recollect it,\" said Haidee.\n\"The noise increased; steps were heard approaching nearer and\nnearer: they were descending the steps leading to the cavern. Selim\nmade ready his lance. Soon a figure appeared in the gray twilight\nat the entrance of the cave, formed by the reflection of the few\nrays of daylight which had found their way into this gloomy\nretreat. `Who are you?' cried Selim. `But whoever you may be, I\ncharge you not to advance another step.' — `Long live the emperor!'\nsaid the figure. `He grants a full pardon to the Vizier Ali, and\nnot only gives him his life, but restores to him his fortune and\nhis possessions.' My mother uttered a cry of joy, and clasped me to\nher bosom. `Stop,' said Selim, seeing that she was about to go out;\n`you see I have not yet received the ring,' — `True,' said my\nmother. And she fell on her knees, at the same time holding me up\ntowards heaven, as if she desired, while praying to God in my\nbehalf, to raise me actually to his presence.\"\nAnd for the second time Haidee stopped, overcome by such violentAnd for the second time Haidee stopped, overcome by such violent\nemotion that the perspiration stood upon her pale brow, and her\nstifled voice seemed hardly able to find utterance, so parched and\ndry were her throat and lips. Monte Cristo poured a little iced\nwater into a glass, and presented it to her, saying with a mildness\nin which was also a shade of command, — \"Courage.\"\nHaidee dried her eyes, and continued: \"By this time our eyes,\nhabituated to the darkness, had recognized the messenger of the\npasha, — it was a friend. Selim had also recognized him, but the\nbrave young man only acknowledged one duty, which was to obey. `In\nwhose name do you come?' said he to him. `I come in the name of our\nmaster, Ali Tepelini.' — `If you come from Ali himself,' said\nSelim, `you know what you were charged to remit to me?' — `Yes,'\nsaid the messenger, `and I bring you his ring.' At these words he\nraised his hand above his head, to show the token; but it was too\nfar off, and there was not light enough to enable Selim, where he\nwas standing, to distinguish and recognize the object presented to\nhis view. `I do not see what you have in your hand,' said Selim.\n`Approach then,' said the messenger, `or I will come nearer to you,\nif you prefer it.' — `I will agree to neither one nor the other,'\nreplied the young soldier; `place the object which I desire to see\nin the ray of light which shines there, and retire while I examine\nit.' — `Be it so,' said the envoy; and he retired, after having\nfirst deposited the token agreed on in the place pointed out to him\nby Selim.\n\"Oh, how our hearts palpitated; for it did, indeed, seem to be a\nring which was placed there. But was it my father's ring? that was\nthe question. Selim, still holding in his hand the lighted match,\nwalked towards the opening in the cavern, and, aided by the faint\nlight which streamed in through the mouth of the cave, picked up\nthe token.\n\"`It is well,' said he, kissing it; `it is my master's ring!'\nAnd throwing the match on the ground, he trampled on it and"}
{"text": "And throwing the match on the ground, he trampled on it and\nextinguished it. The messenger uttered a cry of joy and clapped his\nhands. At this signal four soldiers of the Serasker Koorshid\nsuddenly appeared, and Selim fell, pierced by five blows. Each man\nhad stabbed him separately, and, intoxicated by their crime, though\nstill pale with fear, they sought all over the cavern to discover\nif there was any fear of fire, after which they amused themselves\nby rolling on the bags of gold. At this moment my mother seized me\nin her arms, and hurrying noiselessly along numerous turnings and\nwindings known only to ourselves, she arrived at a private\nstaircase of the kiosk, where was a scene of frightful tumult and\nconfusion. The lower rooms were entirely filled with Koorshid's\ntroops; that is to say, with our enemies. Just as my mother was on\nthe point of pushing open a small door, we heard the voice of the\npasha sounding in a loud and threatening tone. My mother applied\nher eye to the crack between the boards; I luckily found a small\nopening which afforded me a view of the apartment and what was\npassing within. `What do you want?' said my father to some people\nwho were holding a paper inscribed with characters of gold. `What\nwe want,' replied one, `is to communicate to you the will of his\nhighness. Do you see this firman?' — `I do,' said my father. `Well,\nread it; he demands your head.'\n\"My father answered with a loud laugh, which was more frightful\nthan even threats would have been, and he had not ceased when two\nreports of a pistol were heard; he had fired them himself, and had\nkilled two men. The Palikares, who were prostrated at my father's\nfeet, now sprang up and fired, and the room was filled with fire\nand smoke. At the same instant the firing began on the other side,\nand the balls penetrated the boards all round us. Oh, how noble did\nthe grand vizier my father look at that moment, in the midst of the\nflying bullets, his scimitar in his hand, and his face blackenedflying bullets, his scimitar in his hand, and his face blackened\nwith the powder of his enemies! and how he terrified them, even\nthen, and made them fly before him! `Selim, Selim!' cried he,\n`guardian of the fire, do your duty!' — `Selim is dead,' replied a\nvoice which seemed to come from the depths of the earth, `and you\nare lost, Ali!' At the same moment an explosion was heard, and the\nflooring of the room in which my father was sitting was suddenly\ntorn up and shivered to atoms — the troops were firing from\nunderneath. Three or four Palikares fell with their bodies\nliterally ploughed with wounds.\n\"My father howled aloud, plunged his fingers into the holes\nwhich the balls had made, and tore up one of the planks entire. But\nimmediately through this opening twenty more shots were fired, and\nthe flame, rushing up like fire from the crater of a volcano, soon\nreached the tapestry, which it quickly devoured. In the midst of\nall this frightful tumult and these terrific cries, two reports,\nfearfully distinct, followed by two shrieks more heartrending than\nall, froze me with terror. These two shots had mortally wounded my\nfather, and it was he who had given utterance to these frightful\ncries. However, he remained standing, clinging to a window. My\nmother tried to force the door, that she might go and die with him,\nbut it was fastened on the inside. All around him were lying the\nPalikares, writhing in convulsive agonies, while two or three who\nwere only slightly wounded were trying to escape by springing from\nthe windows. At this crisis the whole flooring suddenly gave way.\nmy father fell on one knee, and at the same moment twenty hands\nwere thrust forth, armed with sabres, pistols, and poniards —\ntwenty blows were instantaneously directed against one man, and my\nfather disappeared in a whirlwind of fire and smoke kindled by\nthese demons, and which seemed like hell itself opening beneath his\nfeet. I felt myself fall to the ground, my mother had fainted.\"\nHaidee's arms fell by her side, and she uttered a deep groan, atHaidee's arms fell by her side, and she uttered a deep groan, at\nthe same time looking towards the count as if to ask if he were\nsatisfied with her obedience to his commands. Monte Cristo arose\nand approached her, took her hand, and said to her in Romaic, \"Calm\nyourself, my dear child, and take courage in remembering that there\nis a God who will punish traitors.\"\n\"It is a frightful story, count,\" said Albert, terrified at the\npaleness of Haidee's countenance, \"and I reproach myself now for\nhaving been so cruel and thoughtless in my request.\"\n\"Oh, it is nothing,\" said Monte Cristo. Then, patting the young\ngirl on the head, he continued, \"Haidee is very courageous, and she\nsometimes even finds consolation in the recital of her\nmisfortunes.\"\n\"Because, my lord,\" said Haidee eagerly, \"my miseries recall to\nme the remembrance of your goodness.\"\nAlbert looked at her with curiosity, for she had not yet related\nwhat he most desired to know, — how she had become the slave of the\ncount. Haidee saw at a glance the same expression pervading the\ncountenances of her two auditors; she exclaimed, `When my mother\nrecovered her senses we were before the serasker. `Kill,' said she,\n`but spare the honor of the widow of Ali.' — `It is not to me to\nwhom you must address yourself,' said Koorshid.\n\"`To whom, then?' — `To your new master.'\n\"`Who and where is he?' — `He is here.'\n\"And Koorshid pointed out one who had more than any contributed\nto the death of my father,\" said Haidee, in a tone of chastened\nanger. \"Then,\" said Albert, \"you became the property of this\nman?\"\n\"No,\" replied Haidee, \"he did not dare to keep us, so we were\nsold to some slave-merchants who were going to Constantinople. We\ntraversed Greece, and arrived half dead at the imperial gates. They\nwere surrounded by a crowd of people, who opened a way for us to\npass, when suddenly my mother, having looked closely at an object\nwhich was attracting their attention, uttered a piercing cry and\nfell to the ground, pointing as she did so to a head which wasfell to the ground, pointing as she did so to a head which was\nplaced over the gates, and beneath which were inscribed these\nwords:\n\"`This is the head of Ali Tepelini Pasha of Yanina.' I cried\nbitterly, and tried to raise my mother from the earth, but she was\ndead! I was taken to the slave-market, and was purchased by a rich\nArmenian. He caused me to be instructed, gave me masters, and when\nI was thirteen years of age he sold me to the Sultan Mahmood.\"\n\"Of whom I bought her,\" said Monte Cristo, \"as I told you,\nAlbert, with the emerald which formed a match to the one I had made\ninto a box for the purpose of holding my hashish pills.\"\n\"Oh, you are good, you are great, my lord!\" said Haidee, kissing\nthe count's hand, \"and I am very fortunate in belonging to such a\nmaster!\" Albert remained quite bewildered with all that he had seen\nand heard. \"Come, finish your cup of coffee,\" said Monte Cristo;\n\"the history is ended.\""}
{"text": "M. D'Avrigny soon restored the magistrate to consciousness, who\nhad looked like a second corpse in that chamber of death. \"Oh,\ndeath is in my house!\" cried Villefort.\n\"Say, rather, crime!\" replied the doctor.\n\"M. d'Avrigny,\" cried Villefort, \"I cannot tell you all I feel\nat this moment, — terror, grief, madness.\"\n\"Yes,\" said M. d'Avrigny, with an imposing calmness, \"but I\nthink it is now time to act. I think it is time to stop this\ntorrent of mortality. I can no longer bear to be in possession of\nthese secrets without the hope of seeing the victims and society\ngenerally revenged.\" Villefort cast a gloomy look around him. \"In\nmy house,\" murmured he, \"in my house!\"\n\"Come, magistrate,\" said M. d'Avrigny, \"show yourself a man; as\nan interpreter of the law, do honor to your profession by\nsacrificing your selfish interests to it.\"\n\"You make me shudder, doctor. Do you talk of a sacrifice?\"\n\"I do.\"\n\"Do you then suspect any one?\"\n\"I suspect no one; death raps at your door — it enters — it\ngoes, not blindfolded, but circumspectly, from room to room. Well,\nI follow its course, I track its passage; I adopt the wisdom of the\nancients, and feel my way, for my friendship for your family and my\nrespect for you are as a twofold bandage over my eyes; well\" —\n\"Oh, speak, speak, doctor; I shall have courage.\"\n\"Well, sir, you have in your establishment, or in your family,\nperhaps, one of the frightful monstrosities of which each century\nproduces only one. Locusta and Agrippina, living at the same time,\nwere an exception, and proved the determination of providence to\neffect the entire ruin of the Roman empire, sullied by so many\ncrimes. Brunehilde and Fredegonde were the results of the painful\nstruggle of civilization in its infancy, when man was learning to\ncontrol mind, were it even by an emissary from the realms of\ndarkness. All these women had been, or were, beautiful. The same\nflower of innocence had flourished, or was still flourishing, on\ntheir brow, that is seen on the brow of the culprit in your house.\"their brow, that is seen on the brow of the culprit in your house.\"\nVillefort shrieked, clasped his hands, and looked at the doctor\nwith a supplicating air. But the latter went on without pity: —\n\"`Seek whom the crime will profit,' says an axiom of\njurisprudence.\"\n\"Doctor,\" cried Villefort, \"alas, doctor, how often has man's\njustice been deceived by those fatal words. I know not why, but I\nfeel that this crime\" —\n\"You acknowledge, then, the existence of the crime?\"\n\"Yes, I see too plainly that it does exist. But it seems that it\nis intended to affect me personally. I fear an attack myself, after\nall these disasters.\"\n\"Oh, man,\" murmured d'Avrigny, \"the most selfish of all animals,\nthe most personal of all creatures, who believes the earth turns,\nthe sun shines, and death strikes for him alone, — an ant cursing\nGod from the top of a blade of grass! And have those who have lost\ntheir lives lost nothing? — M. de Saint-Meran, Madame de\nSaint-Meran, M. Noirtier\" —\n\"How? M. Noirtier?\"\n\"Yes; think you it was the poor servant's life was coveted? No,\nno; like Shakespeare's `Polonius,' he died for another. It was\nNoirtier the lemonade was intended for — it is Noirtier, logically\nspeaking, who drank it. The other drank it only by accident, and,\nalthough Barrois is dead, it was Noirtier whose death was wished\nfor.\"\n\"But why did it not kill my father?\"\n\"I told you one evening in the garden after Madame de\nSaint-Meran's death — because his system is accustomed to that very\npoison, and the dose was trifling to him, which would be fatal to\nanother; because no one knows, not even the assassin, that, for the\nlast twelve months, I have given M. Noirtier brucine for his\nparalytic affection, while the assassin is not ignorant, for he has\nproved that brucine is a violent poison.\"\n\"Oh, have pity — have pity!\" murmured Villefort, wringing his\nhands.\n\"Follow the culprit's steps; he first kills M. de Saint-Meran\"\n—\n\"O doctor!\"\n\"I would swear to it; what I heard of his symptoms agrees too—\n\"O doctor!\"\n\"I would swear to it; what I heard of his symptoms agrees too\nwell with what I have seen in the other cases.\" Villefort ceased to\ncontend; he only groaned. \"He first kills M. de Saint-Meran,\"\nrepeated the doctor, \"then Madame de Saint-Meran, — a double\nfortune to inherit.\" Villefort wiped the perspiration from his\nforehead. \"Listen attentively.\"\n\"Alas,\" stammered Villefort, \"I do not lose a single word.\"\n\"M. Noirtier,\" resumed M. d'Avrigny in the same pitiless tone, —\n\"M. Noirtier had once made a will against you — against your family\n— in favor of the poor, in fact; M. Noirtier is spared, because\nnothing is expected from him. But he has no sooner destroyed his\nfirst will and made a second, than, for fear he should make a\nthird, he is struck down. The will was made the day before\nyesterday, I believe; you see there has been no time lost.\"\n\"Oh, mercy, M. d'Avrigny!\"\n\"No mercy, sir! The physician has a sacred mission on earth; and\nto fulfil it he begins at the source of life, and goes down to the\nmysterious darkness of the tomb. When crime has been committed, and\nGod, doubtless in anger, turns away his face, it is for the\nphysician to bring the culprit to justice.\"\n\"Have mercy on my child, sir,\" murmured Villefort.\n\"You see it is yourself who have first named her — you, her\nfather.\"\n\"Have pity on Valentine! Listen — it is impossible! I would as\nwillingly accuse myself! Valentine, whose heart is pure as a\ndiamond or a lily.\"\n\"No pity, procureur; the crime is fragrant. Mademoiselle herself\npacked all the medicines which were sent to M. de Saint-Meran; and\nM. de Saint-Meran is dead. Mademoiselle de Villefort prepared all\nthe cooling draughts which Madame de Saint-Meran took, and Madame\nde Saint-Meran is dead. Mademoiselle de Villefort took from the\nhands of Barrois, who was sent out, the lemonade which M. Noirtier\nhad every morning, and he has escaped by a miracle. Mademoiselle de\nVillefort is the culprit — she is the poisoner! To you, as the"}
{"text": "Villefort is the culprit — she is the poisoner! To you, as the\nking's attorney, I denounce Mademoiselle de Villefort, do your\nduty.\"\n\"Doctor, I resist no longer — I can no longer defend myself — I\nbelieve you; but, for pity's sake, spare my life, my honor!\"\n\"M. de Villefort,\" replied the doctor, with increased vehemence,\n\"there are occasions when I dispense with all foolish human\ncircumspection. If your daughter had committed only one crime, and\nI saw her meditating another, I would say `Warn her, punish her,\nlet her pass the remainder of her life in a convent, weeping and\npraying.' If she had committed two crimes, I would say, `Here, M.\nde Villefort, is a poison that the prisoner is not acquainted with,\n— one that has no known antidote, quick as thought, rapid as\nlightning, mortal as the thunderbolt; give her that poison,\nrecommending her soul to God, and save your honor and your life,\nfor it is yours she aims at; and I can picture her approaching your\npillow with her hypocritical smiles and her sweet exhortations. Woe\nto you, M. de Villefort, if you do not strike first!' This is what\nI would say had she only killed two persons but she has seen three\ndeaths, — has contemplated three murdered persons, — has knelt by\nthree corpses! To the scaffold with the poisoner — to the scaffold!\nDo you talk of your honor? Do what I tell you, and immortality\nawaits you!\"\nVillefort fell on his knees. \"Listen,\" said he; \"I have not the\nstrength of mind you have, or rather that which you would not have,\nif instead of my daughter Valentine your daughter Madeleine were\nconcerned.\" The doctor turned pale. \"Doctor, every son of woman is\nborn to suffer and to die; I am content to suffer and to await\ndeath.\"\n\"Beware,\" said M. d'Avrigny, \"it may come slowly; you will see\nit approach after having struck your father, your wife, perhaps\nyour son.\"\nVillefort, suffocating, pressed the doctor's arm. \"Listen,\"\ncried he; \"pity me — help me! No, my daughter is not guilty. If you\ndrag us both before a tribunal I will still say, `No, my daughterdrag us both before a tribunal I will still say, `No, my daughter\nis not guilty; — there is no crime in my house. I will not\nacknowledge a crime in my house; for when crime enters a dwelling,\nit is like death — it does not come alone.' Listen. What does it\nsignify to you if I am murdered? Are you my friend? Are you a man?\nHave you a heart? No, you are a physician! Well, I tell you I will\nnot drag my daughter before a tribunal, and give her up to the\nexecutioner! The bare idea would kill me — would drive me like a\nmadman to dig my heart out with my finger-nails! And if you were\nmistaken, doctor — if it were not my daughter — if I should come\none day, pale as a spectre, and say to you, `Assassin, you have\nkilled my child!' — hold — if that should happen, although I am a\nChristian, M. d'Avrigny, I should kill myself.\"\n\"Well,\" said the doctor, after a moment's silence, \"I will\nwait.\" Villefort looked at him as if he had doubted his words.\n\"Only,\" continued M. d'Avrigny, with a slow and solemn tone, \"if\nany one falls ill in your house, if you feel yourself attacked, do\nnot send for me, for I will come no more. I will consent to share\nthis dreadful secret with you, but I will not allow shame and\nremorse to grow and increase in my conscience, as crime and misery\nwill in your house.\"\n\"Then you abandon me, doctor?\"\n\"Yes, for I can follow you no farther, and I only stop at the\nfoot of the scaffold. Some further discovery will be made, which\nwill bring this dreadful tragedy to a close. Adieu.\"\n\"I entreat you, doctor!\"\n\"All the horrors that disturb my thoughts make your house odious\nand fatal. Adieu, sir.\"\n\"One word — one single word more, doctor! You go, leaving me in\nall the horror of my situation, after increasing it by what you\nhave revealed to me. But what will be reported of the sudden death\nof the poor old servant?\"\n\"True,\" said M. d'Avrigny; \"we will return.\" The doctor went out\nfirst, followed by M. de Villefort. The terrified servants were on\nthe stairs and in the passage where the doctor would pass. \"Sir,\"the stairs and in the passage where the doctor would pass. \"Sir,\"\nsaid d'Avrigny to Villefort, so loud that all might hear, \"poor\nBarrois has led too sedentary a life of late; accustomed formerly\nto ride on horseback, or in the carriage, to the four corners of\nEurope, the monotonous walk around that arm-chair has killed him —\nhis blood has thickened. He was stout, had a short, thick neck; he\nwas attacked with apoplexy, and I was called in too late. By the\nway,\" added he in a low tone, \"take care to throw away that cup of\nsyrup of violets in the ashes.\"\nThe doctor, without shaking hands with Villefort, without adding\na word to what he had said, went out, amid the tears and\nlamentations of the whole household. The same evening all\nVillefort's servants, who had assembled in the kitchen, and had a\nlong consultation, came to tell Madame de Villefort that they\nwished to leave. No entreaty, no proposition of increased wages,\ncould induce them to remain; to every argument they replied, \"We\nmust go, for death is in this house.\" They all left, in spite of\nprayers and entreaties, testifying their regret at leaving so good\na master and mistress, and especially Mademoiselle Valentine, so\ngood, so kind, and so gentle. Villefort looked at Valentine as they\nsaid this. She was in tears, and, strange as it was, in spite of\nthe emotions he felt at the sight of these tears, he looked also at\nMadame de Villefort, and it appeared to him as if a slight gloomy\nsmile had passed over her thin lips, like a meteor seen passing\ninauspiciously between two clouds in a stormy sky."}
{"text": "At eight o'clock in the morning Albert had arrived at\nBeauchamp's door. The valet de chambre had received orders to usher\nhim in at once. Beauchamp was in his bath. \"Here I am,\" said\nAlbert.\n\"Well, my poor friend,\" replied Beauchamp, \"I expected you.\"\n\"I need not say I think you are too faithful and too kind to\nhave spoken of that painful circumstance. Your having sent for me\nis another proof of your affection. So, without losing time, tell\nme, have you the slightest idea whence this terrible blow\nproceeds?\"\n\"I think I have some clew.\"\n\"But first tell me all the particulars of this shameful plot.\"\nBeauchamp proceeded to relate to the young man, who was overwhelmed\nwith shame and grief, the following facts. Two days previously, the\narticle had appeared in another paper besides the Impartial, and,\nwhat was more serious, one that was well known as a government\npaper. Beauchamp was breakfasting when he read the paragraph. He\nsent immediately for a cabriolet, and hastened to the publisher's\noffice. Although professing diametrically opposite principles from\nthose of the editor of the other paper, Beauchamp — as it\nsometimes, we may say often, happens — was his intimate friend. The\neditor was reading, with apparent delight, a leading article in the\nsame paper on beet-sugar, probably a composition of his own.\n\"Ah, pardieu,\" said Beauchamp, \"with the paper in your hand, my\nfriend, I need not tell you the cause of my visit.\"\n\"Are you interested in the sugar question?\" asked the editor of\nthe ministerial paper.\n\"No,\" replied Beauchamp, \"I have not considered the question; a\ntotally different subject interests me.\"\n\"What is it?\"\n\"The article relative to Morcerf.\"\n\"Indeed? Is it not a curious affair?\"\n\"So curious, that I think you are running a great risk of a\nprosecution for defamation of character.\"\n\"Not at all; we have received with the information all the\nrequisite proofs, and we are quite sure M. de Morcerf will not\nraise his voice against us; besides, it is rendering a service toraise his voice against us; besides, it is rendering a service to\none's country to denounce these wretched criminals who are unworthy\nof the honor bestowed on them.\" Beauchamp was thunderstruck. \"Who,\nthen, has so correctly informed you?\" asked he; \"for my paper,\nwhich gave the first information on the subject, has been obliged\nto stop for want of proof; and yet we are more interested than you\nin exposing M. de Morcerf, as he is a peer of France, and we are of\nthe opposition.\"\n\"Oh, that is very simple; we have not sought to scandalize. This\nnews was brought to us. A man arrived yesterday from Yanina,\nbringing a formidable array of documents; and when we hesitated to\npublish the accusatory article, he told us it should be inserted in\nsome other paper.\"\nBeauchamp understood that nothing remained but to submit, and\nleft the office to despatch a courier to Morcerf. But he had been\nunable to send to Albert the following particulars, as the events\nhad transpired after the messenger's departure; namely, that the\nsame day a great agitation was manifest in the House of Peers among\nthe usually calm members of that dignified assembly. Every one had\narrived almost before the usual hour, and was conversing on the\nmelancholy event which was to attract the attention of the public\ntowards one of their most illustrious colleagues. Some were\nperusing the article, others making comments and recalling\ncircumstances which substantiated the charges still more. The Count\nof Morcerf was no favorite with his colleagues. Like all upstarts,\nhe had had recourse to a great deal of haughtiness to maintain his\nposition. The true nobility laughed at him, the talented repelled\nhim, and the honorable instinctively despised him. He was, in fact,\nin the unhappy position of the victim marked for sacrifice; the\nfinger of God once pointed at him, every one was prepared to raise\nthe hue and cry.\nThe Count of Morcerf alone was ignorant of the news. He did not\ntake in the paper containing the defamatory article, and had passedtake in the paper containing the defamatory article, and had passed\nthe morning in writing letters and in trying a horse. He arrived at\nhis usual hour, with a proud look and insolent demeanor; he\nalighted, passed through the corridors, and entered the house\nwithout observing the hesitation of the door-keepers or the\ncoolness of his colleagues. Business had already been going on for\nhalf an hour when he entered. Every one held the accusing paper,\nbut, as usual, no one liked to take upon himself the responsibility\nof the attack. At length an honorable peer, Morcerf's acknowledged\nenemy, ascended the tribune with that solemnity which announced\nthat the expected moment had arrived. There was an impressive\nsilence; Morcerf alone knew not why such profound attention was\ngiven to an orator who was not always listened to with so much\ncomplacency. The count did not notice the introduction, in which\nthe speaker announced that his communication would be of that vital\nimportance that it demanded the undivided attention of the House;\nbut at the mention of Yanina and Colonel Fernand, he turned so\nfrightfully pale that every member shuddered and fixed his eyes\nupon him. Moral wounds have this peculiarity, — they may be hidden,\nbut they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when\ntouched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.\nThe article having been read during the painful hush that\nfollowed, a universal shudder pervaded the assembly. and\nimmediately the closest attention was given to the orator as he\nresumed his remarks. He stated his scruples and the difficulties of\nthe case; it was the honor of M. de Morcerf, and that of the whole\nHouse, he proposed to defend, by provoking a debate on personal\nquestions, which are always such painful themes of discussion. He\nconcluded by calling for an investigation, which might dispose of\nthe calumnious report before it had time to spread, and restore M.\nde Morcerf to the position he had long held in public opinion.de Morcerf to the position he had long held in public opinion.\nMorcerf was so completely overwhelmed by this great and unexpected\ncalamity that he could scarcely stammer a few words as he looked\naround on the assembly. This timidity, which might proceed from the\nastonishment of innocence as well as the shame of guilt,\nconciliated some in his favor; for men who are truly generous are\nalways ready to compassionate when the misfortune of their enemy\nsurpasses the limits of their hatred.\nThe president put it to the vote, and it was decided that the\ninvestigation should take place. The count was asked what time he\nrequired to prepare his defence. Morcerf's courage had revived when\nhe found himself alive after this horrible blow. \"My lords,\"\nanswered he, \"it is not by time I could repel the attack made on me\nby enemies unknown to me, and, doubtless, hidden in obscurity; it\nis immediately, and by a thunderbolt, that I must repel the flash\nof lightning which, for a moment, startled me. Oh, that I could,\ninstead of taking up this defence, shed my last drop of blood to\nprove to my noble colleagues that I am their equal in worth.\" These\nwords made a favorable impression on behalf of the accused. \"I\ndemand, then, that the examination shall take place as soon as\npossible, and I will furnish the house with all necessary\ninformation.\"\n\"What day do you fix?\" asked the president.\n\"To-day I am at your service,\" replied the count. The president\nrang the bell. \"Does the House approve that the examination should\ntake place to-day?\"\n\"Yes,\" was the unanimous answer.\nA committee of twelve members was chosen to examine the proofs\nbrought forward by Morcerf. The investigation would begin at eight\no'clock that evening in the committee-room, and if postponement\nwere necessary, the proceedings would be resumed each evening at\nthe same hour. Morcerf asked leave to retire; he had to collect the\ndocuments he had long been preparing against this storm, which his\nsagacity had foreseen."}
{"text": "documents he had long been preparing against this storm, which his\nsagacity had foreseen.\nAlbert listened, trembling now with hope, then with anger, and\nthen again with shame, for from Beauchamp's confidence he knew his\nfather was guilty, and he asked himself how, since he was guilty,\nhe could prove his innocence. Beauchamp hesitated to continue his\nnarrative. \"What next?\" asked Albert.\n\"What next? My friend, you impose a painful task on me. Must you\nknow all?\"\n\"Absolutely; and rather from your lips than another's.\"\n\"Muster up all your courage, then, for never have you required\nit more.\" Albert passed his hand over his forehead, as if to try\nhis strength, as a man who is preparing to defend his life proves\nhis shield and bends his sword. He thought himself strong enough,\nfor he mistook fever for energy. \"Go on,\" said he.\n\"The evening arrived; all Paris was in expectation. Many said\nyour father had only to show himself to crush the charge against\nhim; many others said he would not appear; while some asserted that\nthey had seen him start for Brussels; and others went to the\npolice-office to inquire if he had taken out a passport. I used all\nmy influence with one of the committee, a young peer of my\nacquaintance, to get admission to one of the galleries. He called\nfor me at seven o'clock, and, before any one had arrived, asked one\nof the door-keepers to place me in a box. I was concealed by a\ncolumn, and might witness the whole of the terrible scene which was\nabout to take place. At eight o'clock all were in their places, and\nM. de Morcerf entered at the last stroke. He held some papers in\nhis hand; his countenance was calm, and his step firm, and he was\ndressed with great care in his military uniform, which was buttoned\ncompletely up to the chin. His presence produced a good effect. The\ncommittee was made up of Liberals, several of whom came forward to\nshake hands with him.\"\nAlbert felt his heart bursting at these particulars, but\ngratitude mingled with his sorrow: he would gladly have embracedgratitude mingled with his sorrow: he would gladly have embraced\nthose who had given his father this proof of esteem at a moment\nwhen his honor was so powerfully attacked. \"At this moment one of\nthe door-keepers brought in a letter for the president. `You are at\nliberty to speak, M. de Morcerf,' said the president, as he\nunsealed the letter; and the count began his defence, I assure you,\nAlbert, in a most eloquent and skilful manner. He produced\ndocuments proving that the Vizier of Yanina had up to the last\nmoment honored him with his entire confidence, since he had\ninterested him with a negotiation of life and death with the\nemperor. He produced the ring, his mark of authority, with which\nAli Pasha generally sealed his letters, and which the latter had\ngiven him, that he might, on his return at any hour of the day or\nnight, gain access to the presence, even in the harem.\nUnfortunately, the negotiation failed, and when he returned to\ndefend his benefactor, he was dead. `But,' said the count, `so\ngreat was Ali Pasha's confidence, that on his death-bed he resigned\nhis favorite mistress and her daughter to my care.'\" Albert started\non hearing these words; the history of Haidee recurred to him, and\nhe remembered what she had said of that message and the ring, and\nthe manner in which she had been sold and made a slave. \"And what\neffect did this discourse produce?\" anxiously inquired Albert. \"I\nacknowledge it affected me, and, indeed, all the committee also,\"\nsaid Beauchamp.\n\"Meanwhile, the president carelessly opened the letter which had\nbeen brought to him; but the first lines aroused his attention; he\nread them again and again, and fixing his eyes on M. de Morcerf,\n`Count,' said he, `you have said that the Vizier of Yanina confided\nhis wife and daughter to your care?' — `Yes, sir,' replied Morcerf;\n`but in that, like all the rest, misfortune pursued me. On my\nreturn, Vasiliki and her daughter Haidee had disappeared.' — `Did\nyou know them?' — `My intimacy with the pasha and his unlimitedyou know them?' — `My intimacy with the pasha and his unlimited\nconfidence had gained me an introduction to them, and I had seen\nthem above twenty times.'\n\"`Have you any idea what became of them?' — `Yes, sir; I heard\nthey had fallen victims to their sorrow, and, perhaps, to their\npoverty. I was not rich; my life was in constant danger; I could\nnot seek them, to my great regret.' The president frowned\nimperceptibly. `Gentlemen,' said he, `you have heard the Comte de\nMorcerf's defence. Can you, sir, produce any witnesses to the truth\nof what you have asserted?' — `Alas, no, monsieur,' replied the\ncount; `all those who surrounded the vizier, or who knew me at his\ncourt, are either dead or gone away, I know not where. I believe\nthat I alone, of all my countrymen, survived that dreadful war. I\nhave only the letters of Ali Tepelini, which I have placed before\nyou; the ring, a token of his good-will, which is here; and,\nlastly, the most convincing proof I can offer, after an anonymous\nattack, and that is the absence of any witness against my veracity\nand the purity of my military life.' A murmur of approbation ran\nthrough the assembly; and at this moment, Albert, had nothing more\ntranspired, your father's cause had been gained. It only remained\nto put it to the vote, when the president resumed: `Gentlemen and\nyou, monsieur, — you will not be displeased, I presume, to listen\nto one who calls himself a very important witness, and who has just\npresented himself. He is, doubtless, come to prove the perfect\ninnocence of our colleague. Here is a letter I have just received\non the subject; shall it be read, or shall it be passed over? and\nshall we take no notice of this incident?' M. de Morcerf turned\npale, and clinched his hands on the papers he held. The committee\ndecided to hear the letter; the count was thoughtful and silent.\nThe president read: —\n\"`Mr. President, — I can furnish the committee of inquiry into\nthe conduct of the Lieutenant-General the Count of Morcerf in"}
{"text": "the conduct of the Lieutenant-General the Count of Morcerf in\nEpirus and in Macedonia with important particulars.'\n\"The president paused, and the count turned pale. The president\nlooked at his auditors. `Proceed,' was heard on all sides. The\npresident resumed: —\n\"`I was on the spot at the death of Ali Pasha. I was present\nduring his last moments. I know what is become of Vasiliki and\nHaidee. I am at the command of the committee, and even claim the\nhonor of being heard. I shall be in the lobby when this note is\ndelivered to you.'\n\"`And who is this witness, or rather this enemy?' asked the\ncount, in a tone in which there was a visible alteration. `We shall\nknow, sir,' replied the president. `Is the committee willing to\nhear this witness?' — `Yes, yes,' they all said at once. The\ndoor-keeper was called. `Is there any one in the lobby?' said the\npresident.\n\"`Yes, sir.' — `Who is it?' — `A woman, accompanied by a\nservant.' Every one looked at his neighbor. `Bring her in,' said\nthe president. Five minutes after the door-keeper again appeared;\nall eyes were fixed on the door, and I,\" said Beauchamp, \"shared\nthe general expectation and anxiety. Behind the door-keeper walked\na woman enveloped in a large veil, which completely concealed her.\nIt was evident, from her figure and the perfumes she had about her,\nthat she was young and fastidious in her tastes, but that was all.\nThe president requested her to throw aside her veil, and it was\nthen seen that she was dressed in the Grecian costume, and was\nremarkably beautiful.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Albert, \"it was she.\"\n\"Who?\"\n\"Haidee.\"\n\"Who told you that?\"\n\"Alas, I guess it. But go on, Beauchamp. You see I am calm and\nstrong. And yet we must be drawing near the disclosure.\"\n\"M. de Morcerf,\" continued Beauchamp, \"looked at this woman with\nsurprise and terror. Her lips were about to pass his sentence of\nlife or death. To the committee the adventure was so extraordinary\nand curious, that the interest they had felt for the count's safetyand curious, that the interest they had felt for the count's safety\nbecame now quite a secondary matter. The president himself advanced\nto place a seat for the young lady; but she declined availing\nherself of it. As for the count, he had fallen on his chair; it was\nevident that his legs refused to support him.\n\"`Madame,' said the president, `you have engaged to furnish the\ncommittee with some important particulars respecting the affair at\nYanina, and you have stated that you were an eyewitness of the\nevent.' — `I was, indeed,' said the stranger, with a tone of sweet\nmelancholy, and with the sonorous voice peculiar to the East.\n\"`But allow me to say that you must have been very young then.'\n— `I was four years old; but as those events deeply concerned me,\nnot a single detail has escaped my memory.' — `In what manner could\nthese events concern you? and who are you, that they should have\nmade so deep an impression on you?' — `On them depended my father's\nlife,' replied she. `I am Haidee, the daughter of Ali Tepelini,\npasha of Yanina, and of Vasiliki, his beloved wife.'\n\"The blush of mingled pride and modesty which suddenly suffused\nthe cheeks of the young woman, the brilliancy of her eye, and her\nhighly important communication, produced an indescribable effect on\nthe assembly. As for the count, he could not have been more\noverwhelmed if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet and opened an\nimmense gulf before him. `Madame,' replied the president, bowing\nwith profound respect, `allow me to ask one question; it shall be\nthe last: Can you prove the authenticity of what you have now\nstated?' — `I can, sir,' said Haidee, drawing from under her veil a\nsatin satchel highly perfumed; `for here is the register of my\nbirth, signed by my father and his principal officers, and that of\nmy baptism, my father having consented to my being brought up in my\nmother's faith, — this latter has been sealed by the grand primate\nof Macedonia and Epirus; and lastly (and perhaps the mostof Macedonia and Epirus; and lastly (and perhaps the most\nimportant), the record of the sale of my person and that of my\nmother to the Armenian merchant El-Kobbir, by the French officer,\nwho, in his infamous bargain with the Porte, had reserved as his\npart of the booty the wife and daughter of his benefactor, whom he\nsold for the sum of four hundred thousand francs.' A greenish\npallor spread over the count's cheeks, and his eyes became\nbloodshot at these terrible imputations, which were listened to by\nthe assembly with ominous silence.\n\"Haidee, still calm, but with a calmness more dreadful than the\nanger of another would have been, handed to the president the\nrecord of her sale, written in Arabic. It had been supposed some of\nthe papers might be in the Arabian, Romaic, or Turkish language,\nand the interpreter of the House was in attendance. One of the\nnoble peers, who was familiar with the Arabic language, having\nstudied it during the famous Egyptian campaign, followed with his\neye as the translator read aloud: —\n\"`I, El-Kobbir, a slave-merchant, and purveyor of the harem of\nhis highness, acknowledge having received for transmission to the\nsublime emperor, from the French lord, the Count of Monte Cristo,\nan emerald valued at eight hundred thousand francs; as the ransom\nof a young Christian slave of eleven years of age, named Haidee,\nthe acknowledged daughter of the late lord Ali Tepelini, pasha of\nYanina, and of Vasiliki, his favorite; she having been sold to me\nseven years previously, with her mother, who had died on arriving\nat Constantinople, by a French colonel in the service of the Vizier\nAli Tepelini, named Fernand Mondego. The above-mentioned purchase\nwas made on his highness's account, whose mandate I had, for the\nsum of four hundred thousand francs.\n\"`Given at Constantinople, by authority of his highness, in the\nyear 1247 of the Hegira.\n\"`Signed El-Kobbir.'\n\"`That this record should have all due authority, it shall bear\nthe imperial seal, which the vendor is bound to have affixed to\nit.'"}
{"text": "the imperial seal, which the vendor is bound to have affixed to\nit.'\n\"Near the merchant's signature there was, indeed, the seal of\nthe sublime emperor. A dreadful silence followed the reading of\nthis document; the count could only stare, and his gaze, fixed as\nif unconsciously on Haidee, seemed one of fire and blood. `Madame,'\nsaid the president, `may reference be made to the Count of Monte\nCristo, who is now, I believe, in Paris?' — `Sir,' replied Haidee,\n`the Count of Monte Cristo, my foster-father, has been in Normandy\nthe last three days.'\n\"`Who, then, has counselled you to take this step, one for which\nthe court is deeply indebted to you, and which is perfectly\nnatural, considering your birth and your misfortunes?' — `Sir,'\nreplied Haidee, `I have been led to take this step from a feeling\nof respect and grief. Although a Christian, may God forgive me, I\nhave always sought to revenge my illustrious father. Since I set my\nfoot in France, and knew the traitor lived in Paris, I have watched\ncarefully. I live retired in the house of my noble protector, but I\ndo it from choice. I love retirement and silence, because I can\nlive with my thoughts and recollections of past days. But the Count\nof Monte Cristo surrounds me with every paternal care, and I am\nignorant of nothing which passes in the world. I learn all in the\nsilence of my apartments, — for instance, I see all the newspapers,\nevery periodical, as well as every new piece of music; and by thus\nwatching the course of the life of others, I learned what had\ntranspired this morning in the House of Peers, and what was to take\nplace this evening; then I wrote.'\n\"`Then,' remarked the president, `the Count of Monte Cristo\nknows nothing of your present proceedings?' — `He is quite unaware\nof them, and I have but one fear, which is that he should\ndisapprove of what I have done. But it is a glorious day for me,'\ncontinued the young girl, raising her ardent gaze to heaven, `that\non which I find at last an opportunity of avenging my father!'on which I find at last an opportunity of avenging my father!'\n\"The count had not uttered one word the whole of this time. His\ncolleagues looked at him, and doubtless pitied his prospects,\nblighted under the perfumed breath of a woman. His misery was\ndepicted in sinister lines on his countenance. `M. de Morcerf,'\nsaid the president, `do you recognize this lady as the daughter of\nAli Tepelini, pasha of Yanina?' — `No,' said Morcerf, attempting to\nrise, `it is a base plot, contrived by my enemies.' Haidee, whose\neyes had been fixed on the door, as if expecting some one, turned\nhastily, and, seeing the count standing, shrieked, `You do not know\nme?' said she. `Well, I fortunately recognize you! You are Fernand\nMondego, the French officer who led the troops of my noble father!\nIt is you who surrendered the castle of Yanina! It is you who, sent\nby him to Constantinople, to treat with the emperor for the life or\ndeath of your benefactor, brought back a false mandate granting\nfull pardon! It is you who, with that mandate, obtained the pasha's\nring, which gave you authority over Selim, the fire-keeper! It is\nyou who stabbed Selim. It is you who sold us, my mother and me, to\nthe merchant, El-Kobbir! Assassin, assassin, assassin, you have\nstill on your brow your master's blood! Look, gentlemen, all!'\n\"These words had been pronounced with such enthusiasm and\nevident truth, that every eye was fixed on the count's forehead,\nand he himself passed his hand across it, as if he felt Ali's blood\nstill lingering there. `You positively recognize M. de Morcerf as\nthe officer, Fernand Mondego?' — `Indeed I do!' cried Haidee. `Oh,\nmy mother, it was you who said, \"You were free, you had a beloved\nfather, you were destined to be almost a queen. Look well at that\nman; it is he who raised your father's head on the point of a\nspear; it is he who sold us; it is he who forsook us! Look well at\nhis right hand, on which he has a large wound; if you forgot his\nfeatures, you would know him by that hand, into which fell, one byfeatures, you would know him by that hand, into which fell, one by\none, the gold pieces of the merchant El-Kobbir!\" I know him! Ah,\nlet him say now if he does not recognize me!' Each word fell like a\ndagger on Morcerf, and deprived him of a portion of his energy; as\nshe uttered the last, he hid his mutilated hand hastily in his\nbosom, and fell back on his seat, overwhelmed by wretchedness and\ndespair. This scene completely changed the opinion of the assembly\nrespecting the accused count.\n\"`Count of Morcerf,' said the president, `do not allow yourself\nto be cast down; answer. The justice of the court is supreme and\nimpartial as that of God; it will not suffer you to be trampled on\nby your enemies without giving you an opportunity of defending\nyourself. Shall further inquiries be made? Shall two members of the\nHouse be sent to Yanina? Speak!' Morcerf did not reply. Then all\nthe members looked at each other with terror. They knew the count's\nenergetic and violent temper; it must be, indeed, a dreadful blow\nwhich would deprive him of courage to defend himself. They expected\nthat his stupefied silence would be followed by a fiery outburst.\n`Well,' asked the president, `what is your decision?'\n\"`I have no reply to make,' said the count in a low tone.\n\"`Has the daughter of Ali Tepelini spoken the truth?' said the\npresident. `Is she, then, the terrible witness to whose charge you\ndare not plead \"Not guilty\"? Have you really committed the crimes\nof which you are accused?' The count looked around him with an\nexpression which might have softened tigers, but which could not\ndisarm his judges. Then he raised his eyes towards the ceiling, but\nwithdrew then, immediately, as if he feared the roof would open and\nreveal to his distressed view that second tribunal called heaven,\nand that other judge named God. Then, with a hasty movement, he\ntore open his coat, which seemed to stifle him, and flew from the\nroom like a madman; his footstep was heard one moment in theroom like a madman; his footstep was heard one moment in the\ncorridor, then the rattling of his carriage-wheels as he was driven\nrapidly away. `Gentlemen,' said the president, when silence was\nrestored, `is the Count of Morcerf convicted of felony, treason,\nand conduct unbecoming a member of this House?' — `Yes,' replied\nall the members of the committee of inquiry with a unanimous\nvoice.\n\"Haidee had remained until the close of the meeting. She heard\nthe count's sentence pronounced without betraying an expression of\njoy or pity; then drawing her veil over her face she bowed\nmajestically to the councillors, and left with that dignified step\nwhich Virgil attributes to his goddesses.\""}
{"text": "\"Then,\" continued Beauchamp, \"I took advantage of the silence\nand the darkness to leave the house without being seen. The usher\nwho had introduced me was waiting for me at the door, and he\nconducted me through the corridors to a private entrance opening\ninto the Rue de Vaugirard. I left with mingled feelings of sorrow\nand delight. Excuse me, Albert, — sorrow on your account, and\ndelight with that noble girl, thus pursuing paternal vengeance.\nYes, Albert, from whatever source the blow may have proceeded — it\nmay be from an enemy, but that enemy is only the agent of\nprovidence.\" Albert held his head between his hands; he raised his\nface, red with shame and bathed in tears, and seizing Beauchamp's\narm, \"My friend,\" said he, \"my life is ended. I cannot calmly say\nwith you, `Providence has struck the blow;' but I must discover who\npursues me with this hatred, and when I have found him I shall kill\nhim, or he will kill me. I rely on your friendship to assist me,\nBeauchamp, if contempt has not banished it from your heart.\"\n\"Contempt, my friend? How does this misfortune affect you? No,\nhappily that unjust prejudice is forgotten which made the son\nresponsible for the father's actions. Review your life, Albert;\nalthough it is only just beginning, did a lovely summer's day ever\ndawn with greater purity than has marked the commencement of your\ncareer? No, Albert, take my advice. You are young and rich — leave\nParis — all is soon forgotten in this great Babylon of excitement\nand changing tastes. You will return after three or four years with\na Russian princess for a bride, and no one will think more of what\noccurred yesterday than if it had happened sixteen years ago.\"\n\"Thank you, my dear Beauchamp, thank you for the excellent\nfeeling which prompts your advice; but it cannot be. I have told\nyou my wish, or rather my determination. You understand that,\ninterested as I am in this affair, I cannot see it in the same\nlight as you do. What appears to you to emanate from a celestiallight as you do. What appears to you to emanate from a celestial\nsource, seems to me to proceed from one far less pure. Providence\nappears to me to have no share in this affair; and happily so, for\ninstead of the invisible, impalpable agent of celestial rewards and\npunishments, I shall find one both palpable and visible, on whom I\nshall revenge myself, I assure you, for all I have suffered during\nthe last month. Now, I repeat, Beauchamp, I wish to return to human\nand material existence, and if you are still the friend you profess\nto be, help me to discover the hand that struck the blow.\"\n\"Be it so,\" said Beauchamp; \"if you must have me descend to\nearth, I submit; and if you will seek your enemy, I will assist\nyou, and I will engage to find him, my honor being almost as deeply\ninterested as yours.\"\n\"Well, then, you understand, Beauchamp, that we begin our search\nimmediately. Each moment's delay is an eternity for me. The\ncalumniator is not yet punished, and he may hope that he will not\nbe; but, on my honor, it he thinks so, he deceives himself.\"\n\"Well, listen, Morcerf.\"\n\"Ah, Beauchamp, I see you know something already; you will\nrestore me to life.\"\n\"I do not say there is any truth in what I am going to tell you,\nbut it is, at least, a ray of light in a dark night; by following\nit we may, perhaps, discover something more certain.\"\n\"Tell me; satisfy my impatience.\"\n\"Well, I will tell you what I did not like to mention on my\nreturn from Yanina.\"\n\"Say on.\"\n\"I went, of course, to the chief banker of the town to make\ninquiries. At the first word, before I had even mentioned your\nfather's name\" —\n\"`Ah,' said he. `I guess what brings you here.'\n\"`How, and why?'\n\"`Because a fortnight since I was questioned on the same\nsubject.'\n\"`By whom?' — `By a Paris banker, my correspondent.'\n\"`Whose name is' —\n\"`Danglars.'\"\n\"He!\" cried Albert; \"yes, it is indeed he who has so long\npursued my father with jealous hatred. He, the man who would be\npopular, cannot forgive the Count of Morcerf for being created apopular, cannot forgive the Count of Morcerf for being created a\npeer; and this marriage broken off without a reason being assigned\n— yes, it is all from the same cause.\"\n\"Make inquiries, Albert, but do not be angry without reason;\nmake inquiries, and if it be true\" —\n\"Oh, yes, if it be true,\" cried the young man, \"he shall pay me\nall I have suffered.\"\n\"Beware, Morcerf, he is already an old man.\"\n\"I will respect his age as he has respected the honor of my\nfamily; if my father had offended him, why did he not attack him\npersonally? Oh, no, he was afraid to encounter him face to\nface.\"\n\"I do not condemn you, Albert; I only restrain you. Act\nprudently.\"\n\"Oh, do not fear; besides, you will accompany me. Beauchamp,\nsolemn transactions should be sanctioned by a witness. Before this\nday closes, if M. Danglars is guilty, he shall cease to live, or I\nshall die. Pardieu, Beauchamp, mine shall be a splendid\nfuneral!\"\n\"When such resolutions are made, Albert, they should be promptly\nexecuted. Do you wish to go to M. Danglars? Let us go immediately.\"\nThey sent for a cabriolet. On entering the banker's mansion, they\nperceived the phaeton and servant of M. Andrea Cavalcanti. \"Ah,\nparbleu, that's good,\" said Albert, with a gloomy tone. \"If M.\nDanglars will not fight with me, I will kill his son-in-law;\nCavalcanti will certainly fight.\" The servant announced the young\nman; but the banker, recollecting what had transpired the day\nbefore, did not wish him admitted. It was, however, too late;\nAlbert had followed the footman, and, hearing the order given,\nforced the door open, and followed by Beauchamp found himself in\nthe banker's study. \"Sir,\" cried the latter, \"am I no longer at\nliberty to receive whom I choose in my house? You appear to forget\nyourself sadly.\"\n\"No, sir,\" said Albert, coldly; \"there are circumstances in\nwhich one cannot, except through cowardice, — I offer you that\nrefuge, — refuse to admit certain persons at least.\"\n\"What is your errand, then, with me, sir?\""}
{"text": "refuge, — refuse to admit certain persons at least.\"\n\"What is your errand, then, with me, sir?\"\n\"I mean,\" said Albert, drawing near, and without apparently\nnoticing Cavalcanti, who stood with his back towards the fireplace\n— \"I mean to propose a meeting in some retired corner where no one\nwill interrupt us for ten minutes; that will be sufficient — where\ntwo men having met, one of them will remain on the ground.\"\nDanglars turned pale; Cavalcanti moved a step forward, and Albert\nturned towards him. \"And you, too,\" said he, \"come, if you like,\nmonsieur; you have a claim, being almost one of the family, and I\nwill give as many rendezvous of that kind as I can find persons\nwilling to accept them.\" Cavalcanti looked at Danglars with a\nstupefied air, and the latter, making an effort, arose and stepped\nbetween the two young men. Albert's attack on Andrea had placed him\non a different footing, and he hoped this visit had another cause\nthan that he had at first supposed.\n\"Indeed, sir,\" said he to Albert, \"if you are come to quarrel\nwith this gentleman because I have preferred him to you, I shall\nresign the case to the king's attorney.\"\n\"You mistake, sir,\" said Morcerf with a gloomy smile; \"I am not\nreferring in the least to matrimony, and I only addressed myself to\nM. Cavalcanti because he appeared disposed to interfere between us.\nIn one respect you are right, for I am ready to quarrel with every\none to-day; but you have the first claim, M. Danglars.\"\n\"Sir,\" replied Danglars, pale with anger and fear, \"I warn you,\nwhen I have the misfortune to meet with a mad dog, I kill it; and\nfar from thinking myself guilty of a crime, I believe I do society\na kindness. Now, if you are mad and try to bite me, I will kill you\nwithout pity. Is it my fault that your father has dishonored\nhimself?\"\n\"Yes, miserable wretch!\" cried Morcerf, \"it is your fault.\"\nDanglars retreated a few steps. \"My fault?\" said he; \"you must be\nmad! What do I know of the Grecian affair? Have I travelled in thatmad! What do I know of the Grecian affair? Have I travelled in that\ncountry? Did I advise your father to sell the castle of Yanina — to\nbetray\" —\n\"Silence!\" said Albert, with a thundering voice. \"No; it is not\nyou who have directly made this exposure and brought this sorrow on\nus, but you hypocritically provoked it.\"\n\"I?\"\n\"Yes; you! How came it known?\"\n\"I suppose you read it in the paper in the account from\nYanina?\"\n\"Who wrote to Yanina?\"\n\"To Yanina?\"\n\"Yes. Who wrote for particulars concerning my father?\"\n\"I imagine any one may write to Yanina.\"\n\"But one person only wrote!\"\n\"One only?\"\n\"Yes; and that was you!\"\n\"I, doubtless, wrote. It appears to me that when about to marry\nyour daughter to a young man, it is right to make some inquiries\nrespecting his family; it is not only a right, but a duty.\"\n\"You wrote, sir, knowing what answer you would receive.\"\n\"I, indeed? I assure you,\" cried Danglars, with a confidence and\nsecurity proceeding less from fear than from the interest he really\nfelt for the young man, \"I solemnly declare to you, that I should\nnever have thought of writing to Yanina, did I know anything of Ali\nPasha's misfortunes.\"\n\"Who, then, urged you to write? Tell me.\"\n\"Pardieu, it was the most simple thing in the world. I was\nspeaking of your father's past history. I said the origin of his\nfortune remained obscure. The person to whom I addressed my\nscruples asked me where your father had acquired his property? I\nanswered, `In Greece.' — `Then,' said he, `write to Yanina.'\"\n\"And who thus advised you?\"\n\"No other than your friend, Monte Cristo.\"\n\"The Count of Monte Cristo told you to write to Yanina?\"\n\"Yes; and I wrote, and will show you my correspondence, if you\nlike.\" Albert and Beauchamp looked at each other. \"Sir,\" said\nBeauchamp, who had not yet spoken, \"you appear to accuse the count,\nwho is absent from Paris at this moment, and cannot justify\nhimself.\"\n\"I accuse no one, sir,\" said Danglars; \"I relate, and I will\nrepeat before the count what I have said to you.\"repeat before the count what I have said to you.\"\n\"Does the count know what answer you received?\"\n\"Yes; I showed it to him.\"\n\"Did he know my father's Christian name was Fernand, and his\nfamily name Mondego?\"\n\"Yes, I had told him that long since, and I did only what any\nother would have done in my circumstances, and perhaps less. When,\nthe day after the arrival of this answer, your father came by the\nadvice of Monte Cristo to ask my daughter's hand for you, I\ndecidedly refused him, but without any explanation or exposure. In\nshort, why should I have any more to do with the affair? How did\nthe honor or disgrace of M. de Morcerf affect me? It neither\nincreased nor decreased my income.\"\nAlbert felt the blood mounting to his brow; there was no doubt\nupon the subject. Danglars defended himself with the baseness, but\nat the same time with the assurance, of a man who speaks the truth,\nat least in part, if not wholly — not for conscience' sake, but\nthrough fear. Besides, what was Morcerf seeking? It was not whether\nDanglars or Monte Cristo was more or less guilty; it was a man who\nwould answer for the offence, whether trifling or serious; it was a\nman who would fight, and it was evident Danglars would not fight.\nAnd, in addition to this, everything forgotten or unperceived\nbefore presented itself now to his recollection. Monte Cristo knew\neverything, as he had bought the daughter of Ali Pasha; and,\nknowing everything, he had advised Danglars to write to Yanina. The\nanswer known, he had yielded to Albert's wish to be introduced to\nHaidee, and allowed the conversation to turn on the death of Ali,\nand had not opposed Haidee's recital (but having, doubtless, warned\nthe young girl, in the few Romaic words he spoke to her, not to\nimplicate Morcerf's father). Besides, had he not begged of Morcerf\nnot to mention his father's name before Haidee? Lastly, he had\ntaken Albert to Normandy when he knew the final blow was near.\nThere could be no doubt that all had been calculated and previouslyThere could be no doubt that all had been calculated and previously\narranged; Monte Cristo then was in league with his father's\nenemies. Albert took Beauchamp aside, and communicated these ideas\nto him.\n\"You are right,\" said the latter; \"M. Danglars has only been a\nsecondary agent in this sad affair, and it is of M. de Monte Cristo\nthat you must demand an explanation.\" Albert turned. \"Sir,\" said he\nto Danglars, \"understand that I do not take a final leave of you; I\nmust ascertain if your insinuations are just, and am going now to\ninquire of the Count of Monte Cristo.\" He bowed to the banker, and\nwent out with Beauchamp, without appearing to notice Cavalcanti.\nDanglars accompanied him to the door, where he again assured Albert\nthat no motive of personal hatred had influenced him against the\nCount of Morcerf."}
{"text": "Monte Cristo waited, according to his usual custom, until Duprez\nhad sung his famous \"Suivez-moi;\" then he rose and went out. Morrel\ntook leave of him at the door, renewing his promise to be with him\nthe next morning at seven o'clock, and to bring Emmanuel. Then he\nstepped into his coupe, calm and smiling, and was at home in five\nminutes. No one who knew the count could mistake his expression\nwhen, on entering, he said, \"Ali, bring me my pistols with the\nivory cross.\"\nAli brought the box to his master, who examined the weapons with\na solicitude very natural to a man who is about to intrust his life\nto a little powder and shot. These were pistols of an especial\npattern, which Monte Cristo had had made for target practice in his\nown room. A cap was sufficient to drive out the bullet, and from\nthe adjoining room no one would have suspected that the count was,\nas sportsmen would say, keeping his hand in. He was just taking one\nup and looking for the point to aim at on a little iron plate which\nserved him as a target, when his study door opened, and Baptistin\nentered. Before he had spoken a word, the count saw in the next\nroom a veiled woman, who had followed closely after Baptistin, and\nnow, seeing the count with a pistol in his hand and swords on the\ntable, rushed in. Baptistin looked at his master, who made a sign\nto him, and he went out, closing the door after him. \"Who are you,\nmadame?\" said the count to the veiled woman.\nThe stranger cast one look around her, to be certain that they\nwere quite alone; then bending as if she would have knelt, and\njoining her hands, she said with an accent of despair, \"Edmond, you\nwill not kill my son?\" The count retreated a step, uttered a slight\nexclamation, and let fall the pistol he held. \"What name did you\npronounce then, Madame de Morcerf?\" said he. \"Yours!\" cried she,\nthrowing back her veil, — \"yours, which I alone, perhaps, have not\nforgotten. Edmond, it is not Madame de Morcerf who is come to you,\nit is Mercedes.\"forgotten. Edmond, it is not Madame de Morcerf who is come to you,\nit is Mercedes.\"\n\"Mercedes is dead, madame,\" said Monte Cristo; \"I know no one\nnow of that name.\"\n\"Mercedes lives, sir, and she remembers, for she alone\nrecognized you when she saw you, and even before she saw you, by\nyour voice, Edmond, — by the simple sound of your voice; and from\nthat moment she has followed your steps, watched you, feared you,\nand she needs not to inquire what hand has dealt the blow which now\nstrikes M. de Morcerf.\"\n\"Fernand, do you mean?\" replied Monte Cristo, with bitter irony;\n\"since we are recalling names, let us remember them all.\" Monte\nCristo had pronounced the name of Fernand with such an expression\nof hatred that Mercedes felt a thrill of horror run through every\nvein. \"You see, Edmond, I am not mistaken, and have cause to say,\n`Spare my son!'\"\n\"And who told you, madame, that I have any hostile intentions\nagainst your son?\"\n\"No one, in truth; but a mother has twofold sight. I guessed\nall; I followed him this evening to the opera, and, concealed in a\nparquet box, have seen all.\"\n\"If you have seen all, madame, you know that the son of Fernand\nhas publicly insulted me,\" said Monte Cristo with awful\ncalmness.\n\"Oh, for pity's sake!\"\n\"You have seen that he would have thrown his glove in my face if\nMorrel, one of my friends, had not stopped him.\"\n\"Listen to me, my son has also guessed who you are, — he\nattributes his father's misfortunes to you.\"\n\"Madame, you are mistaken, they are not misfortunes, — it is a\npunishment. It is not I who strike M. de Morcerf; it is providence\nwhich punishes him.\"\n\"And why do you represent providence?\" cried Mercedes. \"Why do\nyou remember when it forgets? What are Yanina and its vizier to\nyou, Edmond? What injury his Fernand Mondego done you in betraying\nAli Tepelini?\"\n\"Ah, madame,\" replied Monte Cristo, \"all this is an affair\nbetween the French captain and the daughter of Vasiliki. It does\nnot concern me, you are right; and if I have sworn to revengenot concern me, you are right; and if I have sworn to revenge\nmyself, it is not on the French captain, or the Count of Morcerf,\nbut on the fisherman Fernand, the husband of Mercedes the\nCatalane.\"\n\"Ah, sir!\" cried the countess, \"how terrible a vengeance for a\nfault which fatality made me commit! — for I am the only culprit,\nEdmond, and if you owe revenge to any one, it is to me, who had not\nfortitude to bear your absence and my solitude.\"\n\"But,\" exclaimed Monte Cristo, \"why was I absent? And why were\nyou alone?\"\n\"Because you had been arrested, Edmond, and were a\nprisoner.\"\n\"And why was I arrested? Why was I a prisoner?\"\n\"I do not know,\" said Mercedes. \"You do not, madame; at least, I\nhope not. But I will tell you. I was arrested and became a prisoner\nbecause, under the arbor of La Reserve, the day before I was to\nmarry you, a man named Danglars wrote this letter, which the\nfisherman Fernand himself posted.\" Monte Cristo went to a\nsecretary, opened a drawer by a spring, from which he took a paper\nwhich had lost its original color, and the ink of which had become\nof a rusty hue — this he placed in the hands of Mercedes. It was\nDanglars' letter to the king's attorney, which the Count of Monte\nCristo, disguised as a clerk from the house of Thomson &\nFrench, had taken from the file against Edmond Dantes, on the day\nhe had paid the two hundred thousand francs to M. de Boville.\nMercedes read with terror the following lines: —\n\"The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and\nreligion that one Edmond Dantes, second in command on board the\nPharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna, after having touched at\nNaples and Porto-Ferrajo, is the bearer of a letter from Murat to\nthe usurper, and of another letter from the usurper to the\nBonapartist club in Paris. Ample corroboration of this statement\nmay be obtained by arresting the above-mentioned Edmond Dantes, who\neither carries the letter for Paris about with him, or has it at\nhis father's abode. Should it not be found in possession of either"}
{"text": "his father's abode. Should it not be found in possession of either\nfather or son, then it will assuredly be discovered in the cabin\nbelonging to the said Dantes on board the Pharaon.\"\n\"How dreadful!\" said Mercedes, passing her hand across her brow,\nmoist with perspiration; \"and that letter\" —\n\"I bought it for two hundred thousand francs, madame,\" said\nMonte Cristo; \"but that is a trifle, since it enables me to justify\nmyself to you.\"\n\"And the result of that letter\" —\n\"You well know, madame, was my arrest; but you do not know how\nlong that arrest lasted. You do not know that I remained for\nfourteen years within a quarter of a league of you, in a dungeon in\nthe Chateau d'If. You do not know that every day of those fourteen\nyears I renewed the vow of vengeance which I had made the first\nday; and yet I was not aware that you had married Fernand, my\ncalumniator, and that my father had died of hunger!\"\n\"Can it be?\" cried Mercedes, shuddering.\n\"That is what I heard on leaving my prison fourteen years after\nI had entered it; and that is why, on account of the living\nMercedes and my deceased father, I have sworn to revenge myself on\nFernand, and — I have revenged myself.\"\n\"And you are sure the unhappy Fernand did that?\"\n\"I am satisfied, madame, that he did what I have told you;\nbesides, that is not much more odious than that a Frenchman by\nadoption should pass over to the English; that a Spaniard by birth\nshould have fought against the Spaniards; that a stipendiary of Ali\nshould have betrayed and murdered Ali. Compared with such things,\nwhat is the letter you have just read? — a lover's deception, which\nthe woman who has married that man ought certainly to forgive; but\nnot so the lover who was to have married her. Well, the French did\nnot avenge themselves on the traitor, the Spaniards did not shoot\nthe traitor, Ali in his tomb left the traitor unpunished; but I,\nbetrayed, sacrificed, buried, have risen from my tomb, by the grace\nof God, to punish that man. He sends me for that purpose, and hereof God, to punish that man. He sends me for that purpose, and here\nI am.\" The poor woman's head and arms fell; her legs bent under\nher, and she fell on her knees. \"Forgive, Edmond, forgive for my\nsake, who love you still!\"\nThe dignity of the wife checked the fervor of the lover and the\nmother. Her forehead almost touched the carpet, when the count\nsprang forward and raised her. Then seated on a chair, she looked\nat the manly countenance of Monte Cristo, on which grief and hatred\nstill impressed a threatening expression. \"Not crush that accursed\nrace?\" murmured he; \"abandon my purpose at the moment of its\naccomplishment? Impossible, madame, impossible!\"\n\"Edmond,\" said the poor mother, who tried every means, \"when I\ncall you Edmond, why do you not call me Mercedes?\"\n\"Mercedes!\" repeated Monte Cristo; \"Mercedes! Well yes, you are\nright; that name has still its charms, and this is the first time\nfor a long period that I have pronounced it so distinctly. Oh,\nMercedes, I have uttered your name with the sigh of melancholy,\nwith the groan of sorrow, with the last effort of despair; I have\nuttered it when frozen with cold, crouched on the straw in my\ndungeon; I have uttered it, consumed with heat, rolling on the\nstone floor of my prison. Mercedes, I must revenge myself, for I\nsuffered fourteen years, — fourteen years I wept, I cursed; now I\ntell you, Mercedes, I must revenge myself.\"\nThe count, fearing to yield to the entreaties of her he had so\nardently loved, called his sufferings to the assistance of his\nhatred. \"Revenge yourself, then, Edmond,\" cried the poor mother;\n\"but let your vengeance fall on the culprits, — on him, on me, but\nnot on my son!\"\n\"It is written in the good book,\" said Monte Cristo, \"that the\nsins of the fathers shall fall upon their children to the third and\nfourth generation. Since God himself dictated those words to his\nprophet, why should I seek to make myself better than God?\"\n\"Edmond,\" continued Mercedes, with her arms extended towards the\"Edmond,\" continued Mercedes, with her arms extended towards the\ncount, \"since I first knew you, I have adored your name, have\nrespected your memory. Edmond, my friend, do not compel me to\ntarnish that noble and pure image reflected incessantly on the\nmirror of my heart. Edmond, if you knew all the prayers I have\naddressed to God for you while I thought you were living and since\nI have thought you must be dead! Yes, dead, alas! I imagined your\ndead body buried at the foot of some gloomy tower, or cast to the\nbottom of a pit by hateful jailers, and I wept! What could I do for\nyou, Edmond, besides pray and weep? Listen; for ten years I dreamed\neach night the same dream. I had been told that you had endeavored\nto escape; that you had taken the place of another prisoner; that\nyou had slipped into the winding sheet of a dead body; that you had\nbeen thrown alive from the top of the Chateau d'If, and that the\ncry you uttered as you dashed upon the rocks first revealed to your\njailers that they were your murderers. Well, Edmond, I swear to\nyou, by the head of that son for whom I entreat your pity, —\nEdmond, for ten years I saw every night every detail of that\nfrightful tragedy, and for ten years I heard every night the cry\nwhich awoke me, shuddering and cold. And I, too, Edmond — oh!\nbelieve me — guilty as I was — oh, yes, I, too, have suffered\nmuch!\"\n\"Have you known what it is to have your father starve to death\nin your absence?\" cried Monte Cristo, thrusting his hands into his\nhair; \"have you seen the woman you loved giving her hand to your\nrival, while you were perishing at the bottom of a dungeon?\"\n\"No,\" interrupted Mercedes, \"but I have seen him whom I loved on\nthe point of murdering my son.\" Mercedes uttered these words with\nsuch deep anguish, with an accent of such intense despair, that\nMonte Cristo could not restrain a sob. The lion was daunted; the\navenger was conquered. \"What do you ask of me?\" said he, — \"your\nson's life? Well, he shall live!\" Mercedes uttered a cry which made"}
{"text": "son's life? Well, he shall live!\" Mercedes uttered a cry which made\nthe tears start from Monte Cristo's eyes; but these tears\ndisappeared almost instantaneously, for, doubtless, God had sent\nsome angel to collect them — far more precious were they in his\neyes than the richest pearls of Guzerat and Ophir.\n\"Oh,\" said she, seizing the count's hand and raising it to her\nlips; \"oh, thank you, thank you, Edmond! Now you are exactly what I\ndreamt you were, — the man I always loved. Oh, now I may say\nso!\"\n\"So much the better,\" replied Monte Cristo; \"as that poor Edmond\nwill not have long to be loved by you. Death is about to return to\nthe tomb, the phantom to retire in darkness.\"\n\"What do you say, Edmond?\"\n\"I say, since you command me, Mercedes, I must die.\"\n\"Die? and why so? Who talks of dying? Whence have you these\nideas of death?\"\n\"You do not suppose that, publicly outraged in the face of a\nwhole theatre, in the presence of your friends and those of your\nson — challenged by a boy who will glory in my forgiveness as if it\nwere a victory — you do not suppose that I can for one moment wish\nto live. What I most loved after you, Mercedes, was myself, my\ndignity, and that strength which rendered me superior to other men;\nthat strength was my life. With one word you have crushed it, and I\ndie.\"\n\"But the duel will not take place, Edmond, since you\nforgive?\"\n\"It will take place,\" said Monte Cristo, in a most solemn tone;\n\"but instead of your son's blood to stain the ground, mine will\nflow.\" Mercedes shrieked, and sprang towards Monte Cristo, but,\nsuddenly stopping, \"Edmond,\" said she, \"there is a God above us,\nsince you live and since I have seen you again; I trust to him from\nmy heart. While waiting his assistance I trust to your word; you\nhave said that my son should live, have you not?\"\n\"Yes, madame, he shall live,\" said Monte Cristo, surprised that\nwithout more emotion Mercedes had accepted the heroic sacrifice he\nmade for her. Mercedes extended her hand to the count.made for her. Mercedes extended her hand to the count.\n\"Edmond,\" said she, and her eyes were wet with tears while\nlooking at him to whom she spoke, \"how noble it is of you, how\ngreat the action you have just performed, how sublime to have taken\npity on a poor woman who appealed to you with every chance against\nher, Alas, I am grown old with grief more than with years, and\ncannot now remind my Edmond by a smile, or by a look, of that\nMercedes whom he once spent so many hours in contemplating. Ah,\nbelieve me, Edmond, as I told you, I too have suffered much; I\nrepeat, it is melancholy to pass one's life without having one joy\nto recall, without preserving a single hope; but that proves that\nall is not yet over. No, it is not finished; I feel it by what\nremains in my heart. Oh, I repeat it, Edmond; what you have just\ndone is beautiful — it is grand; it is sublime.\"\n\"Do you say so now, Mercedes? — then what would you say if you\nknew the extent of the sacrifice I make to you? Suppose that the\nSupreme Being, after having created the world and fertilized chaos,\nhad paused in the work to spare an angel the tears that might one\nday flow for mortal sins from her immortal eyes; suppose that when\neverything was in readiness and the moment had come for God to look\nupon his work and see that it was good — suppose he had snuffed out\nthe sun and tossed the world back into eternal night — then — even\nthen, Mercedes, you could not imagine what I lose in sacrificing my\nlife at this moment.\" Mercedes looked at the count in a way which\nexpressed at the same time her astonishment, her admiration, and\nher gratitude. Monte Cristo pressed his forehead on his burning\nhands, as if his brain could no longer bear alone the weight of its\nthoughts. \"Edmond,\" said Mercedes, \"I have but one word more to say\nto you.\" The count smiled bitterly. \"Edmond,\" continued she, \"you\nwill see that if my face is pale, if my eyes are dull, if my beauty\nis gone; if Mercedes, in short, no longer resembles her former selfis gone; if Mercedes, in short, no longer resembles her former self\nin her features, you will see that her heart is still the same.\nAdieu, then, Edmond; I have nothing more to ask of heaven — I have\nseen you again, and have found you as noble and as great as\nformerly you were. Adieu, Edmond, adieu, and thank you.\"\nBut the count did not answer. Mercedes opened the door of the\nstudy and had disappeared before he had recovered from the painful\nand profound revery into which his thwarted vengeance had plunged\nhim. The clock of the Invalides struck one when the carriage which\nconveyed Madame de Morcerf away rolled on the pavement of the\nChamps-Elysees, and made Monte Cristo raise his head. \"What a fool\nI was,\" said he, \"not to tear my heart out on the day when I\nresolved to avenge myself!\"The Count of Monte Cristo bowed to the five young men with a\nmelancholy and dignified smile, and got into his carriage with\nMaximilian and Emmanuel. Albert, Beauchamp, and Chateau-Renaud\nremained alone. Albert looked at his two friends, not timidly, but\nin a way that appeared to ask their opinion of what he had just\ndone.\n\"Indeed, my dear friend,\" said Beauchamp first, who had either\nthe most feeling or the least dissimulation, \"allow me to\ncongratulate you; this is a very unhoped-for conclusion of a very\ndisagreeable affair.\"\nAlbert remained silent and wrapped in thought. Chateau-Renaud\ncontented himself with tapping his boot with his flexible cane.\n\"Are we not going?\" said he, after this embarrassing silence. \"When\nyou please,\" replied Beauchamp; \"allow me only to compliment M. de\nMorcerf, who has given proof to-day of rare chivalric\ngenerosity.\"\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Chateau-Renaud.\n\"It is magnificent,\" continued Beauchamp, \"to be able to\nexercise so much self-control!\"\n\"Assuredly; as for me, I should have been incapable of it,\" said\nChateau-Renaud, with most significant coolness.\n\"Gentlemen,\" interrupted Albert, \"I think you did not understand\nthat something very serious had passed between M. de Monte Cristo\nand myself.\"\n\"Possibly, possibly,\" said Beauchamp immediately; \"but every\nsimpleton would not be able to understand your heroism, and sooner\nor later you will find yourself compelled to explain it to them\nmore energetically than would be convenient to your bodily health\nand the duration of your life. May I give you a friendly counsel?\nSet out for Naples, the Hague, or St. Petersburg — calm countries,\nwhere the point of honor is better understood than among our\nhot-headed Parisians. Seek quietude and oblivion, so that you may\nreturn peaceably to France after a few years. Am I not right, M. de\nChateau-Renaud?\"\n\"That is quite my opinion,\" said the gentleman; \"nothing induces\nserious duels so much as a duel forsworn.\"\n\"Thank you, gentlemen,\" replied Albert, with a smile of"}
{"text": "serious duels so much as a duel forsworn.\"\n\"Thank you, gentlemen,\" replied Albert, with a smile of\nindifference; \"I shall follow your advice — not because you give\nit, but because I had before intended to quit France. I thank you\nequally for the service you have rendered me in being my seconds.\nIt is deeply engraved on my heart, and, after what you have just\nsaid, I remember that only.\" Chateau-Renaud and Beauchamp looked at\neach other; the impression was the same on both of them, and the\ntone in which Morcerf had just expressed his thanks was so\ndetermined that the position would have become embarrassing for all\nif the conversation had continued.\n\"Good-by, Albert,\" said Beauchamp suddenly, carelessly extending\nhis hand to the young man. The latter did not appear to arouse from\nhis lethargy; in fact, he did not notice the offered hand.\n\"Good-by,\" said Chateau-Renaud in his turn, keeping his little cane\nin his left hand, and saluting with his right. Albert's lips\nscarcely whispered \"Good-by,\" but his look was more explicit; it\nexpressed a whole poem of restrained anger, proud disdain, and\ngenerous indignation. He preserved his melancholy and motionless\nposition for some time after his two friends had regained their\ncarriage; then suddenly unfastening his horse from the little tree\nto which his servant had tied it, he mounted and galloped off in\nthe direction of Paris.\nIn a quarter of an hour he was entering the house in the Rue du\nHelder. As he alighted, he thought he saw his father's pale face\nbehind the curtain of the count's bedroom. Albert turned away his\nhead with a sigh, and went to his own apartments. He cast one\nlingering look on all the luxuries which had rendered life so easy\nand so happy since his infancy; he looked at the pictures, whose\nfaces seemed to smile, and the landscapes, which appeared painted\nin brighter colors. Then he took away his mother's portrait, with\nits oaken frame, leaving the gilt frame from which he took it black\nand empty. Then he arranged all his beautiful Turkish arms, hisand empty. Then he arranged all his beautiful Turkish arms, his\nfine English guns, his Japanese china, his cups mounted in silver,\nhis artistic bronzes by Feucheres and Barye; examined the\ncupboards, and placed the key in each; threw into a drawer of his\nsecretary, which he left open, all the pocket-money he had about\nhim, and with it the thousand fancy jewels from his vases and his\njewel-boxes; then he made an exact inventory of everything, and\nplaced it in the most conspicuous part of the table, after putting\naside the books and papers which had collected there.\nAt the beginning of this work, his servant, notwithstanding\norders to the contrary, came to his room. \"What do you want?\" asked\nhe, with a more sorrowful than angry tone. \"Pardon me, sir,\"\nreplied the valet; \"you had forbidden me to disturb you, but the\nCount of Morcerf has called me.\"\n\"Well!\" said Albert.\n\"I did not like to go to him without first seeing you.\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"Because the count is doubtless aware that I accompanied you to\nthe meeting this morning.\"\n\"It is probable,\" said Albert.\n\"And since he has sent for me, it is doubtless to question me on\nwhat happened there. What must I answer?\"\n\"The truth.\"\n\"Then I shall say the duel did not take place?\"\n\"You will say I apologized to the Count of Monte Cristo.\nGo.\"\nThe valet bowed and retired, and Albert returned to his\ninventory. As he was finishing this work, the sound of horses\nprancing in the yard, and the wheels of a carriage shaking his\nwindow, attracted his attention. He approached the window, and saw\nhis father get into it, and drive away. The door was scarcely\nclosed when Albert bent his steps to his mother's room; and, no one\nbeing there to announce him, he advanced to her bed-chamber, and\ndistressed by what he saw and guessed, stopped for one moment at\nthe door. As if the same idea had animated these two beings,\nMercedes was doing the same in her apartments that he had just done\nin his. Everything was in order, — laces, dresses, jewels, linen,in his. Everything was in order, — laces, dresses, jewels, linen,\nmoney, all were arranged in the drawers, and the countess was\ncarefully collecting the keys. Albert saw all these preparations\nand understood them, and exclaiming, \"My mother!\" he threw his arms\naround her neck.\nThe artist who could have depicted the expression of these two\ncountenances would certainly have made of them a beautiful picture.\nAll these proofs of an energetic resolution, which Albert did not\nfear on his own account, alarmed him for his mother. \"What are you\ndoing?\" asked he.\n\"What were you doing?\" replied she.\n\"Oh, my mother!\" exclaimed Albert, so overcome he could scarcely\nspeak; \"it is not the same with you and me — you cannot have made\nthe same resolution I have, for I have come to warn you that I bid\nadieu to your house, and — and to you.\"\n\"I also,\" replied Mercedes, \"am going, and I acknowledge I had\ndepended on your accompanying me; have I deceived myself?\"\n\"Mother,\" said Albert with firmness. \"I cannot make you share\nthe fate I have planned for myself. I must live henceforth without\nrank and fortune, and to begin this hard apprenticeship I must\nborrow from a friend the loaf I shall eat until I have earned one.\nSo, my dear mother, I am going at once to ask Franz to lend me the\nsmall sum I shall require to supply my present wants.\"\n\"You, my poor child, suffer poverty and hunger? Oh, do not say\nso; it will break my resolutions.\"\n\"But not mine, mother,\" replied Albert. \"I am young and strong;\nI believe I am courageous, and since yesterday I have learned the\npower of will. Alas, my dear mother, some have suffered so much,\nand yet live, and have raised a new fortune on the ruin of all the\npromises of happiness which heaven had made them — on the fragments\nof all the hope which God had given them! I have seen that, mother;\nI know that from the gulf in which their enemies have plunged them\nthey have risen with so much vigor and glory that in their turn\nthey have ruled their former conquerors, and have punished them."}
{"text": "they have ruled their former conquerors, and have punished them.\nNo. mother; from this moment I have done with the past, and accept\nnothing from it — not even a name, because you can understand that\nyour son cannot bear the name of a man who ought to blush for it\nbefore another.\"\n\"Albert, my child,\" said Mercedes, \"if I had a stronger heart\nthat is the counsel I would have given you; your conscience has\nspoken when my voice became too weak; listen to its dictates. You\nhad friends, Albert; break off their acquaintance. But do not\ndespair; you have life before you, my dear Albert, for you are yet\nscarcely twenty-two years old; and as a pure heart like yours wants\na spotless name, take my father's — it was Herrera. I am sure, my\ndear Albert, whatever may be your career, you will soon render that\nname illustrious. Then, my son, return to the world still more\nbrilliant because of your former sorrows; and if I am wrong, still\nlet me cherish these hopes, for I have no future to look forward\nto. For me the grave opens when I pass the threshold of this\nhouse.\"\n\"I will fulfil all your wishes, my dear mother,\" said the young\nman. \"Yes, I share your hopes; the anger of heaven will not pursue\nus, since you are pure and I am innocent. But, since our resolution\nis formed, let us act promptly. M. de Morcerf went out about half\nan hour ago; the opportunity is favorable to avoid an\nexplanation.\"\n\"I am ready, my son,\" said Mercedes. Albert ran to fetch a\ncarriage. He recollected that there was a small furnished house to\nlet in the Rue de Saints Peres, where his mother would find a\nhumble but decent lodging, and thither he intended conducting the\ncountess. As the carriage stopped at the door, and Albert was\nalighting, a man approached and gave him a letter. Albert\nrecognized the bearer. \"From the count,\" said Bertuccio. Albert\ntook the letter, opened, and read it, then looked round for\nBertuccio, but he was gone. He returned to Mercedes with tears in\nhis eyes and heaving breast, and without uttering a word he gavehis eyes and heaving breast, and without uttering a word he gave\nher the letter. Mercedes read: —\nAlbert, — While showing you that I have discovered your plans, I\nhope also to convince you of my delicacy. You are free, you leave\nthe count's house, and you take your mother to your home; but\nreflect, Albert, you owe her more than your poor noble heart can\npay her. Keep the struggle for yourself, bear all the suffering,\nbut spare her the trial of poverty which must accompany your first\nefforts; for she deserves not even the shadow of the misfortune\nwhich has this day fallen on her, and providence is not willing\nthat the innocent should suffer for the guilty. I know you are\ngoing to leave the Rue du Helder without taking anything with you.\nDo not seek to know how I discovered it; I know it — that is\nsufficient.\nNow, listen, Albert. Twenty-four years ago I returned, proud and\njoyful, to my country. I had a betrothed, Albert, a lovely girl\nwhom I adored, and I was bringing to my betrothed a hundred and\nfifty louis, painfully amassed by ceaseless toil. This money was\nfor her; I destined it for her, and, knowing the treachery of the\nsea I buried our treasure in the little garden of the house my\nfather lived in at Marseilles, on the Allees de Meillan. Your\nmother, Albert, knows that poor house well. A short time since I\npassed through Marseilles, and went to see the old place, which\nrevived so many painful recollections; and in the evening I took a\nspade and dug in the corner of the garden where I had concealed my\ntreasure. The iron box was there — no one had touched it — under a\nbeautiful fig-tree my father had planted the day I was born, which\novershadowed the spot. Well, Albert, this money, which was formerly\ndesigned to promote the comfort and tranquillity of the woman I\nadored, may now, through strange and painful circumstances, be\ndevoted to the same purpose. Oh, feel for me, who could offer\nmillions to that poor woman, but who return her only the piece ofmillions to that poor woman, but who return her only the piece of\nblack bread forgotten under my poor roof since the day I was torn\nfrom her I loved. You are a generous man, Albert, but perhaps you\nmay be blinded by pride or resentment; if you refuse me, if you ask\nanother for what I have a right to offer you, I will say it is\nungenerous of you to refuse the life of your mother at the hands of\na man whose father was allowed by your father to die in all the\nhorrors of poverty and despair.\nAlbert stood pale and motionless to hear what his mother would\ndecide after she had finished reading this letter. Mercedes turned\nher eyes with an ineffable look towards heaven. \"I accept it,\" said\nshe; \"he has a right to pay the dowry, which I shall take with me\nto some convent!\" Putting the letter in her bosom, she took her\nson's arm, and with a firmer step than she even herself expected\nshe went down-stairs.Meanwhile Monte Cristo had also returned to town with Emmanuel\nand Maximilian. Their return was cheerful. Emmanuel did not conceal\nhis joy at the peaceful termination of the affair, and was loud in\nhis expressions of delight. Morrel, in a corner of the carriage,\nallowed his brother-in-law's gayety to expend itself in words,\nwhile he felt equal inward joy, which, however, betrayed itself\nonly in his countenance. At the Barriere du Trone they met\nBertuccio, who was waiting there, motionless as a sentinel at his\npost. Monte Cristo put his head out of the window, exchanged a few\nwords with him in a low tone, and the steward disappeared. \"Count,\"\nsaid Emmanuel, when they were at the end of the Place Royale, \"put\nme down at my door, that my wife may not have a single moment of\nneedless anxiety on my account or yours.\"\n\"If it were not ridiculous to make a display of our triumph, I\nwould invite the count to our house; besides that, he doubtless has\nsome trembling heart to comfort. So we will take leave of our\nfriend, and let him hasten home.\"\n\"Stop a moment,\" said Monte Cristo; \"do not let me lose both my\ncompanions. Return, Emmanuel, to your charming wife, and present my\nbest compliments to her; and do you, Morrel, accompany me to the\nChamps Elysees.\"\n\"Willingly,\" said Maximilian; \"particularly as I have business\nin that quarter.\"\n\"Shall we wait breakfast for you?\" asked Emmanuel.\n\"No,\" replied the young man. The door was closed, and the\ncarriage proceeded. \"See what good fortune I brought you!\" said\nMorrel, when he was alone with the count. \"Have you not thought\nso?\"\n\"Yes,\" said Monte Cristo; \"for that reason I wished to keep you\nnear me.\"\n\"It is miraculous!\" continued Morrel, answering his own\nthoughts.\n\"What?\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"What has just happened.\"\n\"Yes,\" said the Count, \"you are right — it is miraculous.\"\n\"For Albert is brave,\" resumed Morrel.\n\"Very brave,\" said Monte Cristo; \"I have seen him sleep with a\nsword suspended over his head.\"\n\"And I know he has fought two duels,\" said Morrel. \"How can you"}
{"text": "sword suspended over his head.\"\n\"And I know he has fought two duels,\" said Morrel. \"How can you\nreconcile that with his conduct this morning?\"\n\"All owing to your influence,\" replied Monte Cristo,\nsmiling.\n\"It is well for Albert he is not in the army,\" said Morrel.\n\"Why?\"\n\"An apology on the ground!\" said the young captain, shaking his\nhead.\n\"Come,\" said the count mildly, \"do not entertain the prejudices\nof ordinary men, Morrel! Acknowledge, that if Albert is brave, he\ncannot be a coward; he must then have had some reason for acting as\nhe did this morning, and confess that his conduct is more heroic\nthan otherwise.\"\n\"Doubtless, doubtless,\" said Morrel; \"but I shall say, like the\nSpaniard, `He has not been so brave to-day as he was\nyesterday.'\"\n\"You will breakfast with me, will you not, Morrel?\" said the\ncount, to turn the conversation.\n\"No; I must leave you at ten o'clock.\"\n\"Your engagement was for breakfast, then?\" said the count.\nMorrel smiled, and shook his head. \"Still you must breakfast\nsomewhere.\"\n\"But if I am not hungry?\" said the young man.\n\"Oh,\" said the count, \"I only know two things which destroy the\nappetite, — grief — and as I am happy to see you very cheerful, it\nis not that — and love. Now after what you told me this morning of\nyour heart, I may believe\" —\n\"Well, count,\" replied Morrel gayly, \"I will not dispute\nit.\"\n\"But you will not make me your confidant, Maximilian?\" said the\ncount, in a tone which showed how gladly he would have been\nadmitted to the secret.\n\"I showed you this morning that I had a heart, did I not,\ncount?\" Monte Cristo only answered by extending his hand to the\nyoung man. \"Well,\" continued the latter, \"since that heart is no\nlonger with you in the Bois de Vincennes, it is elsewhere, and I\nmust go and find it.\"\n\"Go,\" said the count deliberately; \"go, dear friend, but promise\nme if you meet with any obstacle to remember that I have some power\nin this world, that I am happy to use that power in the behalf of\nthose I love, and that I love you, Morrel.\"those I love, and that I love you, Morrel.\"\n\"I will remember it,\" said the young man, \"as selfish children\nrecollect their parents when they want their aid. When I need your\nassistance, and the moment arrives, I will come to you, count.\"\n\"Well, I rely upon your promise. Good-by, then.\"\n\"Good-by, till we meet again.\" They had arrived in the Champs\nElysees. Monte Cristo opened the carriage-door, Morrel sprang out\non the pavement, Bertuccio was waiting on the steps. Morrel\ndisappeared down the Avenue de Marigny, and Monte Cristo hastened\nto join Bertuccio.\n\"Well?\" asked he.\n\"She is going to leave her house,\" said the steward.\n\"And her son?\"\n\"Florentin, his valet, thinks he is going to do the same.\"\n\"Come this way.\" Monte Cristo took Bertuccio into his study,\nwrote the letter we have seen, and gave it to the steward. \"Go,\"\nsaid he quickly. \"But first, let Haidee be informed that I have\nreturned.\"\n\"Here I am,\" said the young girl, who at the sound of the\ncarriage had run down-stairs and whose face was radiant with joy at\nseeing the count return safely. Bertuccio left. Every transport of\na daughter finding a father, all the delight of a mistress seeing\nan adored lover, were felt by Haidee during the first moments of\nthis meeting, which she had so eagerly expected. Doubtless,\nalthough less evident, Monte Cristo's joy was not less intense. Joy\nto hearts which have suffered long is like the dew on the ground\nafter a long drought; both the heart and the ground absorb that\nbeneficent moisture falling on them, and nothing is outwardly\napparent.\nMonte Cristo was beginning to think, what he had not for a long\ntime dared to believe, that there were two Mercedes in the world,\nand he might yet be happy. His eye, elate with happiness, was\nreading eagerly the tearful gaze of Haidee, when suddenly the door\nopened. The count knit his brow. \"M. de Morcerf!\" said Baptistin,\nas if that name sufficed for his excuse. In fact, the count's face\nbrightened.\n\"Which,\" asked he, \"the viscount or the count?\"\n\"The count.\"brightened.\n\"Which,\" asked he, \"the viscount or the count?\"\n\"The count.\"\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed Haidee, \"is it not yet over?\"\n\"I know not if it is finished, my beloved child,\" said Monte\nCristo, taking the young girl's hands; \"but I do know you have\nnothing more to fear.\"\n\"But it is the wretched\" —\n\"That man cannot injure me, Haidee,\" said Monte Cristo; \"it was\nhis son alone that there was cause to fear.\"\n\"And what I have suffered,\" said the young girl, \"you shall\nnever know, my lord.\" Monte Cristo smiled. \"By my father's tomb,\"\nsaid he, extending his hand over the head of the young girl, \"I\nswear to you, Haidee, that if any misfortune happens, it will not\nbe to me.\"\n\"I believe you, my lord, as implicitly as if God had spoken to\nme,\" said the young girl, presenting her forehead to him. Monte\nCristo pressed on that pure beautiful forehead a kiss which made\ntwo hearts throb at once, the one violently, the other heavily.\n\"Oh,\" murmured the count, \"shall I then be permitted to love again?\nAsk M. de Morcerf into the drawing-room,\" said he to Baptistin,\nwhile he led the beautiful Greek girl to a private staircase.\nWe must explain this visit, which although expected by Monte\nCristo, is unexpected to our readers. While Mercedes, as we have\nsaid, was making a similar inventory of her property to Albert's,\nwhile she was arranging her jewels, shutting her drawers,\ncollecting her keys, to leave everything in perfect order, she did\nnot perceive a pale and sinister face at a glass door which threw\nlight into the passage, from which everything could be both seen\nand heard. He who was thus looking, without being heard or seen,\nprobably heard and saw all that passed in Madame de Morcerf's\napartments. From that glass door the pale-faced man went to the\ncount's bedroom and raised with a constricted hand the curtain of a\nwindow overlooking the court-yard. He remained there ten minutes,\nmotionless and dumb, listening to the beating of his own heart. For\nhim those ten minutes were very long. It was then Albert, returning"}
{"text": "him those ten minutes were very long. It was then Albert, returning\nfrom his meeting with the count, perceived his father watching for\nhis arrival behind a curtain, and turned aside. The count's eye\nexpanded; he knew Albert had insulted the count dreadfully, and\nthat in every country in the world such an insult would lead to a\ndeadly duel. Albert returned safely — then the count was\nrevenged.\nAn indescribable ray of joy illumined that wretched countenance\nlike the last ray of the sun before it disappears behind the clouds\nwhich bear the aspect, not of a downy couch, but of a tomb. But as\nwe have said, he waited in vain for his son to come to his\napartment with the account of his triumph. He easily understood why\nhis son did not come to see him before he went to avenge his\nfather's honor; but when that was done, why did not his son come\nand throw himself into his arms?\nIt was then, when the count could not see Albert, that he sent\nfor his servant, who he knew was authorized not to conceal anything\nfrom him. Ten minutes afterwards, General Morcerf was seen on the\nsteps in a black coat with a military collar, black pantaloons, and\nblack gloves. He had apparently given previous orders, for as he\nreached the bottom step his carriage came from the coach-house\nready for him. The valet threw into the carriage his military\ncloak, in which two swords were wrapped, and, shutting the door, he\ntook his seat by the side of the coachman. The coachman stooped\ndown for his orders.\n\"To the Champs Elysees,\" said the general; \"the Count of Monte\nCristo's. Hurry!\" The horses bounded beneath the whip; and in five\nminutes they stopped before the count's door. M. de Morcerf opened\nthe door himself, and as the carriage rolled away he passed up the\nwalk, rang, and entered the open door with his servant.\nA moment afterwards, Baptistin announced the Count of Morcerf to\nMonte Cristo, and the latter, leading Haidee aside, ordered that\nMorcerf be asked into the drawing-room. The general was pacing theMorcerf be asked into the drawing-room. The general was pacing the\nroom the third time when, in turning, he perceived Monte Cristo at\nthe door. \"Ah, it is M. de Morcerf,\" said Monte Cristo quietly; \"I\nthought I had not heard aright.\"\n\"Yes, it is I,\" said the count, whom a frightful contraction of\nthe lips prevented from articulating freely.\n\"May I know the cause which procures me the pleasure of seeing\nM. de Morcerf so early?\"\n\"Had you not a meeting with my son this morning?\" asked the\ngeneral.\n\"I had,\" replied the count.\n\"And I know my son had good reasons to wish to fight with you,\nand to endeavor to kill you.\"\n\"Yes, sir, he had very good ones; but you see that in spite of\nthem he has not killed me, and did not even fight.\"\n\"Yet he considered you the cause of his father's dishonor, the\ncause of the fearful ruin which has fallen on my house.\"\n\"It is true, sir,\" said Monte Cristo with his dreadful calmness;\n\"a secondary cause, but not the principal.\"\n\"Doubtless you made, then, some apology or explanation?\"\n\"I explained nothing, and it is he who apologized to me.\"\n\"But to what do you attribute this conduct?\"\n\"To the conviction, probably, that there was one more guilty\nthan I.\"\n\"And who was that?\"\n\"His father.\"\n\"That may be,\" said the count, turning pale; \"but you know the\nguilty do not like to find themselves convicted.\"\n\"I know it, and I expected this result.\"\n\"You expected my son would be a coward?\" cried the count.\n\"M. Albert de Morcerf is no coward!\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"A man who holds a sword in his hand, and sees a mortal enemy\nwithin reach of that sword, and does not fight, is a coward! Why is\nhe not here that I may tell him so?\"\n\"Sir.\" replied Monte Cristo coldly, \"I did not expect that you\nhad come here to relate to me your little family affairs. Go and\ntell M. Albert that, and he may know what to answer you.\"\n\"Oh, no, no,\" said the general, smiling faintly, \"I did not come\nfor that purpose; you are right. I came to tell you that I also\nlook upon you as my enemy. I came to tell you that I hate youlook upon you as my enemy. I came to tell you that I hate you\ninstinctively; that it seems as if I had always known you, and\nalways hated you; and, in short, since the young people of the\npresent day will not fight, it remains for us to do so. Do you\nthink so, sir?\"\n\"Certainly. And when I told you I had foreseen the result, it is\nthe honor of your visit I alluded to.\"\n\"So much the better. Are you prepared?\"\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\"You know that we shall fight till one of us is dead,\" said the\ngeneral, whose teeth were clinched with rage. \"Until one of us\ndies,\" repeated Monte Cristo, moving his head slightly up and\ndown.\n\"Let us start, then; we need no witnesses.\"\n\"Very true,\" said Monte Cristo; \"it is unnecessary, we know each\nother so well!\"\n\"On the contrary,\" said the count, \"we know so little of each\nother.\"\n\"Indeed?\" said Monte Cristo, with the same indomitable coolness;\n\"let us see. Are you not the soldier Fernand who deserted on the\neve of the battle of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand\nwho served as guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you\nnot the Captain Fernand who betrayed, sold, and murdered his\nbenefactor, Ali? And have not all these Fernands, united, made\nLieutenant-General, the Count of Morcerf, peer of France?\"\n\"Oh,\" cried the general, as it branded with a hot iron, \"wretch,\n— to reproach me with my shame when about, perhaps, to kill me! No,\nI did not say I was a stranger to you. I know well, demon, that you\nhave penetrated into the darkness of the past, and that you have\nread, by the light of what torch I know not, every page of my life;\nbut perhaps I may be more honorable in my shame than you under your\npompous coverings. No — no, I am aware you know me; but I know you\nonly as an adventurer sewn up in gold and jewellery. You call\nyourself in Paris the Count of Monte Cristo; in Italy, Sinbad the\nSailor; in Malta, I forget what. But it is your real name I want to\nknow, in the midst of your hundred names, that I may pronounce it"}
{"text": "know, in the midst of your hundred names, that I may pronounce it\nwhen we meet to fight, at the moment when I plunge my sword through\nyour heart.\"\nThe Count of Monte Cristo turned dreadfully pale; his eye seemed\nto burn with a devouring fire. He leaped towards a dressing-room\nnear his bedroom, and in less than a moment, tearing off his\ncravat, his coat and waistcoat, he put on a sailor's jacket and\nhat, from beneath which rolled his long black hair. He returned\nthus, formidable and implacable, advancing with his arms crossed on\nhis breast, towards the general, who could not understand why he\nhad disappeared, but who on seeing him again, and feeling his teeth\nchatter and his legs sink under him, drew back, and only stopped\nwhen he found a table to support his clinched hand. \"Fernand,\"\ncried he, \"of my hundred names I need only tell you one, to\noverwhelm you! But you guess it now, do you not? — or, rather, you\nremember it? For, notwithstanding all my sorrows and my tortures, I\nshow you to-day a face which the happiness of revenge makes young\nagain — a face you must often have seen in your dreams since your\nmarriage with Mercedes, my betrothed!\"\nThe general, with his head thrown back, hands extended, gaze\nfixed, looked silently at this dreadful apparition; then seeking\nthe wall to support him, he glided along close to it until he\nreached the door, through which he went out backwards, uttering\nthis single mournful, lamentable, distressing cry, — \"Edmond\nDantes!\" Then, with sighs which were unlike any human sound, he\ndragged himself to the door, reeled across the court-yard, and\nfalling into the arms of his valet, he said in a voice scarcely\nintelligible, — \"Home, home.\" The fresh air and the shame he felt\nat having exposed himself before his servants, partly recalled his\nsenses, but the ride was short, and as he drew near his house all\nhis wretchedness revived. He stopped at a short distance from the\nhouse and alighted.\nThe door was wide open, a hackney-coach was standing in thehouse and alighted.\nThe door was wide open, a hackney-coach was standing in the\nmiddle of the yard — a strange sight before so noble a mansion; the\ncount looked at it with terror, but without daring to inquire its\nmeaning, he rushed towards his apartment. Two persons were coming\ndown the stairs; he had only time to creep into an alcove to avoid\nthem. It was Mercedes leaning on her son's arm and leaving the\nhouse. They passed close by the unhappy being, who, concealed\nbehind the damask curtain, almost felt Mercedes dress brush past\nhim, and his son's warm breath, pronouncing these words, —\n\"Courage, mother! Come, this is no longer our home!\" The words died\naway, the steps were lost in the distance. The general drew himself\nup, clinging to the curtain; he uttered the most dreadful sob which\never escaped from the bosom of a father abandoned at the same time\nby his wife and son. He soon heard the clatter of the iron step of\nthe hackney-coach, then the coachman's voice, and then the rolling\nof the heavy vehicle shook the windows. He darted to his bedroom to\nsee once more all he had loved in the world; but the hackney-coach\ndrove on and the head of neither Mercedes nor her son appeared at\nthe window to take a last look at the house or the deserted father\nand husband. And at the very moment when the wheels of that coach\ncrossed the gateway a report was heard, and a thick smoke escaped\nthrough one of the panes of the window, which was broken by the\nexplosion.We may easily conceive where Morrel's appointment was. On\nleaving Monte Cristo he walked slowly towards Villefort's; we say\nslowly, for Morrel had more than half an hour to spare to go five\nhundred steps, but he had hastened to take leave of Monte Cristo\nbecause he wished to be alone with his thoughts. He knew his time\nwell — the hour when Valentine was giving Noirtier his breakfast,\nand was sure not to be disturbed in the performance of this pious\nduty. Noirtier and Valentine had given him leave to go twice a\nweek, and he was now availing himself of that permission. He had\narrived; Valentine was expecting him. Uneasy and almost crazed, she\nseized his hand and led him to her grandfather. This uneasiness,\namounting almost to frenzy, arose from the report Morcerf's\nadventure had made in the world, for the affair at the opera was\ngenerally known. No one at Villefort's doubted that a duel would\nensue from it. Valentine, with her woman's instinct, guessed that\nMorrel would be Monte Cristo's second, and from the young man's\nwell-known courage and his great affection for the count, she\nfeared that he would not content himself with the passive part\nassigned to him. We may easily understand how eagerly the\nparticulars were asked for, given, and received; and Morrel could\nread an indescribable joy in the eyes of his beloved, when she knew\nthat the termination of this affair was as happy as it was\nunexpected.\n\"Now,\" said Valentine, motioning to Morrel to sit down near her\ngrandfather, while she took her seat on his footstool, — \"now let\nus talk about our own affairs. You know, Maximilian, grandpapa once\nthought of leaving this house, and taking an apartment away from M.\nde Villefort's.\"\n\"Yes,\" said Maximilian, \"I recollect the project, of which I\nhighly approved.\"\n\"Well,\" said Valentine, \"you may approve again, for grandpapa is\nagain thinking of it.\"\n\"Bravo,\" said Maximilian.\n\"And do you know,\" said Valentine, \"what reason grandpapa gives\nfor leaving this house.\" Noirtier looked at Valentine to imposefor leaving this house.\" Noirtier looked at Valentine to impose\nsilence, but she did not notice him; her looks, her eyes, her\nsmile, were all for Morrel.\n\"Oh, whatever may be M. Noirtier's reason,\" answered Morrel, \"I\ncan readily believe it to be a good one.\"\n\"An excellent one,\" said Valentine. \"He pretends the air of the\nFaubourg St. Honore is not good for me.\"\n\"Indeed?\" said Morrel; \"in that M. Noirtier may be right; you\nhave not seemed to be well for the last fortnight.\"\n\"Not very,\" said Valentine. \"And grandpapa has become my\nphysician, and I have the greatest confidence in him, because he\nknows everything.\"\n\"Do you then really suffer?\" asked Morrel quickly.\n\"Oh, it must not be called suffering; I feel a general\nuneasiness, that is all. I have lost my appetite, and my stomach\nfeels as if it were struggling to get accustomed to something.\"\nNoirtier did not lose a word of what Valentine said. \"And what\ntreatment do you adopt for this singular complaint?\"\n\"A very simple one,\" said Valentine. \"I swallow every morning a\nspoonful of the mixture prepared for my grandfather. When I say one\nspoonful, I began by one — now I take four. Grandpapa says it is a\npanacea.\" Valentine smiled, but it was evident that she\nsuffered.\nMaximilian, in his devotedness, gazed silently at her. She was\nvery beautiful, but her usual pallor had increased; her eyes were\nmore brilliant than ever, and her hands, which were generally white\nlike mother-of-pearl, now more resembled wax, to which time was\nadding a yellowish hue. From Valentine the young man looked towards\nNoirtier. The latter watched with strange and deep interest the\nyoung girl, absorbed by her affection, and he also, like Morrel,\nfollowed those traces of inward suffering which was so little\nperceptible to a common observer that they escaped the notice of\nevery one but the grandfather and the lover.\n\"But,\" said Morrel, \"I thought this mixture, of which you now\ntake four spoonfuls, was prepared for M. Noirtier?\"\n\"I know it is very bitter,\" said Valentine; \"so bitter, that all"}
{"text": "\"I know it is very bitter,\" said Valentine; \"so bitter, that all\nI drink afterwards appears to have the same taste.\" Noirtier looked\ninquiringly at his granddaughter. \"Yes, grandpapa,\" said Valentine;\n\"it is so. Just now, before I came down to you, I drank a glass of\nsugared water; I left half, because it seemed so bitter.\" Noirtier\nturned pale, and made a sign that he wished to speak. Valentine\nrose to fetch the dictionary. Noirtier watched her with evident\nanguish. In fact, the blood was rushing to the young girl's head\nalready, her cheeks were becoming red. \"Oh,\" cried she, without\nlosing any of her cheerfulness, \"this is singular! I can't see! Did\nthe sun shine in my eyes?\" And she leaned against the window.\n\"The sun is not shining,\" said Morrel, more alarmed by\nNoirtier's expression than by Valentine's indisposition. He ran\ntowards her. The young girl smiled. \"Cheer up,\" said she to\nNoirtier. \"Do not be alarmed, Maximilian; it is nothing, and has\nalready passed away. But listen! Do I not hear a carriage in the\ncourt-yard?\" She opened Noirtier's door, ran to a window in the\npassage, and returned hastily. \"Yes,\" said she, \"it is Madame\nDanglars and her daughter, who have come to call on us. Good-by; —\nI must run away, for they would send here for me, or, rather,\nfarewell till I see you again. Stay with grandpapa, Maximilian; I\npromise you not to persuade them to stay.\"\nMorrel watched her as she left the room; he heard her ascend the\nlittle staircase which led both to Madame de Villefort's apartments\nand to hers. As soon as she was gone, Noirtier made a sign to\nMorrel to take the dictionary. Morrel obeyed; guided by Valentine,\nhe had learned how to understand the old man quickly. Accustomed,\nhowever, as he was to the work, he had to repeat most of the\nletters of the alphabet and to find every word in the dictionary,\nso that it was ten minutes before the thought of the old man was\ntranslated by these words, \"Fetch the glass of water and the\ndecanter from Valentine's room.\"translated by these words, \"Fetch the glass of water and the\ndecanter from Valentine's room.\"\nMorrel rang immediately for the servant who had taken Barrois's\nsituation, and in Noirtier's name gave that order. The servant soon\nreturned. The decanter and the glass were completely empty.\nNoirtier made a sign that he wished to speak. \"Why are the glass\nand decanter empty?\" asked he; \"Valentine said she only drank half\nthe glassful.\" The translation of this new question occupied\nanother five minutes. \"I do not know,\" said the servant, \"but the\nhousemaid is in Mademoiselle Valentine's room: perhaps she has\nemptied them.\"\n\"Ask her,\" said Morrel, translating Noirtier's thought this time\nby his look. The servant went out, but returned almost immediately.\n\"Mademoiselle Valentine passed through the room to go to Madame de\nVillefort's,\" said he; \"and in passing, as she was thirsty, she\ndrank what remained in the glass; as for the decanter, Master\nEdward had emptied that to make a pond for his ducks.\" Noirtier\nraised his eyes to heaven, as a gambler does who stakes his all on\none stroke. From that moment the old man's eyes were fixed on the\ndoor, and did not quit it.\nIt was indeed Madame Danglars and her daughter whom Valentine\nhad seen; they had been ushered into Madame de Villefort's room,\nwho had said she would receive them there. That is why Valentine\npassed through her room, which was on a level with Valentine's, and\nonly separated from it by Edward's. The two ladies entered the\ndrawing-room with that sort of official stiffness which preludes a\nformal communication. Among worldly people manner is contagious.\nMadame de Villefort received them with equal solemnity. Valentine\nentered at this moment, and the formalities were resumed. \"My dear\nfriend,\" said the baroness, while the two young people were shaking\nhands, \"I and Eugenie are come to be the first to announce to you\nthe approaching marriage of my daughter with Prince Cavalcanti.\"\nDanglars kept up the title of prince. The popular banker found thatDanglars kept up the title of prince. The popular banker found that\nit answered better than count. \"Allow me to present you my sincere\ncongratulations,\" replied Madame de Villefort. \"Prince Cavalcanti\nappears to be a young man of rare qualities.\"\n\"Listen,\" said the baroness, smiling; \"speaking to you as a\nfriend I can say that the prince does not yet appear all he will\nbe. He has about him a little of that foreign manner by which\nFrench persons recognize, at first sight, the Italian or German\nnobleman. Besides, he gives evidence of great kindness of\ndisposition, much keenness of wit, and as to suitability, M.\nDanglars assures me that his fortune is majestic — that is his\nword.\"\n\"And then,\" said Eugenie, while turning over the leaves of\nMadame de Villefort's album, \"add that you have taken a great fancy\nto the young man.\"\n\"And,\" said Madame de Villefort, \"I need not ask you if you\nshare that fancy.\"\n\"I?\" replied Eugenie with her usual candor. \"Oh, not the least\nin the world, madame! My wish was not to confine myself to domestic\ncares, or the caprices of any man, but to be an artist, and\nconsequently free in heart, in person, and in thought.\" Eugenie\npronounced these words with so firm a tone that the color mounted\nto Valentine's cheeks. The timid girl could not understand that\nvigorous nature which appeared to have none of the timidities of\nwoman.\n\"At any rate,\" said she, \"since I am to be married whether I\nwill or not, I ought to be thankful to providence for having\nreleased me from my engagement with M. Albert de Morcerf, or I\nshould this day have been the wife of a dishonored man.\"\n\"It is true,\" said the baroness, with that strange simplicity\nsometimes met with among fashionable ladies, and of which plebeian\nintercourse can never entirely deprive them, — \"it is very true\nthat had not the Morcerfs hesitated, my daughter would have married\nMonsieur Albert. The general depended much on it; he even came to\nforce M. Danglars. We have had a narrow escape.\"\n\"But,\" said Valentine, timidly, \"does all the father's shame"}
{"text": "\"But,\" said Valentine, timidly, \"does all the father's shame\nrevert upon the son? Monsieur Albert appears to me quite innocent\nof the treason charged against the general.\"\n\"Excuse me,\" said the implacable young girl, \"Monsieur Albert\nclaims and well deserves his share. It appears that after having\nchallenged M. de Monte Cristo at the Opera yesterday, he apologized\non the ground to-day.\"\n\"Impossible,\" said Madame de Villefort.\n\"Ah, my dear friend,\" said Madame Danglars, with the same\nsimplicity we before noticed, \"it is a fact. I heard it from M.\nDebray, who was present at the explanation.\" Valentine also knew\nthe truth, but she did not answer. A single word had reminded her\nthat Morrel was expecting her in M. Noirtier's room. Deeply engaged\nwith a sort of inward contemplation, Valentine had ceased for a\nmoment to join in the conversation. She would, indeed, have found\nit impossible to repeat what had been said the last few minutes,\nwhen suddenly Madame Danglars' hand, pressed on her arm, aroused\nher from her lethargy.\n\"What is it?\" said she, starting at Madame Danglars' touch as\nshe would have done from an electric shock. \"It is, my dear\nValentine,\" said the baroness, \"that you are, doubtless,\nsuffering.\"\n\"I?\" said the young girl, passing her hand across her burning\nforehead.\n\"Yes, look at yourself in that glass; you have turned pale and\nthen red successively, three or four times in one minute.\"\n\"Indeed,\" cried Eugenie, \"you are very pale!\"\n\"Oh, do not be alarmed; I have been so for many days.\" Artless\nas she was, the young girl knew that this was an opportunity to\nleave, and besides, Madame de Villefort came to her assistance.\n\"Retire, Valentine,\" said she; \"you are really suffering, and these\nladies will excuse you; drink a glass of pure water, it will\nrestore you.\" Valentine kissed Eugenie, bowed to Madame Danglars,\nwho had already risen to take her leave, and went out. \"That poor\nchild,\" said Madame de Villefort when Valentine was gone, \"she\nmakes me very uneasy, and I should not be astonished if she hadmakes me very uneasy, and I should not be astonished if she had\nsome serious illness.\"\nMeanwhile, Valentine, in a sort of excitement which she could\nnot quite understand, had crossed Edward's room without noticing\nsome trick of the child, and through her own had reached the little\nstaircase. She was within three steps of the bottom; she already\nheard Morrel's voice, when suddenly a cloud passed over her eyes,\nher stiffened foot missed the step, her hands had no power to hold\nthe baluster, and falling against the wall she lost her balance\nwholly and toppled to the floor. Morrel bounded to the door, opened\nit, and found Valentine stretched out at the bottom of the stairs.\nQuick as a flash, he raised her in his arms and placed her in a\nchair. Valentine opened her eyes.\n\"Oh, what a clumsy thing I am,\" said she with feverish\nvolubility; \"I don't know my way. I forgot there were three more\nsteps before the landing.\"\n\"You have hurt yourself, perhaps,\" said Morrel. \"What can I do\nfor you, Valentine?\" Valentine looked around her; she saw the\ndeepest terror depicted in Noirtier's eyes. \"Don't worry, dear\ngrandpapa,\" said she, endeavoring to smile; \"it is nothing — it is\nnothing; I was giddy, that is all.\"\n\"Another attack of giddiness,\" said Morrel, clasping his hands.\n\"Oh, attend to it, Valentine, I entreat you.\"\n\"But no,\" said Valentine, — \"no, I tell you it is all past, and\nit was nothing. Now, let me tell you some news; Eugenie is to be\nmarried in a week, and in three days there is to be a grand feast,\na betrothal festival. We are all invited, my father, Madame de\nVillefort, and I — at least, I understood it so.\"\n\"When will it be our turn to think of these things? Oh,\nValentine, you who have so much influence over your grandpapa, try\nto make him answer — Soon.\"\n\"And do you,\" said Valentine, \"depend on me to stimulate the\ntardiness and arouse the memory of grandpapa?\"\n\"Yes,\" cried Morrel, \"make haste. So long as you are not mine,\nValentine, I shall always think I may lose you.\"Valentine, I shall always think I may lose you.\"\n\"Oh,\" replied Valentine with a convulsive movement, \"oh, indeed,\nMaximilian, you are too timid for an officer, for a soldier who,\nthey say, never knows fear. Ah, ha, ha!\" she burst into a forced\nand melancholy laugh, her arms stiffened and twisted, her head fell\nback on her chair, and she remained motionless. The cry of terror\nwhich was stopped on Noirtier's lips, seemed to start from his\neyes. Morrel understood it; he knew he must call assistance. The\nyoung man rang the bell violently; the housemaid who had been in\nMademoiselle Valentine's room, and the servant who had replaced\nBarrois, ran in at the same moment. Valentine was so pale, so cold,\nso inanimate that without listening to what was said to them they\nwere seized with the fear which pervaded that house, and they flew\ninto the passage crying for help. Madame Danglars and Eugenie were\ngoing out at that moment; they heard the cause of the disturbance.\n\"I told you so!\" exclaimed Madame de Villefort. \"Poor child!\"We saw in a preceding chapter how Madame Danglars went formally\nto announce to Madame de Villefort the approaching marriage of\nEugenie Danglars and M. Andrea Cavalcanti. This announcement, which\nimplied or appeared to imply, the approval of all the persons\nconcerned in this momentous affair, had been preceded by a scene to\nwhich our readers must be admitted. We beg them to take one step\nbackward, and to transport themselves, the morning of that day of\ngreat catastrophes, into the showy, gilded salon we have before\nshown them, and which was the pride of its owner, Baron Danglars.\nIn this room, at about ten o'clock in the morning, the banker\nhimself had been walking to and fro for some minutes thoughtfully\nand in evident uneasiness, watching both doors, and listening to\nevery sound. When his patience was exhausted, he called his valet.\n\"Etienne,\" said he, \"see why Mademoiselle Eugenie has asked me to\nmeet her in the drawing-room, and why she makes me wait so\nlong.\"\nHaving given this vent to his ill-humor, the baron became more\ncalm; Mademoiselle Danglars had that morning requested an interview\nwith her father, and had fixed on the gilded drawing-room as the\nspot. The singularity of this step, and above all its formality,\nhad not a little surprised the banker, who had immediately obeyed\nhis daughter by repairing first to the drawing-room. Etienne soon\nreturned from his errand. \"Mademoiselle's lady's maid says, sir,\nthat mademoiselle is finishing her toilette, and will be here\nshortly.\"\nDanglars nodded, to signify that he was satisfied. To the world\nand to his servants Danglars assumed the character of the\ngood-natured man and the indulgent father. This was one of his\nparts in the popular comedy he was performing, — a make-up he had\nadopted and which suited him about as well as the masks worn on the\nclassic stage by paternal actors, who seen from one side, were the\nimage of geniality, and from the other showed lips drawn down in\nchronic ill-temper. Let us hasten to say that in private the genial"}
{"text": "chronic ill-temper. Let us hasten to say that in private the genial\nside descended to the level of the other, so that generally the\nindulgent man disappeared to give place to the brutal husband and\ndomineering father. \"Why the devil does that foolish girl, who\npretends to wish to speak to me, not come into my study? and why on\nearth does she want to speak to me at all?\"\nHe was turning this thought over in his brain for the twentieth\ntime, when the door opened and Eugenie appeared, attired in a\nfigured black satin dress, her hair dressed and gloves on, as if\nshe were going to the Italian Opera. \"Well, Eugenie, what is it you\nwant with me? and why in this solemn drawing-room when the study is\nso comfortable?\"\n\"I quite understand why you ask, sir,\" said Eugenie, making a\nsign that her father might be seated, \"and in fact your two\nquestions suggest fully the theme of our conversation. I will\nanswer them both, and contrary to the usual method, the last first,\nbecause it is the least difficult. I have chosen the drawing-room,\nsir, as our place of meeting, in order to avoid the disagreeable\nimpressions and influences of a banker's study. Those gilded\ncashbooks, drawers locked like gates of fortresses, heaps of\nbank-bills, come from I know not where, and the quantities of\nletters from England, Holland, Spain, India, China, and Peru, have\ngenerally a strange influence on a father's mind, and make him\nforget that there is in the world an interest greater and more\nsacred than the good opinion of his correspondents. I have,\ntherefore, chosen this drawing-room, where you see, smiling and\nhappy in their magnificent frames, your portrait, mine, my\nmother's, and all sorts of rural landscapes and touching pastorals.\nI rely much on external impressions; perhaps, with regard to you,\nthey are immaterial, but I should be no artist if I had not some\nfancies.\"\n\"Very well,\" replied M. Danglars, who had listened to all this\npreamble with imperturbable coolness, but without understanding apreamble with imperturbable coolness, but without understanding a\nword, since like every man burdened with thoughts of the past, he\nwas occupied with seeking the thread of his own ideas in those of\nthe speaker.\n\"There is, then, the second point cleared up, or nearly so,\"\nsaid Eugenie, without the least confusion, and with that masculine\npointedness which distinguished her gesture and her language; \"and\nyou appear satisfied with the explanation. Now, let us return to\nthe first. You ask me why I have requested this interview; I will\ntell you in two words, sir; I will not marry count Andrea\nCavalcanti.\"\nDanglars leaped from his chair and raised his eyes and arms\ntowards heaven.\n\"Yes, indeed, sir,\" continued Eugenie, still quite calm; \"you\nare astonished, I see; for since this little affair began, I have\nnot manifested the slightest opposition, and yet I am always sure,\nwhen the opportunity arrives, to oppose a determined and absolute\nwill to people who have not consulted me, and things which\ndisplease me. However, this time, my tranquillity, or passiveness\nas philosophers say, proceeded from another source; it proceeded\nfrom a wish, like a submissive and devoted daughter\" (a slight\nsmile was observable on the purple lips of the young girl), \"to\npractice obedience.\"\n\"Well?\" asked Danglars.\n\"Well, sir,\" replied Eugenie, \"I have tried to the very last and\nnow that the moment has come, I feel in spite of all my efforts\nthat it is impossible.\"\n\"But,\" said Danglars, whose weak mind was at first quite\noverwhelmed with the weight of this pitiless logic, marking evident\npremeditation and force of will, \"what is your reason for this\nrefusal, Eugenie? what reason do you assign?\"\n\"My reason?\" replied the young girl. \"Well, it is not that the\nman is more ugly, more foolish, or more disagreeable than any\nother; no, M. Andrea Cavalcanti may appear to those who look at\nmen's faces and figures as a very good specimen of his kind. It is\nnot, either, that my heart is less touched by him than any other;not, either, that my heart is less touched by him than any other;\nthat would be a schoolgirl's reason, which I consider quite beneath\nme. I actually love no one, sir; you know it, do you not? I do not\nthen see why, without real necessity, I should encumber my life\nwith a perpetual companion. Has not some sage said, `Nothing too\nmuch'? and another, `I carry all my effects with me'? I have been\ntaught these two aphorisms in Latin and in Greek; one is, I\nbelieve, from Phaedrus, and the other from Bias. Well, my dear\nfather, in the shipwreck of life — for life is an eternal shipwreck\nof our hopes — I cast into the sea my useless encumbrance, that is\nall, and I remain with my own will, disposed to live perfectly\nalone, and consequently perfectly free.\"\n\"Unhappy girl, unhappy girl!\" murmured Danglars, turning pale,\nfor he knew from long experience the solidity of the obstacle he\nhad so suddenly encountered.\n\"Unhappy girl,\" replied Eugenie, \"unhappy girl, do you say, sir?\nNo, indeed; the exclamation appears quite theatrical and affected.\nHappy, on the contrary, for what am I in want of! The world calls\nme beautiful. It is something to be well received. I like a\nfavorable reception; it expands the countenance, and those around\nme do not then appear so ugly. I possess a share of wit, and a\ncertain relative sensibility, which enables me to draw from life in\ngeneral, for the support of mine, all I meet with that is good,\nlike the monkey who cracks the nut to get at its contents. I am\nrich, for you have one of the first fortunes in France. I am your\nonly daughter, and you are not so exacting as the fathers of the\nPorte Saint-Martin and Gaiete, who disinherit their daughters for\nnot giving them grandchildren. Besides, the provident law has\ndeprived you of the power to disinherit me, at least entirely, as\nit has also of the power to compel me to marry Monsieur This or\nMonsieur That. And so — being, beautiful, witty, somewhat talented,\nas the comic operas say, and rich — and that is happiness, sir —"}
{"text": "as the comic operas say, and rich — and that is happiness, sir —\nwhy do you call me unhappy?\"\nDanglars, seeing his daughter smiling, and proud even to\ninsolence, could not entirely repress his brutal feelings, but they\nbetrayed themselves only by an exclamation. Under the fixed and\ninquiring gaze levelled at him from under those beautiful black\neyebrows, he prudently turned away, and calmed himself immediately,\ndaunted by the power of a resolute mind. \"Truly, my daughter,\"\nreplied he with a smile, \"you are all you boast of being, excepting\none thing; I will not too hastily tell you which, but would rather\nleave you to guess it.\" Eugenie looked at Danglars, much surprised\nthat one flower of her crown of pride, with which she had so\nsuperbly decked herself, should be disputed. \"My daughter,\"\ncontinued the banker, \"you have perfectly explained to me the\nsentiments which influence a girl like you, who is determined she\nwill not marry; now it remains for me to tell you the motives of a\nfather like me, who has decided that his daughter shall marry.\"\nEugenie bowed, not as a submissive daughter, but as an adversary\nprepared for a discussion.\n\"My daughter,\" continued Danglars, \"when a father asks his\ndaughter to choose a husband, he has always some reason for wishing\nher to marry. Some are affected with the mania of which you spoke\njust now, that of living again in their grandchildren. This is not\nmy weakness, I tell you at once; family joys have no charm for me.\nI may acknowledge this to a daughter whom I know to be\nphilosophical enough to understand my indifference, and not to\nimpute it to me as a crime.\"\n\"This is not to the purpose,\" said Eugenie; \"let us speak\ncandidly, sir; I admire candor.\"\n\"Oh,\" said Danglars, \"I can, when circumstances render it\ndesirable, adopt your system, although it may not be my general\npractice. I will therefore proceed. I have proposed to you to\nmarry, not for your sake, for indeed I did not think of you in the\nleast at the moment (you admire candor, and will now be satisfied,least at the moment (you admire candor, and will now be satisfied,\nI hope); but because it suited me to marry you as soon as possible,\non account of certain commercial speculations I am desirous of\nentering into.\" Eugenie became uneasy.\n\"It is just as I tell you, I assure you, and you must not be\nangry with me, for you have sought this disclosure. I do not\nwillingly enter into arithmetical explanations with an artist like\nyou, who fears to enter my study lest she should imbibe\ndisagreeable or anti-poetic impressions and sensations. But in that\nsame banker's study, where you very willingly presented yourself\nyesterday to ask for the thousand francs I give you monthly for\npocket-money, you must know, my dear young lady, that many things\nmay be learned, useful even to a girl who will not marry. There one\nmay learn, for instance, what, out of regard to your nervous\nsusceptibility, I will inform you of in the drawing-room, namely,\nthat the credit of a banker is his physical and moral life; that\ncredit sustains him as breath animates the body; and M. de Monte\nCristo once gave me a lecture on that subject, which I have never\nforgotten. There we may learn that as credit sinks, the body\nbecomes a corpse, and this is what must happen very soon to the\nbanker who is proud to own so good a logician as you for his\ndaughter.\" But Eugenie, instead of stooping, drew herself up under\nthe blow. \"Ruined?\" said she.\n\"Exactly, my daughter; that is precisely what I mean,\" said\nDanglars, almost digging his nails into his breast, while he\npreserved on his harsh features the smile of the heartless though\nclever man; \"ruined — yes, that is it.\"\n\"Ah!\" said Eugenie.\n\"Yes, ruined! Now it is revealed, this secret so full of horror,\nas the tragic poet says. Now, my daughter, learn from my lips how\nyou may alleviate this misfortune, so far as it will affect\nyou.\"\n\"Oh,\" cried Eugenie, \"you are a bad physiognomist, if you\nimagine I deplore on my own account the catastrophe of which youimagine I deplore on my own account the catastrophe of which you\nwarn me. I ruined? and what will that signify to me? Have I not my\ntalent left? Can I not, like Pasta, Malibran, Grisi, acquire for\nmyself what you would never have given me, whatever might have been\nyour fortune, a hundred or a hundred and fifty thousand livres per\nannum, for which I shall be indebted to no one but myself; and\nwhich, instead of being given as you gave me those poor twelve\nthousand francs, with sour looks and reproaches for my prodigality,\nwill be accompanied with acclamations, with bravos, and with\nflowers? And if I do not possess that talent, which your smiles\nprove to me you doubt, should I not still have that ardent love of\nindependence, which will be a substitute for wealth, and which in\nmy mind supersedes even the instinct of self-preservation? No, I\ngrieve not on my own account, I shall always find a resource; my\nbooks, my pencils, my piano, all the things which cost but little,\nand which I shall be able to procure, will remain my own.\n\"Do you think that I sorrow for Madame Danglars? Undeceive\nyourself again; either I am greatly mistaken, or she has provided\nagainst the catastrophe which threatens you, and, which will pass\nover without affecting her. She has taken care for herself, — at\nleast I hope so, — for her attention has not been diverted from her\nprojects by watching over me. She has fostered my independence by\nprofessedly indulging my love for liberty. Oh, no, sir; from my\nchildhood I have seen too much, and understood too much, of what\nhas passed around me, for misfortune to have an undue power over\nme. From my earliest recollections, I have been beloved by no one —\nso much the worse; that has naturally led me to love no one — so\nmuch the better — now you have my profession of faith.\"\n\"Then,\" said Danglars, pale with anger, which was not at all due\nto offended paternal love, — \"then, mademoiselle, you persist in\nyour determination to accelerate my ruin?\"\n\"Your ruin? I accelerate your ruin? What do you mean? I do not"}
{"text": "\"Your ruin? I accelerate your ruin? What do you mean? I do not\nunderstand you.\"\n\"So much the better, I have a ray of hope left; listen.\"\n\"I am all attention,\" said Eugenie, looking so earnestly at her\nfather that it was an effort for the latter to endure her\nunrelenting gaze.\n\"M. Cavalcanti,\" continued Danglars, \"is about to marry you, and\nwill place in my hands his fortune, amounting to three million\nlivres.\"\n\"That is admirable!\" said Eugenie with sovereign contempt,\nsmoothing her gloves out one upon the other.\n\"You think I shall deprive you of those three millions,\" said\nDanglars; \"but do not fear it. They are destined to produce at\nleast ten. I and a brother banker have obtained a grant of a\nrailway, the only industrial enterprise which in these days\npromises to make good the fabulous prospects that Law once held out\nto the eternally deluded Parisians, in the fantastic Mississippi\nscheme. As I look at it, a millionth part of a railway is worth\nfully as much as an acre of waste land on the banks of the Ohio. We\nmake in our case a deposit, on a mortgage, which is an advance, as\nyou see, since we gain at least ten, fifteen, twenty, or a hundred\nlivres' worth of iron in exchange for our money. Well, within a\nweek I am to deposit four millions for my share; the four millions,\nI promise you, will produce ten or twelve.\"\n\"But during my visit to you the day before yesterday, sir, which\nyou appear to recollect so well,\" replied Eugenie, \"I saw you\narranging a deposit — is not that the term? — of five millions and\na half; you even pointed it out to me in two drafts on the\ntreasury, and you were astonished that so valuable a paper did not\ndazzle my eyes like lightning.\"\n\"Yes, but those five millions and a half are not mine, and are\nonly a proof of the great confidence placed in me; my title of\npopular banker has gained me the confidence of charitable\ninstitutions, and the five millions and a half belong to them; at\nany other time I should not have hesitated to make use of them, butany other time I should not have hesitated to make use of them, but\nthe great losses I have recently sustained are well known, and, as\nI told you, my credit is rather shaken. That deposit may be at any\nmoment withdrawn, and if I had employed it for another purpose, I\nshould bring on me a disgraceful bankruptcy. I do not despise\nbankruptcies, believe me, but they must be those which enrich, not\nthose which ruin. Now, if you marry M. Cavalcanti, and I get the\nthree millions, or even if it is thought I am going to get them, my\ncredit will be restored, and my fortune, which for the last month\nor two has been swallowed up in gulfs which have been opened in my\npath by an inconceivable fatality, will revive. Do you understand\nme?\"\n\"Perfectly; you pledge me for three millions, do you not?\"\n\"The greater the amount, the more flattering it is to you; it\ngives you an idea of your value.\"\n\"Thank you. One word more, sir; do you promise me to make what\nuse you can of the report of the fortune M. Cavalcanti will bring\nwithout touching the money? This is no act of selfishness, but of\ndelicacy. I am willing to help rebuild your fortune, but I will not\nbe an accomplice in the ruin of others.\"\n\"But since I tell you,\" cried Danglars, \"that with these three\nmillion\" —\n\"Do you expect to recover your position, sir, without touching\nthose three million?\"\n\"I hope so, if the marriage should take place and confirm my\ncredit.\"\n\"Shall you be able to pay M. Cavalcanti the five hundred\nthousand francs you promise for my dowry?\"\n\"He shall receive them on returning from the mayor's.\"*\n(* The performance of the civil marriage.)\n\"Very well!\"\n\"What next? what more do you want?\"\n\"I wish to know if, in demanding my signature, you leave me\nentirely free in my person?\"\n\"Absolutely.\"\n\"Then, as I said before, sir, — very well; I am ready to marry\nM. Cavalcanti.\"\n\"But what are you up to?\"\n\"Ah, that is my affair. What advantage should I have over you,\nif knowing your secret I were to tell you mine?\" Danglars bit hisif knowing your secret I were to tell you mine?\" Danglars bit his\nlips. \"Then,\" said he, \"you are ready to pay the official visits,\nwhich are absolutely indispensable?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Eugenie.\n\"And to sign the contract in three days?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Then, in my turn, I also say, very well!\" Danglars pressed his\ndaughter's hand in his. But, extraordinary to relate, the father\ndid not say, \"Thank you, my child,\" nor did the daughter smile at\nher father. \"Is the conference ended?\" asked Eugenie, rising.\nDanglars motioned that he had nothing more to say. Five minutes\nafterwards the piano resounded to the touch of Mademoiselle\nd'Armilly's fingers, and Mademoiselle Danglars was singing\nBrabantio's malediction on Desdemona. At the end of the piece\nEtienne entered, and announced to Eugenie that the horses were in\nthe carriage, and that the baroness was waiting for her to pay her\nvisits. We have seen them at Villefort's; they proceeded then on\ntheir course.And now let us leave Mademoiselle Danglars and her friend\npursuing their way to Brussels, and return to poor Andrea\nCavalcanti, so inopportunely interrupted in his rise to fortune.\nNotwithstanding his youth, Master Andrea was a very skilful and\nintelligent boy. We have seen that on the first rumor which reached\nthe salon he had gradually approached the door, and crossing two or\nthree rooms at last disappeared. But we have forgotten to mention\none circumstance, which nevertheless ought not to be omitted; in\none of the rooms he crossed, the trousseau of the bride-elect was\non exhibition. There were caskets of diamonds, cashmere shawls,\nValenciennes lace, English veilings, and in fact all the tempting\nthings, the bare mention of which makes the hearts of young girls\nbound with joy, and which is called the \"corbeille.\"* Now, in\npassing through this room, Andrea proved himself not only to be\nclever and intelligent, but also provident, for he helped himself\nto the most valuable of the ornaments before him.\n(* Literally, \"the basket,\" because wedding gifts were\noriginally brought in such a receptacle.)\nFurnished with this plunder, Andrea leaped with a lighter heart\nfrom the window, intending to slip through the hands of the\ngendarmes. Tall and well proportioned as an ancient gladiator, and\nmuscular as a Spartan, he walked for a quarter of an hour without\nknowing where to direct his steps, actuated by the sole idea of\ngetting away from the spot where if he lingered he knew that he\nwould surely be taken. Having passed through the Rue Mont Blanc,\nguided by the instinct which leads thieves always to take the\nsafest path, he found himself at the end of the Rue Lafayette.\nThere he stopped, breathless and panting. He was quite alone; on\none side was the vast wilderness of the Saint-Lazare, on the other,\nParis enshrouded in darkness. \"Am I to be captured?\" he cried; \"no,\nnot if I can use more activity than my enemies. My safety is now a\nmere question of speed.\" At this moment he saw a cab at the top of"}
{"text": "mere question of speed.\" At this moment he saw a cab at the top of\nthe Faubourg Poissonniere. The dull driver, smoking his pipe, was\nplodding along toward the limits of the Faubourg Saint-Denis, where\nno doubt he ordinarily had his station. \"Ho, friend!\" said\nBenedetto.\n\"What do you want, sir?\" asked the driver.\n\"Is your horse tired?\"\n\"Tired? oh, yes, tired enough — he has done nothing the whole of\nthis blessed day! Four wretched fares, and twenty sous over, making\nin all seven francs, are all that I have earned, and I ought to\ntake ten to the owner.\"\n\"Will you add these twenty francs to the seven you have?\"\n\"With pleasure, sir; twenty francs are not to be despised. Tell\nme what I am to do for this.\"\n\"A very easy thing, if your horse isn't tired.\"\n\"I tell you he'll go like the wind, — only tell me which way to\ndrive.\"\n\"Towards the Louvres.\"\n\"Ah, I know the way — you get good sweetened rum over\nthere.\"\n\"Exactly so; I merely wish to overtake one of my friends, with\nwhom I am going to hunt to-morrow at Chapelle-en-Serval. He should\nhave waited for me here with a cabriolet till half-past eleven; it\nis twelve, and, tired of waiting, he must have gone on.\"\n\"It is likely.\"\n\"Well, will you try and overtake him?\"\n\"Nothing I should like better.\"\n\"If you do not overtake him before we reach Bourget you shall\nhave twenty francs; if not before Louvres, thirty.\"\n\"And if we do overtake him?\"\n\"Forty,\" said Andrea, after a moment's hesitation, at the end of\nwhich he remembered that he might safely promise. \"That's all\nright,\" said the man; \"hop in, and we're off! Who-o-o-p, la!\"\nAndrea got into the cab, which passed rapidly through the\nFaubourg Saint-Denis, along the Faubourg Saint-Martin, crossed the\nbarrier, and threaded its way through the interminable Villette.\nThey never overtook the chimerical friend, yet Andrea frequently\ninquired of people on foot whom he passed and at the inns which\nwere not yet closed, for a green cabriolet and bay horse; and as\nthere are a great many cabriolets to be seen on the road to the Lowthere are a great many cabriolets to be seen on the road to the Low\nCountries, and as nine-tenths of them are green, the inquiries\nincreased at every step. Every one had just seen it pass; it was\nonly five hundred, two hundred, one hundred steps in advance; at\nlength they reached it, but it was not the friend. Once the cab was\nalso passed by a calash rapidly whirled along by two post-horses.\n\"Ah,\" said Cavalcanti to himself, \"if I only had that britzska,\nthose two good post-horses, and above all the passport that carries\nthem on!\" And he sighed deeply. The calash contained Mademoiselle\nDanglars and Mademoiselle d'Armilly. \"Hurry, hurry!\" said Andrea,\n\"we must overtake him soon.\" And the poor horse resumed the\ndesperate gallop it had kept up since leaving the barrier, and\narrived steaming at Louvres.\n\"Certainly,\" said Andrea, \"I shall not overtake my friend, but I\nshall kill your horse, therefore I had better stop. Here are thirty\nfrancs; I will sleep at the Red Horse, and will secure a place in\nthe first coach. Good-night, friend.\" And Andrea, after placing six\npieces of five francs each in the man's hand, leaped lightly on to\nthe pathway. The cabman joyfully pocketed the sum, and turned back\non his road to Paris. Andrea pretended to go towards the Red Horse\ninn, but after leaning an instant against the door, and hearing the\nlast sound of the cab, which was disappearing from view, he went on\nhis road, and with a lusty stride soon traversed the space of two\nleagues. Then he rested; he must be near Chapelle-en-Serval, where\nhe pretended to be going. It was not fatigue that stayed Andrea\nhere; it was that he might form some resolution, adopt some plan.\nIt would be impossible to make use of a diligence, equally so to\nengage post-horses; to travel either way a passport was necessary.\nIt was still more impossible to remain in the department of the\nOise, one of the most open and strictly guarded in France; this was\nquite out of the question, especially to a man like Andrea,\nperfectly conversant with criminal matters.perfectly conversant with criminal matters.\nHe sat down by the side of the moat, buried his face in his\nhands and reflected. Ten minutes after he raised his head; his\nresolution was made. He threw some dust over the topcoat, which he\nhad found time to unhook from the ante-chamber and button over his\nball costume, and going to Chapelle-en-Serval he knocked loudly at\nthe door of the only inn in the place. The host opened. \"My\nfriend,\" said Andrea, \"I was coming from Montefontaine to Senlis,\nwhen my horse, which is a troublesome creature, stumbled and threw\nme. I must reach Compiegne to-night, or I shall cause deep anxiety\nto my family. Could you let me hire a horse of you?\"\nAn inn-keeper has always a horse to let, whether it be good or\nbad. The host called the stable-boy, and ordered him to saddle\n\"Whitey,\" then he awoke his son, a child of seven years, whom he\nordered to ride before the gentleman and bring back the horse.\nAndrea gave the inn-keeper twenty francs, and in taking them from\nhis pocket dropped a visiting card. This belonged to one of his\nfriends at the Cafe de Paris, so that the innkeeper, picking it up\nafter Andrea had left, was convinced that he had let his horse to\nthe Count of Mauleon, 25 Rue Saint-Dominique, that being the name\nand address on the card. \"Whitey\" was not a fast animal, but he\nkept up an easy, steady pace; in three hours and a half Andrea had\ntraversed the nine leagues which separated him from Compiegne, and\nfour o'clock struck as he reached the place where the coaches stop.\nThere is an excellent tavern at Compiegne, well remembered by those\nwho have ever been there. Andrea, who had often stayed there in his\nrides about Paris, recollected the Bell and Bottle inn; he turned\naround, saw the sign by the light of a reflected lamp, and having\ndismissed the child, giving him all the small coin he had about\nhim, he began knocking at the door, very reasonably concluding that\nhaving now three or four hours before him he had best fortify"}
{"text": "having now three or four hours before him he had best fortify\nhimself against the fatigues of the morrow by a sound sleep and a\ngood supper. A waiter opened the door.\n\"My friend,\" said Andrea, \"I have been dining at\nSaint-Jean-au-Bois, and expected to catch the coach which passes by\nat midnight, but like a fool I have lost my way, and have been\nwalking for the last four hours in the forest. Show me into one of\nthose pretty little rooms which overlook the court, and bring me a\ncold fowl and a bottle of Bordeaux.\" The waiter had no suspicions;\nAndrea spoke with perfect composure, he had a cigar in his mouth,\nand his hands in the pocket of his top coat; his clothes were\nfashionably made, his chin smooth, his boots irreproachable; he\nlooked merely as if he had stayed out very late, that was all.\nWhile the waiter was preparing his room, the hostess arose; Andrea\nassumed his most charming smile, and asked if he could have No. 3,\nwhich he had occupied on his last stay at Compiegne. Unfortunately,\nNo. 3 was engaged by a young man who was travelling with his\nsister. Andrea appeared in despair, but consoled himself when the\nhostess assured him that No. 7, prepared for him, was situated\nprecisely the same as No. 3, and while warming his feet and\nchatting about the last races at Chantilly, he waited until they\nannounced his room to be ready.\nAndrea had not spoken without cause of the pretty rooms looking\nout upon the court of the Bell Tavern, which with its triple\ngalleries like those of a theatre, with the jessamine and clematis\ntwining round the light columns, forms one of the prettiest\nentrances to an inn that you can imagine. The fowl was tender, the\nwine old, the fire clear and sparkling, and Andrea was surprised to\nfind himself eating with as good an appetite as though nothing had\nhappened. Then he went to bed and almost immediately fell into that\ndeep sleep which is sure to visit men of twenty years of age, even\nwhen they are torn with remorse. Now, here we are obliged to ownwhen they are torn with remorse. Now, here we are obliged to own\nthat Andrea ought to have felt remorse, but that he did not. This\nwas the plan which had appealed to him to afford the best chance of\nhis security. Before daybreak he would awake, leave the inn after\nrigorously paying his bill, and reaching the forest, he would,\nunder pretence of making studies in painting, test the hospitality\nof some peasants, procure himself the dress of a woodcutter and a\nhatchet, casting off the lion's skin to assume that of the woodman;\nthen, with his hands covered with dirt, his hair darkened by means\nof a leaden comb, his complexion embrowned with a preparation for\nwhich one of his old comrades had given him the recipe, he\nintended, by following the wooded districts, to reach the nearest\nfrontier, walking by night and sleeping in the day in the forests\nand quarries, and only entering inhabited regions to buy a loaf\nfrom time to time.\nOnce past the frontier, Andrea proposed making money of his\ndiamonds; and by uniting the proceeds to ten bank-notes he always\ncarried about with him in case of accident, he would then find\nhimself possessor of about 50,000 livres, which he philosophically\nconsidered as no very deplorable condition after all. Moreover, he\nreckoned much on the interest of the Danglars to hush up the rumor\nof their own misadventures. These were the reasons which, added to\nthe fatigue, caused Andrea to sleep so soundly. In order that he\nmight awaken early he did not close the shutters, but contented\nhimself with bolting the door and placing on the table an unclasped\nand long-pointed knife, whose temper he well knew, and which was\nnever absent from him. About seven in the morning Andrea was\nawakened by a ray of sunlight, which played, warm and brilliant,\nupon his face. In all well-organized brains, the predominating idea\n— and there always is one — is sure to be the last thought before\nsleeping, and the first upon waking in the morning. Andrea had\nscarcely opened his eyes when his predominating idea presentedscarcely opened his eyes when his predominating idea presented\nitself, and whispered in his ear that he had slept too long. He\njumped out of bed and ran to the window. A gendarme was crossing\nthe court. A gendarme is one of the most striking objects in the\nworld, even to a man void of uneasiness; but for one who has a\ntimid conscience, and with good cause too, the yellow, blue, and\nwhite uniform is really very alarming.\n\"Why is that gendarme there?\" asked Andrea of himself. Then, all\nat once, he replied, with that logic which the reader has,\ndoubtless, remarked in him, \"There is nothing astonishing in seeing\na gendarme at an inn; instead of being astonished, let me dress\nmyself.\" And the youth dressed himself with a facility his valet de\nchambre had failed to rob him of during the two months of\nfashionable life he had led in Paris. \"Now then,\" said Andrea,\nwhile dressing himself, \"I'll wait till he leaves, and then I'll\nslip away.\" And, saying this, Andrea, who had now put on his boots\nand cravat, stole gently to the window, and a second time lifted up\nthe muslin curtain. Not only was the first gendarme still there,\nbut the young man now perceived a second yellow, blue, and white\nuniform at the foot of the staircase, the only one by which he\ncould descend, while a third, on horseback, holding a musket in his\nfist, was posted as a sentinel at the great street door which alone\nafforded the means of egress.\nThe appearance of the third gendarme settled the matter, for a\ncrowd of curious loungers was extended before him, effectually\nblocking the entrance to the hotel. \"They're after me!\" was\nAndrea's first thought. \"The devil!\" A pallor overspread the young\nman's forehead, and he looked around him with anxiety. His room,\nlike all those on the same floor, had but one outlet to the gallery\nin the sight of everybody. \"I am lost!\" was his second thought;\nand, indeed, for a man in Andrea's situation, an arrest meant the\nassizes, trial, and death, — death without mercy or delay. For a"}
{"text": "assizes, trial, and death, — death without mercy or delay. For a\nmoment he convulsively pressed his head within his hands, and\nduring that brief period he became nearly mad with terror; but soon\na ray of hope glimmered in the multitude of thoughts which\nbewildered his mind, and a faint smile played upon his white lips\nand pallid cheeks. He looked around and saw the objects of his\nsearch upon the chimney-piece; they were a pen, ink, and paper.\nWith forced composure he dipped the pen in the ink, and wrote the\nfollowing lines upon a sheet of paper: —\n\"I have no money to pay my bill, but I am not a dishonest man; I\nleave behind me as a pledge this pin, worth ten times the amount. I\nshall be excused for leaving at daybreak, for I was ashamed.\"\nHe then drew the pin from his cravat and placed it on the paper.\nThis done, instead of leaving the door fastened, he drew back the\nbolts and even placed the door ajar, as though he had left the\nroom, forgetting to close it, and slipping into the chimney like a\nman accustomed to that kind of gymnastic exercise, having effaced\nthe marks of his feet upon the floor, he commenced climbing the\nonly opening which afforded him the means of escape. At this\nprecise time, the first gendarme Andrea had noticed walked\nup-stairs, preceded by the commissary of police, and supported by\nthe second gendarme who guarded the staircase and was himself\nre-enforced by the one stationed at the door.\nAndrea was indebted for this visit to the following\ncircumstances. At daybreak, the telegraphs were set at work in all\ndirections, and almost immediately the authorities in every\ndistrict had exerted their utmost endeavors to arrest the murderer\nof Caderousse. Compiegne, that royal residence and fortified town,\nis well furnished with authorities, gendarmes, and commissaries of\npolice; they therefore began operations as soon as the telegraphic\ndespatch arrived, and the Bell and Bottle being the best-known\nhotel in the town, they had naturally directed their first\ninquiries there.hotel in the town, they had naturally directed their first\ninquiries there.\nNow, besides the reports of the sentinels guarding the Hotel de\nVille, which is next door to the Bell and Bottle, it had been\nstated by others that a number of travellers had arrived during the\nnight. The sentinel who was relieved at six o'clock in the morning,\nremembered perfectly that just as he was taking his post a few\nminutes past four a young man arrived on horseback, with a little\nboy before him. The young man, having dismissed the boy and horse,\nknocked at the door of the hotel, which was opened, and again\nclosed after his entrance. This late arrival had attracted much\nsuspicion, and the young man being no other than Andrea, the\ncommissary and gendarme, who was a brigadier, directed their steps\ntowards his room.\nThey found the door ajar. \"Oh, ho,\" said the brigadier, who\nthoroughly understood the trick; \"a bad sign to find the door open!\nI would rather find it triply bolted.\" And, indeed, the little note\nand pin upon the table confirmed, or rather corroborated, the sad\ntruth. Andrea had fled. We say corroborated, because the brigadier\nwas too experienced to be convinced by a single proof. He glanced\naround, looked in the bed, shook the curtains, opened the closets,\nand finally stopped at the chimney. Andrea had taken the precaution\nto leave no traces of his feet in the ashes, but still it was an\noutlet, and in this light was not to be passed over without serious\ninvestigation.\nThe brigadier sent for some sticks and straw, and having filled\nthe chimney with them, set a light to it. The fire crackled, and\nthe smoke ascended like the dull vapor from a volcano; but still no\nprisoner fell down, as they expected. The fact was, that Andrea, at\nwar with society ever since his youth, was quite as deep as a\ngendarme, even though he were advanced to the rank of brigadier,\nand quite prepared for the fire, he had climbed out on the roof and\nwas crouching down against the chimney-pots. At one time he thoughtwas crouching down against the chimney-pots. At one time he thought\nhe was saved, for he heard the brigadier exclaim in a loud voice,\nto the two gendarmes, \"He is not here!\" But venturing to peep, he\nperceived that the latter, instead of retiring, as might have been\nreasonably expected upon this announcement, were watching with\nincreased attention.\nIt was now his turn to look about him; the Hotel de Ville, a\nmassive sixteenth century building, was on his right; any one could\ndescend from the openings in the tower, and examine every corner of\nthe roof below, and Andrea expected momentarily to see the head of\na gendarme appear at one of these openings. If once discovered, he\nknew he would be lost, for the roof afforded no chance of escape;\nhe therefore resolved to descend, not through the same chimney by\nwhich he had come up, but by a similar one conducting to another\nroom. He looked around for a chimney from which no smoke issued,\nand having reached it, he disappeared through the orifice without\nbeing seen by any one. At the same minute, one of the little\nwindows of the Hotel de Ville was thrown open, and the head of a\ngendarme appeared. For an instant it remained motionless as one of\nthe stone decorations of the building, then after a long sigh of\ndisappointment the head disappeared. The brigadier, calm and\ndignified as the law he represented, passed through the crowd,\nwithout answering the thousand questions addressed to him, and\nre-entered the hotel.\n\"Well?\" asked the two gendarmes.\n\"Well, my boys,\" said the brigadier, \"the brigand must really\nhave escaped early this morning; but we will send to the\nVillers-Coterets and Noyon roads, and search the forest, when we\nshall catch him, no doubt.\" The honorable functionary had scarcely\nexpressed himself thus, in that intonation which is peculiar to\nbrigadiers of the gendarmerie, when a loud scream, accompanied by\nthe violent ringing of a bell, resounded through the court of the\nhotel. \"Ah, what is that?\" cried the brigadier."}
{"text": "hotel. \"Ah, what is that?\" cried the brigadier.\n\"Some traveller seems impatient,\" said the host. \"What number\nwas it that rang?\"\n\"Number 3.\"\n\"Run, waiter!\" At this moment the screams and ringing were\nredoubled. \"Ah,\" said the brigadier, stopping the servant, \"the\nperson who is ringing appears to want something more than a waiter;\nwe will attend upon him with a gendarme. Who occupies Number\n3?\"\n\"The little fellow who arrived last night in a post-chaise with\nhis sister, and who asked for an apartment with two beds.\" The bell\nhere rang for the third time, with another shriek of anguish.\n\"Follow me, Mr. Commissary!\" said the brigadier; \"tread in my\nsteps.\"\n\"Wait an instant,\" said the host; \"Number 3 has two staircases,\n— inside and outside.\"\n\"Good,\" said the brigadier. \"I will take charge of the inside\none. Are the carbines loaded?\"\n\"Yes, brigadier.\"\n\"Well, you guard the exterior, and if he attempts to fly, fire\nupon him; he must be a great criminal, from what the telegraph\nsays.\"\nThe brigadier, followed by the commissary, disappeared by the\ninside staircase, accompanied by the noise which his assertions\nrespecting Andrea had excited in the crowd. This is what had\nhappened. Andrea had very cleverly managed to descend two-thirds of\nthe chimney, but then his foot slipped, and notwithstanding his\nendeavors, he came into the room with more speed and noise than he\nintended. It would have signified little had the room been empty,\nbut unfortunately it was occupied. Two ladies, sleeping in one bed,\nwere awakened by the noise, and fixing their eyes upon the spot\nwhence the sound proceeded, they saw a man. One of these ladies,\nthe fair one, uttered those terrible shrieks which resounded\nthrough the house, while the other, rushing to the bell-rope, rang\nwith all her strength. Andrea, as we can see, was surrounded by\nmisfortune.\n\"For pity's sake,\" he cried, pale and bewildered, without seeing\nwhom he was addressing, — \"for pity's sake do not call assistance!\nSave me! — I will not harm you.\"whom he was addressing, — \"for pity's sake do not call assistance!\nSave me! — I will not harm you.\"\n\"Andrea, the murderer!\" cried one of the ladies.\n\"Eugenie! Mademoiselle Danglars!\" exclaimed Andrea,\nstupefied.\n\"Help, help!\" cried Mademoiselle d'Armilly, taking the bell from\nher companion's hand, and ringing it yet more violently. \"Save me,\nI am pursued!\" said Andrea, clasping his hands. \"For pity, for\nmercy's sake do not deliver me up!\"\n\"It is too late, they are coming,\" said Eugenie.\n\"Well, conceal me somewhere; you can say you were needlessly\nalarmed; you can turn their suspicions and save my life!\"\nThe two ladies, pressing closely to one another, and drawing the\nbedclothes tightly around them, remained silent to this\nsupplicating voice, repugnance and fear taking possession of their\nminds.\n\"Well, be it so,\" at length said Eugenie; \"return by the same\nroad you came, and we will say nothing about you, unhappy\nwretch.\"\n\"Here he is, here he is!\" cried a voice from the landing; \"here\nhe is! I see him!\" The brigadier had put his eye to the keyhole,\nand had discovered Andrea in a posture of entreaty. A violent blow\nfrom the butt end of the musket burst open the lock, two more\nforced out the bolts, and the broken door fell in. Andrea ran to\nthe other door, leading to the gallery, ready to rush out; but he\nwas stopped short, and he stood with his body a little thrown back,\npale, and with the useless knife in his clinched hand.\n\"Fly, then!\" cried Mademoiselle d'Armilly, whose pity returned\nas her fears diminished; \"fly!\"\n\"Or kill yourself!\" said Eugenie (in a tone which a Vestal in\nthe amphitheatre would have used, when urging the victorious\ngladiator to finish his vanquished adversary). Andrea shuddered,\nand looked on the young girl with an expression which proved how\nlittle he understood such ferocious honor. \"Kill myself?\" he cried,\nthrowing down his knife; \"why should I do so?\"\n\"Why, you said,\" answered Mademoiselle Danglars, \"that you would\nbe condemned to die like the worst criminals.\"be condemned to die like the worst criminals.\"\n\"Bah,\" said Cavalcanti, crossing his arms, \"one has\nfriends.\"\nThe brigadier advanced to him, sword in hand. \"Come, come,\" said\nAndrea, \"sheathe your sword, my fine fellow; there is no occasion\nto make such a fuss, since I give myself up;\" and he held out his\nhands to be manacled. The girls looked with horror upon this\nshameful metamorphosis, the man of the world shaking off his\ncovering and appearing as a galley-slave. Andrea turned towards\nthem, and with an impertinent smile asked, — \"Have you any message\nfor your father, Mademoiselle Danglars, for in all probability I\nshall return to Paris?\"\nEugenie covered her face with her hands. \"Oh, ho!\" said Andrea,\n\"you need not be ashamed, even though you did post after me. Was I\nnot nearly your husband?\"\nAnd with this raillery Andrea went out, leaving the two girls a\nprey to their own feelings of shame, and to the comments of the\ncrowd. An hour after they stepped into their calash, both dressed\nin feminine attire. The gate of the hotel had been closed to screen\nthem from sight, but they were forced, when the door was open, to\npass through a throng of curious glances and whispering voices.\nEugenie closed her eyes; but though she could not see, she could\nhear, and the sneers of the crowd reached her in the carriage. \"Oh,\nwhy is not the world a wilderness?\" she exclaimed, throwing herself\ninto the arms of Mademoiselle d'Armilly, her eyes sparkling with\nthe same kind of rage which made Nero wish that the Roman world had\nbut one neck, that he might sever it at a single blow. The next day\nthey stopped at the Hotel de Flandre, at Brussels. The same evening\nAndrea was incarcerated in the Conciergerie."}
{"text": "As the procureur had told Madame Danglars, Valentine was not yet\nrecovered. Bowed down with fatigue, she was indeed confined to her\nbed; and it was in her own room, and from the lips of Madame de\nVillefort, that she heard all the strange events we have related, —\nwe mean the flight of Eugenie and the arrest of Andrea Cavalcanti,\nor rather Benedetto, together with the accusation of murder\npronounced against him. But Valentine was so weak that this recital\nscarcely produced the same effect it would have done had she been\nin her usual state of health. Indeed, her brain was only the seat\nof vague ideas, and confused forms, mingled with strange fancies,\nalone presented themselves before her eyes.\nDuring the daytime Valentine's perceptions remained tolerably\nclear, owing to the constant presence of M. Noirtier, who caused\nhimself to be carried to his granddaughter's room, and watched her\nwith his paternal tenderness; Villefort also, on his return from\nthe law courts, frequently passed an hour or two with his father\nand child. At six o'clock Villefort retired to his study, at eight\nM. d'Avrigny himself arrived, bringing the night draught prepared\nfor the young girl, and then M. Noirtier was carried away. A nurse\nof the doctor's choice succeeded them, and never left till about\nten or eleven o'clock, when Valentine was asleep. As she went\ndown-stairs she gave the keys of Valentine's room to M. de\nVillefort, so that no one could reach the sick-room excepting\nthrough that of Madame de Villefort and little Edward.\nEvery morning Morrel called on Noirtier to receive news of\nValentine, and, extraordinary as it seemed, each day found him less\nuneasy. Certainly, though Valentine still labored under dreadful\nnervous excitement, she was better; and moreover, Monte Cristo had\ntold him when, half distracted, he had rushed to the count's house,\nthat if she were not dead in two hours she would be saved. Now four\ndays had elapsed, and Valentine still lived.\nThe nervous excitement of which we speak pursued Valentine evenThe nervous excitement of which we speak pursued Valentine even\nin her sleep, or rather in that state of somnolence which succeeded\nher waking hours; it was then, in the silence of night, in the dim\nlight shed from the alabaster lamp on the chimney-piece, that she\nsaw the shadows pass and repass which hover over the bed of\nsickness, and fan the fever with their trembling wings. First she\nfancied she saw her stepmother threatening her, then Morrel\nstretched his arms towards her; sometimes mere strangers, like the\nCount of Monte Cristo came to visit her; even the very furniture,\nin these moments of delirium, seemed to move, and this state lasted\ntill about three o'clock in the morning, when a deep, heavy slumber\novercame the young girl, from which she did not awake till\ndaylight. On the evening of the day on which Valentine had learned\nof the flight of Eugenie and the arrest of Benedetto, — Villefort\nhaving retired as well as Noirtier and d'Avrigny, — her thoughts\nwandered in a confused maze, alternately reviewing her own\nsituation and the events she had just heard.\nEleven o'clock had struck. The nurse, having placed the beverage\nprepared by the doctor within reach of the patient, and locked the\ndoor, was listening with terror to the comments of the servants in\nthe kitchen, and storing her memory with all the horrible stories\nwhich had for some months past amused the occupants of the\nante-chambers in the house of the king's attorney. Meanwhile an\nunexpected scene was passing in the room which had been so\ncarefully locked. Ten minutes had elapsed since the nurse had left;\nValentine, who for the last hour had been suffering from the fever\nwhich returned nightly, incapable of controlling her ideas, was\nforced to yield to the excitement which exhausted itself in\nproducing and reproducing a succession and recurrence of the same\nfancies and images. The night-lamp threw out countless rays, each\nresolving itself into some strange form to her disordered\nimagination, when suddenly by its flickering light Valentineimagination, when suddenly by its flickering light Valentine\nthought she saw the door of her library, which was in the recess by\nthe chimney-piece, open slowly, though she in vain listened for the\nsound of the hinges on which it turned.\nAt any other time Valentine would have seized the silken\nbell-pull and summoned assistance, but nothing astonished her in\nher present situation. Her reason told her that all the visions she\nbeheld were but the children of her imagination, and the conviction\nwas strengthened by the fact that in the morning no traces remained\nof the nocturnal phantoms, who disappeared with the coming of\ndaylight. From behind the door a human figure appeared, but the\ngirl was too familiar with such apparitions to be alarmed, and\ntherefore only stared, hoping to recognize Morrel. The figure\nadvanced towards the bed and appeared to listen with profound\nattention. At this moment a ray of light glanced across the face of\nthe midnight visitor.\n\"It is not he,\" she murmured, and waited, in the assurance that\nthis was but a dream, for the man to disappear or assume some other\nform. Still, she felt her pulse, and finding it throb violently she\nremembered that the best method of dispelling such illusions was to\ndrink, for a draught of the beverage prepared by the doctor to\nallay her fever seemed to cause a reaction of the brain, and for a\nshort time she suffered less. Valentine therefore reached her hand\ntowards the glass, but as soon as her trembling arm left the bed\nthe apparition advanced more quickly towards her, and approached\nthe young girl so closely that she fancied she heard his breath,\nand felt the pressure of his hand.\nThis time the illusion, or rather the reality, surpassed\nanything Valentine had before experienced; she began to believe\nherself really alive and awake, and the belief that her reason was\nthis time not deceived made her shudder. The pressure she felt was\nevidently intended to arrest her arm, and she slowly withdrew it.\nThen the figure, from whom she could not detach her eyes, and who"}
{"text": "Then the figure, from whom she could not detach her eyes, and who\nappeared more protecting than menacing, took the glass, and walking\ntowards the night-light held it up, as if to test its transparency.\nThis did not seem sufficient; the man, or rather the ghost — for he\ntrod so softly that no sound was heard — then poured out about a\nspoonful into the glass, and drank it. Valentine witnessed this\nscene with a sentiment of stupefaction. Every minute she had\nexpected that it would vanish and give place to another vision; but\nthe man, instead of dissolving like a shadow, again approached her,\nand said in an agitated voice, \"Now you may drink.\"\nValentine shuddered. It was the first time one of these visions\nhad ever addressed her in a living voice, and she was about to\nutter an exclamation. The man placed his finger on her lips. \"The\nCount of Monte Cristo!\" she murmured.\nIt was easy to see that no doubt now remained in the young\ngirl's mind as to the reality of the scene; her eyes started with\nterror, her hands trembled, and she rapidly drew the bedclothes\ncloser to her. Still, the presence of Monte Cristo at such an hour,\nhis mysterious, fanciful, and extraordinary entrance into her room\nthrough the wall, might well seem impossibilities to her shattered\nreason. \"Do not call any one — do not be alarmed,\" said the Count;\n\"do not let a shade of suspicion or uneasiness remain in your\nbreast; the man standing before you, Valentine (for this time it is\nno ghost), is nothing more than the tenderest father and the most\nrespectful friend you could dream of.\"\nValentine could not reply; the voice which indicated the real\npresence of a being in the room, alarmed her so much that she\nfeared to utter a syllable; still the expression of her eyes seemed\nto inquire, \"If your intentions are pure, why are you here?\" The\ncount's marvellous sagacity understood all that was passing in the\nyoung girl's mind.\n\"Listen to me,\" he said, \"or, rather, look upon me; look at my\nface, paler even than usual, and my eyes, red with weariness — forface, paler even than usual, and my eyes, red with weariness — for\nfour days I have not closed them, for I have been constantly\nwatching you, to protect and preserve you for Maximilian.\" The\nblood mounted rapidly to the cheeks of Valentine, for the name just\nannounced by the count dispelled all the fear with which his\npresence had inspired her. \"Maximilian!\" she exclaimed, and so\nsweet did the sound appear to her, that she repeated it —\n\"Maximilian! — has he then owned all to you?\"\n\"Everything. He told me your life was his, and I have promised\nhim that you shall live.\"\n\"You have promised him that I shall live?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"But, sir, you spoke of vigilance and protection. Are you a\ndoctor?\"\n\"Yes; the best you could have at the present time, believe\nme.\"\n\"But you say you have watched?\" said Valentine uneasily; \"where\nhave you been? — I have not seen you.\" The count extended his hand\ntowards the library. \"I was hidden behind that door,\" he said,\n\"which leads into the next house, which I have rented.\" Valentine\nturned her eyes away, and, with an indignant expression of pride\nand modest fear, exclaimed: \"Sir, I think you have been guilty of\nan unparalleled intrusion, and that what you call protection is\nmore like an insult.\"\n\"Valentine,\" he answered, \"during my long watch over you, all I\nhave observed has been what people visited you, what nourishment\nwas prepared, and what beverage was served; then, when the latter\nappeared dangerous to me, I entered, as I have now done, and\nsubstituted, in the place of the poison, a healthful draught;\nwhich, instead of producing the death intended, caused life to\ncirculate in your veins.\"\n\"Poison — death!\" exclaimed Valentine, half believing herself\nunder the influence of some feverish hallucination; \"what are you\nsaying, sir?\"\n\"Hush, my child,\" said Monte Cristo, again placing his finger\nupon her lips, \"I did say poison and death. But drink some of\nthis;\" and the count took a bottle from his pocket, containing a\nred liquid, of which he poured a few drops into the glass. \"Drinkred liquid, of which he poured a few drops into the glass. \"Drink\nthis, and then take nothing more to-night.\" Valentine stretched out\nher hand, but scarcely had she touched the glass when she drew back\nin fear. Monte Cristo took the glass, drank half its contents, and\nthen presented it to Valentine, who smiled and swallowed the rest.\n\"Oh, yes,\" she exclaimed, \"I recognize the flavor of my nocturnal\nbeverage which refreshed me so much, and seemed to ease my aching\nbrain. Thank you, sir, thank you!\"\n\"This is how you have lived during the last four nights,\nValentine,\" said the count. \"But, oh, how I passed that time! Oh,\nthe wretched hours I have endured — the torture to which I have\nsubmitted when I saw the deadly poison poured into your glass, and\nhow I trembled lest you should drink it before I could find time to\nthrow it away!\"\n\"Sir,\" said Valentine, at the height of her terror, \"you say you\nendured tortures when you saw the deadly poison poured into my\nglass; but if you saw this, you must also have seen the person who\npoured it?\"\n\"Yes.\" Valentine raised herself in bed, and drew over her chest,\nwhich appeared whiter than snow, the embroidered cambric, still\nmoist with the cold dews of delirium, to which were now added those\nof terror. \"You saw the person?\" repeated the young girl. \"Yes,\"\nrepeated the count.\n\"What you tell me is horrible, sir. You wish to make me believe\nsomething too dreadful. What? — attempt to murder me in my father's\nhouse, in my room, on my bed of sickness? Oh, leave me, sir; you\nare tempting me — you make me doubt the goodness of providence — it\nis impossible, it cannot be!\"\n\"Are you the first that this hand has stricken? Have you not\nseen M. de Saint-Meran, Madame de Saint-Meran, Barrois, all fall?\nwould not M. Noirtier also have fallen a victim, had not the\ntreatment he has been pursuing for the last three years neutralized\nthe effects of the poison?\"\n\"Oh, heaven,\" said Valentine; \"is this the reason why grandpapa\nhas made me share all his beverages during the last month?\""}
{"text": "has made me share all his beverages during the last month?\"\n\"And have they all tasted of a slightly bitter flavor, like that\nof dried orange-peel?\"\n\"Oh, yes, yes!\"\n\"Then that explains all,\" said Monte Cristo. \"Your grandfather\nknows, then, that a poisoner lives here; perhaps he even suspects\nthe person. He has been fortifying you, his beloved child, against\nthe fatal effects of the poison, which has failed because your\nsystem was already impregnated with it. But even this would have\navailed little against a more deadly medium of death employed four\ndays ago, which is generally but too fatal.\"\n\"But who, then, is this assassin, this murderer?\"\n\"Let me also ask you a question. Have you never seen any one\nenter your room at night?\"\n\"Oh, yes; I have frequently seen shadows pass close to me,\napproach, and disappear; but I took them for visions raised by my\nfeverish imagination, and indeed when you entered I thought I was\nunder the influence of delirium.\"\n\"Then you do not know who it is that attempts your life?\"\n\"No,\" said Valentine; \"who could desire my death?\"\n\"You shall know it now, then,\" said Monte Cristo, listening.\n\"How do you mean?\" said Valentine, looking anxiously around.\n\"Because you are not feverish or delirious to-night, but\nthoroughly awake; midnight is striking, which is the hour murderers\nchoose.\"\n\"Oh, heavens,\" exclaimed Valentine, wiping off the drops which\nran down her forehead. Midnight struck slowly and sadly; every hour\nseemed to strike with leaden weight upon the heart of the poor\ngirl. \"Valentine,\" said the count, \"summon up all your courage;\nstill the beatings of your heart; do not let a sound escape you,\nand feign to be asleep; then you will see.\" Valentine seized the\ncount's hand. \"I think I hear a noise,\" she said; \"leave me.\"\n\"Good-by, for the present,\" replied the count, walking upon\ntiptoe towards the library door, and smiling with an expression so\nsad and paternal that the young girl's heart was filled with\ngratitude. Before closing the door he turned around once more, andgratitude. Before closing the door he turned around once more, and\nsaid, \"Not a movement — not a word; let them think you asleep, or\nperhaps you may be killed before I have the power of helping you.\"\nAnd with this fearful injunction the count disappeared through the\ndoor, which noiselessly closed after him.Valentine was alone; two other clocks, slower than that of\nSaint-Philippe du Roule, struck the hour of midnight from different\ndirections, and excepting the rumbling of a few carriages all was\nsilent. Then Valentine's attention was engrossed by the clock in\nher room, which marked the seconds. She began counting them,\nremarking that they were much slower than the beatings of her\nheart; and still she doubted, — the inoffensive Valentine could not\nimagine that any one should desire her death. Why should they? To\nwhat end? What had she done to excite the malice of an enemy? There\nwas no fear of her falling asleep. One terrible idea pressed upon\nher mind, — that some one existed in the world who had attempted to\nassassinate her, and who was about to endeavor to do so again.\nSupposing this person, wearied at the inefficacy of the poison,\nshould, as Monte Cristo intimated, have recourse to steel! — What\nif the count should have no time to run to her rescue! — What if\nher last moments were approaching, and she should never again see\nMorrel! When this terrible chain of ideas presented itself,\nValentine was nearly persuaded to ring the bell, and call for help.\nBut through the door she fancied she saw the luminous eye of the\ncount — that eye which lived in her memory, and the recollection\noverwhelmed her with so much shame that she asked herself whether\nany amount of gratitude could ever repay his adventurous and\ndevoted friendship.\nTwenty minutes, twenty tedious minutes, passed thus, then ten\nmore, and at last the clock struck the half-flour. Just then the\nsound of finger-nails slightly grating against the door of the\nlibrary informed Valentine that the count was still watching, and\nrecommended her to do the same; at the same time, on the opposite\nside, that is towards Edward's room, Valentine fancied that she\nheard the creaking of the floor; she listened attentively, holding\nher breath till she was nearly suffocated; the lock turned, and the\ndoor slowly opened. Valentine had raised herself upon her elbow,door slowly opened. Valentine had raised herself upon her elbow,\nand had scarcely time to throw herself down on the bed and shade\nher eyes with her arm; then, trembling, agitated, and her heart\nbeating with indescribable terror, she awaited the event.\nSome one approached the bed and drew back the curtains.\nValentine summoned every effort, and breathed with that regular\nrespiration which announces tranquil sleep. \"Valentine!\" said a low\nvoice. Still silent: Valentine had promised not to awake. Then\neverything was still, excepting that Valentine heard the almost\nnoiseless sound of some liquid being poured into the glass she had\njust emptied. Then she ventured to open her eyelids, and glance\nover her extended arm. She saw a woman in a white dressing-gown\npouring a liquor from a phial into her glass. During this short\ntime Valentine must have held her breath, or moved in some slight\ndegree, for the woman, disturbed, stopped and leaned over the bed,\nin order the better to ascertain whether Valentine slept — it was\nMadame de Villefort.\nOn recognizing her step-mother, Valentine could not repress a\nshudder, which caused a vibration in the bed. Madame de Villefort\ninstantly stepped back close to the wall, and there, shaded by the\nbed-curtains, she silently and attentively watched the slightest\nmovement of Valentine. The latter recollected the terrible caution\nof Monte Cristo; she fancied that the hand not holding the phial\nclasped a long sharp knife. Then collecting all her remaining\nstrength, she forced herself to close her eyes; but this simple\noperation upon the most delicate organs of our frame, generally so\neasy to accomplish, became almost impossible at this moment, so\nmuch did curiosity struggle to retain the eyelid open and learn the\ntruth. Madame de Villefort, however, reassured by the silence,\nwhich was alone disturbed by the regular breathing of Valentine,\nagain extended her hand, and half hidden by the curtains succeeded\nin emptying the contents of the phial into the glass. Then she"}
{"text": "in emptying the contents of the phial into the glass. Then she\nretired so gently that Valentine did not know she had left the\nroom. She only witnessed the withdrawal of the arm — the fair round\narm of a woman but twenty-five years old, and who yet spread death\naround her.\nIt is impossible to describe the sensations experienced by\nValentine during the minute and a half Madame de Villefort remained\nin the room. The grating against the library-door aroused the young\ngirl from the stupor in which she was plunged, and which almost\namounted to insensibility. She raised her head with an effort. The\nnoiseless door again turned on its hinges, and the Count of Monte\nCristo reappeared. \"Well,\" said he, \"do you still doubt?\"\n\"Oh,\" murmured the young girl.\n\"Have you seen?\"\n\"Alas!\"\n\"Did you recognize?\" Valentine groaned. \"Oh, yes;\" she said, \"I\nsaw, but I cannot believe!\"\n\"Would you rather die, then, and cause Maximilian's death?\"\n\"Oh,\" repeated the young girl, almost bewildered, \"can I not\nleave the house? — can I not escape?\"\n\"Valentine, the hand which now threatens you will pursue you\neverywhere; your servants will be seduced with gold, and death will\nbe offered to you disguised in every shape. You will find it in the\nwater you drink from the spring, in the fruit you pluck from the\ntree.\"\n\"But did you not say that my kind grandfather's precaution had\nneutralized the poison?\"\n\"Yes, but not against a strong dose; the poison will be changed,\nand the quantity increased.\" He took the glass and raised it to his\nlips. \"It is already done,\" he said; \"brucine is no longer\nemployed, but a simple narcotic! I can recognize the flavor of the\nalcohol in which it has been dissolved. If you had taken what\nMadame de Villefort has poured into your glass, Valentine —\nValentine — you would have been doomed!\"\n\"But,\" exclaimed the young girl, \"why am I thus pursued?\"\n\"Why? — are you so kind — so good — so unsuspicious of ill, that\nyou cannot understand, Valentine?\"\n\"No, I have never injured her.\"you cannot understand, Valentine?\"\n\"No, I have never injured her.\"\n\"But you are rich, Valentine; you have 200,000 livres a year,\nand you prevent her son from enjoying these 200,000 livres.\"\n\"How so? The fortune is not her gift, but is inherited from my\nrelations.\"\n\"Certainly; and that is why M. and Madame de Saint-Meran have\ndied; that is why M. Noirtier was sentenced the day he made you his\nheir; that is why you, in your turn, are to die — it is because\nyour father would inherit your property, and your brother, his only\nson, succeed to his.\"\n\"Edward? Poor child! Are all these crimes committed on his\naccount?\"\n\"Ah, then you at length understand?\"\n\"Heaven grant that this may not be visited upon him!\"\n\"Valentine, you are an angel!\"\n\"But why is my grandfather allowed to live?\"\n\"It was considered, that you dead, the fortune would naturally\nrevert to your brother, unless he were disinherited; and besides,\nthe crime appearing useless, it would be folly to commit it.\"\n\"And is it possible that this frightful combination of crimes\nhas been invented by a woman?\"\n\"Do you recollect in the arbor of the Hotel des Postes, at\nPerugia, seeing a man in a brown cloak, whom your stepmother was\nquestioning upon aqua tofana? Well, ever since then, the infernal\nproject has been ripening in her brain.\"\n\"Ah, then, indeed, sir,\" said the sweet girl, bathed in tears,\n\"I see that I am condemned to die!\"\n\"No, Valentine, for I have foreseen all their plots; no, your\nenemy is conquered since we know her, and you will live, Valentine\n— live to be happy yourself, and to confer happiness upon a noble\nheart; but to insure this you must rely on me.\"\n\"Command me, sir — what am I to do?\"\n\"You must blindly take what I give you.\"\n\"Alas, were it only for my own sake, I should prefer to\ndie!\"\n\"You must not confide in any one — not even in your father.\"\n\"My father is not engaged in this fearful plot, is he, sir?\"\nasked Valentine, clasping her hands.\n\"No; and yet your father, a man accustomed to judicialasked Valentine, clasping her hands.\n\"No; and yet your father, a man accustomed to judicial\naccusations, ought to have known that all these deaths have not\nhappened naturally; it is he who should have watched over you — he\nshould have occupied my place — he should have emptied that glass —\nhe should have risen against the assassin. Spectre against\nspectre!\" he murmured in a low voice, as he concluded his\nsentence.\n\"Sir,\" said Valentine, \"I will do all I can to live. for there\nare two beings whose existence depends upon mine — my grandfather\nand Maximilian.\"\n\"I will watch over them as I have over you.\"\n\"Well, sir, do as you will with me;\" and then she added, in a\nlow voice, \"oh, heavens, what will befall me?\"\n\"Whatever may happen, Valentine, do not be alarmed; though you\nsuffer; though you lose sight, hearing, consciousness, fear\nnothing; though you should awake and be ignorant where you are,\nstill do not fear; even though you should find yourself in a\nsepulchral vault or coffin. Reassure yourself, then, and say to\nyourself: `At this moment, a friend, a father, who lives for my\nhappiness and that of Maximilian, watches over me!'\"\n\"Alas, alas, what a fearful extremity!\"\n\"Valentine, would you rather denounce your stepmother?\"\n\"I would rather die a hundred times — oh, yes, die!\"\n\"No, you will not die; but will you promise me, whatever\nhappens, that you will not complain, but hope?\"\n\"I will think of Maximilian!\"\n\"You are my own darling child, Valentine! I alone can save you,\nand I will.\" Valentine in the extremity of her terror joined her\nhands, — for she felt that the moment had arrived to ask for\ncourage, — and began to pray, and while uttering little more than\nincoherent words, she forgot that her white shoulders had no other\ncovering than her long hair, and that the pulsations of her heart\ncould he seen through the lace of her nightdress. Monte Cristo\ngently laid his hand on the young girl's arm, drew the velvet\ncoverlet close to her throat, and said with a paternal smile, — \"Mycoverlet close to her throat, and said with a paternal smile, — \"My\nchild, believe in my devotion to you as you believe in the goodness\nof providence and the love of Maximilian.\"\nThen he drew from his waistcoat-pocket the little emerald box,\nraised the golden lid, and took from it a pastille about the size\nof a pea, which he placed in her hand. She took it, and looked\nattentively on the count; there was an expression on the face of\nher intrepid protector which commanded her veneration. She\nevidently interrogated him by her look. \"Yes,\" said he. Valentine\ncarried the pastille to her mouth, and swallowed it. \"And now, my\ndear child, adieu for the present. I will try and gain a little\nsleep, for you are saved.\"\n\"Go,\" said Valentine, \"whatever happens, I promise you not to\nfear.\"\nMonte Cristo for some time kept his eyes fixed on the young\ngirl, who gradually fell asleep, yielding to the effects of the\nnarcotic the count had given her. Then he took the glass, emptied\nthree parts of the contents in the fireplace, that it might be\nsupposed Valentine had taken it, and replaced it on the table; then\nhe disappeared, after throwing a farewell glance on Valentine, who\nslept with the confidence and innocence of an angel."}
{"text": "The night-light continued to burn on the chimney-piece,\nexhausting the last drops of oil which floated on the surface of\nthe water. The globe of the lamp appeared of a reddish hue, and the\nflame, brightening before it expired, threw out the last\nflickerings which in an inanimate object have been so often\ncompared with the convulsions of a human creature in its final\nagonies. A dull and dismal light was shed over the bedclothes and\ncurtains surrounding the young girl. All noise in the streets had\nceased, and the silence was frightful. It was then that the door of\nEdward's room opened, and a head we have before noticed appeared in\nthe glass opposite; it was Madame de Villefort, who came to witness\nthe effects of the drink she had prepared. She stopped in the\ndoorway, listened for a moment to the flickering of the lamp, the\nonly sound in that deserted room, and then advanced to the table to\nsee if Valentine's glass were empty. It was still about a quarter\nfull, as we before stated. Madame de Villefort emptied the contents\ninto the ashes, which she disturbed that they might the more\nreadily absorb the liquid; then she carefully rinsed the glass, and\nwiping it with her handkerchief replaced it on the table.\nIf any one could have looked into the room just then he would\nhave noticed the hesitation with which Madame de Villefort\napproached the bed and looked fixedly on Valentine. The dim light,\nthe profound silence, and the gloomy thoughts inspired by the hour,\nand still more by her own conscience, all combined to produce a\nsensation of fear; the poisoner was terrified at the contemplation\nof her own work. At length she rallied, drew aside the curtain, and\nleaning over the pillow gazed intently on Valentine. The young girl\nno longer breathed, no breath issued through the half-closed teeth;\nthe white lips no longer quivered — the eyes were suffused with a\nbluish vapor, and the long black lashes rested on a cheek white as\nwax. Madame de Villefort gazed upon the face so expressive even inwax. Madame de Villefort gazed upon the face so expressive even in\nits stillness; then she ventured to raise the coverlet and press\nher hand upon the young girl's heart. It was cold and motionless.\nShe only felt the pulsation in her own fingers, and withdrew her\nhand with a shudder. One arm was hanging out of the bed; from\nshoulder to elbow it was moulded after the arms of Germain Pillon's\n\"Graces,\"* but the fore-arm seemed to be slightly distorted by\nconvulsion, and the hand, so delicately formed, was resting with\nstiff outstretched fingers on the framework of the bed. The nails,\ntoo, were turning blue.\n(* Germain Pillon was a famous French sculptor (1535-1598). His\nbest known work is \"The Three Graces,\" now in the Louvre.)\nMadame de Villefort had no longer any doubt; all was over — she\nhad consummated the last terrible work she had to accomplish. There\nwas no more to do in the room, so the poisoner retired stealthily,\nas though fearing to hear the sound of her own footsteps; but as\nshe withdrew she still held aside the curtain, absorbed in the\nirresistible attraction always exerted by the picture of death, so\nlong as it is merely mysterious and does not excite disgust. Just\nthen the lamp again flickered; the noise startled Madame de\nVillefort, who shuddered and dropped the curtain. Immediately\nafterwards the light expired, and the room was plunged in frightful\nobscurity, while the clock at that minute struck half-past four.\nOverpowered with agitation, the poisoner succeeded in groping her\nway to the door, and reached her room in an agony of fear.\nThe darkness lasted two hours longer; then by degrees a cold\nlight crept through the Venetian blinds, until at length it\nrevealed the objects in the room. About this time the nurse's cough\nwas heard on the stairs and the woman entered the room with a cup\nin her hand. To the tender eye of a father or a lover, the first\nglance would have sufficed to reveal Valentine's condition; but to\nthis hireling, Valentine only appeared to sleep. \"Good,\" shethis hireling, Valentine only appeared to sleep. \"Good,\" she\nexclaimed, approaching the table, \"she has taken part of her\ndraught; the glass is three-quarters empty.\"\nThen she went to the fireplace and lit the fire, and although\nshe had just left her bed, she could not resist the temptation\noffered by Valentine's sleep, so she threw herself into an\narm-chair to snatch a little more rest. The clock striking eight\nawoke her. Astonished at the prolonged slumber of the patient, and\nfrightened to see that the arm was still hanging out of the bed,\nshe advanced towards Valentine, and for the first time noticed the\nwhite lips. She tried to replace the arm, but it moved with a\nfrightful rigidity which could not deceive a sick-nurse. She\nscreamed aloud; then running to the door exclaimed, — \"Help,\nhelp!\"\n\"What is the matter?\" asked M. d'Avrigny, at the foot of the\nstairs, it being the hour he usually visited her.\n\"What is it?\" asked Villefort, rushing from his room. \"Doctor,\ndo you hear them call for help?\"\n\"Yes, yes; let us hasten up; it was in Valentine's room.\" But\nbefore the doctor and the father could reach the room, the servants\nwho were on the same floor had entered, and seeing Valentine pale\nand motionless on her bed, they lifted up their hands towards\nheaven and stood transfixed, as though struck by lightening. \"Call\nMadame de Villefort! — wake Madame de Villefort!\" cried the\nprocureur from the door of his chamber, which apparently he\nscarcely dared to leave. But instead of obeying him, the servants\nstood watching M. d'Avrigny, who ran to Valentine, and raised her\nin his arms. \"What? — this one, too?\" he exclaimed. \"Oh, where will\nbe the end?\" Villefort rushed into the room. \"What are you saying,\ndoctor?\" he exclaimed, raising his hands to heaven.\n\"I say that Valentine is dead!\" replied d'Avrigny, in a voice\nterrible in its solemn calm.\nM. de Villefort staggered and buried his head in the bed. On the\nexclamation of the doctor and the cry of the father, the servants"}
{"text": "exclamation of the doctor and the cry of the father, the servants\nall fled with muttered imprecations; they were heard running down\nthe stairs and through the long passages, then there was a rush in\nthe court, afterwards all was still; they had, one and all,\ndeserted the accursed house. Just then, Madame de Villefort, in the\nact of slipping on her dressing-gown, threw aside the drapery and\nfor a moment stood motionless, as though interrogating the\noccupants of the room, while she endeavored to call up some\nrebellious tears. On a sudden she stepped, or rather bounded, with\noutstretched arms, towards the table. She saw d'Avrigny curiously\nexamining the glass, which she felt certain of having emptied\nduring the night. It was now a third full, just as it was when she\nthrew the contents into the ashes. The spectre of Valentine rising\nbefore the poisoner would have alarmed her less. It was, indeed,\nthe same color as the draught she had poured into the glass, and\nwhich Valentine had drank; it was indeed the poison, which could\nnot deceive M. d'Avrigny, which he now examined so closely; it was\ndoubtless a miracle from heaven, that, notwithstanding her\nprecautions, there should be some trace, some proof remaining to\nreveal the crime. While Madame de Villefort remained rooted to the\nspot like a statue of terror, and Villefort, with his head hidden\nin the bedclothes, saw nothing around him, d'Avrigny approached the\nwindow, that he might the better examine the contents of the glass,\nand dipping the tip of his finger in, tasted it. \"Ah,\" he\nexclaimed, \"it is no longer brucine that is used; let me see what\nit is!\"\nThen he ran to one of the cupboards in Valentine's room, which\nhad been transformed into a medicine closet, and taking from its\nsilver case a small bottle of nitric acid, dropped a little of it\ninto the liquor, which immediately changed to a blood-red color.\n\"Ah,\" exclaimed d'Avrigny, in a voice in which the horror of a\njudge unveiling the truth was mingled with the delight of a studentjudge unveiling the truth was mingled with the delight of a student\nmaking a discovery. Madame de Villefort was overpowered, her eyes\nfirst flashed and then swam, she staggered towards the door and\ndisappeared. Directly afterwards the distant sound of a heavy\nweight falling on the ground was heard, but no one paid any\nattention to it; the nurse was engaged in watching the chemical\nanalysis, and Villefort was still absorbed in grief. M. d'Avrigny\nalone had followed Madame de Villefort with his eyes, and watched\nher hurried retreat. He lifted up the drapery over the entrance to\nEdward's room, and his eye reaching as far as Madame de Villefort's\napartment, he beheld her extended lifeless on the floor. \"Go to the\nassistance of Madame de Villefort,\" he said to the nurse. \"Madame\nde Villefort is ill.\"\n\"But Mademoiselle de Villefort\" — stammered the nurse.\n\"Mademoiselle de Villefort no longer requires help,\" said\nd'Avrigny, \"since she is dead.\"\n\"Dead, — dead!\" groaned forth Villefort, in a paroxysm of grief,\nwhich was the more terrible from the novelty of the sensation in\nthe iron heart of that man.\n\"Dead!\" repeated a third voice. \"Who said Valentine was\ndead?\"\nThe two men turned round, and saw Morrel standing at the door,\npale and terror-stricken. This is what had happened. At the usual\ntime, Morrel had presented himself at the little door leading to\nNoirtier's room. Contrary to custom, the door was open, and having\nno occasion to ring he entered. He waited for a moment in the hall\nand called for a servant to conduct him to M. Noirtier; but no one\nanswered, the servants having, as we know, deserted the house.\nMorrel had no particular reason for uneasiness; Monte Cristo had\npromised him that Valentine should live, and so far he had always\nfulfilled his word. Every night the count had given him news, which\nwas the next morning confirmed by Noirtier. Still this\nextraordinary silence appeared strange to him, and he called a\nsecond and third time; still no answer. Then he determined to gosecond and third time; still no answer. Then he determined to go\nup. Noirtier's room was opened, like all the rest. The first thing\nhe saw was the old man sitting in his arm-chair in his usual place,\nbut his eyes expressed alarm, which was confirmed by the pallor\nwhich overspread his features.\n\"How are you, sir?\" asked Morrel, with a sickness of heart.\n\"Well,\" answered the old man, by closing his eyes; but his\nappearance manifested increasing uneasiness.\n\"You are thoughtful, sir,\" continued Morrel; \"you want\nsomething; shall I call one of the servants?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Noirtier.\nMorrel pulled the bell, but though he nearly broke the cord no\none answered. He turned towards Noirtier; the pallor and anguish\nexpressed on his countenance momentarily increased.\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed Morrel, \"why do they not come? Is any one ill in\nthe house?\" The eyes of Noirtier seemed as though they would start\nfrom their sockets. \"What is the matter? You alarm me. Valentine?\nValentine?\"\n\"Yes, yes,\" signed Noirtier. Maximilian tried to speak, but he\ncould articulate nothing; he staggered, and supported himself\nagainst the wainscot. Then he pointed to the door.\n\"Yes, yes, yes!\" continued the old man. Maximilian rushed up the\nlittle staircase, while Noirtier's eyes seemed to say, — \"Quicker,\nquicker!\"\nIn a minute the young man darted through several rooms, till at\nlength he reached Valentine's. There was no occasion to push the\ndoor, it was wide open. A sob was the only sound he heard. He saw\nas though in a mist, a black figure kneeling and buried in a\nconfused mass of white drapery. A terrible fear transfixed him. It\nwas then he heard a voice exclaim \"Valentine is dead!\" and another\nvoice which, like an echo repeated, — \"Dead, — dead!\""}
{"text": "Villefort rose, half ashamed of being surprised in such a\nparoxysm of grief. The terrible office he had held for twenty-five\nyears had succeeded in making him more or less than man. His\nglance, at first wandering, fixed itself upon Morrel. \"Who are you,\nsir,\" he asked, \"that forget that this is not the manner to enter a\nhouse stricken with death? Go, sir, go!\" But Morrel remained\nmotionless; he could not detach his eyes from that disordered bed,\nand the pale corpse of the young girl who was lying on it. \"Go! —\ndo you hear?\" said Villefort, while d'Avrigny advanced to lead\nMorrel out. Maximilian stared for a moment at the corpse, gazed all\naround the room, then upon the two men; he opened his mouth to\nspeak, but finding it impossible to give utterance to the\ninnumerable ideas that occupied his brain, he went out, thrusting\nhis hands through his hair in such a manner that Villefort and\nd'Avrigny, for a moment diverted from the engrossing topic,\nexchanged glances, which seemed to say, — \"He is mad!\"\nBut in less than five minutes the staircase groaned beneath an\nextraordinary weight. Morrel was seen carrying, with superhuman\nstrength, the arm-chair containing Noirtier up-stairs. When he\nreached the landing he placed the arm-chair on the floor and\nrapidly rolled it into Valentine's room. This could only have been\naccomplished by means of unnatural strength supplied by powerful\nexcitement. But the most fearful spectacle was Noirtier being\npushed towards the bed, his face expressing all his meaning, and\nhis eyes supplying the want of every other faculty. That pale face\nand flaming glance appeared to Villefort like a frightful\napparition. Each time he had been brought into contact with his\nfather, something terrible had happened. \"See what they have done!\"\ncried Morrel, with one hand leaning on the back of the chair, and\nthe other extended towards Valentine. \"See, my father, see!\"\nVillefort drew back and looked with astonishment on the young\nman, who, almost a stranger to him, called Noirtier his father. Atman, who, almost a stranger to him, called Noirtier his father. At\nthis moment the whole soul of the old man seemed centred in his\neyes which became bloodshot; the veins of the throat swelled; his\ncheeks and temples became purple, as though he was struck with\nepilepsy; nothing was wanting to complete this but the utterance of\na cry. And the cry issued from his pores, if we may thus speak — a\ncry frightful in its silence. D'Avrigny rushed towards the old man\nand made him inhale a powerful restorative.\n\"Sir,\" cried Morrel, seizing the moist hand of the paralytic,\n\"they ask me who I am, and what right I have to be here. Oh, you\nknow it, tell them, tell them!\" And the young man's voice was\nchoked by sobs. As for the old man, his chest heaved with his\npanting respiration. One could have thought that he was undergoing\nthe agonies preceding death. At length, happier than the young man,\nwho sobbed without weeping, tears glistened in the eyes of\nNoirtier. \"Tell them,\" said Morrel in a hoarse voice, \"tell them\nthat I am her betrothed. Tell them she was my beloved, my noble\ngirl, my only blessing in the world. Tell them — oh, tell them,\nthat corpse belongs to me!\"\nThe young man overwhelmed by the weight of his anguish, fell\nheavily on his knees before the bed, which his fingers grasped with\nconvulsive energy. D'Avrigny, unable to bear the sight of this\ntouching emotion, turned away; and Villefort, without seeking any\nfurther explanation, and attracted towards him by the irresistible\nmagnetism which draws us towards those who have loved the people\nfor whom we mourn, extended his hand towards the young man. But\nMorrel saw nothing; he had grasped the hand of Valentine, and\nunable to weep vented his agony in groans as he bit the sheets. For\nsome time nothing was heard in that chamber but sobs, exclamations,\nand prayers. At length Villefort, the most composed of all, spoke:\n\"Sir,\" said he to Maximilian, \"you say you loved Valentine, that\nyou were betrothed to her. I knew nothing of this engagement, ofyou were betrothed to her. I knew nothing of this engagement, of\nthis love, yet I, her father, forgive you, for I see that your\ngrief is real and deep; and besides my own sorrow is too great for\nanger to find a place in my heart. But you see that the angel whom\nyou hoped for has left this earth — she has nothing more to do with\nthe adoration of men. Take a last farewell, sir, of her sad\nremains; take the hand you expected to possess once more within\nyour own, and then separate yourself from her forever. Valentine\nnow requires only the ministrations of the priest.\"\n\"You are mistaken, sir,\" exclaimed Morrel, raising himself on\none knee, his heart pierced by a more acute pang than any he had\nyet felt — \"you are mistaken; Valentine, dying as she has, not only\nrequires a priest, but an avenger. You, M. de Villefort, send for\nthe priest; I will be the avenger.\"\n\"What do you mean, sir?\" asked Villefort, trembling at the new\nidea inspired by the delirium of Morrel.\n\"I tell you, sir, that two persons exist in you; the father has\nmourned sufficiently, now let the procureur fulfil his office.\"\nThe eyes of Noirtier glistened, and d'Avrigny approached.\n\"Gentlemen,\" said Morrel, reading all that passed through the\nminds of the witnesses to the scene, \"I know what I am saying, and\nyou know as well as I do what I am about to say — Valentine has\nbeen assassinated!\" Villefort hung his head, d'Avrigny approached\nnearer, and Noirtier said \"Yes\" with his eyes. \"Now, sir,\"\ncontinued Morrel, \"in these days no one can disappear by violent\nmeans without some inquiries being made as to the cause of her\ndisappearance, even were she not a young, beautiful, and adorable\ncreature like Valentine. Mr. Procureur,\" said Morrel with\nincreasing vehemence, \"no mercy is allowed; I denounce the crime;\nit is your place to seek the assassin.\" The young man's implacable\neyes interrogated Villefort, who, on his side, glanced from\nNoirtier to d'Avrigny. But instead of finding sympathy in the eyes\nof the doctor and his father, he only saw an expression as"}
{"text": "of the doctor and his father, he only saw an expression as\ninflexible as that of Maximilian. \"Yes,\" indicated the old man.\n\"Assuredly,\" said d'Avrigny.\n\"Sir,\" said Villefort, striving to struggle against this triple\nforce and his own emotion, — \"sir, you are deceived; no one commits\ncrimes here. I am stricken by fate. It is horrible, indeed, but no\none assassinates.\"\nThe eyes of Noirtier lighted up with rage, and d'Avrigny\nprepared to speak. Morrel, however, extended his arm, and commanded\nsilence. \"And I say that murders are committed here,\" said Morrel,\nwhose voice, though lower in tone, lost none of its terrible\ndistinctness: \"I tell you that this is the fourth victim within the\nlast four months. I tell you, Valentine's life was attempted by\npoison four days ago, though she escaped, owing to the precautions\nof M. Noirtier. I tell you that the dose has been double, the\npoison changed, and that this time it has succeeded. I tell you\nthat you know these things as well as I do, since this gentleman\nhas forewarned you, both as a doctor and as a friend.\"\n\"Oh, you rave, sir,\" exclaimed Villefort, in vain endeavoring to\nescape the net in which he was taken.\n\"I rave?\" said Morrel; \"well, then, I appeal to M. d'Avrigny\nhimself. Ask him, sir, if he recollects the words he uttered in the\ngarden of this house on the night of Madame de Saint-Meran's death.\nYou thought yourselves alone, and talked about that tragical death,\nand the fatality you mentioned then is the same which has caused\nthe murder of Valentine.\" Villefort and d'Avrigny exchanged looks.\n\"Yes, yes,\" continued Morrel; \"recall the scene, for the words you\nthought were only given to silence and solitude fell into my ears.\nCertainly, after witnessing the culpable indolence manifested by M.\nde Villefort towards his own relations, I ought to have denounced\nhim to the authorities; then I should not have been an accomplice\nto thy death, as I now am, sweet, beloved Valentine; but the\naccomplice shall become the avenger. This fourth murder is apparentaccomplice shall become the avenger. This fourth murder is apparent\nto all, and if thy father abandon thee, Valentine, it is I, and I\nswear it, that shall pursue the assassin.\" And this time, as though\nnature had at least taken compassion on the vigorous frame, nearly\nbursting with its own strength, the words of Morrel were stifled in\nhis throat; his breast heaved; the tears, so long rebellious,\ngushed from his eyes; and he threw himself weeping on his knees by\nthe side of the bed.\nThen d'Avrigny spoke. \"And I, too,\" he exclaimed in a low voice,\n\"I unite with M. Morrel in demanding justice for crime; my blood\nboils at the idea of having encouraged a murderer by my cowardly\nconcession.\"\n\"Oh, merciful heavens!\" murmured Villefort. Morrel raised his\nhead, and reading the eyes of the old man, which gleamed with\nunnatural lustre, — \"Stay,\" he said, \"M. Noirtier wishes to\nspeak.\"\n\"Yes,\" indicated Noirtier, with an expression the more terrible,\nfrom all his faculties being centred in his glance.\n\"Do you know the assassin?\" asked Morrel.\n\"Yes,\" replied Noirtier.\n\"And will you direct us?\" exclaimed the young man. \"Listen, M.\nd'Avrigny, listen!\" Noirtier looked upon Morrel with one of those\nmelancholy smiles which had so often made Valentine happy, and thus\nfixed his attention. Then, having riveted the eyes of his\ninterlocutor on his own, he glanced towards the door.\n\"Do you wish me to leave?\" said Morrel, sadly.\n\"Yes,\" replied Noirtier.\n\"Alas, alas, sir, have pity on me!\"\nThe old man's eyes remained fixed on the door.\n\"May I, at least, return?\" asked Morrel.\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Must I leave alone?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Whom am I to take with me? The procureur?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"The doctor?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"You wish to remain alone with M. de Villefort?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"But can he understand you?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Oh,\" said Villefort, inexpressibly delighted to think that the\ninquiries were to be made by him alone, — \"oh, be satisfied, I can\nunderstand my father.\" D'Avrigny took the young man's arm, and led\nhim out of the room. A more than deathlike silence then reigned inhim out of the room. A more than deathlike silence then reigned in\nthe house. At the end of a quarter of an hour a faltering footstep\nwas heard, and Villefort appeared at the door of the apartment\nwhere d'Avrigny and Morrel had been staying, one absorbed in\nmeditation, the other in grief. \"You can come,\" he said, and led\nthem back to Noirtier. Morrel looked attentively on Villefort. His\nface was livid, large drops rolled down his face, and in his\nfingers he held the fragments of a quill pen which he had torn to\natoms.\n\"Gentlemen,\" he said in a hoarse voice, \"give me your word of\nhonor that this horrible secret shall forever remain buried amongst\nourselves!\" The two men drew back.\n\"I entreat you.\" — continued Villefort.\n\"But,\" said Morrel, \"the culprit — the murderer — the\nassassin.\"\n\"Do not alarm yourself, sir; justice will be done,\" said\nVillefort. \"My father has revealed the culprit's name; my father\nthirsts for revenge as much as you do, yet even he conjures you as\nI do to keep this secret. Do you not, father?\"\n\"Yes,\" resolutely replied Noirtier. Morrel suffered an\nexclamation of horror and surprise to escape him. \"Oh, sir,\" said\nVillefort, arresting Maximilian by the arm, \"if my father, the\ninflexible man, makes this request, it is because he knows, be\nassured, that Valentine will be terribly revenged. Is it not so,\nfather?\" The old man made a sign in the affirmative. Villefort\ncontinued: \"He knows me, and I have pledged my word to him. Rest\nassured, gentlemen, that within three days, in a less time than\njustice would demand, the revenge I shall have taken for the murder\nof my child will be such as to make the boldest heart tremble;\" and\nas he spoke these words he ground his teeth, and grasped the old\nman's senseless hand.\n\"Will this promise be fulfilled, M. Noirtier?\" asked Morrel,\nwhile d'Avrigny looked inquiringly.\n\"Yes,\" replied Noirtier with an expression of sinister joy.\n\"Swear, then,\" said Villefort, joining the hands of Morrel and\nd'Avrigny, \"swear that you will spare the honor of my house, and"}
{"text": "d'Avrigny, \"swear that you will spare the honor of my house, and\nleave me to avenge my child.\" D'Avrigny turned round and uttered a\nvery feeble \"Yes,\" but Morrel, disengaging his hand, rushed to the\nbed, and after having pressed the cold lips of Valentine with his\nown, hurriedly left, uttering a long, deep groan of despair and\nanguish. We have before stated that all the servants had fled. M.\nde Villefort was therefore obliged to request M. d'Avrigny to\nsuperintend all the arrangements consequent upon a death in a large\ncity, more especially a death under such suspicious\ncircumstances.\nIt was something terrible to witness the silent agony, the mute\ndespair of Noirtier, whose tears silently rolled down his cheeks.\nVillefort retired to his study, and d'Avrigny left to summon the\ndoctor of the mayoralty, whose office it is to examine bodies after\ndecease, and who is expressly named \"the doctor of the dead.\" M.\nNoirtier could not be persuaded to quit his grandchild. At the end\nof a quarter of an hour M. d'Avrigny returned with his associate;\nthey found the outer gate closed, and not a servant remaining in\nthe house; Villefort himself was obliged to open to them. But he\nstopped on the landing; he had not the courage to again visit the\ndeath chamber. The two doctors, therefore, entered the room alone.\nNoirtier was near the bed, pale, motionless, and silent as the\ncorpse. The district doctor approached with the indifference of a\nman accustomed to spend half his time amongst the dead; he then\nlifted the sheet which was placed over the face, and just unclosed\nthe lips.\n\"Alas,\" said d'Avrigny, \"she is indeed dead, poor child!\"\n\"Yes,\" answered the doctor laconically, dropping the sheet he\nhad raised. Noirtier uttered a kind of hoarse, rattling sound; the\nold man's eyes sparkled, and the good doctor understood that he\nwished to behold his child. He therefore approached the bed, and\nwhile his companion was dipping the fingers with which he had\ntouched the lips of the corpse in chloride of lime, he uncoveredtouched the lips of the corpse in chloride of lime, he uncovered\nthe calm and pale face, which looked like that of a sleeping angel.\nA tear, which appeared in the old man's eye, expressed his thanks\nto the doctor. The doctor of the dead then laid his permit on the\ncorner of the table, and having fulfilled his duty, was conducted\nout by d'Avrigny. Villefort met them at the door of his study;\nhaving in a few words thanked the district doctor, he turned to\nd'Avrigny, and said, — \"And now the priest.\"\n\"Is there any particular priest you wish to pray with\nValentine?\" asked d'Avrigny.\n\"No.\" said Villefort; \"fetch the nearest.\"\n\"The nearest,\" said the district doctor, \"is a good Italian\nabbe, who lives next door to you. Shall I call on him as I\npass?\"\n\"D'Avrigny,\" said Villefort, \"be so kind, I beseech you, as to\naccompany this gentleman. Here is the key of the door, so that you\ncan go in and out as you please; you will bring the priest with\nyou, and will oblige me by introducing him into my child's\nroom.\"\n\"Do you wish to see him?\"\n\"I only wish to be alone. You will excuse me, will you not? A\npriest can understand a father's grief.\" And M. de Villefort,\ngiving the key to d'Avrigny, again bade farewell to the strange\ndoctor, and retired to his study, where he began to work. For some\ntemperaments work is a remedy for all afflictions. As the doctors\nentered the street, they saw a man in a cassock standing on the\nthreshold of the next door. \"This is the abbe of whom I spoke,\"\nsaid the doctor to d'Avrigny. D'Avrigny accosted the priest. \"Sir,\"\nhe said, \"are you disposed to confer a great obligation on an\nunhappy father who has just lost his daughter? I mean M. de\nVillefort, the king's attorney.\"\n\"Ah,\" said the priest, in a marked Italian accent; \"yes, I have\nheard that death is in that house.\"\n\"Then I need not tell you what kind of service he requires of\nyou.\"\n\"I was about to offer myself, sir,\" said the priest; \"it is our\nmission to forestall our duties.\"\n\"It is a young girl.\"mission to forestall our duties.\"\n\"It is a young girl.\"\n\"I know it, sir; the servants who fled from the house informed\nme. I also know that her name is Valentine, and I have already\nprayed for her.\"\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said d'Avrigny; \"since you have commenced your\nsacred office, deign to continue it. Come and watch by the dead,\nand all the wretched family will be grateful to you.\"\n\"I am going, sir; and I do not hesitate to say that no prayers\nwill be more fervent than mine.\" D'Avrigny took the priest's hand,\nand without meeting Villefort, who was engaged in his study, they\nreached Valentine's room, which on the following night was to be\noccupied by the undertakers. On entering the room, Noirtier's eyes\nmet those of the abbe, and no doubt he read some particular\nexpression in them, for he remained in the room. D'Avrigny\nrecommended the attention of the priest to the living as well as to\nthe dead, and the abbe promised to devote his prayers to Valentine\nand his attentions to Noirtier. In order, doubtless, that he might\nnot be disturbed while fulfilling his sacred mission, the priest\nrose as soon as d'Avrigny departed, and not only bolted the door\nthrough which the doctor had just left, but also that leading to\nMadame de Villefort's room.M. de Boville had indeed met the funeral procession which was\ntaking Valentine to her last home on earth. The weather was dull\nand stormy, a cold wind shook the few remaining yellow leaves from\nthe boughs of the trees, and scattered them among the crowd which\nfilled the boulevards. M. de Villefort, a true Parisian, considered\nthe cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise alone worthy of receiving the mortal\nremains of a Parisian family; there alone the corpses belonging to\nhim would be surrounded by worthy associates. He had therefore\npurchased a vault, which was quickly occupied by members of his\nfamily. On the front of the monument was inscribed: \"The families\nof Saint-Meran and Villefort,\" for such had been the last wish\nexpressed by poor Renee, Valentine's mother. The pompous procession\ntherefore wended its way towards Pere-la-Chaise from the Faubourg\nSaint-Honore. Having crossed Paris, it passed through the Faubourg\ndu Temple, then leaving the exterior boulevards, it reached the\ncemetery. More than fifty private carriages followed the twenty\nmourning-coaches, and behind them more than five hundred persons\njoined in the procession on foot.\nThese last consisted of all the young people whom Valentine's\ndeath had struck like a thunderbolt, and who, notwithstanding the\nraw chilliness of the season, could not refrain from paying a last\ntribute to the memory of the beautiful, chaste, and adorable girl,\nthus cut off in the flower of her youth. As they left Paris, an\nequipage with four horses, at full speed, was seen to draw up\nsuddenly; it contained Monte Cristo. The count left the carriage\nand mingled in the crowd who followed on foot. Chateau-Renaud\nperceived him and immediately alighting from his coupe, joined\nhim.\nThe count looked attentively through every opening in the crowd;\nhe was evidently watching for some one, but his search ended in\ndisappointment. \"Where is Morrel?\" he asked; \"do either of these\ngentlemen know where he is?\"\n\"We have already asked that question,\" said Chateau-Renaud, \"for"}
{"text": "gentlemen know where he is?\"\n\"We have already asked that question,\" said Chateau-Renaud, \"for\nnone of us has seen him.\" The count was silent, but continued to\ngaze around him. At length they arrived at the cemetery. The\npiercing eye of Monte Cristo glanced through clusters of bushes and\ntrees, and was soon relieved from all anxiety, for seeing a shadow\nglide between the yew-trees, Monte Cristo recognized him whom he\nsought. One funeral is generally very much like another in this\nmagnificent metropolis. Black figures are seen scattered over the\nlong white avenues; the silence of earth and heaven is alone broken\nby the noise made by the crackling branches of hedges planted\naround the monuments; then follows the melancholy chant of the\npriests, mingled now and then with a sob of anguish, escaping from\nsome woman concealed behind a mass of flowers.\nThe shadow Monte Cristo had noticed passed rapidly behind the\ntomb of Abelard and Heloise, placed itself close to the heads of\nthe horses belonging to the hearse, and following the undertaker's\nmen, arrived with them at the spot appointed for the burial. Each\nperson's attention was occupied. Monte Cristo saw nothing but the\nshadow, which no one else observed. Twice the count left the ranks\nto see whether the object of his interest had any concealed weapon\nbeneath his clothes. When the procession stopped, this shadow was\nrecognized as Morrel, who, with his coat buttoned up to his throat,\nhis face livid, and convulsively crushing his hat between his\nfingers, leaned against a tree, situated on an elevation commanding\nthe mausoleum, so that none of the funeral details could escape his\nobservation. Everything was conducted in the usual manner. A few\nmen, the least impressed of all by the scene, pronounced a\ndiscourse, some deploring this premature death, others expatiating\non the grief of the father, and one very ingenious person quoting\nthe fact that Valentine had solicited pardon of her father for\ncriminals on whom the arm of justice was ready to fall — until atcriminals on whom the arm of justice was ready to fall — until at\nlength they exhausted their stores of metaphor and mournful\nspeeches.\nMonte Cristo heard and saw nothing, or rather he only saw\nMorrel, whose calmness had a frightful effect on those who knew\nwhat was passing in his heart. \"See,\" said Beauchamp, pointing out\nMorrel to Debray. \"What is he doing up there?\" And they called\nChateau-Renaud's attention to him.\n\"How pale he is!\" said Chateau-Renaud, shuddering.\n\"He is cold,\" said Debray.\n\"Not at all,\" said Chateau-Renaud, slowly; \"I think he is\nviolently agitated. He is very susceptible.\"\n\"Bah,\" said Debray; \"he scarcely knew Mademoiselle de Villefort;\nyou said so yourself.\"\n\"True. Still I remember he danced three times with her at Madame\nde Morcerf's. Do you recollect that ball, count, where you produced\nsuch an effect?\"\n\"No, I do not,\" replied Monte Cristo, without even knowing of\nwhat or to whom he was speaking, so much was he occupied in\nwatching Morrel, who was holding his breath with emotion. \"The\ndiscourse is over; farewell, gentlemen,\" said the count. And he\ndisappeared without anyone seeing whither he went. The funeral\nbeing over, the guests returned to Paris. Chateau-Renaud looked for\na moment for Morrel; but while they were watching the departure of\nthe count, Morrel had quitted his post, and Chateau-Renaud, failing\nin his search, joined Debray and Beauchamp.\nMonte Cristo concealed himself behind a large tomb and awaited\nthe arrival of Morrel, who by degrees approached the tomb now\nabandoned by spectators and workmen. Morrel threw a glance around,\nbut before it reached the spot occupied by Monte Cristo the latter\nhad advanced yet nearer, still unperceived. The young man knelt\ndown. The count, with outstretched neck and glaring eyes, stood in\nan attitude ready to pounce upon Morrel upon the first occasion.\nMorrel bent his head till it touched the stone, then clutching the\ngrating with both hands, he murmured, — \"Oh, Valentine!\" Thegrating with both hands, he murmured, — \"Oh, Valentine!\" The\ncount's heart was pierced by the utterance of these two words; he\nstepped forward, and touching the young man's shoulder, said, — \"I\nwas looking for you, my friend.\" Monte Cristo expected a burst of\npassion, but he was deceived, for Morrel turning round, said\ncalmly, —\n\"You see I was praying.\" The scrutinizing glance of the count\nsearched the young man from head to foot. He then seemed more\neasy.\n\"Shall I drive you back to Paris?\" he asked.\n\"No, thank you.\"\n\"Do you wish anything?\"\n\"Leave me to pray.\" The count withdrew without opposition, but\nit was only to place himself in a situation where he could watch\nevery movement of Morrel, who at length arose, brushed the dust\nfrom his knees, and turned towards Paris, without once looking\nback. He walked slowly down the Rue de la Roquette. The count,\ndismissing his carriage, followed him about a hundred paces behind.\nMaximilian crossed the canal and entered the Rue Meslay by the\nboulevards. Five minutes after the door had been closed on Morrel's\nentrance, it was again opened for the count. Julie was at the\nentrance of the garden, where she was attentively watching Penelon,\nwho, entering with zeal into his profession of gardener, was very\nbusy grafting some Bengal roses. \"Ah, count,\" she exclaimed, with\nthe delight manifested by every member of the family whenever he\nvisited the Rue Meslay.\n\"Maximilian has just returned, has he not, madame?\" asked the\ncount.\n\"Yes, I think I saw him pass; but pray, call Emmanuel.\"\n\"Excuse me, madame, but I must go up to Maximilian's room this\ninstant,\" replied Monte Cristo, \"I have something of the greatest\nimportance to tell him.\"\n\"Go, then,\" she said with a charming smile, which accompanied\nhim until he had disappeared. Monte Cristo soon ran up the\nstaircase conducting from the ground-floor to Maximilian's room;\nwhen he reached the landing he listened attentively, but all was\nstill. Like many old houses occupied by a single family, the room"}
{"text": "still. Like many old houses occupied by a single family, the room\ndoor was panelled with glass; but it was locked, Maximilian was\nshut in, and it was impossible to see what was passing in the room,\nbecause a red curtain was drawn before the glass. The count's\nanxiety was manifested by a bright color which seldom appeared on\nthe face of that imperturbable man.\n\"What shall I do!\" he uttered, and reflected for a moment;\n\"shall I ring? No, the sound of a bell, announcing a visitor, will\nbut accelerate the resolution of one in Maximilian's situation, and\nthen the bell would be followed by a louder noise.\" Monte Cristo\ntrembled from head to foot and as if his determination had been\ntaken with the rapidity of lightning, he struck one of the panes of\nglass with his elbow; the glass was shivered to atoms, then\nwithdrawing the curtain he saw Morrel, who had been writing at his\ndesk, bound from his seat at the noise of the broken window.\n\"I beg a thousand pardons,\" said the count, \"there is nothing\nthe matter, but I slipped down and broke one of your panes of glass\nwith my elbow. Since it is opened, I will take advantage of it to\nenter your room; do not disturb yourself — do not disturb\nyourself!\" And passing his hand through the broken glass, the count\nopened the door. Morrel, evidently discomposed, came to meet Monte\nCristo less with the intention of receiving him than to exclude his\nentry. \"Ma foi,\" said Monte Cristo, rubbing his elbow, \"it's all\nyour servant's fault; your stairs are so polished, it is like\nwalking on glass.\"\n\"Are you hurt, sir?\" coldly asked Morrel.\n\"I believe not. But what are you about there? You were\nwriting.\"\n\"I?\"\n\"Your fingers are stained with ink.\"\n\"Ah, true, I was writing. I do sometimes, soldier though I\nam.\"\nMonte Cristo advanced into the room; Maximilian was obliged to\nlet him pass, but he followed him. \"You were writing?\" said Monte\nCristo with a searching look.\n\"I have already had the honor of telling you I was,\" said\nMorrel.\nThe count looked around him. \"Your pistols are beside yourMorrel.\nThe count looked around him. \"Your pistols are beside your\ndesk,\" said Monte Cristo, pointing with his finger to the pistols\non the table.\n\"I am on the point of starting on a journey,\" replied Morrel\ndisdainfully.\n\"My friend,\" exclaimed Monte Cristo in a tone of exquisite\nsweetness.\n\"Sir?\"\n\"My friend, my dear Maximilian, do not make a hasty resolution,\nI entreat you.\"\n\"I make a hasty resolution?\" said Morrel, shrugging his\nshoulders; \"is there anything extraordinary in a journey?\"\n\"Maximilian,\" said the count, \"let us both lay aside the mask we\nhave assumed. You no more deceive me with that false calmness than\nI impose upon you with my frivolous solicitude. You can understand,\ncan you not, that to have acted as I have done, to have broken that\nglass, to have intruded on the solitude of a friend — you can\nunderstand that, to have done all this, I must have been actuated\nby real uneasiness, or rather by a terrible conviction. Morrel, you\nare going to destroy yourself!\"\n\"Indeed, count,\" said Morrel, shuddering; \"what has put this\ninto your head?\"\n\"I tell you that you are about to destroy yourself,\" continued\nthe count, \"and here is proof of what I say;\" and, approaching the\ndesk, he removed the sheet of paper which Morrel had placed over\nthe letter he had begun, and took the latter in his hands.\nMorrel rushed forward to tear it from him, but Monte Cristo\nperceiving his intention, seized his wrist with his iron grasp.\n\"You wish to destroy yourself,\" said the count; \"you have written\nit.\"\n\"Well,\" said Morrel, changing his expression of calmness for one\nof violence — \"well, and if I do intend to turn this pistol against\nmyself, who shall prevent me — who will dare prevent me? All my\nhopes are blighted, my heart is broken, my life a burden,\neverything around me is sad and mournful; earth has become\ndistasteful to me, and human voices distract me. It is a mercy to\nlet me die, for if I live I shall lose my reason and become mad.\nWhen, sir, I tell you all this with tears of heartfelt anguish, canWhen, sir, I tell you all this with tears of heartfelt anguish, can\nyou reply that I am wrong, can you prevent my putting an end to my\nmiserable existence? Tell me, sir, could you have the courage to do\nso?\"\n\"Yes, Morrel,\" said Monte Cristo, with a calmness which\ncontrasted strangely with the young man's excitement; \"yes, I would\ndo so.\"\n\"You?\" exclaimed Morrel, with increasing anger and reproach —\n\"you, who have deceived me with false hopes, who have cheered and\nsoothed me with vain promises, when I might, if not have saved her,\nat least have seen her die in my arms! You, who pretend to\nunderstand everything, even the hidden sources of knowledge, — and\nwho enact the part of a guardian angel upon earth, and could not\neven find an antidote to a poison administered to a young girl! Ah,\nsir, indeed you would inspire me with pity, were you not hateful in\nmy eyes.\"\n\"Morrel\" —\n\"Yes; you tell me to lay aside the mask, and I will do so, be\nsatisfied! When you spoke to me at the cemetery, I answered you —\nmy heart was softened; when you arrived here, I allowed you to\nenter. But since you abuse my confidence, since you have devised a\nnew torture after I thought I had exhausted them all, then, Count\nof Monte Cristo my pretended benefactor — then, Count of Monte\nCristo, the universal guardian, be satisfied, you shall witness the\ndeath of your friend;\" and Morrel, with a maniacal laugh, again\nrushed towards the pistols.\n\"And I again repeat, you shall not commit suicide.\"\n\"Prevent me, then!\" replied Morrel, with another struggle,\nwhich, like the first, failed in releasing him from the count's\niron grasp.\n\"I will prevent you.\"\n\"And who are you, then, that arrogate to yourself this\ntyrannical right over free and rational beings?\"\n\"Who am I?\" repeated Monte Cristo. \"Listen; I am the only man in\nthe world having the right to say to you, `Morrel, your father's\nson shall not die to-day;'\" and Monte Cristo, with an expression of\nmajesty and sublimity, advanced with arms folded toward the young"}
{"text": "majesty and sublimity, advanced with arms folded toward the young\nman, who, involuntarily overcome by the commanding manner of this\nman, recoiled a step.\n\"Why do you mention my father?\" stammered he; \"why do you mingle\na recollection of him with the affairs of today?\"\n\"Because I am he who saved your father's life when he wished to\ndestroy himself, as you do to-day — because I am the man who sent\nthe purse to your young sister, and the Pharaon to old Morrel —\nbecause I am the Edmond Dantes who nursed you, a child, on my\nknees.\" Morrel made another step back, staggering, breathless,\ncrushed; then all his strength give way, and he fell prostrate at\nthe feet of Monte Cristo. Then his admirable nature underwent a\ncomplete and sudden revulsion; he arose, rushed out of the room and\nto the stairs, exclaiming energetically, \"Julie, Julie — Emmanuel,\nEmmanuel!\"\nMonte Cristo endeavored also to leave, but Maximilian would have\ndied rather than relax his hold of the handle of the door, which he\nclosed upon the count. Julie, Emmanuel, and some of the servants,\nran up in alarm on hearing the cries of Maximilian. Morrel seized\ntheir hands, and opening the door exclaimed in a voice choked with\nsobs, \"On your knees — on your knees — he is our benefactor — the\nsaviour of our father! He is\" —\nHe would have added \"Edmond Dantes,\" but the count seized his\narm and prevented him. Julie threw herself into the arms of the\ncount; Emmanuel embraced him as a guardian angel; Morrel again fell\non his knees, and struck the ground with his forehead. Then the\niron-hearted man felt his heart swell in his breast; a flame seemed\nto rush from his throat to his eyes, he bent his head and wept. For\na while nothing was heard in the room but a succession of sobs,\nwhile the incense from their grateful hearts mounted to heaven.\nJulie had scarcely recovered from her deep emotion when she rushed\nout of the room, descended to the next floor, ran into the\ndrawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal globe whichdrawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal globe which\ncovered the purse given by the unknown of the Allees de Meillan.\nMeanwhile, Emmanuel in a broken voice said to the count, \"Oh,\ncount, how could you, hearing us so often speak of our unknown\nbenefactor, seeing us pay such homage of gratitude and adoration to\nhis memory, — how could you continue so long without discovering\nyourself to us? Oh, it was cruel to us, and — dare I say it? — to\nyou also.\"\n\"Listen, my friends,\" said the count — \"I may call you so since\nwe have really been friends for the last eleven years — the\ndiscovery of this secret has been occasioned by a great event which\nyou must never know. I wish to bury it during my whole life in my\nown bosom, but your brother Maximilian wrested it from me by a\nviolence he repents of now, I am sure.\" Then turning around, and\nseeing that Morrel, still on his knees, had thrown himself into an\narm-chair, be added in a low voice, pressing Emmanuel's hand\nsignificantly, \"Watch over him.\"\n\"Why so?\" asked the young man, surprised.\n\"I cannot explain myself; but watch over him.\" Emmanuel looked\naround the room and caught sight of the pistols; his eyes rested on\nthe weapons, and he pointed to them. Monte Cristo bent his head.\nEmmanuel went towards the pistols. \"Leave them,\" said Monte Cristo.\nThen walking towards Morrel, he took his hand; the tumultuous\nagitation of the young man was succeeded by a profound stupor.\nJulie returned, holding the silken purse in her hands, while tears\nof joy rolled down her cheeks, like dewdrops on the rose.\n\"Here is the relic,\" she said; \"do not think it will be less\ndear to us now we are acquainted with our benefactor!\"\n\"My child,\" said Monte Cristo, coloring, \"allow me to take back\nthat purse? Since you now know my face, I wish to be remembered\nalone through the affection I hope you will grant me.\n\"Oh,\" said Julie, pressing the purse to her heart, \"no, no, I\nbeseech you do not take it, for some unhappy day you will leave us,\nwill you not?\"beseech you do not take it, for some unhappy day you will leave us,\nwill you not?\"\n\"You have guessed rightly, madame,\" replied Monte Cristo,\nsmiling; \"in a week I shall have left this country, where so many\npersons who merit the vengeance of heaven lived happily, while my\nfather perished of hunger and grief.\" While announcing his\ndeparture, the count fixed his eyes on Morrel, and remarked that\nthe words, \"I shall have left this country,\" had failed to rouse\nhim from his lethargy. He then saw that he must make another\nstruggle against the grief of his friend, and taking the hands of\nEmmanuel and Julie, which he pressed within his own, he said with\nthe mild authority of a father, \"My kind friends, leave me alone\nwith Maximilian.\" Julie saw the means offered of carrying off her\nprecious relic, which Monte Cristo had forgotten. She drew her\nhusband to the door. \"Let us leave them,\" she said. The count was\nalone with Morrel, who remained motionless as a statue.\n\"Come,\" said Monte-Cristo, touching his shoulder with his\nfinger, \"are you a man again, Maximilian?\"\n\"Yes; for I begin to suffer again.\"\nThe count frowned, apparently in gloomy hesitation.\n\"Maximilian, Maximilian,\" he said, \"the ideas you yield to are\nunworthy of a Christian.\"\n\"Oh, do not fear, my friend,\" said Morrel, raising his head, and\nsmiling with a sweet expression on the count; \"I shall no longer\nattempt my life.\"\n\"Then we are to have no more pistols — no more despair?\"\n\"No; I have found a better remedy for my grief than either a\nbullet or a knife.\"\n\"Poor fellow, what is it?\"\n\"My grief will kill me of itself.\"\n\"My friend,\" said Monte Cristo, with an expression of melancholy\nequal to his own, \"listen to me. One day, in a moment of despair\nlike yours, since it led to a similar resolution, I also wished to\nkill myself; one day your father, equally desperate, wished to kill\nhimself too. If any one had said to your father, at the moment he\nraised the pistol to his head — if any one had told me, when in my"}
{"text": "raised the pistol to his head — if any one had told me, when in my\nprison I pushed back the food I had not tasted for three days — if\nanyone had said to either of us then, `Live — the day will come\nwhen you will be happy, and will bless life!' — no matter whose\nvoice had spoken, we should have heard him with the smile of doubt,\nor the anguish of incredulity, — and yet how many times has your\nfather blessed life while embracing you — how often have I myself\"\n—\n\"Ah,\" exclaimed Morrel, interrupting the count, \"you had only\nlost your liberty, my father had only lost his fortune, but I have\nlost Valentine.\"\n\"Look at me,\" said Monte Cristo, with that expression which\nsometimes made him so eloquent and persuasive — \"look at me. There\nare no tears in my eyes, nor is there fever in my veins, yet I see\nyou suffer — you, Maximilian, whom I love as my own son. Well, does\nnot this tell you that in grief, as in life, there is always\nsomething to look forward to beyond? Now, if I entreat, if I order\nyou to live, Morrel, it is in the conviction that one day you will\nthank me for having preserved your life.\"\n\"Oh, heavens,\" said the young man, \"oh, heavens — what are you\nsaying, count? Take care. But perhaps you have never loved!\"\n\"Child!\" replied the count.\n\"I mean, as I love. You see, I have been a soldier ever since I\nattained manhood. I reached the age of twenty-nine without loving,\nfor none of the feelings I before then experienced merit the\nappellation of love. Well, at twenty-nine I saw Valentine; for two\nyears I have loved her, for two years I have seen written in her\nheart, as in a book, all the virtues of a daughter and wife. Count,\nto possess Valentine would have been a happiness too infinite, too\necstatic, too complete, too divine for this world, since it has\nbeen denied me; but without Valentine the earth is desolate.\"\n\"I have told you to hope,\" said the count.\n\"Then have a care, I repeat, for you seek to persuade me, and if\nyou succeed I should lose my reason, for I should hope that I couldyou succeed I should lose my reason, for I should hope that I could\nagain behold Valentine.\" The count smiled. \"My friend, my father,\"\nsaid Morrel with excitement, \"have a care, I again repeat, for the\npower you wield over me alarms me. Weigh your words before you\nspeak, for my eyes have already become brighter, and my heart beats\nstrongly; be cautious, or you will make me believe in supernatural\nagencies. I must obey you, though you bade me call forth the dead\nor walk upon the water.\"\n\"Hope, my friend,\" repeated the count.\n\"Ah,\" said Morrel, falling from the height of excitement to the\nabyss of despair — \"ah, you are playing with me, like those good,\nor rather selfish mothers who soothe their children with honeyed\nwords, because their screams annoy them. No, my friend, I was wrong\nto caution you; do not fear, I will bury my grief so deep in my\nheart, I will disguise it so, that you shall not even care to\nsympathize with me. Adieu, my friend, adieu!\"\n\"On the contrary,\" said the count, \"after this time you must\nlive with me — you must not leave me, and in a week we shall have\nleft France behind us.\"\n\"And you still bid me hope?\"\n\"I tell you to hope, because I have a method of curing you.\"\n\"Count, you render me sadder than before, if it be possible. You\nthink the result of this blow has been to produce an ordinary\ngrief, and you would cure it by an ordinary remedy — change of\nscene.\" And Morrel dropped his head with disdainful incredulity.\n\"What can I say more?\" asked Monte Cristo. \"I have confidence in\nthe remedy I propose, and only ask you to permit me to assure you\nof its efficacy.\"\n\"Count, you prolong my agony.\"\n\"Then,\" said the count, \"your feeble spirit will not even grant\nme the trial I request? Come — do you know of what the Count of\nMonte Cristo is capable? do you know that he holds terrestrial\nbeings under his control? nay, that he can almost work a miracle?\nWell, wait for the miracle I hope to accomplish, or\" —\n\"Or?\" repeated Morrel.\n\"Or, take care, Morrel, lest I call you ungrateful.\"\"Or?\" repeated Morrel.\n\"Or, take care, Morrel, lest I call you ungrateful.\"\n\"Have pity on me, count!\"\n\"I feel so much pity towards you, Maximilian, that — listen to\nme attentively — if I do not cure you in a month, to the day, to\nthe very hour, mark my words, Morrel, I will place loaded pistols\nbefore you, and a cup of the deadliest Italian poison — a poison\nmore sure and prompt than that which has killed Valentine.\"\n\"Will you promise me?\"\n\"Yes; for I am a man, and have suffered like yourself, and also\ncontemplated suicide; indeed, often since misfortune has left me I\nhave longed for the delights of an eternal sleep.\"\n\"But you are sure you will promise me this?\" said Morrel,\nintoxicated. \"I not only promise, but swear it!\" said Monte Cristo\nextending his hand.\n\"In a month, then, on your honor, if I am not consoled, you will\nlet me take my life into my own hands, and whatever may happen you\nwill not call me ungrateful?\"\n\"In a month, to the day, the very hour and the date are sacred,\nMaximilian. I do not know whether you remember that this is the 5th\nof September; it is ten years to-day since I saved your father's\nlife, who wished to die.\" Morrel seized the count's hand and kissed\nit; the count allowed him to pay the homage he felt due to him. \"In\na month you will find on the table, at which we shall be then\nsitting, good pistols and a delicious draught; but, on the other\nhand, you must promise me not to attempt your life before that\ntime.\"\n\"Oh, I also swear it!\" Monte Cristo drew the young man towards\nhim, and pressed him for some time to his heart. \"And now,\" he\nsaid, \"after to-day, you will come and live with me; you can occupy\nHaidee's apartment, and my daughter will at least be replaced by my\nson.\"\n\"Haidee?\" said Morrel, \"what has become of her?\"\n\"She departed last night.\"\n\"To leave you?\"\n\"To wait for me. Hold yourself ready then to join me at the\nChamps Elysees, and lead me out of this house without any one\nseeing my departure.\" Maximilian hung his head, and obeyed with\nchildlike reverence."}
{"text": "The apartment on the second floor of the house in the Rue\nSaint-Germain-des-Pres, where Albert de Morcerf had selected a home\nfor his mother, was let to a very mysterious person. This was a man\nwhose face the concierge himself had never seen, for in the winter\nhis chin was buried in one of the large red handkerchiefs worn by\ngentlemen's coachmen on a cold night, and in the summer he made a\npoint of always blowing his nose just as he approached the door.\nContrary to custom, this gentleman had not been watched, for as the\nreport ran that he was a person of high rank, and one who would\nallow no impertinent interference, his incognito was strictly\nrespected.\nHis visits were tolerably regular, though occasionally he\nappeared a little before or after his time, but generally, both in\nsummer and winter, he took possession of his apartment about four\no'clock, though he never spent the night there. At half-past three\nin the winter the fire was lighted by the discreet servant, who had\nthe superintendence of the little apartment, and in the summer ices\nwere placed on the table at the same hour. At four o'clock, as we\nhave already stated, the mysterious personage arrived. Twenty\nminutes afterwards a carriage stopped at the house, a lady alighted\nin a black or dark blue dress, and always thickly veiled; she\npassed like a shadow through the lodge, and ran up-stairs without a\nsound escaping under the touch of her light foot. No one ever asked\nher where she was going. Her face, therefore, like that of the\ngentleman, was perfectly unknown to the two concierges, who were\nperhaps unequalled throughout the capital for discretion. We need\nnot say she stopped at the second floor. Then she tapped in a\npeculiar manner at a door, which after being opened to admit her\nwas again fastened, and curiosity penetrated no farther. They used\nthe same precautions in leaving as in entering the house. The lady\nalways left first, and as soon as she had stepped into her\ncarriage, it drove away, sometimes towards the right hand,carriage, it drove away, sometimes towards the right hand,\nsometimes to the left; then about twenty minutes afterwards the\ngentleman would also leave, buried in his cravat or concealed by\nhis handkerchief.\nThe day after Monte Cristo had called upon Danglars, the\nmysterious lodger entered at ten o'clock in the morning instead of\nfour in the afternoon. Almost directly afterwards, without the\nusual interval of time, a cab arrived, and the veiled lady ran\nhastily up-stairs. The door opened, but before it could be closed,\nthe lady exclaimed: \"Oh, Lucien — oh, my friend!\" The concierge\ntherefore heard for the first time that the lodger's name was\nLucien; still, as he was the very perfection of a door-keeper, he\nmade up his mind not to tell his wife. \"Well, what is the matter,\nmy dear?\" asked the gentleman whose name the lady's agitation\nrevealed; \"tell me what is the matter.\"\n\"Oh, Lucien, can I confide in you?\"\n\"Of course, you know you can do so. But what can be the matter?\nYour note of this morning has completely bewildered me. This\nprecipitation — this unusual appointment. Come, ease me of my\nanxiety, or else frighten me at once.\"\n\"Lucien, a great event has happened!\" said the lady, glancing\ninquiringly at Lucien, — \"M. Danglars left last night!\"\n\"Left? — M. Danglars left? Where has he gone?\"\n\"I do not know.\"\n\"What do you mean? Has he gone intending not to return?\"\n\"Undoubtedly; — at ten o'clock at night his horses took him to\nthe barrier of Charenton; there a post-chaise was waiting for him —\nhe entered it with his valet de chambre, saying that he was going\nto Fontainebleau.\"\n\"Then what did you mean\" —\n\"Stay — he left a letter for me.\"\n\"A letter?\"\n\"Yes; read it.\" And the baroness took from her pocket a letter\nwhich she gave to Debray. Debray paused a moment before reading, as\nif trying to guess its contents, or perhaps while making up his\nmind how to act, whatever it might contain. No doubt his ideas were\narranged in a few minutes, for he began reading the letter whicharranged in a few minutes, for he began reading the letter which\ncaused so much uneasiness in the heart of the baroness, and which\nran as follows: —\n\"Madame and most faithful wife.\"\nDebray mechanically stopped and looked at the baroness, whose\nface became covered with blushes. \"Read,\" she said.\nDebray continued: —\n\"When you receive this, you will no longer have a husband. Oh,\nyou need not be alarmed, you will only have lost him as you have\nlost your daughter; I mean that I shall be travelling on one of the\nthirty or forty roads leading out of France. I owe you some\nexplanations for my conduct, and as you are a woman that can\nperfectly understand me, I will give them. Listen, then. I received\nthis morning five millions which I paid away; almost directly\nafterwards another demand for the same sum was presented to me; I\nput this creditor off till to-morrow and I intend leaving to-day,\nto escape that to-morrow, which would be rather too unpleasant for\nme to endure. You understand this, do you not, my most precious\nwife? I say you understand this, because you are as conversant with\nmy affairs as I am; indeed, I think you understand them better,\nsince I am ignorant of what has become of a considerable portion of\nmy fortune, once very tolerable, while I am sure, madame, that you\nknow perfectly well. For women have infallible instincts; they can\neven explain the marvellous by an algebraic calculation they have\ninvented; but I, who only understand my own figures, know nothing\nmore than that one day these figures deceived me. Have you admired\nthe rapidity of my fall? Have you been slightly dazzled at the\nsudden fusion of my ingots? I confess I have seen nothing but the\nfire; let us hope you have found some gold among the ashes. With\nthis consoling idea, I leave you, madame, and most prudent wife,\nwithout any conscientious reproach for abandoning you; you have\nfriends left, and the ashes I have already mentioned, and above all\nthe liberty I hasten to restore to you. And here, madame, I must"}
{"text": "the liberty I hasten to restore to you. And here, madame, I must\nadd another word of explanation. So long as I hoped you were\nworking for the good of our house and for the fortune of our\ndaughter, I philosophically closed my eyes; but as you have\ntransformed that house into a vast ruin I will not be the\nfoundation of another man's fortune. You were rich when I married\nyou, but little respected. Excuse me for speaking so very candidly,\nbut as this is intended only for ourselves, I do not see why I\nshould weigh my words. I have augmented our fortune, and it has\ncontinued to increase during the last fifteen years, till\nextraordinary and unexpected catastrophes have suddenly overturned\nit, — without any fault of mine, I can honestly declare. You,\nmadame, have only sought to increase your own, and I am convinced\nthat you have succeeded. I leave you, therefore, as I took you, —\nrich, but little respected. Adieu! I also intend from this time to\nwork on my own account. Accept my acknowledgments for the example\nyou have set me, and which I intend following.\n\"Your very devoted husband,\n\"Baron Danglars.\"\nThe baroness had watched Debray while he read this long and\npainful letter, and saw him, notwithstanding his self-control,\nchange color once or twice. When he had ended the perusal, he\nfolded the letter and resumed his pensive attitude. \"Well?\" asked\nMadame Danglars, with an anxiety easy to be understood.\n\"Well, madame?\" unhesitatingly repeated Debray.\n\"With what ideas does that letter inspire you?\"\n\"Oh, it is simple enough, madame; it inspires me with the idea\nthat M. Danglars has left suspiciously.\"\n\"Certainly; but is this all you have to say to me?\"\n\"I do not understand you,\" said Debray with freezing\ncoldness.\n\"He is gone! Gone, never to return!\"\n\"Oh, madame, do not think that!\"\n\"I tell you he will never return. I know his character; he is\ninflexible in any resolutions formed for his own interests. If he\ncould have made any use of me, he would have taken me with him; hecould have made any use of me, he would have taken me with him; he\nleaves me in Paris, as our separation will conduce to his benefit;\n— therefore he has gone, and I am free forever,\" added Madame\nDanglars, in the same supplicating tone. Debray, instead of\nanswering, allowed her to remain in an attitude of nervous inquiry.\n\"Well?\" she said at length, \"do you not answer me?\"\n\"I have but one question to ask you, — what do you intend to\ndo?\"\n\"I was going to ask you,\" replied the baroness with a beating\nheart.\n\"Ah, then, you wish to ask advice of me?\"\n\"Yes; I do wish to ask your advice,\" said Madame Danglars with\nanxious expectation.\n\"Then if you wish to take my advice,\" said the young man coldly,\n\"I would recommend you to travel.\"\n\"To travel!\" she murmured.\n\"Certainly; as M. Danglars says, you are rich, and perfectly\nfree. In my opinion, a withdrawal from Paris is absolutely\nnecessary after the double catastrophe of Mademoiselle Danglars'\nbroken contract and M. Danglars' disappearance. The world will\nthink you abandoned and poor, for the wife of a bankrupt would\nnever be forgiven, were she to keep up an appearance of opulence.\nYou have only to remain in Paris for about a fortnight, telling the\nworld you are abandoned, and relating the details of this desertion\nto your best friends, who will soon spread the report. Then you can\nquit your house, leaving your jewels and giving up your jointure,\nand every one's mouth will be filled with praises of your\ndisinterestedness. They will know you are deserted, and think you\nalso poor, for I alone know your real financial position, and am\nquite ready to give up my accounts as an honest partner.\" The dread\nwith which the pale and motionless baroness listened to this, was\nequalled by the calm indifference with which Debray had spoken.\n\"Deserted?\" she repeated; \"ah, yes, I am, indeed, deserted! You are\nright, sir, and no one can doubt my position.\" These were the only\nwords that this proud and violently enamoured woman could utter in\nresponse to Debray.words that this proud and violently enamoured woman could utter in\nresponse to Debray.\n\"But then you are rich, — very rich, indeed,\" continued Debray,\ntaking out some papers from his pocket-book, which he spread upon\nthe table. Madame Danglars did not see them; she was engaged in\nstilling the beatings of her heart, and restraining the tears which\nwere ready to gush forth. At length a sense of dignity prevailed,\nand if she did not entirely master her agitation, she at least\nsucceeded in preventing the fall of a single tear. \"Madame,\" said\nDebray, \"it is nearly six months since we have been associated. You\nfurnished a principal of 100,000 francs. Our partnership began in\nthe month of April. In May we commenced operations, and in the\ncourse of the month gained 450,000 francs. In June the profit\namounted to 900,000. In July we added 1,700,000 francs, — it was,\nyou know, the month of the Spanish bonds. In August we lost 300,000\nfrancs at the beginning of the month, but on the 13th we made up\nfor it, and we now find that our accounts, reckoning from the first\nday of partnership up to yesterday, when I closed them, showed a\ncapital of 2,400,000 francs, that is, 1,200,000 for each of us.\nNow, madame,\" said Debray, delivering up his accounts in the\nmethodical manner of a stockbroker, \"there are still 80,000 francs,\nthe interest of this money, in my hands.\"\n\"But,\" said the baroness, \"I thought you never put the money out\nto interest.\"\n\"Excuse me, madame,\" said Debray coldly, \"I had your permission\nto do so, and I have made use of it. There are, then, 40,000 francs\nfor your share, besides the 100,000 you furnished me to begin with,\nmaking in all 1,340,000 francs for your portion. Now, madame, I\ntook the precaution of drawing out your money the day before\nyesterday; it is not long ago, you see, and I was in continual\nexpectation of being called on to deliver up my accounts. There is\nyour money, — half in bank-notes, the other half in checks payable\nto bearer. I say there, for as I did not consider my house safe"}
{"text": "to bearer. I say there, for as I did not consider my house safe\nenough, or lawyers sufficiently discreet, and as landed property\ncarries evidence with it, and moreover since you have no right to\npossess anything independent of your husband, I have kept this sum,\nnow your whole fortune, in a chest concealed under that closet, and\nfor greater security I myself concealed it there.\n\"Now, madame,\" continued Debray, first opening the closet, then\nthe chest; — \"now, madame, here are 800 notes of 1,000 francs each,\nresembling, as you see, a large book bound in iron; to this I add a\ncertificate in the funds of 25,000 francs; then, for the odd cash,\nmaking I think about 110,000 francs, here is a check upon my\nbanker, who, not being M. Danglars, will pay you the amount, you\nmay rest assured.\" Madame Danglars mechanically took the check, the\nbond, and the heap of bank-notes. This enormous fortune made no\ngreat appearance on the table. Madame Danglars, with tearless eyes,\nbut with her breast heaving with concealed emotion, placed the\nbank-notes in her bag, put the certificate and check into her\npocket-book, and then, standing pale and mute, awaited one kind\nword of consolation. But she waited in vain.\n\"Now, madame,\" said Debray, \"you have a splendid fortune, an\nincome of about 60,000 livres a year, which is enormous for a woman\nwho cannot keep an establishment here for a year, at least. You\nwill be able to indulge all your fancies; besides, should you find\nyour income insufficient, you can, for the sake of the past,\nmadame, make use of mine; and I am ready to offer you all I\npossess, on loan.\"\n\"Thank you, sir — thank you,\" replied the baroness; \"you forget\nthat what you have just paid me is much more than a poor woman\nrequires, who intends for some time, at least, to retire from the\nworld.\"\nDebray was, for a moment, surprised, but immediately recovering\nhimself, he bowed with an air which seemed to say, \"As you please,\nmadame.\"\nMadame Danglars had until then, perhaps, hoped for something;madame.\"\nMadame Danglars had until then, perhaps, hoped for something;\nbut when she saw the careless bow of Debray, and the glance by\nwhich it was accompanied, together with his significant silence,\nshe raised her head, and without passion or violence or even\nhesitation, ran down-stairs, disdaining to address a last farewell\nto one who could thus part from her. \"Bah,\" said Debray, when she\nhad left, \"these are fine projects! She will remain at home, read\nnovels, and speculate at cards, since she can no longer do so on\nthe Bourse.\" Then taking up his account book, he cancelled with the\ngreatest care all the entries of the amounts he had just paid away.\n\"I have 1,060,000 francs remaining,\" he said. \"What a pity\nMademoiselle de Villefort is dead! She suited me in every respect,\nand I would have married her.\" And he calmly waited until the\ntwenty minutes had elapsed after Madame Danglars' departure before\nhe left the house. During this time he occupied himself in making\nfigures, with his watch by his side.\nAsmodeus — that diabolical personage, who would have been\ncreated by every fertile imagination if Le Sage had not acquired\nthe priority in his great masterpiece — would have enjoyed a\nsingular spectacle, if he had lifted up the roof of the little\nhouse in the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Pres, while Debray was casting\nup his figures. Above the room in which Debray had been dividing\ntwo millions and a half with Madame Danglars was another, inhabited\nby persons who have played too prominent a part in the incidents we\nhave related for their appearance not to create some interest.\nMercedes and Albert were in that room. Mercedes was much changed\nwithin the last few days; not that even in her days of fortune she\nhad ever dressed with the magnificent display which makes us no\nlonger able to recognize a woman when she appears in a plain and\nsimple attire; nor indeed, had she fallen into that state of\ndepression where it is impossible to conceal the garb of misery;depression where it is impossible to conceal the garb of misery;\nno, the change in Mercedes was that her eye no longer sparkled, her\nlips no longer smiled, and there was now a hesitation in uttering\nthe words which formerly sprang so fluently from her ready wit.\nIt was not poverty which had broken her spirit; it was not a\nwant of courage which rendered her poverty burdensome. Mercedes,\nalthough deposed from the exalted position she had occupied, lost\nin the sphere she had now chosen, like a person passing from a room\nsplendidly lighted into utter darkness, appeared like a queen,\nfallen from her palace to a hovel, and who, reduced to strict\nnecessity, could neither become reconciled to the earthen vessels\nshe was herself forced to place upon the table, nor to the humble\npallet which had become her bed. The beautiful Catalane and noble\ncountess had lost both her proud glance and charming smile, because\nshe saw nothing but misery around her; the walls were hung with one\nof the gray papers which economical landlords choose as not likely\nto show the dirt; the floor was uncarpeted; the furniture attracted\nthe attention to the poor attempt at luxury; indeed, everything\noffended eyes accustomed to refinement and elegance.\nMadame de Morcerf had lived there since leaving her house; the\ncontinual silence of the spot oppressed her; still, seeing that\nAlbert continually watched her countenance to judge the state of\nher feelings, she constrained herself to assume a monotonous smile\nof the lips alone, which, contrasted with the sweet and beaming\nexpression that usually shone from her eyes, seemed like \"moonlight\non a statue,\" — yielding light without warmth. Albert, too, was ill\nat ease; the remains of luxury prevented him from sinking into his\nactual position. If he wished to go out without gloves, his hands\nappeared too white; if he wished to walk through the town, his\nboots seemed too highly polished. Yet these two noble and\nintelligent creatures, united by the indissoluble ties of maternal"}
{"text": "intelligent creatures, united by the indissoluble ties of maternal\nand filial love, had succeeded in tacitly understanding one\nanother, and economizing their stores, and Albert had been able to\ntell his mother without extorting a change of countenance, —\n\"Mother, we have no more money.\"\nMercedes had never known misery; she had often, in her youth,\nspoken of poverty, but between want and necessity, those synonymous\nwords, there is a wide difference. Amongst the Catalans, Mercedes\nwished for a thousand things, but still she never really wanted\nany. So long as the nets were good, they caught fish; and so long\nas they sold their fish, they were able to buy twine for new nets.\nAnd then, shut out from friendship, having but one affection, which\ncould not be mixed up with her ordinary pursuits, she thought of\nherself — of no one but herself. Upon the little she earned she\nlived as well as she could; now there were two to be supported, and\nnothing to live upon.\nWinter approached. Mercedes had no fire in that cold and naked\nroom — she, who was accustomed to stoves which heated the house\nfrom the hall to the boudoir; she had not even one little flower —\nshe whose apartment had been a conservatory of costly exotics. But\nshe had her son. Hitherto the excitement of fulfilling a duty had\nsustained them. Excitement, like enthusiasm, sometimes renders us\nunconscious to the things of earth. But the excitement had calmed\ndown, and they felt themselves obliged to descend from dreams to\nreality; after having exhausted the ideal, they found they must\ntalk of the actual.\n\"Mother,\" exclaimed Albert, just as Madame Danglars was\ndescending the stairs, \"let us reckon our riches, if you please; I\nwant capital to build my plans upon.\"\n\"Capital — nothing!\" replied Mercedes with a mournful smile.\n\"No, mother, — capital 3,000 francs. And I have an idea of our\nleading a delightful life upon this 3,000 francs.\"\n\"Child!\" sighed Mercedes.\n\"Alas, dear mother,\" said the young man, \"I have unhappily spent\"Child!\" sighed Mercedes.\n\"Alas, dear mother,\" said the young man, \"I have unhappily spent\ntoo much of your money not to know the value of it. These 3,000\nfrancs are enormous, and I intend building upon this foundation a\nmiraculous certainty for the future.\"\n\"You say this, my dear boy; but do you think we ought to accept\nthese 3,000 francs?\" said Mercedes, coloring.\n\"I think so,\" answered Albert in a firm tone. \"We will accept\nthem the more readily, since we have them not here; you know they\nare buried in the garden of the little house in the Allees de\nMeillan, at Marseilles. With 200 francs we can reach\nMarseilles.\"\n\"With 200 francs? — are you sure, Albert?\"\n\"Oh, as for that, I have made inquiries respecting the\ndiligences and steamboats, and my calculations are made. You will\ntake your place in the coupe to Chalons. You see, mother, I treat\nyou handsomely for thirty-five francs.\" Albert then took a pen, and\nwrote: —\nFrs. Coupe, thirty-five francs … … … … … … … … … . 35 From\nChalons to Lyons you will go on by the steamboat — six\nfrancs … … … … … … … … … … … … … .. 6 From Lyons to Avignon\n(still by steamboat), sixteen francs … … … … … … … … … … … … …\n16 From Avignon to Marseilles, seven franc… … … … … . 7 Expenses on\nthe road, about fifty francs … … … … . 50 Total… … … … … … … …\n… … … … … … … … 114 frs.\n\"Let us put down 120,\" added Albert, smiling. \"You see I am\ngenerous, am I not, mother?\"\n\"But you, my poor child?\"\n\"I? do you not see that I reserve eighty francs for myself? A\nyoung man does not require luxuries; besides, I know what\ntravelling is.\"\n\"With a post-chaise and valet de chambre?\"\n\"Any way, mother.\"\n\"Well, be it so. But these 200 francs?\"\n\"Here they are, and 200 more besides. See, I have sold my watch\nfor 100 francs, and the guard and seals for 300. How fortunate that\nthe ornaments were worth more than the watch. Still the same story\nof superfluities! Now I think we are rich, since instead of the 114\nfrancs we require for the journey we find ourselves in possession\nof 250.\"francs we require for the journey we find ourselves in possession\nof 250.\"\n\"But we owe something in this house?\"\n\"Thirty francs; but I pay that out of my 150 francs, — that is\nunderstood, — and as I require only eighty francs for my journey,\nyou see I am overwhelmed with luxury. But that is not all. What do\nyou say to this, mother?\"\nAnd Albert took out of a little pocket-book with golden clasps,\na remnant of his old fancies, or perhaps a tender souvenir from one\nof the mysterious and veiled ladies who used to knock at his little\ndoor, — Albert took out of this pocket-book a note of 1,000\nfrancs.\n\"What is this?\" asked Mercedes.\n\"A thousand francs.\"\n\"But whence have you obtained them?\"\n\"Listen to me, mother, and do not yield too much to agitation.\"\nAnd Albert, rising, kissed his mother on both cheeks, then stood\nlooking at her. \"You cannot imagine, mother, how beautiful I think\nyou!\" said the young man, impressed with a profound feeling of\nfilial love. \"You are, indeed, the most beautiful and most noble\nwoman I ever saw!\"\n\"Dear child!\" said Mercedes, endeavoring in vain to restrain a\ntear which glistened in the corner of her eye. \"Indeed, you only\nwanted misfortune to change my love for you to admiration. I am not\nunhappy while I possess my son!\"\n\"Ah, just so,\" said Albert; \"here begins the trial. Do you know\nthe decision we have come to, mother?\"\n\"Have we come to any?\"\n\"Yes; it is decided that you are to live at Marseilles, and that\nI am to leave for Africa, where I will earn for myself the right to\nuse the name I now bear, instead of the one I have thrown aside.\"\nMercedes sighed. \"Well, mother, I yesterday engaged myself as\nsubstitute in the Spahis,\"* added the young man, lowering his eyes\nwith a certain feeling of shame, for even he was unconscious of the\nsublimity of his self-abasement. \"I thought my body was my own, and\nthat I might sell it. I yesterday took the place of another. I sold\nmyself for more than I thought I was worth,\" he added, attempting\nto smile; \"I fetched 2,000 francs.\""}
{"text": "to smile; \"I fetched 2,000 francs.\"\n(* The Spahis are French cavalry reserved for service in\nAfrica.)\n\"Then these 1,000 francs\" — said Mercedes, shuddering —\n\"Are the half of the sum, mother; the other will be paid in a\nyear.\"\nMercedes raised her eyes to heaven with an expression it would\nbe impossible to describe, and tears, which had hitherto been\nrestrained, now yielded to her emotion, and ran down her\ncheeks.\n\"The price of his blood!\" she murmured.\n\"Yes, if I am killed,\" said Albert, laughing. \"But I assure you,\nmother, I have a strong intention of defending my person, and I\nnever felt half so strong an inclination to live as I do now.\"\n\"Merciful heavens!\"\n\"Besides, mother, why should you make up your mind that I am to\nbe killed? Has Lamoriciere, that Ney of the South, been killed? Has\nChangarnier been killed? Has Bedeau been killed? Has Morrel, whom\nwe know, been killed? Think of your joy, mother, when you see me\nreturn with an embroidered uniform! I declare, I expect to look\nmagnificent in it, and chose that regiment only from vanity.\"\nMercedes sighed while endeavoring to smile; the devoted mother felt\nthat she ought not to allow the whole weight of the sacrifice to\nfall upon her son. \"Well, now you understand, mother!\" continued\nAlbert; \"here are more than 4,000 francs settled on you; upon these\nyou can live at least two years.\"\n\"Do you think so?\" said Mercedes. These words were uttered in so\nmournful a tone that their real meaning did not escape Albert; he\nfelt his heart beat, and taking his mother's hand within his own he\nsaid, tenderly, —\n\"Yes, you will live!\"\n\"I shall live! — then you will not leave me, Albert?\"\n\"Mother, I must go,\" said Albert in a firm, calm voice; \"you\nlove me too well to wish me to remain useless and idle with you;\nbesides, I have signed.\"\n\"You will obey your own wish and the will of heaven!\"\n\"Not my own wish, mother, but reason — necessity. Are we not two\ndespairing creatures? What is life to you? — Nothing. What is lifedespairing creatures? What is life to you? — Nothing. What is life\nto me? — Very little without you, mother; for believe me, but for\nyou I should have ceased to live on the day I doubted my father and\nrenounced his name. Well, I will live, if you promise me still to\nhope; and if you grant me the care of your future prospects, you\nwill redouble my strength. Then I will go to the governor of\nAlgeria; he has a royal heart, and is essentially a soldier; I will\ntell him my gloomy story. I will beg him to turn his eyes now and\nthen towards me, and if he keep his word and interest himself for\nme, in six months I shall be an officer, or dead. If I am an\nofficer, your fortune is certain, for I shall have money enough for\nboth, and, moreover, a name we shall both be proud of, since it\nwill be our own. If I am killed — well then mother, you can also\ndie, and there will be an end of our misfortunes.\"\n\"It is well,\" replied Mercedes, with her eloquent glance; \"you\nare right, my love; let us prove to those who are watching our\nactions that we are worthy of compassion.\"\n\"But let us not yield to gloomy apprehensions,\" said the young\nman; \"I assure you we are, or rather we shall be, very happy. You\nare a woman at once full of spirit and resignation; I have become\nsimple in my tastes, and am without passion, I hope. Once in\nservice, I shall be rich — once in M. Dantes' house, you will be at\nrest. Let us strive, I beseech you, — let us strive to be\ncheerful.\"\n\"Yes, let us strive, for you ought to live, and to be happy,\nAlbert.\"\n\"And so our division is made, mother,\" said the young man,\naffecting ease of mind. \"We can now part; come, I shall engage your\npassage.\"\n\"And you, my dear boy?\"\n\"I shall stay here for a few days longer; we must accustom\nourselves to parting. I want recommendations and some information\nrelative to Africa. I will join you again at Marseilles.\"\n\"Well, be it so — let us part,\" said Mercedes, folding around\nher shoulders the only shawl she had taken away, and whichher shoulders the only shawl she had taken away, and which\naccidentally happened to be a valuable black cashmere. Albert\ngathered up his papers hastily, rang the bell to pay the thirty\nfrancs he owed to the landlord, and offering his arm to his mother,\nthey descended the stairs. Some one was walking down before them,\nand this person, hearing the rustling of a silk dress, turned\naround. \"Debray!\" muttered Albert.\n\"You, Morcerf?\" replied the secretary, resting on the stairs.\nCuriosity had vanquished the desire of preserving his incognito,\nand he was recognized. It was, indeed, strange in this unknown spot\nto find the young man whose misfortunes had made so much noise in\nParis.\n\"Morcerf!\" repeated Debray. Then noticing in the dim light the\nstill youthful and veiled figure of Madame de Morcerf: — \"Pardon\nme,\" he added with a smile, \"I leave you, Albert.\" Albert\nunderstood his thoughts. \"Mother,\" he said, turning towards\nMercedes, \"this is M. Debray, secretary of the minister for the\ninterior, once a friend of mine.\"\n\"How once?\" stammered Debray; \"what do you mean?\"\n\"I say so, M. Debray, because I have no friends now, and I ought\nnot to have any. I thank you for having recognized me, sir.\" Debray\nstepped forward, and cordially pressed the hand of his\ninterlocutor. \"Believe me, dear Albert,\" he said, with all the\nemotion he was capable of feeling, — \"believe me, I feel deeply for\nyour misfortunes, and if in any way I can serve you, I am\nyours.\"\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said Albert, smiling. \"In the midst of our\nmisfortunes, we are still rich enough not to require assistance\nfrom any one. We are leaving Paris, and when our journey is paid,\nwe shall have 5,000 francs left.\" The blood mounted to the temples\nof Debray, who held a million in his pocket-book, and unimaginative\nas he was he could not help reflecting that the same house had\ncontained two women, one of whom, justly dishonored, had left it\npoor with 1,500,000 francs under her cloak, while the other,\nunjustly stricken, but sublime in her misfortune, was yet rich withunjustly stricken, but sublime in her misfortune, was yet rich with\na few deniers. This parallel disturbed his usual politeness, the\nphilosophy he witnessed appalled him, he muttered a few words of\ngeneral civility and ran down-stairs.\nThat day the minister's clerks and the subordinates had a great\ndeal to put up with from his ill-humor. But that same night, he\nfound himself the possessor of a fine house, situated on the\nBoulevard de la Madeleine, and an income of 50,000 livres. The next\nday, just as Debray was signing the deed, that is about five\no'clock in the afternoon, Madame de Morcerf, after having\naffectionately embraced her son, entered the coupe of the\ndiligence, which closed upon her. A man was hidden in Lafitte's\nbanking-house, behind one of the little arched windows which are\nplaced above each desk; he saw Mercedes enter the diligence, and he\nalso saw Albert withdraw. Then he passed his hand across his\nforehead, which was clouded with doubt. \"Alas,\" he exclaimed, \"how\ncan I restore the happiness I have taken away from these poor\ninnocent creatures? God help me!\""}
{"text": "We remember that the Abbe Busoni remained alone with Noirtier in\nthe chamber of death, and that the old man and the priest were the\nsole guardians of the young girl's body. Perhaps it was the\nChristian exhortations of the abbe, perhaps his kind charity,\nperhaps his persuasive words, which had restored the courage of\nNoirtier, for ever since he had conversed with the priest his\nviolent despair had yielded to a calm resignation which surprised\nall who knew his excessive affection for Valentine. M. de Villefort\nhad not seen his father since the morning of the death. The whole\nestablishment had been changed; another valet was engaged for\nhimself, a new servant for Noirtier, two women had entered Madame\nde Villefort's service, — in fact, everywhere, to the concierge and\ncoachmen, new faces were presented to the different masters of the\nhouse, thus widening the division which had always existed between\nthe members of the same family.\nThe assizes, also, were about to begin, and Villefort, shut up\nin his room, exerted himself with feverish anxiety in drawing up\nthe case against the murderer of Caderousse. This affair, like all\nthose in which the Count of Monte Cristo had interfered, caused a\ngreat sensation in Paris. The proofs were certainly not convincing,\nsince they rested upon a few words written by an escaped\ngalley-slave on his death-bed, and who might have been actuated by\nhatred or revenge in accusing his companion. But the mind of the\nprocureur was made up; he felt assured that Benedetto was guilty,\nand he hoped by his skill in conducting this aggravated case to\nflatter his self-love, which was about the only vulnerable point\nleft in his frozen heart.\nThe case was therefore prepared owing to the incessant labor of\nVillefort, who wished it to be the first on the list in the coming\nassizes. He had been obliged to seclude himself more than ever, to\nevade the enormous number of applications presented to him for the\npurpose of obtaining tickets of admission to the court on the daypurpose of obtaining tickets of admission to the court on the day\nof trial. And then so short a time had elapsed since the death of\npoor Valentine, and the gloom which overshadowed the house was so\nrecent, that no one wondered to see the father so absorbed in his\nprofessional duties, which were the only means he had of\ndissipating his grief.\nOnce only had Villefort seen his father; it was the day after\nthat upon which Bertuccio had paid his second visit to Benedetto,\nwhen the latter was to learn his father's name. The magistrate,\nharassed and fatigued, had descended to the garden of his house,\nand in a gloomy mood, similar to that in which Tarquin lopped off\nthe tallest poppies, he began knocking off with his cane the long\nand dying branches of the rose-trees, which, placed along the\navenue, seemed like the spectres of the brilliant flowers which had\nbloomed in the past season. More than once he had reached that part\nof the garden where the famous boarded gate stood overlooking the\ndeserted enclosure, always returning by the same path, to begin his\nwalk again, at the same pace and with the same gesture, when he\naccidentally turned his eyes towards the house, whence he heard the\nnoisy play of his son, who had returned from school to spend the\nSunday and Monday with his mother. While doing so, he observed M.\nNoirtier at one of the open windows, where the old man had been\nplaced that he might enjoy the last rays of the sun which yet\nyielded some heat, and was now shining upon the dying flowers and\nred leaves of the creeper which twined around the balcony.\nThe eye of the old man was riveted upon a spot which Villefort\ncould scarcely distinguish. His glance was so full of hate, of\nferocity, and savage impatience, that Villefort turned out of the\npath he had been pursuing, to see upon what person this dark look\nwas directed. Then he saw beneath a thick clump of linden-trees,\nwhich were nearly divested of foliage, Madame de Villefort sitting\nwith a book in her hand, the perusal of which she frequentlywith a book in her hand, the perusal of which she frequently\ninterrupted to smile upon her son, or to throw back his elastic\nball, which he obstinately threw from the drawing-room into the\ngarden. Villefort became pale; he understood the old man's meaning.\nNoirtier continued to look at the same object, but suddenly his\nglance was transferred from the wife to the husband, and Villefort\nhimself had to submit to the searching investigation of eyes,\nwhich, while changing their direction and even their language, had\nlost none of their menacing expression. Madame de Villefort,\nunconscious of the passions that exhausted their fire over her\nhead, at that moment held her son's ball, and was making signs to\nhim to reclaim it with a kiss. Edward begged for a long while, the\nmaternal kiss probably not offering sufficient recompense for the\ntrouble he must take to obtain it; however at length he decided,\nleaped out of the window into a cluster of heliotropes and daisies,\nand ran to his mother, his forehead streaming with perspiration.\nMadame de Villefort wiped his forehead, pressed her lips upon it,\nand sent him back with the ball in one hand and some bonbons in the\nother.\nVillefort, drawn by an irresistible attraction, like that of the\nbird to the serpent, walked towards the house. As he approached it,\nNoirtier's gaze followed him, and his eyes appeared of such a fiery\nbrightness that Villefort felt them pierce to the depths of his\nheart. In that earnest look might be read a deep reproach, as well\nas a terrible menace. Then Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven, as\nthough to remind his son of a forgotten oath. \"It is well, sir,\"\nreplied Villefort from below, — \"it is well; have patience but one\nday longer; what I have said I will do.\" Noirtier seemed to be\ncalmed by these words, and turned his eyes with indifference to the\nother side. Villefort violently unbuttoned his great-coat, which\nseemed to strangle him, and passing his livid hand across his\nforehead, entered his study."}
{"text": "seemed to strangle him, and passing his livid hand across his\nforehead, entered his study.\nThe night was cold and still; the family had all retired to rest\nbut Villefort, who alone remained up, and worked till five o'clock\nin the morning, reviewing the last interrogatories made the night\nbefore by the examining magistrates, compiling the depositions of\nthe witnesses, and putting the finishing stroke to the deed of\naccusation, which was one of the most energetic and best conceived\nof any he had yet delivered.\nThe next day, Monday, was the first sitting of the assizes. The\nmorning dawned dull and gloomy, and Villefort saw the dim gray\nlight shine upon the lines he had traced in red ink. The magistrate\nhad slept for a short time while the lamp sent forth its final\nstruggles; its flickerings awoke him, and he found his fingers as\ndamp and purple as though they had been dipped in blood. He opened\nthe window; a bright yellow streak crossed the sky, and seemed to\ndivide in half the poplars, which stood out in black relief on the\nhorizon. In the clover-fields beyond the chestnut-trees, a lark was\nmounting up to heaven, while pouring out her clear morning song.\nThe damps of the dew bathed the head of Villefort, and refreshed\nhis memory. \"To-day,\" he said with an effort, — \"to-day the man who\nholds the blade of justice must strike wherever there is guilt.\"\nInvoluntarily his eyes wandered towards the window of Noirtier's\nroom, where he had seen him the preceding night. The curtain was\ndrawn, and yet the image of his father was so vivid to his mind\nthat he addressed the closed window as though it had been open, and\nas if through the opening he had beheld the menacing old man.\n\"Yes,\" he murmured, — \"yes, be satisfied.\"\nHis head dropped upon his chest, and in this position he paced\nhis study; then he threw himself, dressed as he was, upon a sofa,\nless to sleep than to rest his limbs, cramped with cold and study.\nBy degrees every one awoke. Villefort, from his study, heard theBy degrees every one awoke. Villefort, from his study, heard the\nsuccessive noises which accompany the life of a house, — the\nopening and shutting of doors, the ringing of Madame de Villefort's\nbell, to summon the waiting-maid, mingled with the first shouts of\nthe child, who rose full of the enjoyment of his age. Villefort\nalso rang; his new valet brought him the papers, and with them a\ncup of chocolate.\n\"What are you bringing me?\" said he.\n\"A cup of chocolate.\"\n\"I did not ask for it. Who has paid me this attention?\"\n\"My mistress, sir. She said you would have to speak a great deal\nin the murder case, and that you should take something to keep up\nyour strength;\" and the valet placed the cup on the table nearest\nto the sofa, which was, like all the rest, covered with papers. The\nvalet then left the room. Villefort looked for an instant with a\ngloomy expression, then, suddenly, taking it up with a nervous\nmotion, he swallowed its contents at one draught. It might have\nbeen thought that he hoped the beverage would be mortal, and that\nhe sought for death to deliver him from a duty which he would\nrather die than fulfil. He then rose, and paced his room with a\nsmile it would have been terrible to witness. The chocolate was\ninoffensive, for M. de Villefort felt no effects. The\nbreakfast-hour arrived, but M. de Villefort was not at table. The\nvalet re-entered.\n\"Madame de Villefort wishes to remind you, sir,\" he said, \"that\neleven o'clock has just struck, and that the trial commences at\ntwelve.\"\n\"Well,\" said Villefort, \"what then?\"\n\"Madame de Villefort is dressed; she is quite ready, and wishes\nto know if she is to accompany you, sir?\"\n\"Where to?\"\n\"To the Palais.\"\n\"What to do?\"\n\"My mistress wishes much to be present at the trial.\"\n\"Ah,\" said Villefort, with a startling accent; \"does she wish\nthat?\" — The man drew back and said, \"If you wish to go alone, sir,\nI will go and tell my mistress.\" Villefort remained silent for a\nmoment, and dented his pale cheeks with his nails. \"Tell yourmoment, and dented his pale cheeks with his nails. \"Tell your\nmistress,\" he at length answered, \"that I wish to speak to her, and\nI beg she will wait for me in her own room.\"\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\"Then come to dress and shave me.\"\n\"Directly, sir.\" The valet re-appeared almost instantly, and,\nhaving shaved his master, assisted him to dress entirely in black.\nWhen he had finished, he said, —\n\"My mistress said she should expect you, sir, as soon as you had\nfinished dressing.\"\n\"I am going to her.\" And Villefort, with his papers under his\narm and hat in hand, directed his steps toward the apartment of his\nwife. At the door he paused for a moment to wipe his damp, pale\nbrow. He then entered the room. Madame de Villefort was sitting on\nan ottoman and impatiently turning over the leaves of some\nnewspapers and pamphlets which young Edward, by way of amusing\nhimself, was tearing to pieces before his mother could finish\nreading them. She was dressed to go out, her bonnet was placed\nbeside her on a chair, and her gloves were on her hands.\n\"Ah, here you are, monsieur,\" she said in her naturally calm\nvoice; \"but how pale you are! Have you been working all night? Why\ndid you not come down to breakfast? Well, will you take me, or\nshall I take Edward?\" Madame de Villefort had multiplied her\nquestions in order to gain one answer, but to all her inquiries M.\nde Villefort remained mute and cold as a statue. \"Edward,\" said\nVillefort, fixing an imperious glance on the child, \"go and play in\nthe drawing-room, my dear; I wish to speak to your mamma.\" Madame\nde Villefort shuddered at the sight of that cold countenance, that\nresolute tone, and the awfully strange preliminaries. Edward raised\nhis head, looked at his mother, and then, finding that she did not\nconfirm the order, began cutting off the heads of his leaden\nsoldiers.\n\"Edward,\" cried M. de Villefort, so harshly that the child\nstarted up from the floor, \"do you hear me? — Go!\" The child,\nunaccustomed to such treatment, arose, pale and trembling; it would"}
{"text": "unaccustomed to such treatment, arose, pale and trembling; it would\nbe difficult to say whether his emotion were caused by fear or\npassion. His father went up to him, took him in his arms, and\nkissed his forehead. \"Go,\" he said: \"go, my child.\" Edward ran out.\nM. de Villefort went to the door, which he closed behind the child,\nand bolted. \"Dear me!\" said the young woman, endeavoring to read\nher husband's inmost thoughts, while a smile passed over her\ncountenance which froze the impassibility of Villefort; \"what is\nthe matter?\"\n\"Madame, where do you keep the poison you generally use?\" said\nthe magistrate, without any introduction, placing himself between\nhis wife and the door.\nMadame de Villefort must have experienced something of the\nsensation of a bird which, looking up, sees the murderous trap\nclosing over its head. A hoarse, broken tone, which was neither a\ncry nor a sigh, escaped from her, while she became deadly pale.\n\"Monsieur,\" she said, \"I — I do not understand you.\" And, in her\nfirst paroxysm of terror, she had raised herself from the sofa, in\nthe next, stronger very likely than the other, she fell down again\non the cushions. \"I asked you,\" continued Villefort, in a perfectly\ncalm tone, \"where you conceal the poison by the aid of which you\nhave killed my father-in-law, M. de Saint-Meran, my mother-in-law,\nMadame de Saint-Meran, Barrois, and my daughter Valentine.\"\n\"Ah, sir,\" exclaimed Madame de Villefort, clasping her hands,\n\"what do you say?\"\n\"It is not for you to interrogate, but to answer.\"\n\"Is it to the judge or to the husband?\" stammered Madame de\nVillefort. \"To the judge — to the judge, madame!\" It was terrible\nto behold the frightful pallor of that woman, the anguish of her\nlook, the trembling of her whole frame. \"Ah, sir,\" she muttered,\n\"ah, sir,\" and this was all.\n\"You do not answer, madame!\" exclaimed the terrible\ninterrogator. Then he added, with a smile yet more terrible than\nhis anger, \"It is true, then; you do not deny it!\" She movedhis anger, \"It is true, then; you do not deny it!\" She moved\nforward. \"And you cannot deny it!\" added Villefort, extending his\nhand toward her, as though to seize her in the name of justice.\n\"You have accomplished these different crimes with impudent\naddress, but which could only deceive those whose affections for\nyou blinded them. Since the death of Madame de Saint-Meran, I have\nknown that a poisoner lived in my house. M. d'Avrigny warned me of\nit. After the death of Barrois my suspicions were directed towards\nan angel, — those suspicions which, even when there is no crime,\nare always alive in my heart; but after the death of Valentine,\nthere has been no doubt in my mind, madame, and not only in mine,\nbut in those of others; thus your crime, known by two persons,\nsuspected by many, will soon become public, and, as I told you just\nnow, you no longer speak to the husband, but to the judge.\"\nThe young woman hid her face in her hands. \"Oh, sir,\" she\nstammered, \"I beseech you, do not believe appearances.\"\n\"Are you, then, a coward?\" cried Villefort, in a contemptuous\nvoice. \"But I have always observed that poisoners were cowards. Can\nyou be a coward, — you who have had the courage to witness the\ndeath of two old men and a young girl murdered by you?\"\n\"Sir! sir!\"\n\"Can you be a coward?\" continued Villefort, with increasing\nexcitement, \"you, who could count, one by one, the minutes of four\ndeath agonies? You, who have arranged your infernal plans, and\nremoved the beverages with a talent and precision almost\nmiraculous? Have you, then, who have calculated everything with\nsuch nicety, have you forgotten to calculate one thing — I mean\nwhere the revelation of your crimes will lead you to? Oh, it is\nimpossible — you must have saved some surer, more subtle and deadly\npoison than any other, that you might escape the punishment that\nyou deserve. You have done this — I hope so, at least.\" Madame de\nVillefort stretched out her hands, and fell on her knees.\n\"I understand,\" he said, \"you confess; but a confession made to\"I understand,\" he said, \"you confess; but a confession made to\nthe judges, a confession made at the last moment, extorted when the\ncrime cannot be denied, diminishes not the punishment inflicted on\nthe guilty!\"\n\"The punishment?\" exclaimed Madame de Villefort, \"the\npunishment, monsieur? Twice you have pronounced that word!\"\n\"Certainly. Did you hope to escape it because you were four\ntimes guilty? Did you think the punishment would be withheld\nbecause you are the wife of him who pronounces it? — No, madame,\nno; the scaffold awaits the poisoner, whoever she may be, unless,\nas I just said, the poisoner has taken the precaution of keeping\nfor herself a few drops of her deadliest potion.\" Madame de\nVillefort uttered a wild cry, and a hideous and uncontrollable\nterror spread over her distorted features. \"Oh, do not fear the\nscaffold, madame,\" said the magistrate; \"I will not dishonor you,\nsince that would be dishonor to myself; no, if you have heard me\ndistinctly, you will understand that you are not to die on the\nscaffold.\"\n\"No, I do not understand; what do you mean?\" stammered the\nunhappy woman, completely overwhelmed. \"I mean that the wife of the\nfirst magistrate in the capital shall not, by her infamy, soil an\nunblemished name; that she shall not, with one blow, dishonor her\nhusband and her child.\"\n\"No, no — oh, no!\"\n\"Well, madame, it will be a laudable action on your part, and I\nwill thank you for it!\"\n\"You will thank me — for what?\"\n\"For what you have just said.\"\n\"What did I say? Oh, my brain whirls; I no longer understand\nanything. Oh, my God, my God!\" And she rose, with her hair\ndishevelled, and her lips foaming.\n\"Have you answered the question I put to you on entering the\nroom? — where do you keep the poison you generally use, madame?\"\nMadame de Villefort raised her arms to heaven, and convulsively\nstruck one hand against the other. \"No, no,\" she vociferated, \"no,\nyou cannot wish that!\"\n\"What I do not wish, madame, is that you should perish on the\nscaffold. Do you understand?\" asked Villefort."}
{"text": "scaffold. Do you understand?\" asked Villefort.\n\"Oh, mercy, mercy, monsieur!\"\n\"What I require is, that justice be done. I am on the earth to\npunish, madame,\" he added, with a flaming glance; \"any other woman,\nwere it the queen herself, I would send to the executioner; but to\nyou I shall be merciful. To you I will say, `Have you not, madame,\nput aside some of the surest, deadliest, most speedy poison?'\"\n\"Oh, pardon me, sir; let me live!\"\n\"She is cowardly,\" said Villefort.\n\"Reflect that I am your wife!\"\n\"You are a poisoner.\"\n\"In the name of heaven!\"\n\"No!\"\n\"In the name of the love you once bore me!\"\n\"No, no!\"\n\"In the name of our child! Ah, for the sake of our child, let me\nlive!\"\n\"No, no, no, I tell you; one day, if I allow you to live, you\nwill perhaps kill him, as you have the others!\"\n\"I? — I kill my boy?\" cried the distracted mother, rushing\ntoward Villefort; \"I kill my son? Ha, ha, ha!\" and a frightful,\ndemoniac laugh finished the sentence, which was lost in a hoarse\nrattle. Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He\napproached her. \"Think of it, madame,\" he said; \"if, on my return,\njustice his not been satisfied, I will denounce you with my own\nmouth, and arrest you with my own hands!\" She listened, panting,\noverwhelmed, crushed; her eye alone lived, and glared horribly. \"Do\nyou understand me?\" he said. \"I am going down there to pronounce\nthe sentence of death against a murderer. If I find you alive on my\nreturn, you shall sleep to-night in the conciergerie.\" Madame de\nVillefort sighed; her nerves gave way, and she sunk on the carpet.\nThe king's attorney seemed to experience a sensation of pity; he\nlooked upon her less severely, and, bowing to her, said slowly,\n\"Farewell, madame, farewell!\" That farewell struck Madame de\nVillefort like the executioner's knife. She fainted. The procureur\nwent out, after having double-locked the door.The judges took their places in the midst of the most profound\nsilence; the jury took their seats; M. de Villefort, the object of\nunusual attention, and we had almost said of general admiration,\nsat in the arm-chair and cast a tranquil glance around him. Every\none looked with astonishment on that grave and severe face, whose\ncalm expression personal griefs had been unable to disturb, and the\naspect of a man who was a stranger to all human emotions excited\nsomething very like terror.\n\"Gendarmes,\" said the president, \"lead in the accused.\"\nAt these words the public attention became more intense, and all\neyes were turned towards the door through which Benedetto was to\nenter. The door soon opened and the accused appeared. The same\nimpression was experienced by all present, and no one was deceived\nby the expression of his countenance. His features bore no sign of\nthat deep emotion which stops the beating of the heart and blanches\nthe cheek. His hands, gracefully placed, one upon his hat, the\nother in the opening of his white waistcoat, were not at all\ntremulous; his eye was calm and even brilliant. Scarcely had he\nentered the hall when he glanced at the whole body of magistrates\nand assistants; his eye rested longer on the president, and still\nmore so on the king's attorney. By the side of Andrea was stationed\nthe lawyer who was to conduct his defence, and who had been\nappointed by the court, for Andrea disdained to pay any attention\nto those details, to which he appeared to attach no importance. The\nlawyer was a young man with light hair whose face expressed a\nhundred times more emotion than that which characterized the\nprisoner.\nThe president called for the indictment, revised as we know, by\nthe clever and implacable pen of Villefort. During the reading of\nthis, which was long, the public attention was continually drawn\ntowards Andrea, who bore the inspection with Spartan unconcern.\nVillefort had never been so concise and eloquent. The crime was\ndepicted in the most vivid colors; the former life of the prisoner,depicted in the most vivid colors; the former life of the prisoner,\nhis transformation, a review of his life from the earliest period,\nwere set forth with all the talent that a knowledge of human life\ncould furnish to a mind like that of the procureur. Benedetto was\nthus forever condemned in public opinion before the sentence of the\nlaw could be pronounced. Andrea paid no attention to the successive\ncharges which were brought against him. M. de Villefort, who\nexamined him attentively, and who no doubt practiced upon him all\nthe psychological studies he was accustomed to use, in vain\nendeavored to make him lower his eyes, notwithstanding the depth\nand profundity of his gaze. At length the reading of the indictment\nwas ended.\n\"Accused,\" said the president, \"your name and surname?\" Andrea\narose. \"Excuse me, Mr. President,\" he said, in a clear voice, \"but\nI see you are going to adopt a course of questions through which I\ncannot follow you. I have an idea, which I will explain by and by,\nof making an exception to the usual form of accusation. Allow me,\nthen, if you please, to answer in different order, or I will not do\nso at all.\" The astonished president looked at the jury, who in\nturn looked at Villefort. The whole assembly manifested great\nsurprise, but Andrea appeared quite unmoved. \"Your age?\" said the\npresident; \"will you answer that question?\"\n\"I will answer that question, as well as the rest, Mr.\nPresident, but in its turn.\"\n\"Your age?\" repeated the president.\n\"I am twenty-one years old, or rather I shall be in a few days,\nas I was born the night of the 27th of September, 1817.\" M. de\nVillefort, who was busy taking down some notes, raised his head at\nthe mention of this date. \"Where were you born?\" continued the\npresident.\n\"At Auteuil, near Paris.\" M. de Villefort a second time raised\nhis head, looked at Benedetto as if he had been gazing at the head\nof Medusa, and became livid. As for Benedetto, he gracefully wiped\nhis lips with a fine cambric pocket-handkerchief. \"Your\nprofession?\""}
{"text": "his lips with a fine cambric pocket-handkerchief. \"Your\nprofession?\"\n\"First I was a forger,\" answered Andrea, as calmly as possible;\n\"then I became a thief, and lately have become an assassin.\" A\nmurmur, or rather storm, of indignation burst from all parts of the\nassembly. The judges themselves appeared to be stupefied, and the\njury manifested tokens of disgust for cynicism so unexpected in a\nman of fashion. M. de Villefort pressed his hand upon his brow,\nwhich, at first pale, had become red and burning; then he suddenly\narose and looked around as though he had lost his senses — he\nwanted air.\n\"Are you looking for anything, Mr. Procureur?\" asked Benedetto,\nwith his most ingratiating smile. M. de Villefort answered nothing,\nbut sat, or rather threw himself down again upon his chair. \"And\nnow, prisoner, will you consent to tell your name?\" said the\npresident. \"The brutal affectation with which you have enumerated\nand classified your crimes calls for a severe reprimand on the part\nof the court, both in the name of morality, and for the respect due\nto humanity. You appear to consider this a point of honor, and it\nmay be for this reason, that you have delayed acknowledging your\nname. You wished it to be preceded by all these titles.\"\n\"It is quite wonderful, Mr. President, how entirely you have\nread my thoughts,\" said Benedetto, in his softest voice and most\npolite manner. \"This is, indeed, the reason why I begged you to\nalter the order of the questions.\" The public astonishment had\nreached its height. There was no longer any deceit or bravado in\nthe manner of the accused. The audience felt that a startling\nrevelation was to follow this ominous prelude.\n\"Well,\" said the president; \"your name?\"\n\"I cannot tell you my name, since I do not know it; but I know\nmy father's, and can tell it to you.\"\nA painful giddiness overwhelmed Villefort; great drops of acrid\nsweat fell from his face upon the papers which he held in his\nconvulsed hand.\n\"Repeat your father's name,\" said the president. Not a whisper,convulsed hand.\n\"Repeat your father's name,\" said the president. Not a whisper,\nnot a breath, was heard in that vast assembly; every one waited\nanxiously.\n\"My father is king's attorney,\" replied Andrea calmly.\n\"King's attorney?\" said the president, stupefied, and without\nnoticing the agitation which spread over the face of M. de\nVillefort; \"king's attorney?\"\n\"Yes; and if you wish to know his name, I will tell it, — he is\nnamed Villefort.\" The explosion, which had been so long restrained\nfrom a feeling of respect to the court of justice, now burst forth\nlike thunder from the breasts of all present; the court itself did\nnot seek to restrain the feelings of the audience. The\nexclamations, the insults addressed to Benedetto, who remained\nperfectly unconcerned, the energetic gestures, the movement of the\ngendarmes, the sneers of the scum of the crowd always sure to rise\nto the surface in case of any disturbance — all this lasted five\nminutes, before the door-keepers and magistrates were able to\nrestore silence. In the midst of this tumult the voice of the\npresident was heard to exclaim, — \"Are you playing with justice,\naccused, and do you dare set your fellow-citizens an example of\ndisorder which even in these times has never been equalled?\"\nSeveral persons hurried up to M. de Villefort, who sat half\nbowed over in his chair, offering him consolation, encouragement,\nand protestations of zeal and sympathy. Order was re-established in\nthe hall, except that a few people still moved about and whispered\nto one another. A lady, it was said, had just fainted; they had\nsupplied her with a smelling-bottle, and she had recovered. During\nthe scene of tumult, Andrea had turned his smiling face towards the\nassembly; then, leaning with one hand on the oaken rail of the\ndock, in the most graceful attitude possible, he said: \"Gentlemen,\nI assure you I had no idea of insulting the court, or of making a\nuseless disturbance in the presence of this honorable assembly.\nThey ask my age; I tell it. They ask where I was born; I answer.They ask my age; I tell it. They ask where I was born; I answer.\nThey ask my name, I cannot give it, since my parents abandoned me.\nBut though I cannot give my own name, not possessing one, I can\ntell them my father's. Now I repeat, my father is named M. de\nVillefort, and I am ready to prove it.\"\nThere was an energy, a conviction, and a sincerity in the manner\nof the young man, which silenced the tumult. All eyes were turned\nfor a moment towards the procureur, who sat as motionless as though\na thunderbolt had changed him into a corpse. \"Gentlemen,\" said\nAndrea, commanding silence by his voice and manner; \"I owe you the\nproofs and explanations of what I have said.\"\n\"But,\" said the irritated president, \"you called yourself\nBenedetto, declared yourself an orphan, and claimed Corsica as your\ncountry.\"\n\"I said anything I pleased, in order that the solemn declaration\nI have just made should not be withheld, which otherwise would\ncertainly have been the case. I now repeat that I was born at\nAuteuil on the night of the 27th of September, 1817, and that I am\nthe son of the procureur, M. de Villefort. Do you wish for any\nfurther details? I will give them. I was born in No. 28, Rue de la\nFontaine, in a room hung with red damask; my father took me in his\narms, telling my mother I was dead, wrapped me in a napkin marked\nwith an H and an N, and carried me into a garden, where he buried\nme alive.\"\nA shudder ran through the assembly when they saw that the\nconfidence of the prisoner increased in proportion to the terror of\nM. de Villefort. \"But how have you become acquainted with all these\ndetails?\" asked the president.\n\"I will tell you, Mr. President. A man who had sworn vengeance\nagainst my father, and had long watched his opportunity to kill\nhim, had introduced himself that night into the garden in which my\nfather buried me. He was concealed in a thicket; he saw my father\nbury something in the ground, and stabbed him; then thinking the\ndeposit might contain some treasure he turned up the ground, and"}
{"text": "deposit might contain some treasure he turned up the ground, and\nfound me still living. The man carried me to the foundling asylum,\nwhere I was registered under the number 37. Three months\nafterwards, a woman travelled from Rogliano to Paris to fetch me,\nand having claimed me as her son, carried me away. Thus, you see,\nthough born in Paris, I was brought up in Corsica.\"\nThere was a moment's silence, during which one could have\nfancied the hall empty, so profound was the stillness. \"Proceed,\"\nsaid the president.\n\"Certainly, I might have lived happily amongst those good\npeople, who adored me, but my perverse disposition prevailed over\nthe virtues which my adopted mother endeavored to instil into my\nheart. I increased in wickedness till I committed crime. One day\nwhen I cursed providence for making me so wicked, and ordaining me\nto such a fate, my adopted father said to me, `Do not blaspheme,\nunhappy child, the crime is that of your father, not yours, — of\nyour father, who consigned you to hell if you died, and to misery\nif a miracle preserved you alive.' After that I ceased to\nblaspheme, but I cursed my father. That is why I have uttered the\nwords for which you blame me; that is why I have filled this whole\nassembly with horror. If I have committed an additional crime,\npunish me, but if you will allow that ever since the day of my\nbirth my fate has been sad, bitter, and lamentable, then pity\nme.\"\n\"But your mother?\" asked the president.\n\"My mother thought me dead; she is not guilty. I did not even\nwish to know her name, nor do I know it.\" Just then a piercing cry,\nending in a sob, burst from the centre of the crowd, who encircled\nthe lady who had before fainted, and who now fell into a violent\nfit of hysterics. She was carried out of the hall, the thick veil\nwhich concealed her face dropped off, and Madame Danglars was\nrecognized. Notwithstanding his shattered nerves, the ringing\nsensation in his ears, and the madness which turned his brain,\nVillefort rose as he perceived her. \"The proofs, the proofs!\" saidVillefort rose as he perceived her. \"The proofs, the proofs!\" said\nthe president; \"remember this tissue of horrors must be supported\nby the clearest proofs \"\n\"The proofs?\" said Benedetto, laughing; \"do you want\nproofs?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Well, then, look at M. de Villefort, and then ask me for\nproofs.\"\nEvery one turned towards the procureur, who, unable to bear the\nuniversal gaze now riveted on him alone, advanced staggering into\nthe midst of the tribunal, with his hair dishevelled and his face\nindented with the mark of his nails. The whole assembly uttered a\nlong murmur of astonishment. \"Father,\" said Benedetto, \"I am asked\nfor proofs, do you wish me to give them?\"\n\"No, no, it is useless,\" stammered M. de Villefort in a hoarse\nvoice; \"no, it is useless!\"\n\"How useless?\" cried the president, \"what do you mean?\"\n\"I mean that I feel it impossible to struggle against this\ndeadly weight which crushes me. Gentlemen, I know I am in the hands\nof an avenging God! We need no proofs; everything relating to this\nyoung man is true.\" A dull, gloomy silence, like that which\nprecedes some awful phenomenon of nature, pervaded the assembly,\nwho shuddered in dismay. \"What, M. de Villefort,\" cried the\npresident, \"do you yield to an hallucination? What, are you no\nlonger in possession of your senses? This strange, unexpected,\nterrible accusation has disordered your reason. Come, recover.\"\nThe procureur dropped his head; his teeth chattered like those\nof a man under a violent attack of fever, and yet he was deadly\npale.\n\"I am in possession of all my senses, sir,\" he said; \"my body\nalone suffers, as you may suppose. I acknowledge myself guilty of\nall the young man has brought against me, and from this hour hold\nmyself under the authority of the procureur who will succeed\nme.\"\nAnd as he spoke these words with a hoarse, choking voice, he\nstaggered towards the door, which was mechanically opened by a\ndoor-keeper. The whole assembly were dumb with astonishment at the\nrevelation and confession which had produced a catastrophe sorevelation and confession which had produced a catastrophe so\ndifferent from that which had been expected during the last\nfortnight by the Parisian world.\n\"Well,\" said Beauchamp, \"let them now say that drama is\nunnatural!\"\n\"Ma foi!\" said Chateau-Renaud, \"I would rather end my career\nlike M. de Morcerf; a pistol-shot seems quite delightful compared\nwith this catastrophe.\"\n\"And moreover, it kills,\" said Beauchamp.\n\"And to think that I had an idea of marrying his daughter,\" said\nDebray. \"She did well to die, poor girl!\"\n\"The sitting is adjourned, gentlemen,\" said the president;\n\"fresh inquiries will be made, and the case will be tried next\nsession by another magistrate.\" As for Andrea, who was calm and\nmore interesting than ever, he left the hall, escorted by\ngendarmes, who involuntarily paid him some attention. \"Well, what\ndo you think of this, my fine fellow?\" asked Debray of the\nsergeant-at-arms, slipping a louis into his hand. \"There will be\nextenuating circumstances,\" he replied.Notwithstanding the density of the crowd, M. de Villefort saw it\nopen before him. There is something so awe-inspiring in great\nafflictions that even in the worst times the first emotion of a\ncrowd has generally been to sympathize with the sufferer in a great\ncatastrophe. Many people have been assassinated in a tumult, but\neven criminals have rarely been insulted during trial. Thus\nVillefort passed through the mass of spectators and officers of the\nPalais, and withdrew. Though he had acknowledged his guilt, he was\nprotected by his grief. There are some situations which men\nunderstand by instinct, but which reason is powerless to explain;\nin such cases the greatest poet is he who gives utterance to the\nmost natural and vehement outburst of sorrow. Those who hear the\nbitter cry are as much impressed as if they listened to an entire\npoem, and when the sufferer is sincere they are right in regarding\nhis outburst as sublime.\nIt would be difficult to describe the state of stupor in which\nVillefort left the Palais. Every pulse beat with feverish\nexcitement, every nerve was strained, every vein swollen, and every\npart of his body seemed to suffer distinctly from the rest, thus\nmultiplying his agony a thousand-fold. He made his way along the\ncorridors through force of habit; he threw aside his magisterial\nrobe, not out of deference to etiquette, but because it was an\nunbearable burden, a veritable garb of Nessus, insatiate in\ntorture. Having staggered as far as the Rue Dauphine, he perceived\nhis carriage, awoke his sleeping coachman by opening the door\nhimself, threw himself on the cushions, and pointed towards the\nFaubourg Saint-Honore; the carriage drove on. The weight of his\nfallen fortunes seemed suddenly to crush him; he could not foresee\nthe consequences; he could not contemplate the future with the\nindifference of the hardened criminal who merely faces a\ncontingency already familiar. God was still in his heart. \"God,\" he\nmurmured, not knowing what he said, — \"God — God!\" Behind the event"}
{"text": "murmured, not knowing what he said, — \"God — God!\" Behind the event\nthat had overwhelmed him he saw the hand of God. The carriage\nrolled rapidly onward. Villefort, while turning restlessly on the\ncushions, felt something press against him. He put out his hand to\nremove the object; it was a fan which Madame de Villefort had left\nin the carriage; this fan awakened a recollection which darted\nthrough his mind like lightning. He thought of his wife.\n\"Oh!\" he exclaimed, as though a redhot iron were piercing his\nheart. During the last hour his own crime had alone been presented\nto his mind; now another object, not less terrible, suddenly\npresented itself. His wife! He had just acted the inexorable judge\nwith her, he had condemned her to death, and she, crushed by\nremorse, struck with terror, covered with the shame inspired by the\neloquence of his irreproachable virtue, — she, a poor, weak woman,\nwithout help or the power of defending herself against his absolute\nand supreme will, — she might at that very moment, perhaps, be\npreparing to die! An hour had elapsed since her condemnation; at\nthat moment, doubtless, she was recalling all her crimes to her\nmemory; she was asking pardon for her sins; perhaps she was even\nwriting a letter imploring forgiveness from her virtuous husband —\na forgiveness she was purchasing with her death! Villefort again\ngroaned with anguish and despair. \"Ah,\" he exclaimed, \"that woman\nbecame criminal only from associating with me! I carried the\ninfection of crime with me, and she has caught it as she would the\ntyphus fever, the cholera, the plague! And yet I have punished her\n— I have dared to tell her — I have — `Repent and die!' But no, she\nmust not die; she shall live, and with me. We will flee from Paris\nand go as far as the earth reaches. I told her of the scaffold; oh,\nheavens, I forgot that it awaits me also! How could I pronounce\nthat word? Yes, we will fly; I will confess all to her, — I will\ntell her daily that I also have committed a crime! — Oh, what antell her daily that I also have committed a crime! — Oh, what an\nalliance — the tiger and the serpent; worthy wife of such as I am!\nShe must live that my infamy may diminish hers.\" And Villefort\ndashed open the window in front of the carriage.\n\"Faster, faster!\" he cried, in a tone which electrified the\ncoachman. The horses, impelled by fear, flew towards the house.\n\"Yes, yes,\" repeated Villefort, as he approached his home —\n\"yes, that woman must live; she must repent, and educate my son,\nthe sole survivor, with the exception of the indestructible old\nman, of the wreck of my house. She loves him; it was for his sake\nshe has committed these crimes. We ought never to despair of\nsoftening the heart of a mother who loves her child. She will\nrepent, and no one will know that she has been guilty. The events\nwhich have taken place in my house, though they now occupy the\npublic mind, will be forgotten in time, or if, indeed, a few\nenemies should persist in remembering them, why then I will add\nthem to my list of crimes. What will it signify if one, two, or\nthree more are added? My wife and child shall escape from this\ngulf, carrying treasures with them; she will live and may yet be\nhappy, since her child, in whom all her love is centred, will be\nwith her. I shall have performed a good action, and my heart will\nbe lighter.\" And the procureur breathed more freely than he had\ndone for some time.\nThe carriage stopped at the door of the house. Villefort leaped\nout of the carriage, and saw that his servants were surprised at\nhis early return; he could read no other expression on their\nfeatures. Neither of them spoke to him; they merely stood aside to\nlet him pass by, as usual, nothing more. As he passed by M.\nNoirtier's room, he perceived two figures through the half-open\ndoor; but he experienced no curiosity to know who was visiting his\nfather: anxiety carried him on further.\n\"Come,\" he said, as he ascended the stairs leading to his wife's\nroom, \"nothing is changed here.\" He then closed the door of theroom, \"nothing is changed here.\" He then closed the door of the\nlanding. \"No one must disturb us,\" he said; \"I must speak freely to\nher, accuse myself, and say\" — he approached the door, touched the\ncrystal handle, which yielded to his hand. \"Not locked,\" he cried;\n\"that is well.\" And he entered the little room in which Edward\nslept; for though the child went to school during the day, his\nmother could not allow him to be separated from her at night. With\na single glance Villefort's eye ran through the room. \"Not here,\"\nhe said; \"doubtless she is in her bedroom.\" He rushed towards the\ndoor, found it bolted, and stopped, shuddering. \"Heloise!\" he\ncried. He fancied he heard the sound of a piece of furniture being\nremoved. \"Heloise!\" he repeated.\n\"Who is there?\" answered the voice of her he sought. He thought\nthat voice more feeble than usual.\n\"Open the door!\" cried Villefort. \"Open; it is I.\" But\nnotwithstanding this request, notwithstanding the tone of anguish\nin which it was uttered, the door remained closed. Villefort burst\nit open with a violent blow. At the entrance of the room which led\nto her boudoir, Madame de Villefort was standing erect, pale, her\nfeatures contracted, and her eyes glaring horribly. \"Heloise,\nHeloise!\" he said, \"what is the matter? Speak!\" The young woman\nextended her stiff white hands towards him. \"It is done, monsieur,\"\nshe said with a rattling noise which seemed to tear her throat.\n\"What more do you want?\" and she fell full length on the floor.\nVillefort ran to her and seized her hand, which convulsively\nclasped a crystal bottle with a golden stopper. Madame de Villefort\nwas dead. Villefort, maddened with horror, stepped back to the\nthreshhold of the door, fixing his eyes on the corpse: \"My son!\" he\nexclaimed suddenly, \"where is my son? — Edward, Edward!\" and he\nrushed out of the room, still crying, \"Edward, Edward!\" The name\nwas pronounced in such a tone of anguish that the servants ran\nup.\n\"Where is my son?\" asked Villefort; \"let him be removed from the\nhouse, that he may not see\" —"}
{"text": "up.\n\"Where is my son?\" asked Villefort; \"let him be removed from the\nhouse, that he may not see\" —\n\"Master Edward is not down-stairs, sir,\" replied the valet.\n\"Then he must be playing in the garden; go and see.\"\n\"No, sir; Madame de Villefort sent for him half an hour ago; he\nwent into her room, and has not been down-stairs since.\" A cold\nperspiration burst out on Villefort's brow; his legs trembled, and\nhis thoughts flew about madly in his brain like the wheels of a\ndisordered watch. \"In Madame de Villefort's room?\" he murmured and\nslowly returned, with one hand wiping his forehead, and with the\nother supporting himself against the wall. To enter the room he\nmust again see the body of his unfortunate wife. To call Edward he\nmust reawaken the echo of that room which now appeared like a\nsepulchre; to speak seemed like violating the silence of the tomb.\nHis tongue was paralyzed in his mouth.\n\"Edward!\" he stammered — \"Edward!\" The child did not answer.\nWhere, then, could he be, if he had entered his mother's room and\nnot since returned? He stepped forward. The corpse of Madame de\nVillefort was stretched across the doorway leading to the room in\nwhich Edward must be; those glaring eyes seemed to watch over the\nthreshold, and the lips bore the stamp of a terrible and mysterious\nirony. Through the open door was visible a portion of the boudoir,\ncontaining an upright piano and a blue satin couch. Villefort\nstepped forward two or three paces, and beheld his child lying — no\ndoubt asleep — on the sofa. The unhappy man uttered an exclamation\nof joy; a ray of light seemed to penetrate the abyss of despair and\ndarkness. He had only to step over the corpse, enter the boudoir,\ntake the child in his arms, and flee far, far away.\nVillefort was no longer the civilized man; he was a tiger hurt\nunto death, gnashing his teeth in his wound. He no longer feared\nrealities, but phantoms. He leaped over the corpse as if it had\nbeen a burning brazier. He took the child in his arms, embracedbeen a burning brazier. He took the child in his arms, embraced\nhim, shook him, called him, but the child made no response. He\npressed his burning lips to the cheeks, but they were icy cold and\npale; he felt the stiffened limbs; he pressed his hand upon the\nheart, but it no longer beat, — the child was dead. A folded paper\nfell from Edward's breast. Villefort, thunderstruck, fell upon his\nknees; the child dropped from his arms, and rolled on the floor by\nthe side of its mother. He picked up the paper, and, recognizing\nhis wife's writing, ran his eyes rapidly over its contents; it ran\nas follows: —\n\"You know that I was a good mother, since it was for my son's\nsake I became criminal. A good mother cannot depart without her\nson.\"\nVillefort could not believe his eyes, — he could not believe his\nreason; he dragged himself towards the child's body, and examined\nit as a lioness contemplates its dead cub. Then a piercing cry\nescaped from his breast, and he cried, \"Still the hand of God.\" The\npresence of the two victims alarmed him; he could not bear solitude\nshared only by two corpses. Until then he had been sustained by\nrage, by his strength of mind, by despair, by the supreme agony\nwhich led the Titans to scale the heavens, and Ajax to defy the\ngods. He now arose, his head bowed beneath the weight of grief,\nand, shaking his damp, dishevelled hair, he who had never felt\ncompassion for any one determined to seek his father, that he might\nhave some one to whom he could relate his misfortunes, — some one\nby whose side he might weep. He descended the little staircase with\nwhich we are acquainted, and entered Noirtier's room. The old man\nappeared to be listening attentively and as affectionately as his\ninfirmities would allow to the Abbe Busoni, who looked cold and\ncalm, as usual. Villefort, perceiving the abbe, passed his hand\nacross his brow. He recollected the call he had made upon him after\nthe dinner at Auteuil, and then the visit the abbe had himself paidthe dinner at Auteuil, and then the visit the abbe had himself paid\nto his house on the day of Valentine's death. \"You here, sir!\" he\nexclaimed; \"do you, then, never appear but to act as an escort to\ndeath?\"\nBusoni turned around, and, perceiving the excitement depicted on\nthe magistrate's face, the savage lustre of his eyes, he understood\nthat the revelation had been made at the assizes; but beyond this\nhe was ignorant. \"I came to pray over the body of your\ndaughter.\"\n\"And now why are you here?\"\n\"I come to tell you that you have sufficiently repaid your debt,\nand that from this moment I will pray to God to forgive you, as I\ndo.\"\n\"Good heavens!\" exclaimed Villefort, stepping back fearfully,\n\"surely that is not the voice of the Abbe Busoni!\"\n\"No!\" The abbe threw off his wig, shook his head, and his hair,\nno longer confined, fell in black masses around his manly face.\n\"It is the face of the Count of Monte Cristo!\" exclaimed the\nprocureur, with a haggard expression.\n\"You are not exactly right, M. Procureur; you must go farther\nback.\"\n\"That voice, that voice! — where did I first hear it?\"\n\"You heard it for the first time at Marseilles, twenty-three\nyears ago, the day of your marriage with Mademoiselle de\nSaint-Meran. Refer to your papers.\"\n\"You are not Busoni? — you are not Monte Cristo? Oh, heavens —\nyou are, then, some secret, implacable, and mortal enemy! I must\nhave wronged you in some way at Marseilles. Oh, woe to me!\"\n\"Yes; you are now on the right path,\" said the count, crossing\nhis arms over his broad chest; \"search — search!\"\n\"But what have I done to you?\" exclaimed Villefort, whose mind\nwas balancing between reason and insanity, in that cloud which is\nneither a dream nor reality; \"what have I done to you? Tell me,\nthen! Speak!\"\n\"You condemned me to a horrible, tedious death; you killed my\nfather; you deprived me of liberty, of love, and happiness.\"\n\"Who are you, then? Who are you?\"\n\"I am the spectre of a wretch you buried in the dungeons of the"}
{"text": "\"Who are you, then? Who are you?\"\n\"I am the spectre of a wretch you buried in the dungeons of the\nChateau d'If. God gave that spectre the form of the Count of Monte\nCristo when he at length issued from his tomb, enriched him with\ngold and diamonds, and led him to you!\"\n\"Ah, I recognize you — I recognize you!\" exclaimed the king's\nattorney; \"you are\" —\n\"I am Edmond Dantes!\"\n\"You are Edmond Dantes,\" cried Villefort, seizing the count by\nthe wrist; \"then come here!\" And up the stairs he dragged Monte\nCristo; who, ignorant of what had happened, followed him in\nastonishment, foreseeing some new catastrophe. \"There, Edmond\nDantes!\" he said, pointing to the bodies of his wife and child,\n\"see, are you well avenged?\" Monte Cristo became pale at this\nhorrible sight; he felt that he had passed beyond the bounds of\nvengeance, and that he could no longer say, \"God is for and with\nme.\" With an expression of indescribable anguish he threw himself\nupon the body of the child, reopened its eyes, felt its pulse, and\nthen rushed with him into Valentine's room, of which he\ndouble-locked the door. \"My child,\" cried Villefort, \"he carries\naway the body of my child! Oh, curses, woe, death to you!\" and he\ntried to follow Monte Cristo; but as though in a dream he was\ntransfixed to the spot, — his eyes glared as though they were\nstarting through the sockets; he griped the flesh on his chest\nuntil his nails were stained with blood; the veins of his temples\nswelled and boiled as though they would burst their narrow\nboundary, and deluge his brain with living fire. This lasted\nseveral minutes, until the frightful overturn of reason was\naccomplished; then uttering a loud cry followed by a burst of\nlaughter, he rushed down the stairs.\nA quarter of an hour afterwards the door of Valentine's room\nopened, and Monte Cristo reappeared. Pale, with a dull eye and\nheavy heart, all the noble features of that face, usually so calm\nand serene, were overcast by grief. In his arms he held the child,and serene, were overcast by grief. In his arms he held the child,\nwhom no skill had been able to recall to life. Bending on one knee,\nhe placed it reverently by the side of its mother, with its head\nupon her breast. Then, rising, he went out, and meeting a servant\non the stairs, he asked, \"Where is M. de Villefort?\"\nThe servant, instead of answering, pointed to the garden. Monte\nCristo ran down the steps, and advancing towards the spot\ndesignated beheld Villefort, encircled by his servants, with a\nspade in his hand, and digging the earth with fury. \"It is not\nhere!\" he cried. \"It is not here!\" And then he moved farther on,\nand began again to dig.\nMonte Cristo approached him, and said in a low voice, with an\nexpression almost humble, \"Sir, you have indeed lost a son; but\"\n—\nVillefort interrupted him; he had neither listened nor heard.\n\"Oh, I will find it,\" he cried; \"you may pretend he is not here,\nbut I will find him, though I dig forever!\" Monte Cristo drew back\nin horror. \"Oh,\" he said, \"he is mad!\" And as though he feared that\nthe walls of the accursed house would crumble around him, he rushed\ninto the street, for the first time doubting whether he had the\nright to do as he had done. \"Oh, enough of this, — enough of this,\"\nhe cried; \"let me save the last.\" On entering his house, he met\nMorrel, who wandered about like a ghost awaiting the heavenly\nmandate for return to the tomb. \"Prepare yourself, Maximilian,\" he\nsaid with a smile; \"we leave Paris to-morrow.\"\n\"Have you nothing more to do there?\" asked Morrel.\n\"No,\" replied Monte Cristo; \"God grant I may not have done too\nmuch already.\"\nThe next day they indeed left, accompanied only by Baptistin.\nHaidee had taken away Ali, and Bertuccio remained with\nNoirtier.The recent event formed the theme of conversation throughout all\nParis. Emmanuel and his wife conversed with natural astonishment in\ntheir little apartment in the Rue Meslay upon the three successive,\nsudden, and most unexpected catastrophes of Morcerf, Danglars, and\nVillefort. Maximilian, who was paying them a visit, listened to\ntheir conversation, or rather was present at it, plunged in his\naccustomed state of apathy. \"Indeed,\" said Julie, \"might we not\nalmost fancy, Emmanuel, that those people, so rich, so happy but\nyesterday, had forgotten in their prosperity that an evil genius —\nlike the wicked fairies in Perrault's stories who present\nthemselves unbidden at a wedding or baptism — hovered over them,\nand appeared all at once to revenge himself for their fatal\nneglect?\"\n\"What a dire misfortune!\" said Emmanuel, thinking of Morcerf and\nDanglars.\n\"What dreadful sufferings!\" said Julie, remembering Valentine,\nbut whom, with a delicacy natural to women, she did not name before\nher brother.\n\"If the Supreme Being has directed the fatal blow,\" said\nEmmanuel, \"it must be that he in his great goodness has perceived\nnothing in the past lives of these people to merit mitigation of\ntheir awful punishment.\"\n\"Do you not form a very rash judgment, Emmanuel?\" said Julie.\n\"When my father, with a pistol in his hand, was once on the point\nof committing suicide, had any one then said, `This man deserves\nhis misery,' would not that person have been deceived?\"\n\"Yes; but your father was not allowed to fall. A being was\ncommissioned to arrest the fatal hand of death about to descend on\nhim.\"\nEmmanuel had scarcely uttered these words when the sound of the\nbell was heard, the well-known signal given by the porter that a\nvisitor had arrived. Nearly at the same instant the door was opened\nand the Count of Monte Cristo appeared on the threshold. The young\npeople uttered a cry of joy, while Maximilian raised his head, but\nlet it fall again immediately. \"Maximilian,\" said the count,"}
{"text": "let it fall again immediately. \"Maximilian,\" said the count,\nwithout appearing to notice the different impressions which his\npresence produced on the little circle, \"I come to seek you.\"\n\"To seek me?\" repeated Morrel, as if awakening from a dream.\n\"Yes,\" said Monte Cristo; \"has it not been agreed that I should\ntake you with me, and did I not tell you yesterday to prepare for\ndeparture?\"\n\"I am ready,\" said Maximilian; \"I came expressly to wish them\nfarewell.\"\n\"Whither are you going, count?\" asked Julie.\n\"In the first instance to Marseilles, madame.\"\n\"To Marseilles!\" exclaimed the young couple.\n\"Yes, and I take your brother with me.\"\n\"Oh, count.\" said Julie, \"will you restore him to us cured of\nhis melancholy?\" — Morrel turned away to conceal the confusion of\nhis countenance.\n\"You perceive, then, that he is not happy?\" said the count.\n\"Yes,\" replied the young woman; \"and fear much that he finds our\nhome but a dull one.\"\n\"I will undertake to divert him,\" replied the count.\n\"I am ready to accompany you, sir,\" said Maximilian. \"Adieu, my\nkind friends! Emmanuel — Julie — farewell!\"\n\"How farewell?\" exclaimed Julie; \"do you leave us thus, so\nsuddenly, without any preparations for your journey, without even a\npassport?\"\n\"Needless delays but increase the grief of parting,\" said Monte\nCristo, \"and Maximilian has doubtless provided himself with\neverything requisite; at least, I advised him to do so.\"\n\"I have a passport, and my clothes are ready packed,\" said\nMorrel in his tranquil but mournful manner.\n\"Good,\" said Monte Cristo, smiling; \"in these prompt\narrangements we recognize the order of a well-disciplined\nsoldier.\"\n\"And you leave us,\" said Julie, \"at a moment's warning? you do\nnot give us a day — no, not even an hour before your\ndeparture?\"\n\"My carriage is at the door, madame, and I must be in Rome in\nfive days.\"\n\"But does Maximilian go to Rome?\" exclaimed Emmanuel.\n\"I am going wherever it may please the count to take me,\" said\nMorrel, with a smile full of grief; \"I am under his orders for the\nnext month.\"Morrel, with a smile full of grief; \"I am under his orders for the\nnext month.\"\n\"Oh, heavens, how strangely he expresses himself, count!\" said\nJulie.\n\"Maximilian goes with me,\" said the count, in his kindest and\nmost persuasive manner; \"therefore do not make yourself uneasy on\nyour brother's account.\"\n\"Once more farewell, my dear sister; Emmanuel, adieu!\" Morrel\nrepeated.\n\"His carelessness and indifference touch me to the heart,\" said\nJulie. \"Oh, Maximilian, Maximilian, you are certainly concealing\nsomething from us.\"\n\"Pshaw!\" said Monte Cristo, \"you will see him return to you gay,\nsmiling, and joyful.\"\nMaximilian cast a look of disdain, almost of anger, on the\ncount.\n\"We must leave you,\" said Monte Cristo.\n\"Before you quit us, count,\" said Julie, \"will you permit us to\nexpress to you all that the other day\" —\n\"Madame,\" interrupted the count, taking her two hands in his,\n\"all that you could say in words would never express what I read in\nyour eyes; the thoughts of your heart are fully understood by mine.\nLike benefactors in romances, I should have left you without seeing\nyou again, but that would have been a virtue beyond my strength,\nbecause I am a weak and vain man, fond of the tender, kind, and\nthankful glances of my fellow-creatures. On the eve of departure I\ncarry my egotism so far as to say, `Do not forget me, my kind\nfriends, for probably you will never see me again.'\"\n\"Never see you again?\" exclaimed Emmanuel, while two large tears\nrolled down Julie's cheeks, \"never behold you again? It is not a\nman, then, but some angel that leaves us, and this angel is on the\npoint of returning to heaven after having appeared on earth to do\ngood.\"\n\"Say not so,\" quickly returned Monte Cristo — \"say not so, my\nfriends; angels never err, celestial beings remain where they wish\nto be. Fate is not more powerful than they; it is they who, on the\ncontrary, overcome fate. No, Emmanuel, I am but a man, and your\nadmiration is as unmerited as your words are sacrilegious.\" Andadmiration is as unmerited as your words are sacrilegious.\" And\npressing his lips on the hand of Julie, who rushed into his arms,\nhe extended his other hand to Emmanuel; then tearing himself from\nthis abode of peace and happiness, he made a sign to Maximilian,\nwho followed him passively, with the indifference which had been\nperceptible in him ever since the death of Valentine had so stunned\nhim. \"Restore my brother to peace and happiness,\" whispered Julie\nto Monte Cristo. And the count pressed her hand in reply, as he had\ndone eleven years before on the staircase leading to Morrel's\nstudy.\n\"You still confide, then, in Sinbad the Sailor?\" asked he,\nsmiling.\n\"Oh, yes,\" was the ready answer.\n\"Well, then, sleep in peace, and put your trust in heaven.\" As\nwe have before said, the postchaise was waiting; four powerful\nhorses were already pawing the ground with impatience, while Ali,\napparently just arrived from a long walk, was standing at the foot\nof the steps, his face bathed in perspiration. \"Well,\" asked the\ncount in Arabic, \"have you been to see the old man?\" Ali made a\nsign in the affirmative.\n\"And have you placed the letter before him, as I ordered you to\ndo?\"\nThe slave respectfully signalized that he had. \"And what did he\nsay, or rather do?\" Ali placed himself in the light, so that his\nmaster might see him distinctly, and then imitating in his\nintelligent manner the countenance of the old man, he closed his\neyes, as Noirtier was in the custom of doing when saying \"Yes.\"\n\"Good; he accepts,\" said Monte Cristo. \"Now let us go.\"\nThese words had scarcely escaped him, when the carriage was on\nits way, and the feet of the horses struck a shower of sparks from\nthe pavement. Maximilian settled himself in his corner without\nuttering a word. Half an hour had passed when the carriage stopped\nsuddenly; the count had just pulled the silken check-string, which\nwas fastened to Ali's finger. The Nubian immediately descended and\nopened the carriage door. It was a lovely starlight night — they"}
{"text": "opened the carriage door. It was a lovely starlight night — they\nhad just reached the top of the hill Villejuif, from whence Paris\nappears like a sombre sea tossing its millions of phosphoric waves\ninto light — waves indeed more noisy, more passionate, more\nchangeable, more furious, more greedy, than those of the\ntempestuous ocean, — waves which never rest as those of the sea\nsometimes do, — waves ever dashing, ever foaming, ever ingulfing\nwhat falls within their grasp. The count stood alone, and at a sign\nfrom his hand, the carriage went on for a short distance. With\nfolded arms, he gazed for some time upon the great city. When he\nhad fixed his piercing look on this modern Babylon, which equally\nengages the contemplation of the religious enthusiast, the\nmaterialist, and the scoffer, — \"Great city,\" murmured he,\ninclining his head, and joining his hands as if in prayer, \"less\nthan six months have elapsed since first I entered thy gates. I\nbelieve that the Spirit of God led my steps to thee and that he\nalso enables me to quit thee in triumph; the secret cause of my\npresence within thy walls I have confided alone to him who only has\nhad the power to read my heart. God only knows that I retire from\nthee without pride or hatred, but not without many regrets; he only\nknows that the power confided to me has never been made subservient\nto my personal good or to any useless cause. Oh, great city, it is\nin thy palpitating bosom that I have found that which I sought;\nlike a patient miner, I have dug deep into thy very entrails to\nroot out evil thence. Now my work is accomplished, my mission is\nterminated, now thou canst neither afford me pain nor pleasure.\nAdieu, Paris, adieu!\"\nHis look wandered over the vast plain like that of some genius\nof the night; he passed his hand over his brow, got into the\ncarriage, the door was closed on him, and the vehicle quickly\ndisappeared down the other side of the hill in a whirlwind of noise\nand dust.\nTen leagues were passed and not a single word was uttered.and dust.\nTen leagues were passed and not a single word was uttered.\nMorrel was dreaming, and Monte Cristo was looking at the\ndreamer.\n\"Morrel,\" said the count to him at length, \"do you repent having\nfollowed me?\"\n\"No, count; but to leave Paris\" —\n\"If I thought happiness might await you in Paris, Morrel, I\nwould have left you there.\"\n\"Valentine reposes within the walls of Paris, and to leave Paris\nis like losing her a second time.\"\n\"Maximilian,\" said the count, \"the friends that we have lost do\nnot repose in the bosom of the earth, but are buried deep in our\nhearts, and it has been thus ordained that we may always be\naccompanied by them. I have two friends, who in this way never\ndepart from me; the one who gave me being, and the other who\nconferred knowledge and intelligence on me. Their spirits live in\nme. I consult them when doubtful, and if I ever do any good, it is\ndue to their beneficent counsels. Listen to the voice of your\nheart, Morrel, and ask it whether you ought to preserve this\nmelancholy exterior towards me.\"\n\"My friend,\" said Maximilian, \"the voice of my heart is very\nsorrowful, and promises me nothing but misfortune.\"\n\"It is the way of weakened minds to see everything through a\nblack cloud. The soul forms its own horizons; your soul is\ndarkened, and consequently the sky of the future appears stormy and\nunpromising.\"\n\"That may possibly be true,\" said Maximilian, and he again\nsubsided into his thoughtful mood.\nThe journey was performed with that marvellous rapidity which\nthe unlimited power of the count ever commanded. Towns fled from\nthem like shadows on their path, and trees shaken by the first\nwinds of autumn seemed like giants madly rushing on to meet them,\nand retreating as rapidly when once reached. The following morning\nthey arrived at Chalons, where the count's steamboat waited for\nthem. Without the loss of an instant, the carriage was placed on\nboard and the two travellers embarked without delay. The boat was\nbuilt for speed; her two paddle-wheels were like two wings withbuilt for speed; her two paddle-wheels were like two wings with\nwhich she skimmed the water like a bird. Morrel was not insensible\nto that sensation of delight which is generally experienced in\npassing rapidly through the air, and the wind which occasionally\nraised the hair from his forehead seemed on the point of dispelling\nmomentarily the clouds collected there.\nAs the distance increased between the travellers and Paris,\nalmost superhuman serenity appeared to surround the count; he might\nhave been taken for an exile about to revisit his native land. Ere\nlong Marseilles presented herself to view, — Marseilles, white,\nfervid, full of life and energy, — Marseilles, the younger sister\nof Tyre and Carthage, the successor to them in the empire of the\nMediterranean, — Marseilles, old, yet always young. Powerful\nmemories were stirred within them by the sight of the round tower,\nFort Saint-Nicolas, the City Hall designed by Puget,* the port with\nits brick quays, where they had both played in childhood, and it\nwas with one accord that they stopped on the Cannebiere. A vessel\nwas setting sail for Algiers, on board of which the bustle usually\nattending departure prevailed. The passengers and their relations\ncrowded on the deck, friends taking a tender but sorrowful leave of\neach other, some weeping, others noisy in their grief, the whole\nforming a spectacle that might be exciting even to those who\nwitnessed similar sights daily, but which had no power to disturb\nthe current of thought that had taken possession of the mind of\nMaximilian from the moment he had set foot on the broad pavement of\nthe quay.\n(* Pierre Puget, the sculptor-architect, was born at Marseilles\nin 1622.)\n\"Here,\" said he, leaning heavily on the arm of Monte Cristo, —\n\"here is the spot where my father stopped, when the Pharaon entered\nthe port; it was here that the good old man, whom you saved from\ndeath and dishonor, threw himself into my arms. I yet feel his warm\ntears on my face, and his were not the only tears shed, for many"}
{"text": "tears on my face, and his were not the only tears shed, for many\nwho witnessed our meeting wept also.\" Monte Cristo gently smiled\nand said, — \"I was there;\" at the same time pointing to the corner\nof a street. As he spoke, and in the very direction he indicated, a\ngroan, expressive of bitter grief, was heard, and a woman was seen\nwaving her hand to a passenger on board the vessel about to sail.\nMonte Cristo looked at her with an emotion that must have been\nremarked by Morrel had not his eyes been fixed on the vessel.\n\"Oh, heavens!\" exclaimed Morrel, \"I do not deceive myself — that\nyoung man who is waving his hat, that youth in the uniform of a\nlieutenant, is Albert de Morcerf!\"\n\"Yes,\" said Monte Cristo, \"I recognized him.\"\n\"How so? — you were looking the other way.\" the count smiled, as\nhe was in the habit of doing when he did not want to make any\nreply, and he again turned towards the veiled woman, who soon\ndisappeared at the corner of the street. Turning to his friend, —\n\"Dear Maximilian,\" said the count, \"have you nothing to do in this\nland?\"\n\"I have to weep over the grave of my father,\" replied Morrel in\na broken voice.\n\"Well, then, go, — wait for me there, and I will soon join\nyou.\"\n\"You leave me, then?\"\n\"Yes; I also have a pious visit to pay.\"\nMorrel allowed his hand to fall into that which the count\nextended to him; then with an inexpressibly sorrowful inclination\nof the head he quitted the count and bent his steps to the east of\nthe city. Monte Cristo remained on the same spot until Maximilian\nwas out of sight; he then walked slowly towards the Allees de\nMeillan to seek out a small house with which our readers were made\nfamiliar at the beginning of this story. It yet stood, under the\nshade of the fine avenue of lime-trees, which forms one of the most\nfrequent walks of the idlers of Marseilles, covered by an immense\nvine, which spreads its aged and blackened branches over the stone\nfront, burnt yellow by the ardent sun of the south. Two stone stepsfront, burnt yellow by the ardent sun of the south. Two stone steps\nworn away by the friction of many feet led to the door, which was\nmade of three planks; the door had never been painted or varnished,\nso great cracks yawned in it during the dry season to close again\nwhen the rains came on. The house, with all its crumbling antiquity\nand apparent misery, was yet cheerful and picturesque, and was the\nsame that old Dantes formerly inhabited — the only difference being\nthat the old man occupied merely the garret, while the whole house\nwas now placed at the command of Mercedes by the count.\nThe woman whom the count had seen leave the ship with so much\nregret entered this house; she had scarcely closed the door after\nher when Monte Cristo appeared at the corner of a street, so that\nhe found and lost her again almost at the same instant. The worn\nout steps were old acquaintances of his; he knew better than any\none else how to open that weather-beaten door with the large headed\nnail which served to raise the latch within. He entered without\nknocking, or giving any other intimation of his presence, as if he\nhad been a friend or the master of the place. At the end of a\npassage paved with bricks, was a little garden, bathed in sunshine,\nand rich in warmth and light. In this garden Mercedes had found, at\nthe place indicated by the count, the sum of money which he,\nthrough a sense of delicacy, had described as having been placed\nthere twenty-four years previously. The trees of the garden were\neasily seen from the steps of the street-door. Monte Cristo, on\nstepping into the house, heard a sigh that was almost a deep sob;\nhe looked in the direction whence it came, and there under an arbor\nof Virginia jessamine,* with its thick foliage and beautiful long\npurple flowers, he saw Mercedes seated, with her head bowed, and\nweeping bitterly. She had raised her veil, and with her face hidden\nby her hands was giving free scope to the sighs and tears which had\nbeen so long restrained by the presence of her son. Monte Cristobeen so long restrained by the presence of her son. Monte Cristo\nadvanced a few steps, which were heard on the gravel. Mercedes\nraised her head, and uttered a cry of terror on beholding a man\nbefore her.\n(* The Carolina — not Virginia — jessamine, gelsemium\nsempervirens (properly speaking not a jessamine at all) has yellow\nblossoms. The reference is no doubt to the Wistaria frutescens. —\nEd.)\n\"Madame,\" said the count, \"it is no longer in my power to\nrestore you to happiness, but I offer you consolation; will you\ndeign to accept it as coming from a friend?\"\n\"I am, indeed, most wretched,\" replied Mercedes. \"Alone in the\nworld, I had but my son, and he has left me!\"\n\"He possesses a noble heart, madame,\" replied the count, \"and he\nhas acted rightly. He feels that every man owes a tribute to his\ncountry; some contribute their talents, others their industry;\nthese devote their blood, those their nightly labors, to the same\ncause. Had he remained with you, his life must have become a\nhateful burden, nor would he have participated in your griefs. He\nwill increase in strength and honor by struggling with adversity,\nwhich he will convert into prosperity. Leave him to build up the\nfuture for you, and I venture to say you will confide it to safe\nhands.\"\n\"Oh,\" replied the wretched woman, mournfully shaking her head,\n\"the prosperity of which you speak, and which, from the bottom of\nmy heart, I pray God in his mercy to grant him, I can never enjoy.\nThe bitter cup of adversity has been drained by me to the very\ndregs, and I feel that the grave is not far distant. You have acted\nkindly, count, in bringing me back to the place where I have\nenjoyed so much bliss. I ought to meet death on the same spot where\nhappiness was once all my own.\"\n\"Alas,\" said Monte Cristo, \"your words sear and embitter my\nheart, the more so as you have every reason to hate me. I have been\nthe cause of all your misfortunes; but why do you pity, instead of\nblaming me? You render me still more unhappy\" —"}
{"text": "blaming me? You render me still more unhappy\" —\n\"Hate you, blame you — you, Edmond! Hate, reproach, the man that\nhas spared my son's life! For was it not your fatal and sanguinary\nintention to destroy that son of whom M. de Morcerf was so proud?\nOh, look at me closely, and discover if you can even the semblance\nof a reproach in me.\" The count looked up and fixed his eyes on\nMercedes, who arose partly from her seat and extended both her\nhands towards him. \"Oh, look at me,\" continued she, with a feeling\nof profound melancholy, \"my eyes no longer dazzle by their\nbrilliancy, for the time has long fled since I used to smile on\nEdmond Dantes, who anxiously looked out for me from the window of\nyonder garret, then inhabited by his old father. Years of grief\nhave created an abyss between those days and the present. I neither\nreproach you nor hate you, my friend. Oh, no, Edmond, it is myself\nthat I blame, myself that I hate! Oh, miserable creature that I\nam!\" cried she, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes to heaven.\n\"I once possessed piety, innocence, and love, the three ingredients\nof the happiness of angels, and now what am I?\" Monte Cristo\napproached her, and silently took her hand. \"No,\" said she,\nwithdrawing it gently — \"no, my friend, touch me not. You have\nspared me, yet of all those who have fallen under your vengeance I\nwas the most guilty. They were influenced by hatred, by avarice,\nand by self-love; but I was base, and for want of courage acted\nagainst my judgment. Nay, do not press my hand, Edmond; you are\nthinking, I am sure, of some kind speech to console me, but do not\nutter it to me, reserve it for others more worthy of your kindness.\nSee\" (and she exposed her face completely to view) — \"see,\nmisfortune has silvered my hair, my eyes have shed so many tears\nthat they are encircled by a rim of purple, and my brow is\nwrinkled. You, Edmond, on the contrary, — you are still young,\nhandsome, dignified; it is because you have had faith; because youhandsome, dignified; it is because you have had faith; because you\nhave had strength, because you have had trust in God, and God has\nsustained you. But as for me, I have been a coward; I have denied\nGod and he has abandoned me.\"\nMercedes burst into tears; her woman's heart was breaking under\nits load of memories. Monte Cristo took her hand and imprinted a\nkiss on it; but she herself felt that it was a kiss of no greater\nwarmth than he would have bestowed on the hand of some marble\nstatue of a saint. \"It often happens,\" continued she, \"that a first\nfault destroys the prospects of a whole life. I believed you dead;\nwhy did I survive you? What good has it done me to mourn for you\neternally in the secret recesses of my heart? — only to make a\nwoman of thirty-nine look like a woman of fifty. Why, having\nrecognized you, and I the only one to do so — why was I able to\nsave my son alone? Ought I not also to have rescued the man that I\nhad accepted for a husband, guilty though he were? Yet I let him\ndie! What do I say? Oh, merciful heavens, was I not accessory to\nhis death by my supine insensibility, by my contempt for him, not\nremembering, or not willing to remember, that it was for my sake he\nhad become a traitor and a perjurer? In what am I benefited by\naccompanying my son so far, since I now abandon him, and allow him\nto depart alone to the baneful climate of Africa? Oh, I have been\nbase, cowardly, I tell you; I have abjured my affections, and like\nall renegades I am of evil omen to those who surround me!\"\n\"No, Mercedes,\" said Monte Cristo, \"no; you judge yourself with\ntoo much severity. You are a noble-minded woman, and it was your\ngrief that disarmed me. Still I was but an agent, led on by an\ninvisible and offended Deity, who chose not to withhold the fatal\nblow that I was destined to hurl. I take that God to witness, at\nwhose feet I have prostrated myself daily for the last ten years,\nthat I would have sacrificed my life to you, and with my life thethat I would have sacrificed my life to you, and with my life the\nprojects that were indissolubly linked with it. But — and I say it\nwith some pride, Mercedes — God needed me, and I lived. Examine the\npast and the present, and endeavor to dive into futurity, and then\nsay whether I am not a divine instrument. The most dreadful\nmisfortunes, the most frightful sufferings, the abandonment of all\nthose who loved me, the persecution of those who did not know me,\nformed the trials of my youth; when suddenly, from captivity,\nsolitude, misery, I was restored to light and liberty, and became\nthe possessor of a fortune so brilliant, so unbounded, so\nunheard-of, that I must have been blind not to be conscious that\nGod had endowed me with it to work out his own great designs. From\nthat time I looked upon this fortune as something confided to me\nfor an especial purpose. Not a thought was given to a life which\nyou once, Mercedes, had the power to render blissful; not one hour\nof peaceful calm was mine; but I felt myself driven on like an\nexterminating angel. Like adventurous captains about to embark on\nsome enterprise full of danger, I laid in my provisions, I loaded\nmy weapons, I collected every means of attack and defence; I inured\nmy body to the most violent exercises, my soul to the bitterest\ntrials; I taught my arm to slay, my eyes to behold excruciating\nsufferings, and my mouth to smile at the most horrid spectacles.\nGood-natured, confiding, and forgiving as I had been, I became\nrevengeful, cunning, and wicked, or rather, immovable as fate. Then\nI launched out into the path that was opened to me. I overcame\nevery obstacle, and reached the goal; but woe to those who stood in\nmy pathway!\"\n\"Enough,\" said Mercedes; \"enough, Edmond! Believe me, that she\nwho alone recognized you has been the only one to comprehend you;\nand had she crossed your path, and you had crushed her like glass,\nstill, Edmond, still she must have admired you! Like the gulf\nbetween me and the past, there is an abyss between you, Edmond, and"}
{"text": "between me and the past, there is an abyss between you, Edmond, and\nthe rest of mankind; and I tell you freely that the comparison I\ndraw between you and other men will ever be one of my greatest\ntortures. No, there is nothing in the world to resemble you in\nworth and goodness! But we must say farewell, Edmond, and let us\npart.\"\n\"Before I leave you, Mercedes, have you no request to make?\"\nsaid the count.\n\"I desire but one thing in this world, Edmond, — the happiness\nof my son.\"\n\"Pray to the Almighty to spare his life, and I will take upon\nmyself to promote his happiness.\"\n\"Thank you, Edmond.\"\n\"But have you no request to make for yourself, Mercedes?\"\n\"For myself I want nothing. I live, as it were, between two\ngraves. One is that of Edmond Dantes, lost to me long, long since.\nHe had my love! That word ill becomes my faded lip now, but it is a\nmemory dear to my heart, and one that I would not lose for all that\nthe world contains. The other grave is that of the man who met his\ndeath from the hand of Edmond Dantes. I approve of the deed, but I\nmust pray for the dead.\"\n\"Your son shall be happy, Mercedes,\" repeated the count.\n\"Then I shall enjoy as much happiness as this world can possibly\nconfer.\"\n\"But what are your intentions?\"\n\"To say that I shall live here, like the Mercedes of other\ntimes, gaining my bread by labor, would not be true, nor would you\nbelieve me. I have no longer the strength to do anything but to\nspend my days in prayer. However, I shall have no occasion to work,\nfor the little sum of money buried by you, and which I found in the\nplace you mentioned, will be sufficient to maintain me. Rumor will\nprobably be busy respecting me, my occupations, my manner of living\n— that will signify but little.\"\n\"Mercedes,\" said the count, \"I do not say it to blame you, but\nyou made an unnecessary sacrifice in relinquishing the whole of the\nfortune amassed by M. de Morcerf; half of it at least by right\nbelonged to you, in virtue of your vigilance and economy.\"belonged to you, in virtue of your vigilance and economy.\"\n\"I perceive what you are intending to propose to me; but I\ncannot accept it, Edmond — my son would not permit it.\"\n\"Nothing shall be done without the full approbation of Albert de\nMorcerf. I will make myself acquainted with his intentions and will\nsubmit to them. But if he be willing to accept my offers, will you\noppose them?\"\n\"You well know, Edmond, that I am no longer a reasoning\ncreature; I have no will, unless it be the will never to decide. I\nhave been so overwhelmed by the many storms that have broken over\nmy head, that I am become passive in the hands of the Almighty,\nlike a sparrow in the talons of an eagle. I live, because it is not\nordained for me to die. If succor be sent to me, I will accept\nit.\"\n\"Ah, madame,\" said Monte Cristo, \"you should not talk thus! It\nis not so we should evince our resignation to the will of heaven;\non the contrary, we are all free agents.\"\n\"Alas!\" exclaimed Mercedes, \"if it were so, if I possessed\nfree-will, but without the power to render that will efficacious,\nit would drive me to despair.\" Monte Cristo dropped his head and\nshrank from the vehemence of her grief. \"Will you not even say you\nwill see me again?\" he asked.\n\"On the contrary, we shall meet again,\" said Mercedes, pointing\nto heaven with solemnity. \"I tell you so to prove to you that I\nstill hope.\" And after pressing her own trembling hand upon that of\nthe count, Mercedes rushed up the stairs and disappeared. Monte\nCristo slowly left the house and turned towards the quay. But\nMercedes did not witness his departure, although she was seated at\nthe little window of the room which had been occupied by old\nDantes. Her eyes were straining to see the ship which was carrying\nher son over the vast sea; but still her voice involuntarily\nmurmured softly, \"Edmond, Edmond, Edmond!\"At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape\nMorgion, a man travelling post on the road from Florence to Rome\nhad just passed the little town of Aquapendente. He was travelling\nfast enough to cover a great deal of ground without exciting\nsuspicion. This man was dressed in a greatcoat, or rather a\nsurtout, a little worse for the journey, but which exhibited the\nribbon of the Legion of Honor still fresh and brilliant, a\ndecoration which also ornamented the under coat. He might be\nrecognized, not only by these signs, but also from the accent with\nwhich he spoke to the postilion, as a Frenchman. Another proof that\nhe was a native of the universal country was apparent in the fact\nof his knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in music,\nand which like the \"goddam\" of Figaro, served all possible\nlinguistic requirements. \"Allegro!\" he called out to the postilions\nat every ascent. \"Moderato!\" he cried as they descended. And heaven\nknows there are hills enough between Rome and Florence by the way\nof Aquapendente! These two words greatly amused the men to whom\nthey were addressed. On reaching La Storta, the point from whence\nRome is first visible, the traveller evinced none of the\nenthusiastic curiosity which usually leads strangers to stand up\nand endeavor to catch sight of the dome of St. Peter's, which may\nbe seen long before any other object is distinguishable. No, he\nmerely drew a pocketbook from his pocket, and took from it a paper\nfolded in four, and after having examined it in a manner almost\nreverential, he said — \"Good! I have it still!\"\nThe carriage entered by the Porto del Popolo, turned to the\nleft, and stopped at the Hotel d'Espagne. Old Pastrini, our former\nacquaintance, received the traveller at the door, hat in hand. The\ntraveller alighted, ordered a good dinner, and inquired the address\nof the house of Thomson & French, which was immediately given\nto him, as it was one of the most celebrated in Rome. It was\nsituated in the Via dei Banchi, near St. Peter's. In Rome, as"}
{"text": "situated in the Via dei Banchi, near St. Peter's. In Rome, as\neverywhere else, the arrival of a post-chaise is an event. Ten\nyoung descendants of Marius and the Gracchi, barefooted and out at\nelbows, with one hand resting on the hip and the other gracefully\ncurved above the head, stared at the traveller, the post-chaise,\nand the horses; to these were added about fifty little vagabonds\nfrom the Papal States, who earned a pittance by diving into the\nTiber at high water from the bridge of St. Angelo. Now, as these\nstreet Arabs of Rome, more fortunate than those of Paris,\nunderstand every language, more especially the French, they heard\nthe traveller order an apartment, a dinner, and finally inquire the\nway to the house of Thomson & French. The result was that when\nthe new-comer left the hotel with the cicerone, a man detached\nhimself from the rest of the idlers, and without having been seen\nby the traveller, and appearing to excite no attention from the\nguide, followed the stranger with as much skill as a Parisian\npolice agent would have used.\nThe Frenchman had been so impatient to reach the house of\nThomson & French that he would not wait for the horses to be\nharnessed, but left word for the carriage to overtake him on the\nroad, or to wait for him at the bankers' door. He reached it before\nthe carriage arrived. The Frenchman entered, leaving in the\nanteroom his guide, who immediately entered into conversation with\ntwo or three of the industrious idlers who are always to be found\nin Rome at the doors of banking-houses, churches, museums, or\ntheatres. With the Frenchman, the man who had followed him entered\ntoo; the Frenchman knocked at the inner door, and entered the first\nroom; his shadow did the same.\n\"Messrs. Thomson & French?\" inquired the stranger.\nAn attendant arose at a sign from a confidential clerk at the\nfirst desk. \"Whom shall I announce?\" said the attendant.\n\"Baron Danglars.\"\n\"Follow me,\" said the man. A door opened, through which the\nattendant and the baron disappeared. The man who had followedattendant and the baron disappeared. The man who had followed\nDanglars sat down on a bench. The clerk continued to write for the\nnext five minutes; the man preserved profound silence, and remained\nperfectly motionless. Then the pen of the clerk ceased to move over\nthe paper; he raised his head, and appearing to be perfectly sure\nof privacy, — \"Ah, ha,\" he said, \"here you are, Peppino!\"\n\"Yes,\" was the laconic reply. \"You have found out that there is\nsomething worth having about this large gentleman?\"\n\"There is no great merit due to me, for we were informed of\nit.\"\n\"You know his business here, then.\"\n\"Pardieu, he has come to draw, but I don't know how much!\"\n\"You will know presently, my friend.\"\n\"Very well, only do not give me false information as you did the\nother day.\"\n\"What do you mean? — of whom do you speak? Was it the Englishman\nwho carried off 3,000 crowns from here the other day?\"\n\"No; he really had 3,000 crowns, and we found them. I mean the\nRussian prince, who you said had 30,000 livres, and we only found\n22,000.\"\n\"You must have searched badly.\"\n\"Luigi Vampa himself searched.\"\n\"Indeed? But you must let me make my observations, or the\nFrenchman will transact his business without my knowing the sum.\"\nPeppino nodded, and taking a rosary from his pocket began to mutter\na few prayers while the clerk disappeared through the same door by\nwhich Danglars and the attendant had gone out. At the expiration of\nten minutes the clerk returned with a beaming countenance. \"Well?\"\nasked Peppino of his friend.\n\"Joy, joy — the sum is large!\"\n\"Five or six millions, is it not?\"\n\"Yes, you know the amount.\"\n\"On the receipt of the Count of Monte Cristo?\"\n\"Why, how came you to be so well acquainted with all this?\"\n\"I told you we were informed beforehand.\"\n\"Then why do you apply to me?\"\n\"That I may be sure I have the right man.\"\n\"Yes, it is indeed he. Five millions — a pretty sum, eh,\nPeppino?\"\n\"Hush — here is our man!\" The clerk seized his pen, and Peppino\nhis beads; one was writing and the other praying when the doorhis beads; one was writing and the other praying when the door\nopened. Danglars looked radiant with joy; the banker accompanied\nhim to the door. Peppino followed Danglars.\nAccording to the arrangements, the carriage was waiting at the\ndoor. The guide held the door open. Guides are useful people, who\nwill turn their hands to anything. Danglars leaped into the\ncarriage like a young man of twenty. The cicerone reclosed the\ndoor, and sprang up by the side of the coachman. Peppino mounted\nthe seat behind.\n\"Will your excellency visit St. Peter's?\" asked the\ncicerone.\n\"I did not come to Rome to see,\" said Danglars aloud; then he\nadded softly, with an avaricious smile, \"I came to touch!\" and he\nrapped his pocket-book, in which he had just placed a letter.\n\"Then your excellency is going\" —\n\"To the hotel.\"\n\"Casa Pastrini!\" said the cicerone to the coachman, and the\ncarriage drove rapidly on. Ten minutes afterwards the baron entered\nhis apartment, and Peppino stationed himself on the bench outside\nthe door of the hotel, after having whispered something in the ear\nof one of the descendants of Marius and the Gracchi whom we noticed\nat the beginning of the chapter, who immediately ran down the road\nleading to the Capitol at his fullest speed. Danglars was tired and\nsleepy; he therefore went to bed, placing his pocketbook under his\npillow. Peppino had a little spare time, so he had a game of mora\nwith the facchini, lost three crowns, and then to console himself\ndrank a bottle of Orvieto.\nThe next morning Danglars awoke late, though he went to bed so\nearly; he had not slept well for five or six nights, even if he had\nslept at all. He breakfasted heartily, and caring little, as he\nsaid, for the beauties of the Eternal City, ordered post-horses at\nnoon. But Danglars had not reckoned upon the formalities of the\npolice and the idleness of the posting-master. The horses only\narrived at two o'clock, and the cicerone did not bring the passport\ntill three. All these preparations had collected a number of idlers"}
{"text": "till three. All these preparations had collected a number of idlers\nround the door of Signor Pastrini's; the descendants of Marius and\nthe Gracchi were also not wanting. The baron walked triumphantly\nthrough the crowd, who for the sake of gain styled him \"your\nexcellency.\" As Danglars had hitherto contented himself with being\ncalled a baron, he felt rather flattered at the title of\nexcellency, and distributed a dozen silver coins among the beggars,\nwho were ready, for twelve more, to call him \"your highness.\"\n\"Which road?\" asked the postilion in Italian. \"The Ancona road,\"\nreplied the baron. Signor Pastrini interpreted the question and\nanswer, and the horses galloped off. Danglars intended travelling\nto Venice, where he would receive one part of his fortune, and then\nproceeding to Vienna, where he would find the rest, he meant to\ntake up his residence in the latter town, which he had been told\nwas a city of pleasure.\nHe had scarcely advanced three leagues out of Rome when daylight\nbegan to disappear. Danglars had not intended starting so late, or\nhe would have remained; he put his head out and asked the postilion\nhow long it would be before they reached the next town. \"Non\ncapisco\" (do not understand), was the reply. Danglars bent his\nhead, which he meant to imply, \"Very well.\" The carriage again\nmoved on. \"I will stop at the first posting-house,\" said Danglars\nto himself.\nHe still felt the same self-satisfaction which he had\nexperienced the previous evening, and which had procured him so\ngood a night's rest. He was luxuriously stretched in a good English\ncalash, with double springs; he was drawn by four good horses, at\nfull gallop; he knew the relay to be at a distance of seven\nleagues. What subject of meditation could present itself to the\nbanker, so fortunately become bankrupt?\nDanglars thought for ten minutes about his wife in Paris;\nanother ten minutes about his daughter travelling with Mademoiselle\nd'Armilly; the same period was given to his creditors, and thed'Armilly; the same period was given to his creditors, and the\nmanner in which he intended spending their money; and then, having\nno subject left for contemplation, he shut his eyes, and fell\nasleep. Now and then a jolt more violent than the rest caused him\nto open his eyes; then he felt that he was still being carried with\ngreat rapidity over the same country, thickly strewn with broken\naqueducts, which looked like granite giants petrified while running\na race. But the night was cold, dull, and rainy, and it was much\nmore pleasant for a traveller to remain in the warm carriage than\nto put his head out of the window to make inquiries of a postilion\nwhose only answer was \"Non capisco.\"\nDanglars therefore continued to sleep, saying to himself that he\nwould be sure to awake at the posting-house. The carriage stopped.\nDanglars fancied that they had reached the long-desired point; he\nopened his eyes and looked through the window, expecting to find\nhimself in the midst of some town, or at least village; but he saw\nnothing except what seemed like a ruin, where three or four men\nwent and came like shadows. Danglars waited a moment, expecting the\npostilion to come and demand payment with the termination of his\nstage. He intended taking advantage of the opportunity to make\nfresh inquiries of the new conductor; but the horses were\nunharnessed, and others put in their places, without any one\nclaiming money from the traveller. Danglars, astonished, opened the\ndoor; but a strong hand pushed him back, and the carriage rolled\non. The baron was completely roused. \"Eh?\" he said to the\npostilion, \"eh, mio caro?\"\nThis was another little piece of Italian the baron had learned\nfrom hearing his daughter sing Italian duets with Cavalcanti. But\nmio caro did not reply. Danglars then opened the window.\n\"Come, my friend,\" he said, thrusting his hand through the\nopening, \"where are we going?\"\n\"Dentro la testa!\" answered a solemn and imperious voice,\naccompanied by a menacing gesture. Danglars thought dentro la testaaccompanied by a menacing gesture. Danglars thought dentro la testa\nmeant, \"Put in your head!\" He was making rapid progress in Italian.\nHe obeyed, not without some uneasiness, which, momentarily\nincreasing, caused his mind, instead of being as unoccupied as it\nwas when he began his journey, to fill with ideas which were very\nlikely to keep a traveller awake, more especially one in such a\nsituation as Danglars. His eyes acquired that quality which in the\nfirst moment of strong emotion enables them to see distinctly, and\nwhich afterwards fails from being too much taxed. Before we are\nalarmed, we see correctly; when we are alarmed, we see double; and\nwhen we have been alarmed, we see nothing but trouble. Danglars\nobserved a man in a cloak galloping at the right hand of the\ncarriage.\n\"Some gendarme!\" he exclaimed. \"Can I have been intercepted by\nFrench telegrams to the pontifical authorities?\" He resolved to end\nhis anxiety. \"Where are you taking me?\" he asked. \"Dentro la\ntesta,\" replied the same voice, with the same menacing accent.\nDanglars turned to the left; another man on horseback was\ngalloping on that side. \"Decidedly,\" said Danglars, with the\nperspiration on his forehead, \"I must be under arrest.\" And he\nthrew himself back in the calash, not this time to sleep, but to\nthink. Directly afterwards the moon rose. He then saw the great\naqueducts, those stone phantoms which he had before remarked, only\nthen they were on the right hand, now they were on the left. He\nunderstood that they had described a circle, and were bringing him\nback to Rome. \"Oh, unfortunate!\" he cried, \"they must have obtained\nmy arrest.\" The carriage continued to roll on with frightful speed.\nAn hour of terror elapsed, for every spot they passed showed that\nthey were on the road back. At length he saw a dark mass, against\nwhich it seemed as if the carriage was about to dash; but the\nvehicle turned to one side, leaving the barrier behind and Danglars\nsaw that it was one of the ramparts encircling Rome."}
{"text": "saw that it was one of the ramparts encircling Rome.\n\"Mon dieu!\" cried Danglars, \"we are not returning to Rome; then\nit is not justice which is pursuing me! Gracious heavens; another\nidea presents itself — what if they should be\" —\nHis hair stood on end. He remembered those interesting stories,\nso little believed in Paris, respecting Roman bandits; he\nremembered the adventures that Albert de Morcerf had related when\nit was intended that he should marry Mademoiselle Eugenie. \"They\nare robbers, perhaps,\" he muttered. Just then the carriage rolled\non something harder than gravel road. Danglars hazarded a look on\nboth sides of the road, and perceived monuments of a singular form,\nand his mind now recalled all the details Morcerf had related, and\ncomparing them with his own situation, he felt sure that he must be\non the Appian Way. On the left, in a sort of valley, he perceived a\ncircular excavation. It was Caracalla's circus. On a word from the\nman who rode at the side of the carriage, it stopped. At the same\ntime the door was opened. \"Scendi!\" exclaimed a commanding voice.\nDanglars instantly descended; although he did not yet speak\nItalian, he understood it very well. More dead than alive, he\nlooked around him. Four men surrounded him, besides the\npostilion.\n\"Di qua,\" said one of the men, descending a little path leading\nout of the Appian Way. Danglars followed his guide without\nopposition, and had no occasion to turn around to see whether the\nthree others were following him. Still it appeared as though they\nwere stationed at equal distances from one another, like sentinels.\nAfter walking for about ten minutes, during which Danglars did not\nexchange a single word with his guide, he found himself between a\nhillock and a clump of high weeds; three men, standing silent,\nformed a triangle, of which he was the centre. He wished to speak,\nbut his tongue refused to move. \"Avanti!\" said the same sharp and\nimperative voice.\nThis time Danglars had double reason to understand, for if theimperative voice.\nThis time Danglars had double reason to understand, for if the\nword and gesture had not explained the speaker's meaning, it was\nclearly expressed by the man walking behind him, who pushed him so\nrudely that he struck against the guide. This guide was our friend\nPeppino, who dashed into the thicket of high weeds, through a path\nwhich none but lizards or polecats could have imagined to be an\nopen road. Peppino stopped before a pit overhung by thick hedges;\nthe pit, half open, afforded a passage to the young man, who\ndisappeared like the evil spirits in the fairy tales. The voice and\ngesture of the man who followed Danglars ordered him to do the\nsame. There was no longer any doubt, the bankrupt was in the hands\nof Roman banditti. Danglars acquitted himself like a man placed\nbetween two dangerous positions, and who is rendered brave by fear.\nNotwithstanding his large stomach, certainly not intended to\npenetrate the fissures of the Campagna, he slid down like Peppino,\nand closing his eyes fell upon his feet. As he touched the ground,\nhe opened his eyes. The path was wide, but dark. Peppino, who cared\nlittle for being recognized now that he was in his own territories,\nstruck a light and lit a torch. Two other men descended after\nDanglars forming the rearguard, and pushing Danglars whenever he\nhappened to stop, they came by a gentle declivity to the\nintersection of two corridors. The walls were hollowed out in\nsepulchres, one above the other, and which seemed in contrast with\nthe white stones to open their large dark eyes, like those which we\nsee on the faces of the dead. A sentinel struck the rings of his\ncarbine against his left hand. \"Who comes there?\" he cried.\n\"A friend, a friend!\" said Peppino; \"but where is the\ncaptain?\"\n\"There,\" said the sentinel, pointing over his shoulder to a\nspacious crypt, hollowed out of the rock, the lights from which\nshone into the passage through the large arched openings. \"Fine\nspoil, captain, fine spoil!\" said Peppino in Italian, and takingspoil, captain, fine spoil!\" said Peppino in Italian, and taking\nDanglars by the collar of his coat he dragged him to an opening\nresembling a door, through which they entered the apartment which\nthe captain appeared to have made his dwelling-place.\n\"Is this the man?\" asked the captain, who was attentively\nreading Plutarch's \"Life of Alexander.\"\n\"Himself, captain — himself.\"\n\"Very well, show him to me.\" At this rather impertinent order,\nPeppino raised his torch to the face of Danglars, who hastily\nwithdrew that he might not have his eyelashes burnt. His agitated\nfeatures presented the appearance of pale and hideous terror. \"The\nman is tired,\" said the captain, \"conduct him to his bed.\"\n\"Oh,\" murmured Danglars,\" that bed is probably one of the\ncoffins hollowed in the wall, and the sleep I shall enjoy will be\ndeath from one of the poniards I see glistening in the\ndarkness.\"\nFrom their beds of dried leaves or wolf-skins at the back of the\nchamber now arose the companions of the man who had been found by\nAlbert de Morcerf reading \"Caesar's Commentaries,\" and by Danglars\nstudying the \"Life of Alexander.\" The banker uttered a groan and\nfollowed his guide; he neither supplicated nor exclaimed. He no\nlonger possessed strength, will, power, or feeling; he followed\nwhere they led him. At length he found himself at the foot of a\nstaircase, and he mechanically lifted his foot five or six times.\nThen a low door was opened before him, and bending his head to\navoid striking his forehead he entered a small room cut out of the\nrock. The cell was clean, though empty, and dry, though situated at\nan immeasurable distance under the earth. A bed of dried grass\ncovered with goat-skins was placed in one corner. Danglars\nbrightened up on beholding it, fancying that it gave some promise\nof safety. \"Oh, God be praised,\" he said; \"it is a real bed!\"\n\"Ecco!\" said the guide, and pushing Danglars into the cell, he\nclosed the door upon him. A bolt grated and Danglars was a\nprisoner. If there had been no bolt, it would have been impossible"}
{"text": "prisoner. If there had been no bolt, it would have been impossible\nfor him to pass through the midst of the garrison who held the\ncatacombs of St. Sebastian, encamped round a master whom our\nreaders must have recognized as the famous Luigi Vampa. Danglars,\ntoo, had recognized the bandit, whose existence he would not\nbelieve when Albert de Morcerf mentioned him in Paris; and not only\ndid he recognize him, but the cell in which Albert had been\nconfined, and which was probably kept for the accommodation of\nstrangers. These recollections were dwelt upon with some pleasure\nby Danglars, and restored him to some degree of tranquillity. Since\nthe bandits had not despatched him at once, he felt that they would\nnot kill him at all. They had arrested him for the purpose of\nrobbery, and as he had only a few louis about him, he doubted not\nhe would be ransomed. He remembered that Morcerf had been taxed at\n4,000 crowns, and as he considered himself of much greater\nimportance than Morcerf he fixed his own price at 8,000 crowns.\nEight thousand crowns amounted to 48,000 livres; he would then have\nabout 5,050,000 francs left. With this sum he could manage to keep\nout of difficulties. Therefore, tolerably secure in being able to\nextricate himself from his position, provided he were not rated at\nthe unreasonable sum of 5,050,000 francs, he stretched himself on\nhis bed, and after turning over two or three times, fell asleep\nwith the tranquillity of the hero whose life Luigi Vampa was\nstudying.We awake from every sleep except the one dreaded by Danglars. He\nawoke. To a Parisian accustomed to silken curtains, walls hung with\nvelvet drapery, and the soft perfume of burning wood, the white\nsmoke of which diffuses itself in graceful curves around the room,\nthe appearance of the whitewashed cell which greeted his eyes on\nawakening seemed like the continuation of some disagreeable dream.\nBut in such a situation a single moment suffices to change the\nstrongest doubt into certainty. \"Yes, yes,\" he murmured, \"I am in\nthe hands of the brigands of whom Albert de Morcerf spoke.\" His\nfirst idea was to breathe, that he might know whether he was\nwounded. He borrowed this from \"Don Quixote,\" the only book he had\never read, but which he still slightly remembered.\n\"No,\" he cried, \"they have not wounded, but perhaps they have\nrobbed me!\" and he thrust his hands into his pockets. They were\nuntouched; the hundred louis he had reserved for his journey from\nRome to Venice were in his trousers pocket, and in that of his\ngreat-coat he found the little note-case containing his letter of\ncredit for 5,050,000 francs. \"Singular bandits!\" he exclaimed;\n\"they have left me my purse and pocket-book. As I was saying last\nnight, they intend me to be ransomed. Hallo, here is my watch! Let\nme see what time it is.\" Danglars' watch, one of Breguet's\nrepeaters, which he had carefully wound up on the previous night,\nstruck half past five. Without this, Danglars would have been quite\nignorant of the time, for daylight did not reach his cell. Should\nhe demand an explanation from the bandits, or should he wait\npatiently for them to propose it? The last alternative seemed the\nmost prudent, so he waited until twelve o'clock. During all this\ntime a sentinel, who had been relieved at eight o'clock, had been\nwatching his door. Danglars suddenly felt a strong inclination to\nsee the person who kept watch over him. He had noticed that a few\nrays, not of daylight, but from a lamp, penetrated through therays, not of daylight, but from a lamp, penetrated through the\nill-joined planks of the door; he approached just as the brigand\nwas refreshing himself with a mouthful of brandy, which, owing to\nthe leathern bottle containing it, sent forth an odor which was\nextremely unpleasant to Danglars. \"Faugh!\" he exclaimed, retreating\nto the farther corner of his cell.\nAt twelve this man was replaced by another functionary, and\nDanglars, wishing to catch sight of his new guardian, approached\nthe door again. He was an athletic, gigantic bandit, with large\neyes, thick lips, and a flat nose; his red hair fell in dishevelled\nmasses like snakes around his shoulders. \"Ah, ha,\" cried Danglars,\n\"this fellow is more like an ogre than anything else; however, I am\nrather too old and tough to be very good eating!\" We see that\nDanglars was collected enough to jest; at the same time, as though\nto disprove the ogreish propensities, the man took some black\nbread, cheese, and onions from his wallet, which he began devouring\nvoraciously. \"May I be hanged,\" said Danglars, glancing at the\nbandit's dinner through the crevices of the door, — \"may I be\nhanged if I can understand how people can eat such filth!\" and he\nwithdrew to seat himself upon his goat-skin, which reminded him of\nthe smell of the brandy.\nBut the mysteries of nature are incomprehensible, and there are\ncertain invitations contained in even the coarsest food which\nappeal very irresistibly to a fasting stomach. Danglars felt his\nown not to be very well supplied just then, and gradually the man\nappeared less ugly, the bread less black, and the cheese more\nfresh, while those dreadful vulgar onions recalled to his mind\ncertain sauces and side-dishes, which his cook prepared in a very\nsuperior manner whenever he said, \"Monsieur Deniseau, let me have a\nnice little fricassee to-day.\" He got up and knocked on the door;\nthe bandit raised his head. Danglars knew that he was heard, so he\nredoubled his blows. \"Che cosa?\" asked the bandit. \"Come, come,\""}
{"text": "redoubled his blows. \"Che cosa?\" asked the bandit. \"Come, come,\"\nsaid Danglars, tapping his fingers against the door, \"I think it is\nquite time to think of giving me something to eat!\" But whether he\ndid not understand him, or whether he had received no orders\nrespecting the nourishment of Danglars, the giant, without\nanswering, went on with his dinner. Danglars' feelings were hurt,\nand not wishing to put himself under obligations to the brute, the\nbanker threw himself down again on his goat-skin and did not\nbreathe another word.\nFour hours passed by and the giant was replaced by another\nbandit. Danglars, who really began to experience sundry gnawings at\nthe stomach, arose softly, again applied his eye to the crack of\nthe door, and recognized the intelligent countenance of his guide.\nIt was, indeed, Peppino who was preparing to mount guard as\ncomfortably as possible by seating himself opposite to the door,\nand placing between his legs an earthen pan, containing chick-pease\nstewed with bacon. Near the pan he also placed a pretty little\nbasket of Villetri grapes and a flask of Orvieto. Peppino was\ndecidedly an epicure. Danglars watched these preparations and his\nmouth watered. \"Come,\" he said to himself, \"let me try if he will\nbe more tractable than the other;\" and he tapped gently at the\ndoor. \"On y va,\" (coming) exclaimed Peppino, who from frequenting\nthe house of Signor Pastrini understood French perfectly in all its\nidioms.\nDanglars immediately recognized him as the man who had called\nout in such a furious manner, \"Put in your head!\" But this was not\nthe time for recrimination, so he assumed his most agreeable manner\nand said with a gracious smile, — \"Excuse me, sir, but are they not\ngoing to give me any dinner?\"\n\"Does your excellency happen to be hungry?\"\n\"Happen to be hungry, — that's pretty good, when I haven't eaten\nfor twenty-four hours!\" muttered Danglars. Then he added aloud,\n\"Yes, sir, I am hungry — very hungry.\"\n\"What would your excellency like?\" and Peppino placed his pan on\"What would your excellency like?\" and Peppino placed his pan on\nthe ground, so that the steam rose directly under the nostrils of\nDanglars. \"Give your orders.\"\n\"Have you kitchens here?\"\n\"Kitchens? — of course — complete ones.\"\n\"And cooks?\"\n\"Excellent!\"\n\"Well, a fowl, fish, game, — it signifies little, so that I\neat.\"\n\"As your excellency pleases. You mentioned a fowl, I think?\"\n\"Yes, a fowl.\" Peppino, turning around, shouted, \"A fowl for his\nexcellency!\" His voice yet echoed in the archway when a handsome,\ngraceful, and half-naked young man appeared, bearing a fowl in a\nsilver dish on his head, without the assistance of his hands. \"I\ncould almost believe myself at the Cafe de Paris,\" murmured\nDanglars.\n\"Here, your excellency,\" said Peppino, taking the fowl from the\nyoung bandit and placing it on the worm-eaten table, which with the\nstool and the goat-skin bed formed the entire furniture of the\ncell. Danglars asked for a knife and fork. \"Here, excellency,\" said\nPeppino, offering him a little blunt knife and a boxwood fork.\nDanglars took the knife in one hand and the fork in the other, and\nwas about to cut up the fowl. \"Pardon me, excellency,\" said\nPeppino, placing his hand on the banker's shoulder; \"people pay\nhere before they eat. They might not be satisfied, and\" —\n\"Ah, ha,\" thought Danglars, \"this is not so much like Paris,\nexcept that I shall probably be skinned! Never mind, I'll fix that\nall right. I have always heard how cheap poultry is in Italy; I\nshould think a fowl is worth about twelve sous at Rome. — There,\"\nhe said, throwing a louis down. Peppino picked up the louis, and\nDanglars again prepared to carve the fowl. \"Stay a moment, your\nexcellency,\" said Peppino, rising; \"you still owe me\nsomething.\"\n\"I said they would skin me,\" thought Danglars; but resolving to\nresist the extortion, he said, \"Come, how much do I owe you for\nthis fowl?\"\n\"Your excellency has given me a louis on account.\"\n\"A louis on account for a fowl?\"\n\"Certainly; and your excellency now owes me 4,999 louis.\"\"A louis on account for a fowl?\"\n\"Certainly; and your excellency now owes me 4,999 louis.\"\nDanglars opened his enormous eyes on hearing this gigantic joke.\n\"Come, come, this is very droll — very amusing — I allow; but, as I\nam very hungry, pray allow me to eat. Stay, here is another louis\nfor you.\"\n\"Then that will make only 4,998 louis more,\" said Peppino with\nthe same indifference. \"I shall get them all in time.\"\n\"Oh, as for that,\" said Danglars, angry at this prolongation of\nthe jest, — \"as for that you won't get them at all. Go to the\ndevil! You do not know with whom you have to deal!\" Peppino made a\nsign, and the youth hastily removed the fowl. Danglars threw\nhimself upon his goat-skin, and Peppino, reclosing the door, again\nbegan eating his pease and bacon. Though Danglars could not see\nPeppino, the noise of his teeth allowed no doubt as to his\noccupation. He was certainly eating, and noisily too, like an\nill-bred man. \"Brute!\" said Danglars. Peppino pretended not to hear\nhim, and without even turning his head continued to eat slowly.\nDanglars' stomach felt so empty, that it seemed as if it would be\nimpossible ever to fill it again; still he had patience for another\nhalf-hour, which appeared to him like a century. He again arose and\nwent to the door. \"Come, sir, do not keep me starving here any\nlonger, but tell me what they want.\"\n\"Nay, your excellency, it is you who should tell us what you\nwant. Give your orders, and we will execute them.\"\n\"Then open the door directly.\" Peppino obeyed. \"Now look here, I\nwant something to eat! To eat — do you hear?\"\n\"Are you hungry?\"\n\"Come, you understand me.\"\n\"What would your excellency like to eat?\"\n\"A piece of dry bread, since the fowls are beyond all price in\nthis accursed place.\"\n\"Bread? Very well. Hallo, there, some bread!\" he called. The\nyouth brought a small loaf. \"How much?\" asked Danglars.\n\"Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight louis,\" said\nPeppino; \"You have paid two louis in advance.\"\n\"What? One hundred thousand francs for a loaf?\""}
{"text": "Peppino; \"You have paid two louis in advance.\"\n\"What? One hundred thousand francs for a loaf?\"\n\"One hundred thousand francs,\" repeated Peppino.\n\"But you only asked 100,000 francs for a fowl!\"\n\"We have a fixed price for all our provisions. It signifies\nnothing whether you eat much or little — whether you have ten\ndishes or one — it is always the same price.\"\n\"What, still keeping up this silly jest? My dear fellow, it is\nperfectly ridiculous — stupid! You had better tell me at once that\nyou intend starving me to death.\"\n\"Oh, dear, no, your excellency, unless you intend to commit\nsuicide. Pay and eat.\"\n\"And what am I to pay with, brute?\" said Danglars, enraged. \"Do\nyou suppose I carry 100,000 francs in my pocket?\"\n\"Your excellency has 5,050,000 francs in your pocket; that will\nbe fifty fowls at 100,000 francs apiece, and half a fowl for the\n50,000.\"\nDanglars shuddered. The bandage fell from his eyes, and he\nunderstood the joke, which he did not think quite so stupid as he\nhad done just before. \"Come,\" he said, \"if I pay you the 100,000\nfrancs, will you be satisfied, and allow me to eat at my ease?\"\n\"Certainly,\" said Peppino.\n\"But how can I pay them?\"\n\"Oh, nothing easier; you have an account open with Messrs.\nThomson & French, Via dei Banchi, Rome; give me a draft for\n4,998 louis on these gentlemen, and our banker shall take it.\"\nDanglars thought it as well to comply with a good grace, so he took\nthe pen, ink, and paper Peppino offered him, wrote the draft, and\nsigned it. \"Here,\" he said, \"here is a draft at sight.\"\n\"And here is your fowl.\" Danglars sighed while he carved the\nfowl; it appeared very thin for the price it had cost. As for\nPeppino, he examined the paper attentively, put it into his pocket,\nand continued eating his pease.It was about six o'clock in the evening; an opal-colored light,\nthrough which an autumnal sun shed its golden rays, descended on\nthe blue ocean. The heat of the day had gradually decreased, and a\nlight breeze arose, seeming like the respiration of nature on\nawakening from the burning siesta of the south. A delicious zephyr\nplayed along the coasts of the Mediterranean, and wafted from shore\nto shore the sweet perfume of plants, mingled with the fresh smell\nof the sea.\nA light yacht, chaste and elegant in its form, was gliding\namidst the first dews of night over the immense lake, extending\nfrom Gibraltar to the Dardanelles, and from Tunis to Venice. The\nvessel resembled a swan with its wings opened towards the wind,\ngliding on the water. It advanced swiftly and gracefully, leaving\nbehind it a glittering stretch of foam. By degrees the sun\ndisappeared behind the western horizon; but as though to prove the\ntruth of the fanciful ideas in heathen mythology, its indiscreet\nrays reappeared on the summit of every wave, as if the god of fire\nhad just sunk upon the bosom of Amphitrite, who in vain endeavored\nto hide her lover beneath her azure mantle. The yacht moved rapidly\non, though there did not appear to be sufficient wind to ruffle the\ncurls on the head of a young girl. Standing on the prow was a tall\nman, of a dark complexion, who saw with dilating eyes that they\nwere approaching a dark mass of land in the shape of a cone, which\nrose from the midst of the waves like the hat of a Catalan. \"Is\nthat Monte Cristo?\" asked the traveller, to whose orders the yacht\nwas for the time submitted, in a melancholy voice.\n\"Yes, your excellency,\" said the captain, \"we have reached\nit.\"\n\"We have reached it!\" repeated the traveller in an accent of\nindescribable sadness. Then he added, in a low tone, \"Yes; that is\nthe haven.\" And then he again plunged into a train of thought, the\ncharacter of which was better revealed by a sad smile, than it\nwould have been by tears. A few minutes afterwards a flash ofwould have been by tears. A few minutes afterwards a flash of\nlight, which was extinguished instantly, was seen on the land, and\nthe sound of firearms reached the yacht.\n\"Your excellency,\" said the captain, \"that was the land signal,\nwill you answer yourself?\"\n\"What signal?\" The captain pointed towards the island, up the\nside of which ascended a volume of smoke, increasing as it rose.\n\"Ah, yes,\" he said, as if awaking from a dream. \"Give it to\nme.\"\nThe captain gave him a loaded carbine; the traveller slowly\nraised it, and fired in the air. Ten minutes afterwards, the sails\nwere furled, and they cast anchor about a hundred fathoms from the\nlittle harbor. The gig was already lowered, and in it were four\noarsmen and a coxswain. The traveller descended, and instead of\nsitting down at the stern of the boat, which had been decorated\nwith a blue carpet for his accommodation, stood up with his arms\ncrossed. The rowers waited, their oars half lifted out of the\nwater, like birds drying their wings.\n\"Give way,\" said the traveller. The eight oars fell into the sea\nsimultaneously without splashing a drop of water, and the boat,\nyielding to the impulsion, glided forward. In an instant they found\nthemselves in a little harbor, formed in a natural creek; the boat\ngrounded on the fine sand.\n\"Will your excellency be so good as to mount the shoulders of\ntwo of our men, they will carry you ashore?\" The young man answered\nthis invitation with a gesture of indifference, and stepped out of\nthe boat; the sea immediately rose to his waist. \"Ah, your\nexcellency,\" murmured the pilot, \"you should not have done so; our\nmaster will scold us for it.\" The young man continued to advance,\nfollowing the sailors, who chose a firm footing. Thirty strides\nbrought them to dry land; the young man stamped on the ground to\nshake off the wet, and looked around for some one to show him his\nroad, for it was quite dark. Just as he turned, a hand rested on\nhis shoulder, and a voice which made him shudder exclaimed, —"}
{"text": "his shoulder, and a voice which made him shudder exclaimed, —\n\"Good-evening, Maximilian; you are punctual, thank you!\"\n\"Ah, is it you, count?\" said the young man, in an almost joyful\naccent, pressing Monte Cristo's hand with both his own.\n\"Yes; you see I am as exact as you are. But you are dripping, my\ndear fellow; you must change your clothes, as Calypso said to\nTelemachus. Come, I have a habitation prepared for you in which you\nwill soon forget fatigue and cold.\" Monte Cristo perceived that the\nyoung man had turned around; indeed, Morrel saw with surprise that\nthe men who had brought him had left without being paid, or\nuttering a word. Already the sound of their oars might be heard as\nthey returned to the yacht.\n\"Oh, yes,\" said the count, \"you are looking for the\nsailors.\"\n\"Yes, I paid them nothing, and yet they are gone.\"\n\"Never mind that, Maximilian,\" said Monte Cristo, smiling. \"I\nhave made an agreement with the navy, that the access to my island\nshall be free of all charge. I have made a bargain.\" Morrel looked\nat the count with surprise. \"Count,\" he said, \"you are not the same\nhere as in Paris.\"\n\"How so?\"\n\"Here you laugh.\" The count's brow became clouded. \"You are\nright to recall me to myself, Maximilian,\" he said; \"I was\ndelighted to see you again, and forgot for the moment that all\nhappiness is fleeting.\"\n\"Oh, no, no, count,\" cried Maximilian, seizing the count's\nhands, \"pray laugh; be happy, and prove to me, by your\nindifference, that life is endurable to sufferers. Oh, how\ncharitable, kind, and good you are; you affect this gayety to\ninspire me with courage.\"\n\"You are wrong, Morrel; I was really happy.\"\n\"Then you forget me, so much the better.\"\n\"How so?\"\n\"Yes; for as the gladiator said to the emperor, when he entered\nthe arena, `He who is about to die salutes you.'\"\n\"Then you are not consoled?\" asked the count, surprised.\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed Morrel, with a glance full of bitter reproach,\n\"do you think it possible that I could be?\"\n\"Listen,\" said the count. \"Do you understand the meaning of my\"Listen,\" said the count. \"Do you understand the meaning of my\nwords? You cannot take me for a commonplace man, a mere rattle,\nemitting a vague and senseless noise. When I ask you if you are\nconsoled, I speak to you as a man for whom the human heart has no\nsecrets. Well, Morrel, let us both examine the depths of your\nheart. Do you still feel the same feverish impatience of grief\nwhich made you start like a wounded lion? Have you still that\ndevouring thirst which can only be appeased in the grave? Are you\nstill actuated by the regret which drags the living to the pursuit\nof death; or are you only suffering from the prostration of fatigue\nand the weariness of hope deferred? Has the loss of memory rendered\nit impossible for you to weep? Oh, my dear friend, if this be the\ncase, — if you can no longer weep, if your frozen heart be dead, if\nyou put all your trust in God, then, Maximilian, you are consoled —\ndo not complain.\"\n\"Count,\" said Morrel, in a firm and at the same time soft voice,\n\"listen to me, as to a man whose thoughts are raised to heaven,\nthough he remains on earth; I come to die in the arms of a friend.\nCertainly, there are people whom I love. I love my sister Julie, —\nI love her husband Emmanuel; but I require a strong mind to smile\non my last moments. My sister would be bathed in tears and\nfainting; I could not bear to see her suffer. Emmanuel would tear\nthe weapon from my hand, and alarm the house with his cries. You,\ncount, who are more than mortal, will, I am sure, lead me to death\nby a pleasant path, will you not?\"\n\"My friend,\" said the count, \"I have still one doubt, — are you\nweak enough to pride yourself upon your sufferings?\"\n\"No, indeed, — I am calm,\" said Morrel, giving his hand to the\ncount; \"my pulse does not beat slower or faster than usual. No, I\nfeel that I have reached the goal, and I will go no farther. You\ntold me to wait and hope; do you know what you did, unfortunate\nadviser? I waited a month, or rather I suffered for a month! I didadviser? I waited a month, or rather I suffered for a month! I did\nhope (man is a poor wretched creature), I did hope. What I cannot\ntell, — something wonderful, an absurdity, a miracle, — of what\nnature he alone can tell who has mingled with our reason that folly\nwe call hope. Yes, I did wait — yes, I did hope, count, and during\nthis quarter of an hour we have been talking together, you have\nunconsciously wounded, tortured my heart, for every word you have\nuttered proved that there was no hope for me. Oh, count, I shall\nsleep calmly, deliciously in the arms of death.\" Morrel uttered\nthese words with an energy which made the count shudder. \"My\nfriend,\" continued Morrel, \"you named the fifth of October as the\nend of the period of waiting, — to-day is the fifth of October,\" he\ntook out his watch, \"it is now nine o'clock, — I have yet three\nhours to live.\"\n\"Be it so,\" said the count, \"come.\" Morrel mechanically followed\nthe count, and they had entered the grotto before he perceived it.\nHe felt a carpet under his feet, a door opened, perfumes surrounded\nhim, and a brilliant light dazzled his eyes. Morrel hesitated to\nadvance; he dreaded the enervating effect of all that he saw. Monte\nCristo drew him in gently. \"Why should we not spend the last three\nhours remaining to us of life, like those ancient Romans, who when\ncondemned by Nero, their emperor and heir, sat down at a table\ncovered with flowers, and gently glided into death, amid the\nperfume of heliotropes and roses?\" Morrel smiled. \"As you please,\"\nhe said; \"death is always death, — that is forgetfulness, repose,\nexclusion from life, and therefore from grief.\" He sat down, and\nMonte Cristo placed himself opposite to him. They were in the\nmarvellous dining-room before described, where the statues had\nbaskets on their heads always filled with fruits and flowers.\nMorrel had looked carelessly around, and had probably noticed\nnothing.\n\"Let us talk like men,\" he said, looking at the count.\n\"Go on!\"\n\"Count,\" said Morrel, \"you are the epitome of all human"}
{"text": "\"Go on!\"\n\"Count,\" said Morrel, \"you are the epitome of all human\nknowledge, and you seem like a being descended from a wiser and\nmore advanced world than ours.\"\n\"There is something true in what you say,\" said the count, with\nthat smile which made him so handsome; \"I have descended from a\nplanet called grief.\"\n\"I believe all you tell me without questioning its meaning; for\ninstance, you told me to live, and I did live; you told me to hope,\nand I almost did so. I am almost inclined to ask you, as though you\nhad experienced death, `is it painful to die?'\"\nMonte Cristo looked upon Morrel with indescribable tenderness.\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"yes, doubtless it is painful, if you violently\nbreak the outer covering which obstinately begs for life. If you\nplunge a dagger into your flesh, if you insinuate a bullet into\nyour brain, which the least shock disorders, — then certainly, you\nwill suffer pain, and you will repent quitting a life for a repose\nyou have bought at so dear a price.\"\n\"Yes; I know that there is a secret of luxury and pain in death,\nas well as in life; the only thing is to understand it.\"\n\"You have spoken truly, Maximilian; according to the care we\nbestow upon it, death is either a friend who rocks us gently as a\nnurse, or an enemy who violently drags the soul from the body. Some\nday, when the world is much older, and when mankind will be masters\nof all the destructive powers in nature, to serve for the general\ngood of humanity; when mankind, as you were just saying, have\ndiscovered the secrets of death, then that death will become as\nsweet and voluptuous as a slumber in the arms of your beloved.\"\n\"And if you wished to die, you would choose this death,\ncount?\"\n\"Yes.\"\nMorrel extended his hand. \"Now I understand,\" he said, \"why you\nhad me brought here to this desolate spot, in the midst of the\nocean, to this subterranean palace; it was because you loved me,\nwas it not, count? It was because you loved me well enough to give\nme one of those sweet means of death of which we were speaking; ame one of those sweet means of death of which we were speaking; a\ndeath without agony, a death which allows me to fade away while\npronouncing Valentine's name and pressing your hand.\"\n\"Yes, you have guessed rightly, Morrel,\" said the count, \"that\nis what I intended.\"\n\"Thanks; the idea that tomorrow I shall no longer suffer, is\nsweet to my heart.\"\n\"Do you then regret nothing?\"\n\"No,\" replied Morrel.\n\"Not even me?\" asked the count with deep emotion. Morrel's clear\neye was for the moment clouded, then it shone with unusual lustre,\nand a large tear rolled down his cheek.\n\"What,\" said the count, \"do you still regret anything in the\nworld, and yet die?\"\n\"Oh, I entreat you,\" exclaimed Morrel in a low voice, \"do not\nspeak another word, count; do not prolong my punishment.\" The count\nfancied that he was yielding, and this belief revived the horrible\ndoubt that had overwhelmed him at the Chateau d'If. \"I am\nendeavoring,\" he thought, \"to make this man happy; I look upon this\nrestitution as a weight thrown into the scale to balance the evil I\nhave wrought. Now, supposing I am deceived, supposing this man has\nnot been unhappy enough to merit happiness. Alas, what would become\nof me who can only atone for evil by doing good?\" Then he said\naloud: \"Listen, Morrel, I see your grief is great, but still you do\nnot like to risk your soul.\" Morrel smiled sadly. \"Count,\" he said,\n\"I swear to you my soul is no longer my own.\"\n\"Maximilian, you know I have no relation in the world. I have\naccustomed myself to regard you as my son: well, then, to save my\nson, I will sacrifice my life, nay, even my fortune.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"I mean, that you wish to quit life because you do not\nunderstand all the enjoyments which are the fruits of a large\nfortune. Morrel, I possess nearly a hundred millions and I give\nthem to you; with such a fortune you can attain every wish. Are you\nambitious? Every career is open to you. Overturn the world, change\nits character, yield to mad ideas, be even criminal — but\nlive.\"its character, yield to mad ideas, be even criminal — but\nlive.\"\n\"Count, I have your word,\" said Morrel coldly; then taking out\nhis watch, he added, \"It is half-past eleven.\"\n\"Morrel, can you intend it in my house, under my very eyes?\"\n\"Then let me go,\" said Maximilian, \"or I shall think you did not\nlove me for my own sake, but for yours;\" and he arose.\n\"It is well,\" said Monte Cristo whose countenance brightened at\nthese words; \"you wish — you are inflexible. Yes, as you said, you\nare indeed wretched and a miracle alone can cure you. Sit down,\nMorrel, and wait.\"\nMorrel obeyed; the count arose, and unlocking a closet with a\nkey suspended from his gold chain, took from it a little silver\ncasket, beautifully carved and chased, the corners of which\nrepresented four bending figures, similar to the Caryatides, the\nforms of women, symbols of the angels aspiring to heaven. He placed\nthe casket on the table; then opening it took out a little golden\nbox, the top of which flew open when touched by a secret spring.\nThis box contained an unctuous substance partly solid, of which it\nwas impossible to discover the color, owing to the reflection of\nthe polished gold, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, which ornamented\nthe box. It was a mixed mass of blue, red, and gold. The count took\nout a small quantity of this with a gilt spoon, and offered it to\nMorrel, fixing a long steadfast glance upon him. It was then\nobservable that the substance was greenish.\n\"This is what you asked for,\" he said, \"and what I promised to\ngive you.\"\n\"I thank you from the depths of my heart,\" said the young man,\ntaking the spoon from the hands of Monte Cristo. The count took\nanother spoon, and again dipped it into the golden box. \"What are\nyou going to do, my friend?\" asked Morrel, arresting his hand.\n\"Well, the fact is, Morrel, I was thinking that I too am weary\nof life, and since an opportunity presents itself\" —\n\"Stay!\" said the young man. \"You who love, and are beloved; you,\nwho have faith and hope, — oh, do not follow my example. In your"}
{"text": "who have faith and hope, — oh, do not follow my example. In your\ncase it would be a crime. Adieu, my noble and generous friend,\nadieu; I will go and tell Valentine what you have done for me.\" And\nslowly, though without any hesitation, only waiting to press the\ncount's hand fervently, he swallowed the mysterious substance\noffered by Monte Cristo. Then they were both silent. Ali, mute and\nattentive, brought the pipes and coffee, and disappeared. By\ndegrees, the light of the lamps gradually faded in the hands of the\nmarble statues which held them, and the perfumes appeared less\npowerful to Morrel. Seated opposite to him, Monte Cristo watched\nhim in the shadow, and Morrel saw nothing but the bright eyes of\nthe count. An overpowering sadness took possession of the young\nman, his hands relaxed their hold, the objects in the room\ngradually lost their form and color, and his disturbed vision\nseemed to perceive doors and curtains open in the walls.\n\"Friend,\" he cried, \"I feel that I am dying; thanks!\" He made a\nlast effort to extend his hand, but it fell powerless beside him.\nThen it appeared to him that Monte Cristo smiled, not with the\nstrange and fearful expression which had sometimes revealed to him\nthe secrets of his heart, but with the benevolent kindness of a\nfather for a child. At the same time the count appeared to increase\nin stature, his form, nearly double its usual height, stood out in\nrelief against the red tapestry, his black hair was thrown back,\nand he stood in the attitude of an avenging angel. Morrel,\noverpowered, turned around in the arm-chair; a delicious torpor\npermeated every vein. A change of ideas presented themselves to his\nbrain, like a new design on the kaleidoscope. Enervated, prostrate,\nand breathless, he became unconscious of outward objects; he seemed\nto be entering that vague delirium preceding death. He wished once\nagain to press the count's hand, but his own was immovable. He\nwished to articulate a last farewell, but his tongue lay motionlesswished to articulate a last farewell, but his tongue lay motionless\nand heavy in his throat, like a stone at the mouth of a sepulchre.\nInvoluntarily his languid eyes closed, and still through his\neyelashes a well-known form seemed to move amid the obscurity with\nwhich he thought himself enveloped.\nThe count had just opened a door. Immediately a brilliant light\nfrom the next room, or rather from the palace adjoining, shone upon\nthe room in which he was gently gliding into his last sleep. Then\nhe saw a woman of marvellous beauty appear on the threshold of the\ndoor separating the two rooms. Pale, and sweetly smiling, she\nlooked like an angel of mercy conjuring the angel of vengeance. \"Is\nit heaven that opens before me?\" thought the dying man; \"that angel\nresembles the one I have lost.\" Monte Cristo pointed out Morrel to\nthe young woman, who advanced towards him with clasped hands and a\nsmile upon her lips.\n\"Valentine, Valentine!\" he mentally ejaculated; but his lips\nuttered no sound, and as though all his strength were centred in\nthat internal emotion, he sighed and closed his eyes. Valentine\nrushed towards him; his lips again moved.\n\"He is calling you,\" said the count; \"he to whom you have\nconfided your destiny — he from whom death would have separated\nyou, calls you to him. Happily, I vanquished death. Henceforth,\nValentine, you will never again be separated on earth, since he has\nrushed into death to find you. Without me, you would both have\ndied. May God accept my atonement in the preservation of these two\nexistences!\"\nValentine seized the count's hand, and in her irresistible\nimpulse of joy carried it to her lips.\n\"Oh, thank me again!\" said the count; \"tell me till you are\nweary, that I have restored you to happiness; you do not know how\nmuch I require this assurance.\"\n\"Oh, yes, yes, I thank you with all my heart,\" said Valentine;\n\"and if you doubt the sincerity of my gratitude, oh, then, ask\nHaidee! ask my beloved sister Haidee, who ever since our departureHaidee! ask my beloved sister Haidee, who ever since our departure\nfrom France, has caused me to wait patiently for this happy day,\nwhile talking to me of you.\"\n\"You then love Haidee?\" asked Monte Cristo with an emotion he in\nvain endeavored to dissimulate.\n\"Oh, yes, with all my soul.\"\n\"Well, then, listen, Valentine,\" said the count; \"I have a favor\nto ask of you.\"\n\"Of me? Oh, am I happy enough for that?\"\n\"Yes; you have called Haidee your sister, — let her become so\nindeed, Valentine; render her all the gratitude you fancy that you\nowe to me; protect her, for\" (the count's voice was thick with\nemotion) \"henceforth she will be alone in the world.\"\n\"Alone in the world!\" repeated a voice behind the count, \"and\nwhy?\"\nMonte Cristo turned around; Haidee was standing pale,\nmotionless, looking at the count with an expression of fearful\namazement.\n\"Because to-morrow, Haidee, you will be free; you will then\nassume your proper position in society, for I will not allow my\ndestiny to overshadow yours. Daughter of a prince, I restore to you\nthe riches and name of your father.\"\nHaidee became pale, and lifting her transparent hands to heaven,\nexclaimed in a voice stifled with tears, \"Then you leave me, my\nlord?\"\n\"Haidee, Haidee, you are young and beautiful; forget even my\nname, and be happy.\"\n\"It is well,\" said Haidee; \"your order shall be executed, my\nlord; I will forget even your name, and be happy.\" And she stepped\nback to retire.\n\"Oh, heavens,\" exclaimed Valentine, who was supporting the head\nof Morrel on her shoulder, \"do you not see how pale she is? Do you\nnot see how she suffers?\"\nHaidee answered with a heartrending expression, \"Why should he\nunderstand this, my sister? He is my master, and I am his slave; he\nhas the right to notice nothing.\"\nThe count shuddered at the tones of a voice which penetrated the\ninmost recesses of his heart; his eyes met those of the young girl\nand he could not bear their brilliancy. \"Oh, heavens,\" exclaimed\nMonte Cristo, \"can my suspicions be correct? Haidee, would it"}
{"text": "Monte Cristo, \"can my suspicions be correct? Haidee, would it\nplease you not to leave me?\"\n\"I am young,\" gently replied Haidee; \"I love the life you have\nmade so sweet to me, and I should be sorry to die.\"\n\"You mean, then, that if I leave you, Haidee\" —\n\"I should die; yes, my lord.\"\n\"Do you then love me?\"\n\"Oh, Valentine, he asks if I love him. Valentine, tell him if\nyou love Maximilian.\" The count felt his heart dilate and throb; he\nopened his arms, and Haidee, uttering a cry, sprang into them. \"Oh,\nyes,\" she cried, \"I do love you! I love you as one loves a father,\nbrother, husband! I love you as my life, for you are the best, the\nnoblest of created beings!\"\n\"Let it be, then, as you wish, sweet angel; God has sustained me\nin my struggle with my enemies, and has given me this reward; he\nwill not let me end my triumph in suffering; I wished to punish\nmyself, but he has pardoned me. Love me then, Haidee! Who knows?\nperhaps your love will make me forget all that I do not wish to\nremember.\"\n\"What do you mean, my lord?\"\n\"I mean that one word from you has enlightened me more than\ntwenty years of slow experience; I have but you in the world,\nHaidee; through you I again take hold on life, through you I shall\nsuffer, through you rejoice.\"\n\"Do you hear him, Valentine?\" exclaimed Haidee; \"he says that\nthrough me he will suffer — through me, who would yield my life for\nhis.\" The count withdrew for a moment. \"Have I discovered the\ntruth?\" he said; \"but whether it be for recompense or punishment, I\naccept my fate. Come, Haidee, come!\" and throwing his arm around\nthe young girl's waist, he pressed the hand of Valentine, and\ndisappeared.\nAn hour had nearly passed, during which Valentine, breathless\nand motionless, watched steadfastly over Morrel. At length she felt\nhis heart beat, a faint breath played upon his lips, a slight\nshudder, announcing the return of life, passed through the young\nman's frame. At length his eyes opened, but they were at first\nfixed and expressionless; then sight returned, and with it feelingfixed and expressionless; then sight returned, and with it feeling\nand grief. \"Oh,\" he cried, in an accent of despair, \"the count has\ndeceived me; I am yet living;\" and extending his hand towards the\ntable, he seized a knife.\n\"Dearest,\" exclaimed Valentine, with her adorable smile, \"awake,\nand look at me!\" Morrel uttered a loud exclamation, and frantic,\ndoubtful, dazzled, as though by a celestial vision, he fell upon\nhis knees.\nThe next morning at daybreak, Valentine and Morrel were walking\narm-in-arm on the sea-shore, Valentine relating how Monte Cristo\nhad appeared in her room, explained everything, revealed the crime,\nand, finally, how he had saved her life by enabling her to simulate\ndeath. They had found the door of the grotto opened, and gone\nforth; on the azure dome of heaven still glittered a few remaining\nstars. Morrel soon perceived a man standing among the rocks,\napparently awaiting a sign from them to advance, and pointed him\nout to Valentine. \"Ah, it is Jacopo,\" she said, \"the captain of the\nyacht;\" and she beckoned him towards them.\n\"Do you wish to speak to us?\" asked Morrel.\n\"I have a letter to give you from the count.\"\n\"From the count!\" murmured the two young people.\n\"Yes; read it.\" Morrel opened the letter, and read: —\n\"My Dear Maximilian, —\n\"There is a felucca for you at anchor. Jacopo will carry you to\nLeghorn, where Monsieur Noirtier awaits his granddaughter, whom he\nwishes to bless before you lead her to the altar. All that is in\nthis grotto, my friend, my house in the Champs Elysees, and my\nchateau at Treport, are the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond\nDantes upon the son of his old master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de\nVillefort will share them with you; for I entreat her to give to\nthe poor the immense fortune reverting to her from her father, now\na madman, and her brother who died last September with his mother.\nTell the angel who will watch over your future destiny, Morrel, to\npray sometimes for a man, who like Satan thought himself for anpray sometimes for a man, who like Satan thought himself for an\ninstant equal to God, but who now acknowledges with Christian\nhumility that God alone possesses supreme power and infinite\nwisdom. Perhaps those prayers may soften the remorse he feels in\nhis heart. As for you, Morrel, this is the secret of my conduct\ntowards you. There is neither happiness nor misery in the world;\nthere is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing\nmore. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience\nsupreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, Morrel,\nthat we may appreciate the enjoyments of living.\n\"Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and\nnever forget that until the day when God shall deign to reveal the\nfuture to man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words, —\n`Wait and hope.' Your friend,\n\"Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte Cristo.\"\nDuring the perusal of this letter, which informed Valentine for\nthe first time of the madness of her father and the death of her\nbrother, she became pale, a heavy sigh escaped from her bosom, and\ntears, not the less painful because they were silent, ran down her\ncheeks; her happiness cost her very dear. Morrel looked around\nuneasily. \"But,\" he said, \"the count's generosity is too\noverwhelming; Valentine will be satisfied with my humble fortune.\nWhere is the count, friend? Lead me to him.\" Jacopo pointed towards\nthe horizon. \"What do you mean?\" asked Valentine. \"Where is the\ncount? — where is Haidee?\"\n\"Look!\" said Jacopo.\nThe eyes of both were fixed upon the spot indicated by the\nsailor, and on the blue line separating the sky from the\nMediterranean Sea, they perceived a large white sail. \"Gone,\" said\nMorrel; \"gone! — adieu, my friend — adieu, my father!\"\n\"Gone,\" murmured Valentine; \"adieu, my sweet Haidee — adieu, my\nsister!\"\n\"Who can say whether we shall ever see them again?\" said Morrel\nwith tearful eyes.\n\"Darling,\" replied Valentine, \"has not the count just told us\nthat all human wisdom is summed up in two words? — `Wait and\nhope.'\""}