Chapter 3. The Catalans
Beyond a bare, weather-worn wall, about a hundred paces from the spotwhere the two friends sat looking and listening as they drank theirwine, was the village of the Catalans. Long ago this mysterious colonyquitted Spain, and settled on the tongue of land on which it is to thisday. Whence it came no one knew, and it spoke an unknown tongue. One ofits chiefs, who understood Provençal, begged the commune of Marseillesto give them this bare and barren promontory, where, like the sailors ofold, they had run their boats ashore. The request was granted; and threemonths afterwards, around the twelve or fifteen small vessels which hadbrought these gypsies of the sea, a small village sprang up. Thisvillage, constructed in a singular and picturesque manner, half Moorish,half Spanish, still remains, and is inhabited by descendants of thefirst comers, who speak the language of their fathers. For three or fourcenturies they have remained upon this small promontory, on which theyhad settled like a flight of seabirds, without mixing with theMarseillaise population, intermarrying, and preserving their originalcustoms and the costume of their mother-country as they have preservedits language.
Our readers will follow us along the only street of this little village,and enter with us one of the houses, which is sunburned to the beautifuldead-leaf color peculiar to the buildings of the country, and withincoated with whitewash, like a Spanish posada. A young and beautifulgirl, with hair as black as jet, her eyes as velvety as the gazelle’s,was leaning with her back against the wainscot, rubbing in her slenderdelicately moulded fingers a bunch of heath blossoms, the flowers ofwhich she was picking off and strewing on the floor; her arms, bare tothe elbow, brown, and modelled after those of the Arlesian Venus, movedwith a kind of restless impatience, and she tapped the earth with herarched and supple foot, so as to display the pure and full shape of herwell-turned leg, in its red cotton, gray and blue clocked, stocking. Atthree paces from her, seated in a chair which he balanced on two legs,leaning his elbow on an old worm-eaten table, was a tall young man oftwenty, or two-and-twenty, who was looking at her with an air in whichvexation and uneasiness were mingled. He questioned her with his eyes,but the firm and steady gaze of the young girl controlled his look.
“You see, Mercédès,” said the young man, “here is Easter come roundagain; tell me, is this the moment for a wedding?”
“I have answered you a hundred times, Fernand, and really you must bevery stupid to ask me again.”
“Well, repeat it,—repeat it, I beg of you, that I may at last believeit! Tell me for the hundredth time that you refuse my love, which hadyour mother’s sanction. Make me understand once for all that you aretrifling with my happiness, that my life or death are nothing to you.Ah, to have dreamed for ten years of being your husband, Mercédès, andto lose that hope, which was the only stay of my existence!”
“At least it was not I who ever encouraged you in that hope, Fernand,”replied Mercédès; “you cannot reproach me with the slightest coquetry. Ihave always said to you, ‘I love you as a brother; but do not ask fromme more than sisterly affection, for my heart is another’s.’ Is not thistrue, Fernand?”
“Yes, that is very true, Mercédès,” replied the young man, “Yes, youhave been cruelly frank with me; but do you forget that it is among theCatalans a sacred law to intermarry?”
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“You mistake, Fernand; it is not a law, but merely a custom, and, I prayof you, do not cite this custom in your favor. You are included in theconscription, Fernand, and are only at liberty on sufferance, liable atany moment to be called upon to take up arms. Once a soldier, what wouldyou do with me, a poor orphan, forlorn, without fortune, with nothingbut a half-ruined hut and a few ragged nets, the miserable inheritanceleft by my father to my mother, and by my mother to me? She has beendead a year, and you know, Fernand, I have subsisted almost entirely onpublic charity. Sometimes you pretend I am useful to you, and that is anexcuse to share with me the produce of your fishing, and I accept it,Fernand, because you are the son of my father’s brother, because we werebrought up together, and still more because it would give you so muchpain if I refuse. But I feel very deeply that this fish which I go andsell, and with the produce of which I buy the flax I spin,—I feel verykeenly, Fernand, that this is charity.”
“And if it were, Mercédès, poor and lone as you are, you suit me as wellas the daughter of the first shipowner or the richest banker ofMarseilles! What do such as we desire but a good wife and carefulhousekeeper, and where can I look for these better than in you?”
“Fernand,” answered Mercédès, shaking her head, “a woman becomes a badmanager, and who shall say she will remain an honest woman, when sheloves another man better than her husband? Rest content with myfriendship, for I say once more that is all I can promise, and I willpromise no more than I can bestow.”
“I understand,” replied Fernand, “you can endure your own wretchednesspatiently, but you are afraid to share mine. Well, Mercédès, beloved byyou, I would tempt fortune; you would bring me good luck, and I shouldbecome rich. I could extend my occupation as a fisherman, might get aplace as clerk in a warehouse, and become in time a dealer myself.”
“You could do no such thing, Fernand; you are a soldier, and if youremain at the Catalans it is because there is no war; so remain afisherman, and contented with my friendship, as I cannot give you more.”
“Well, I will do better, Mercédès. I will be a sailor; instead of thecostume of our fathers, which you despise, I will wear a varnished hat,a striped shirt, and a blue jacket, with an anchor on the buttons. Wouldnot that dress please you?”
“What do you mean?” asked Mercédès, with an angry glance,—“what do youmean? I do not understand you?”
“I mean, Mercédès, that you are thus harsh and cruel with me, becauseyou are expecting someone who is thus attired; but perhaps he whom youawait is inconstant, or if he is not, the sea is so to him.”
“Fernand,” cried Mercédès, “I believed you were good-hearted, and I wasmistaken! Fernand, you are wicked to call to your aid jealousy and theanger of God! Yes, I will not deny it, I do await, and I do love him ofwhom you speak; and, if he does not return, instead of accusing him ofthe inconstancy which you insinuate, I will tell you that he died lovingme and me only.” The young girl made a gesture of rage. “I understandyou, Fernand; you would be revenged on him because I do not love you;you would cross your Catalan knife with his dirk. What end would thatanswer? To lose you my friendship if he were conquered, and see thatfriendship changed into hate if you were victor. Believe me, to seek aquarrel with a man is a bad method of pleasing the woman who loves thatman. No, Fernand, you will not thus give way to evil thoughts. Unable tohave me for your wife, you will content yourself with having me for yourfriend and sister; and besides,” she added, her eyes troubled andmoistened with tears, “wait, wait, Fernand; you said just now that thesea was treacherous, and he has been gone four months, and during thesefour months there have been some terrible storms.”
Fernand made no reply, nor did he attempt to check the tears whichflowed down the cheeks of Mercédès, although for each of these tears hewould have shed his heart’s blood; but these tears flowed for another.He arose, paced a while up and down the hut, and then, suddenly stoppingbefore Mercédès, with his eyes glowing and his hands clenched,—“Say,Mercédès,” he said, “once for all, is this your final determination?”
“I love Edmond Dantès,” the young girl calmly replied, “and none butEdmond shall ever be my husband.”
“And you will always love him?”
“As long as I live.”
Fernand let fall his head like a defeated man, heaved a sigh that waslike a groan, and then suddenly looking her full in the face, withclenched teeth and expanded nostrils, said,—“But if he is dead——”
“If he is dead, I shall die too.”
“If he has forgotten you——”
“Mercédès!” called a joyous voice from without,—“Mercédès!”
“Ah,” excla
imed the young girl, blushing with delight, and fairlyleaping in excess of love, “you see he has not forgotten me, for here heis!” And rushing towards the door, she opened it, saying, “Here, Edmond,here I am!”
Fernand, pale and trembling, drew back, like a traveller at the sight ofa serpent, and fell into a chair beside him. Edmond and Mercédès wereclasped in each other’s arms. The burning Marseilles sun, which shotinto the room through the open door, covered them with a flood of light.At first they saw nothing around them. Their intense happiness isolatedthem from all the rest of the world, and they only spoke in brokenwords, which are the tokens of a joy so extreme that they seem ratherthe expression of sorrow. Suddenly Edmond saw the gloomy, pale, andthreatening countenance of Fernand, as it was defined in the shadow. Bya movement for which he could scarcely account to himself, the youngCatalan placed his hand on the knife at his belt.
“Ah, your pardon,” said Dantès, frowning in his turn; “I did notperceive that there were three of us.” Then, turning to Mercédès, heinquired, “Who is this gentleman?”
“One who will be your best friend, Dantès, for he is my friend, mycousin, my brother; it is Fernand—the man whom, after you, Edmond, Ilove the best in the world. Do you not remember him?”
“Yes!” said Dantès, and without relinquishing Mercédès’ hand clasped inone of his own, he extended the other to the Catalan with a cordial air.But Fernand, instead of responding to this amiable gesture, remainedmute and trembling. Edmond then cast his eyes scrutinizingly at theagitated and embarrassed Mercédès, and then again on the gloomy andmenacing Fernand. This look told him all, and his anger waxed hot.
“I did not know, when I came with such haste to you, that I was to meetan enemy here.”
“An enemy!” cried Mercédès, with an angry look at her cousin. “An enemyin my house, do you say, Edmond! If I believed that, I would place myarm under yours and go with you to Marseilles, leaving the house toreturn to it no more.”
Fernand’s eye darted lightning. “And should any misfortune occur to you,dear Edmond,” she continued with the same calmness which proved toFernand that the young girl had read the very innermost depths of hissinister thought, “if misfortune should occur to you, I would ascend thehighest point of the Cape de Morgiou and cast myself headlong from it.”
Fernand became deadly pale. “But you are deceived, Edmond,” shecontinued. “You have no enemy here—there is no one but Fernand, mybrother, who will grasp your hand as a devoted friend.”
And at these words the young girl fixed her imperious look on theCatalan, who, as if fascinated by it, came slowly towards Edmond, andoffered him his hand. His hatred, like a powerless though furious wave,was broken against the strong ascendancy which Mercédès exercised overhim. Scarcely, however, had he touched Edmond’s hand when he felt he haddone all he could do, and rushed hastily out of the house.
“Oh,” he exclaimed, running furiously and tearing his hair—“Oh, who willdeliver me from this man? Wretched—wretched that I am!”
“Hallo, Catalan! Hallo, Fernand! where are you running to?” exclaimed avoice.
The young man stopped suddenly, looked around him, and perceivedCaderousse sitting at table with Danglars, under an arbor.
“Well”, said Caderousse, “why don’t you come? Are you really in such ahurry that you have no time to pass the time of day with your friends?”
“Particularly when they have still a full bottle before them,” addedDanglars. Fernand looked at them both with a stupefied air, but did notsay a word.
“He seems besotted,” said Danglars, pushing Caderousse with his knee.“Are we mistaken, and is Dantès triumphant in spite of all we havebelieved?”
“Why, we must inquire into that,” was Caderousse’s reply; and turningtowards the young man, said, “Well, Catalan, can’t you make up yourmind?”
Fernand wiped away the perspiration steaming from his brow, and slowlyentered the arbor, whose shade seemed to restore somewhat of calmness tohis senses, and whose coolness somewhat of refreshment to his exhaustedbody.
“Good-day,” said he. “You called me, didn’t you?” And he fell, ratherthan sat down, on one of the seats which surrounded the table.
“I called you because you were running like a madman, and I was afraidyou would throw yourself into the sea,” said Caderousse, laughing. “Why,when a man has friends, they are not only to offer him a glass of wine,but, moreover, to prevent his swallowing three or four pints of waterunnecessarily!”
Fernand gave a groan, which resembled a sob, and dropped his head intohis hands, his elbows leaning on the table.
“Well, Fernand, I must say,” said Caderousse, beginning theconversation, with that brutality of the common people in whichcuriosity destroys all diplomacy, “you look uncommonly like a rejectedlover;” and he burst into a hoarse laugh.
“Bah!” said Danglars, “a lad of his make was not born to be unhappy inlove. You are laughing at him, Caderousse.”
“No,” he replied, “only hark how he sighs! Come, come, Fernand,” saidCaderousse, “hold up your head, and answer us. It’s not polite not toreply to friends who ask news of your health.”
“My health is well enough,” said Fernand, clenching his hands withoutraising his head.
“Ah, you see, Danglars,” said Caderousse, winking at his friend, “thisis how it is; Fernand, whom you see here, is a good and brave Catalan,one of the best fishermen in Marseilles, and he is in love with a veryfine girl, named Mercédès; but it appears, unfortunately, that the finegirl is in love with the mate of the Pharaon; and as the Pharaon arrivedtoday—why, you understand!”
“No; I do not understand,” said Danglars.
“Poor Fernand has been dismissed,” continued Caderousse.
“Well, and what then?” said Fernand, lifting up his head, and looking atCaderousse like a man who looks for someone on whom to vent his anger;“Mercédès is not accountable to any person, is she? Is she not free tolove whomsoever she will?”
“Oh, if you take it in that sense,” said Caderousse, “it is anotherthing. But I thought you were a Catalan, and they told me the Catalanswere not men to allow themselves to be supplanted by a rival. It waseven told me that Fernand, especially, was terrible in his vengeance.”
Fernand smiled piteously. “A lover is never terrible,” he said.
“Poor fellow!” remarked Danglars, affecting to pity the young man fromthe bottom of his heart. “Why, you see, he did not expect to see Dantèsreturn so suddenly—he thought he was dead, perhaps; or perchancefaithless! These things always come on us more severely when they comesuddenly.”
“Ah, ma foi, under any circumstances!” said Caderousse, who drank as hespoke, and on whom the fumes of the wine began to take effect,—“underany circumstances Fernand is not the only person put out by thefortunate arrival of Dantès; is he, Danglars?”
“No, you are right—and I should say that would bring him ill-luck.”
“Well, never mind,” answered Caderousse, pouring out a glass of wine forFernand, and filling his own for the eighth or ninth time, whileDanglars had merely sipped his. “Never mind—in the meantime he marriesMercédès—the lovely Mercédès—at least he returns to do that.”
During this time Danglars fixed his piercing glance on the young man, onwhose heart Caderousse’s words fell like molten lead.
“And when is the wedding to be?” he asked.
“Oh, it is not yet fixed!” murmured Fernand.
“No, but it will be,” said Caderousse, “as surely as Dantès will becaptain of the Pharaon—eh, Danglars?”
Danglars shuddered at this unexpected attack, and turned to Caderousse,whose countenance he scrutinized, to try and detect whether the blow waspremeditated; but he read nothing but envy in a countenance alreadyrendered brutal and stupid by drunkenness.
“Well,” said he, filling the glasses, “let us drink to Captain EdmondDantès, husband of the beautiful Catalane!”
Caderousse raised his glass
to his mouth with unsteady hand, andswallowed the contents at a gulp. Fernand dashed his on the ground.
“Eh, eh, eh!” stammered Caderousse. “What do I see down there by thewall, in the direction of the Catalans? Look, Fernand, your eyes arebetter than mine. I believe I see double. You know wine is a deceiver;but I should say it was two lovers walking side by side, and hand inhand. Heaven forgive me, they do not know that we can see them, and theyare actually embracing!”
Danglars did not lose one pang that Fernand endured.
“Do you know them, Fernand?” he said.
“Yes,” was the reply, in a low voice. “It is Edmond and Mercédès!”
“Ah, see there, now!” said Caderousse; “and I did not recognize them!Hallo, Dantès! hello, lovely damsel! Come this way, and let us know whenthe wedding is to be, for Fernand here is so obstinate he will not tellus.”
“Hold your tongue, will you?” said Danglars, pretending to restrainCaderousse, who, with the tenacity of drunkards, leaned out of thearbor. “Try to stand upright, and let the lovers make love withoutinterruption. See, look at Fernand, and follow his example; he is well-behaved!”
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Fernand, probably excited beyond bearing, pricked by Danglars, as thebull is by the bandilleros, was about to rush out; for he had risen fromhis seat, and seemed to be collecting himself to dash headlong upon hisrival, when Mercédès, smiling and graceful, lifted up her lovely head,and looked at them with her clear and bright eyes. At this Fernandrecollected her threat of dying if Edmond died, and dropped againheavily on his seat. Danglars looked at the two men, one after theother, the one brutalized by liquor, the other overwhelmed with love.
“I shall get nothing from these fools,” he muttered; “and I am very muchafraid of being here between a drunkard and a coward. Here’s an enviousfellow making himself boozy on wine when he ought to be nursing hiswrath, and here is a fool who sees the woman he loves stolen from underhis nose and takes on like a big baby. Yet this Catalan has eyes thatglisten like those of the vengeful Spaniards, Sicilians, and Calabrians,and the other has fists big enough to crush an ox at one blow.Unquestionably, Edmond’s star is in the ascendant, and he will marry thesplendid girl—he will be captain, too, and laugh at us all, unless”—asinister smile passed over Danglars’ lips—“unless I take a hand in theaffair,” he added.
“Hallo!” continued Caderousse, half-rising, and with his fist on thetable, “hallo, Edmond! do you not see your friends, or are you too proudto speak to them?”
“No, my dear fellow!” replied Dantès, “I am not proud, but I am happy,and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride.”
“Ah, very well, that’s an explanation!” said Caderousse. “How do you do,Madame Dantès?”
Mercédès courtesied gravely, and said—“That is not my name, and in mycountry it bodes ill fortune, they say, to call a young girl by the nameof her betrothed before he becomes her husband. So call me Mercédès, ifyou please.”
“We must excuse our worthy neighbor, Caderousse,” said Dantès, “he is soeasily mistaken.”
“So, then, the wedding is to take place immediately, M. Dantès,” saidDanglars, bowing to the young couple.
“As soon as possible, M. Danglars; today all preliminaries will bearranged at my father’s, and tomorrow, or next day at latest, thewedding festival here at La Réserve. My friends will be there, I hope;that is to say, you are invited, M. Danglars, and you, Caderousse.”
“And Fernand,” said Caderousse with a chuckle; “Fernand, too, isinvited!”
“My wife’s brother is my brother,” said Edmond; “and we, Mercédès and I,should be very sorry if he were absent at such a time.”
Fernand opened his mouth to reply, but his voice died on his lips, andhe could not utter a word.
“Today the preliminaries, tomorrow or next day the ceremony! You are ina hurry, captain!”
“Danglars,” said Edmond, smiling, “I will say to you as Mercédès saidjust now to Caderousse, ‘Do not give me a title which does not belong tome’; that may bring me bad luck.”
“Your pardon,” replied Danglars, “I merely said you seemed in a hurry,and we have lots of time; the Pharaon cannot be under weigh again inless than three months.”
“We are always in a hurry to be happy, M. Danglars; for when we havesuffered a long time, we have great difficulty in believing in goodfortune. But it is not selfishness alone that makes me thus in haste; Imust go to Paris.”
“Ah, really?—to Paris! and will it be the first time you have ever beenthere, Dantès?”
“Yes.”
“Have you business there?”
“Not of my own; the last commission of poor Captain Leclere; you know towhat I allude, Danglars—it is sacred. Besides, I shall only take thetime to go and return.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” said Danglars, and then in a low tone, headded, “To Paris, no doubt to deliver the letter which the grand marshalgave him. Ah, this letter gives me an idea—a capital idea! Ah; Dantès,my friend, you are not yet registered number one on board the good shipPharaon;” then turning towards Edmond, who was walking away, “A pleasantjourney,” he cried.
“Thank you,” said Edmond with a friendly nod, and the two loverscontinued on their way, as calm and joyous as if they were the veryelect of heaven.
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 4
