# The Count of Monte-Cristo/Volume 2/Chapter 29

Contents
CHAPTER XXIX
THE HOUSE OF MORREL AND SON
NY one who had quitted Marseilles a few years previously, well acquainted with the interior of Morrel's house, and had returned at this date, would have found a great change.
Instead of that air of life, of comfort, and of happiness that exhales, so to speak, from a flourishing and prosperous house — instead of the merry faces seen at the windows, of the busy clerks with pens behind their ears, hurrying to and fro in the long corridors — instead of the court filled with bales of goods, reëchoing the cries and the jokes of the porters, he would have at once perceived an air of sadness and gloom.
In the deserted corridor and the empty office, out of all the numerous clerks that used to fill the office but two remained. One was a young man of three or four and twenty, named Emmanuel Raymond, who was in love with M. Morrel's daughter, and had remained with him, spite of the efforts of his friends to induce him to withdraw; the other was an old one-eyed cashier, named Cocles, a nickname given him by the young men who used to inhabit this vast bee-hive, now almost deserted, and which had so completely replaced his real name that he would not, in all probability, have replied to any one who addressed him by it.
Cocles remained in Morrel's service, and a most singular change had taken place in his situation; he had at the same time risen to the rank of cashier, and sunk to the rank of a servant. He was, however, the same Cocles, good, patient, devoted, but inflexible on the subject of arithmetic, the only point on which he would have stood firm against the world, even against Morrel, and strong in the multiplication-table, which he had at his fingers' ends, no matter what scheme or what trap was laid to catch him.
​In the midst of the distress of the house, Cocles was the only one unmoved. But this did not arise from a want of affection, but, on the contrary, from a firm conviction. Like the rats that leave by degrees the vessel doomed to perish at sea, so that these egotistical guests have completely abandoned the ship at the moment when the vessel weighs anchor, so all these numerous clerks had by degrees deserted the offices and warehouse. Cocles had seen them go without thinking of inquiring the cause of their departure; everything was, as we have said, a question of arithmetic to Cocles, and during twenty years he had always seen all payments made with such exactitude, that it seemed as impossible to him that this exactitude could cease, and that the house should stop payment, as it would to a miller that the river that had so long turned his mill should cease to flow.
Nothing had as yet occurred to shake Cocles's belief; the last month's payment had been made with the most scrupulous exactitude; Cocles had detected an error of fourteen sous to the prejudice of Morrel, and the same evening he had brought them to Morrel, who, with a melancholy smile, threw them into an almost empty drawer, saying:
"Thanks, Cocles; you are the pearl of cashiers."
Cocles retired perfectly happy, for this eulogium of Morrel, himself the pearl of the honest men of Marseilles, flattered him more than a present of fifty dollars. But since the end of the month, Morrel had passed many an anxious hour.
In order to meet the end of the month, he had collected all his resources, and, fearing lest the report of his distress should get bruited abroad at Marseilles, when he was known to be reduced to such an extremity, he went to the fair of Beaucaire to sell his wife's and daughter's jewels, and a portion of his plate. By this means the end of the month was passed to the great honor of the house of Morrel, but his resources were now utterly exhausted. Credit, owing to the reports afloat, was — such selfishness is usual! — no longer to be had; and to meet the $20,000 due on the 15th of the present month to M. de Boville, and the $20,000 due on the 15th of the next month, Morrel had, in reality, no hope but the return of the Pharaon, whose departure he had learned from a vessel which had weighed anchor at the same time, and which had already arrived in harbor.
This vessel, which, like the Pharaon, came from Calcutta, had arrived a fortnight, whilst no intelligence had been received of the Pharaon.
Such was the state of things when, the day after his interview with M. de Boville, the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson and French, of Rome, presented himself at Morrel's.
​Emmanuel received him — the young man whom every fresh visage alarmed, for each fresh visage announced a fresh creditor, who, in his alarm, came to question the head of the house. The young man, wishing to spare his employer the pain of this interview, questioned
the new-comer; but the stranger declared he had nothing to say to Emmanuel, and that his business was with Morrel in person.
Emmanuel sighed, and summoned Cocles. Cocles appeared, and the young man bade him conduct the stranger to Morrel's apartment. Cocles went first, and the stranger followed him. On the staircase ​they met a beautiful girl of sixteen or seventeen, who looked with anxiety at the stranger.
"M. Morrel is in his room, is he not, Mademoiselle Julie?" said the cashier, who did not notice her expression, which yet seemed not to escape the stranger.
"Yes; I think so, at least," said the young girl, hesitatingly. "Go and see, Cocles, and if my father is there, announce this gentleman."
"It will be useless to announce me, mademoiselle," returned the Englishman. "M. Morrel does not know my name; this worthy gentleman has only to announce the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson and French, of Rome, with whom your father does business."
The young girl turned pale, and continued to descend, whilst the stranger and Cocles continued to mount the staircase.
She entered the office where Emmanuel was, whilst Cocles, by the aid of a key he possessed, opened a door in the corner of a landing-place on the second staircase, conducted the stranger into an antechamber, opened a second door, which he closed behind him, and after having left the clerk of the house of Thomson and French alone, returned and signed to him that he could enter.
The Englishman entered, and found Morrel seated at a table, turning over the formidable columns of his ledger, which contained the list of his liabilities. At the sight of the stranger, Morrel closed the ledger, rose, and offered a seat to the stranger; and when he had seen him seated, resumed his own chair. Fourteen years had changed the worthy merchant, who, in his thirty-sixth year at the opening of this history, was now in his fiftieth; his hair had turned white, time and sorrow had plowed deep furrows on his brow, and his look, once so firm and penetrating, was now irresolute and wandering, as if he feared being forced to fix his attention on an idea or a man.
The Englishman looked at him with an air of curiosity, evidently mingled with interest. "Monsieur," said Morrel, whose uneasiness was increased by this examination, "you wish to speak to me?"
"Yes, monsieur; you are aware from whom I come?"
"The house of Thomson and French; at least, so my cashier tells me."
"He has told you rightly. The house of Thomson and French had three hundred thousand or four hundred thousand francs ($60,000 to $80,000) to pay this month in France; and, knowing your strict punctuality, have collected all the bills bearing your signature, and charged me as they became due to present them, and to employ the money otherwise."
Morrel sighed deeply, and passed his hand over his forehead, which was covered with perspiration.
​"So then, sir," said Morrel, "you hold bills of mine?"
"Yes, and for a considerable sum."
"What is the amount?" asked Morrel, with a voice he strove to render firm.
"Here is," said the Englishman, taking a quantity of papers from his pocket, "an assignment of two hundred thousand francs to our house by M. de Boville, the inspector of prisons, to whom they are due. You acknowledge, of course, you owe this sum to him?"
"Yes; he placed the money in my hands at four and a half per cent, nearly five years ago."
​"When are you to pay?"
"Half the 15th of this month, half the 15th of next."
"Just so; and now here are thirty-two thousand five hundred francs payable shortly. The bills are all signed by you, and assigned to our house by the holders."
"I recognize them," said Morrel, whose face was suffused as he thought that, for the first time in his life, he would be unable to honor his own signature. "Is this all?"
"No, I have for the end of the month these bills which have been assigned to us by the house of Pascal, and the house of Wild and Turner, of Marseilles, amounting to nearly fifty-five thousand francs; in all, two hundred and eighty-seven thousand five hundred francs."
It is impossible to describe what Morrel suffered during this enumeration.
"Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand five hundred francs," repeated he.
"Yes, sir," replied the Englishman. "I will not," continued he, after a moment's silence, "conceal from you, that whilst your probity and exactitude up to this moment are universally acknowledged, yet the report is current in Marseilles that you are not able to meet your engagements."
At this almost brutal speech Morrel turned deathly pale.
"Sir," said he, "up to this time — and it is now more than four-and-twenty years since I received the direction of this house from my father, who had himself conducted it for five-and-thirty years — never has any thing bearing the signature of Morrel and Son been dishonored."
"I know that," replied the Englishman. "But as one man of honor to another, tell me fairly, shall you pay these with the same punctuality?"
Morrel shuddered, and looked at the man, who spoke with more assurance than he had hitherto shown.
"To questions frankly put," said he, "a straightforward answer should be given. Yes, I shall pay, if, as I hope, my vessel arrives safely; for its arrival will again procure me the credit which the numerous accidents of which I have been the victim have deprived me; but if the Pharaon should be lost, and this last resource be gone ———"
The poor man's eyes filled with tears.
"Well," said the other, "if this last resource fail you?"
"Well," returned Morrel, "it is a cruel thing to be forced to say, but, already used to misfortune, I must habituate myself to shame. I fear I shall be forced to suspend my payments."
"Have you no friends who could assist you?"
Morrel smiled mournfully.
​"In business, sir," said he, "one has no friends, only correspondents."
"It is true," murmured the Englishman; "then you have but one hope."
"But one."
"The last?"
"The last."
"So that if this fail ———"
"I am ruined, — completely ruined!"
"As I came here, a vessel was entering the port."
"I know it, sir; a young man, who still adheres to my fallen fortunes, passes a part of his time in a belvidere at the top of the house, in hopes of being the first to announce good news to me: he has informed me of the entrance of this ship."
"And it is not yours?"
"No, it is a vessel of Bordeaux, La Gironde; it comes from India also; but it is not mine."
"Perhaps it has spoken the Pharaon, and brings you some tidings of it?"
"Shall I tell you plainly one thing, sir? I dread almost as much to receive any tidings of my vessel as to remain in doubt. Incertitude is still hope." Then in a low voice Morrel added:
"This delay is not natural. The Pharaon left Calcutta the 5th of February; it ought to have been here a month ago."
"What is that?" said the Englishman, listening.
"What is the meaning of that noise?"
"O my God!" cried Morrel, turning pale, "what is this?"
A loud noise was heard on the stairs, of people moving hastily, and half-stifled sobs. Morrel rose and advanced to the door; but his strength failed him, and he sank into a chair. The two men remained opposite one another, — Morrel trembling in every limb, the stranger gazing at him with an air of profound pity. The noise had ceased; but it seemed that Morrel expected something — something had occasioned the noise, and something must follow. The stranger fancied he heard footsteps on the stairs; and that the steps, which were those of several persons, stopped at the door. A key was inserted in the lock of the first door, and the creaking of hinges was audible.
"There are only two persons who have the key of the door," murmured Morrel, — "Cocles and Julie."
At this instant the second door opened, and the young girl, her eyes bathed with tears, appeared. Morrel rose tremblingly, supporting himself by the arm of the chair. He would have spoken, but his voice failed him.
​"O, father!" said she, clasping her hands, "forgive your child for being the messenger of bad news."
Morrel again changed color. Julie threw herself into his arms.
"Oh, father, father!" murmured she, "courage!"
"The Pharaon has then perished?" said Morrel in a hoarse voice.
The young girl did not speak; but she made an affirmative sign with her head as she lay on her father's breast.
"And the crew?" asked Morrel.
"Saved," said the girl; "saved by the crew of the vessel that has just entered the harbor."
Morrel raised his two hands to heaven with an expression of resignation and sublime gratitude.
"Thanks, my God," said he; "at least thou strikest but me alone."
Spite of his phlegm, a tear moistened the eye of the Englishman.
"Come in, come in," said Morrel, "for I presume you are all at the door."
Scarcely had he uttered these words than Madame Morrel entered, weeping bitterly; Emmanuel followed her, and in the antechamber were visible the rough faces of seven or eight half-naked sailors. At the sight of these men the Englishman started and advanced a step; then restrained himself, and retired into the farthest and most obscure corner of the apartment.
Madame Morrel sat down by her husband and took one of his hands in hers; Julie still lay with her head on his shoulder; Emmanuel stood in the center of the chamber, and seemed to form the link between Morrel's family and the sailors at the door.
"How did this happen?" said Morrel.
"Draw nearer, Penelon," said the young man, "and relate all."
An old seaman, bronzed by the tropical sun, advanced, twirling the remains of a hat between his hands.
"Good-day, M. Morrel," said he, as if he had just quitted Marseilles the previous evening, and had just returned from Aix or Toulon.
"Good-day, Penelon!" returned Morrel, who could not refrain from smiling through his tears; "where is the captain?"
"The captain, M. Morrel,—he has staid behind sick at Palma; but, please God, it won't be much, and you will see him in a few days all alive and hearty."
"Well, now tell your story, Penelon."
Penelon rolled his quid in his cheek, placed his hand before his mouth, turned his head and sent a long jet of tobacco-juice into the antechamber, advanced his foot, and began.
myself. 'What do I think, captain? why I think they are rising faster than they have any business, and that they would not be so black if they did not mean mischief.' 'That's my opinion, too,' said the captain, 'and I'll take precautions accordingly. We are carrying too much canvas. Halloa! all hands to slacken sail and lower the flying jib.' It was time; the squall was on us, and the vessel began to heel. 'Ah,' said the ​captain,'we still have too much canvas set; all hands to lower the main sail!' Five minutes after, it was down; and we sailed under fore and main top-sails and top-gallant-sails. 'Well, Penelon,' said the captain, 'what makes you shake your head?' 'Why,' I says, 'I don't think that we shall stop here.' 'I think you are right,' answered he, 'we shall have a gale.' 'A gale! the man who takes that for a gale will get more than he bargained for. It is more than that; we shall have a tempest, or I know nothing about it.' You could see the wind coming like the dust at Montredon. Luckily, the captain understood his business. 'All hands take in two reefs in the top-sails,' cried the captain; 'let go the bowlings, brace to, lower the top-gallant-sails, haul out the reef-tackles on the yards.'"
"That was not enough for those latitudes," said the Englishman; "I should have taken four reefs in the top-sails and lowered the mizzen."
His firm, sonorous, and unexpected voice made every one start. Penelon put his hand over his eyes, and then stared at the man who thus criticised the manoeuvres of his captain.
"We did better than that, sir," said the old sailor, with a certain respect; "we put the helm to the wind to run before the tempest; ten minutes after, we struck our top-sails and scudded under bare poles."
"The vessel was very old to risk that," said the Englishman.
"Eh, it was that that wrecked us; after having been tossed about for twelve hours, we sprung a leak. 'Penelon,' said the captain, 'I think we are sinking; give me the helm, and go down into the hold.' I gave him the helm, and descended; there was already three feet water. I cried, 'All hands to the pumps! 'but it was too late, and it seemed the more we pumped the more came in. 'Ah,' said I, after four hours' work, 'since we are sinking, let us sink; we can die but once!' 'Is that the example you set, Penelon?' cries the captain; 'very well, wait a minute.' He went into his cabin and came back with a brace of pistols. 'I will blow the brains out of the first man who leaves the pump!' said he."
"Well done!" said the Englishman.
"There's nothing gives you so much courage as good reasons," continued the sailor; "and during that time the wind had abated, and the sea gone down, but the water kept rising; not much, only two inches an hour, but still it rose. Two inches an hour does not seem much, but in twelve hours that makes two feet, and three we had before, that makes five. A ship that has five feet of water in her has a bad case of dropsy. 'Come,' said the captain, 'we have done all in our power, and M. Morrel will have nothing to reproach us with; we have tried to save the ship, let us now save ourselves. To the boats, my lads, as quick as you can.' Now," continued Penelon, "you see, M. Morrel, a sailor is attached to his ship, but still more to his life; so we did not wait to be told twice; ​the more so, that the ship seemed to say, Get along, save yourselves; and we felt the poor Pharaon sinking under our feet. We soon launched the boat, and all eight of us got into it. The captain descended the last, or rather, he did not descend; he would not quit the vessel; so I
took him round the waist, and threw him into the boat, and then I jumped after him. It was time, for just as I jumped, the deck burst with a noise like the broadside of a man-of-war. Ten minutes after, she pitched forward, then the other way, spun round and round, like a dog after its own tail, and then good-bye to the Pharaon. As for us, we were three days without anything to eat or drink, so that we began to think of drawing lots who should feed the rest, when we saw La Gironde. ​We made signals of distress; she perceived us, made for us, and took us all on board. There, now, M. Morrel, that's the whole truth, on the honor of a sailor; is not it true, you fellows there?" A general murmur of approbation showed that the narrator had detailed their misfortunes with truth as to the facts, and picturesqueness as to details.
"Well, well, you are brave fellows," said Morrel; "I know there was no one in fault but destiny. It was the will of God, not the fault of man. Blessed be his name! What wages are due to you?"
"Oh, don't let us talk of that, M. Morrel."
"On the contrary, let us speak of it."
"Well, then, three months'," said Penelon.
"Cocles! pay two hundred frances to each of these good fellows," said Morrel. "At another time," added he, "I should have said, Give them, besides, two hundred francs over as a present; but times are changed, and the little money that remains to me is not my own, so do not think me mean on this account."
Penelon turned to his companions, and exchanged a few words with them. "As for that, M. Morrel," said he, again turning his quid. "As for that———"
"As for what?"
"The money."
"Well———"
"Well, we all say that fifty franes will be enough for us at present, and that we will wait for the rest."
"Thanks, my friends, thanks!" cried Morrel, gratefully; "take it — take it; and if you can find another employer, enter his service; you are free to do so."
These last words produced a prodigious effect on the seamen; Penelon nearly swallowed his quid. Fortunately, he recovered.
"What! M. Morrel," said he, in a low voice, "you send us away; you are then angry with us!"
"No, no, my lads!" said Morrel, "I am not angry; on the contrary, I do not send you away; but I have no more ships, and therefore I do not want any sailors."
"No more ships!" returned Penelon; "well, then, you'll build some; we'll wait for you; we know what it is to be in the doldrums."
"I have no money to build ships with, Penelon," said the poor owner, mournfully," so I cannot accept your kind offer."
"No more money! then you must not pay us; we can go, like the Pharaon, under bare poles."
"Enough! enough!" cried Morrel, almost overpowered; "leave me, I pray you; we shall meet again in a happier time. Emmanuel, accompany them, and see that my orders are executed."
​"At least, we shall see each other again, M. Morrel?" asked Penelon.
"Yes; I hope so, at least. Now go." He made a sign to Cocles, who marched first; the seamen followed, and Emmanuel brought up the rear.
"Now," said the owner to his wife and daughter, "leave me; I wish to speak with this gentleman."
And he glanced toward the clerk of Thomson and French, who had remained motionless in the corner during this scene, in which he had taken no part, except the few words we have mentioned.
The two ladies looked at this person, whose presence they had entirely forgotten, and retired; but, as she left the apartment, Julie gave the stranger a supplicating glance, to which he replied by a smile that an indifferent spectator would have been surprised to see on his stern ​features. The two men were left alone. "Well, sir," said Morrel, sinking into a chair, "you have heard all, and I have nothing further to tell you."
"I see," returned the Englishman, "that a fresh and unmerited misfortune has overwhelmed you, and this only increases my desire to serve you."
"Oh, sir!" cried Morrel.
"Let me see," continued the stranger, "I am one of your largest creditors."
"Your bills, at least, are the first that will fall due."
"Do you wish for time to pay?"
"A delay would save my honor, and consequently my life."
"How long a delay do you wish for?"
Morrel reflected. "Two months," said he.
"I will give you three," replied the stranger.
"But," asked Morrel, "will the house of Thomson and French consent?"
"Oh, I take everything on myself. To-day is the 5th of June."
"Yes."
"Well, renew these bills up to the 5th of September; and on the 5th of September, at eleven o'clock (the hand of the clock pointed to eleven), I shall come to receive the money."
"I shall expect you," returned Morrel; "and I will pay you — or I shall be dead." These last words were uttered in so low a tone, that the stranger could not hear them. The bills were renewed, the old ones destroyed, and the poor ship-owner found himself with three months before him to collect his resources. The Englishman received his thanks with the phlegm peculiar to his nation; and Morrel, overwhelming him with grateful blessings, conducted him to the staircase. The stranger met Julie on the stairs; she affected to be descending, but in reality she was waiting for him. "Oh, sir———" said she, clasping her hands.
"Mademoiselle," said the stranger, "one day you will receive a letter signed 'Sindbad the Sailor.' Do exactly what the letter bids you, however strange it may appear."
"Yes, sir," returned Julie.
"Do you promise?"
"I swear to you I will."
"It is well. Adieu, mademoiselle! Remain as pure and virtuous as you are at present, and I have great hopes that Heaven will reward you by giving you Emmanuel for a husband." Julie uttered a faint cry, blushed like a rose, and leaned against the baluster.
The stranger waved his hand, and continued to descend. In the court he found Penelon, who, with a rouleau of a hundred francs in either hand, seemed unable to make up his mind to retain them. "Come with me, my friend," said the Englishman; "I wish to speak to you."