I. Marseille.--L'arrivée.

I

Marseille.—The Arrival.

On the 24th of February, 1815, the lookout at Notre-Dame de la Garde signaled the three-masted ship the _Pharaon_, coming from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples.

As usual, a coastal pilot immediately left the port, skirted the Château d'If, and went to meet the vessel between Cape Morgion and the island of Rion.

At once, as was also customary, the platform of Fort Saint-Jean had filled with curious onlookers; for the arrival of a ship is always a great event at Marseille, especially when that ship, like the _Pharaon_, was built, rigged, and laden in the shipyards of old Phocaea, and belongs to a shipowner of the city.

Yet the vessel advanced; it had happily passed through the strait that some volcanic upheaval hollowed out between the island of Calasareigne and the island of Jaros; it had doubled Pomègue, and was moving forward under its three top sails, its large jib, and its brigantine, but so slowly and with so mournful an air that the curious, with that instinct which forebodes misfortune, wondered what accident could have befallen those on board. Nevertheless, those expert in navigation recognized that if an accident had occurred, it could not be to the vessel itself; for it advanced in every respect like a perfectly well-steered ship: its anchor was ready to let go, its bowsprit shrouds unhooked; and near the pilot, who was preparing to guide the _Pharaon_ through the narrow entrance of the port of Marseille, stood a young man with quick gestures and an active eye, who watched every movement of the ship and repeated every order of the pilot.

The vague uneasiness hovering over the crowd had particularly affected one of the spectators on the esplanade of Saint-Jean, so that he could not wait for the vessel to enter the port; he jumped into a small boat and ordered the rowers to pull toward the _Pharaon_, which he reached off the cove of La Réserve.

Seeing this man approach, the young sailor left his post beside the pilot, and came, hat in hand, to lean against the ship's bulwark.

He was a young man of eighteen to twenty years, tall, slender, with fine black eyes and ebony hair; there was in his whole person that calm and resolute air peculiar to men accustomed since childhood to struggling with danger.

"Ah! is it you, Dantès!" cried the man in the boat; "what has happened, and why this look of sadness spread over all your ship?"

"A great misfortune, Mr. Morrel!" answered the young man, "a great misfortune, for me above all: off Civita-Vecchia, we lost that brave Captain Leclère."

"And the cargo?" asked the shipowner eagerly.

"It has come safe to port, Mr. Morrel, and I think you will be satisfied on that score; but that poor Captain Leclère..."

"What happened to him?" asked the shipowner, with an air visibly relieved; "what happened to that brave captain?"

"He is dead."

"Fallen into the sea?"

"No, sir; dead of a brain fever, amid horrible sufferings."

Then, turning toward his men:

"Holloa there!" said he, "every man to his post for anchoring!"

The crew obeyed. At the same instant, the eight or ten sailors who composed it sprang, some to the sheets, others to the braces, others to the halyards, others to the jib outhauls, and finally others to the reefing lines of the sails.

The young sailor cast a careless glance at this beginning of the maneuver, and, seeing his orders about to be executed, returned to his interlocutor.

"And how did this misfortune come about?" continued the shipowner, taking up the conversation where the young sailor had left it.

"Good heavens, sir, in the most unforeseen way: after a long conversation with the port commander, Captain Leclère left Naples much agitated; within twenty-four hours, the fever seized him; three days later, he was dead...."

"We gave him the ordinary funeral rites, and he rests, decently wrapped in a hammock, with a thirty-six-pound shot at his feet and one at his head, off the island of El Giglio. We are bringing his widow his cross of honor and his sword. It was well worth it," continued the young man with a melancholy smile, "to make war on the English for ten years, only to end by dying, like everyone else, in one's bed."

"Why, what would you have, Mr. Edmond," replied the shipowner, who seemed more and more consoled, "we are all mortal, and the old must make way for the new, or there would be no promotion; and since you assure me the cargo..."

"Is in good condition, Mr. Morrel, I pledge you my word for it. Here is a voyage for which I advise you not to discount twenty-five thousand francs of profit."

Then, as they had just passed the round tower:

"Ready to reef the top sails, the jib, and the brigantine!" cried the young sailor; "look sharp!"

The order was executed with almost as much promptness as on a man-of-war.

"Lower and furl everywhere!"

At the last command, all the sails came down, and the ship advanced in an almost imperceptible manner, moving only by the impulse already given.

"And now, if you care to come aboard, Mr. Morrel," said Dantès, seeing the shipowner's impatience, "here is your accountant, Mr. Danglars, who is just leaving his cabin, and who will give you all the information you may desire. As for me, I must attend to the anchoring and put the ship in mourning."

The shipowner did not need to be told twice. He seized a cable that Dantès threw him, and, with a dexterity that would have done honor to a seaman, he climbed the steps nailed to the rounded side of the vessel, while the latter, returning to his post as mate, left the conversation to him whom he had announced under the name of Danglars, and who, coming out of his cabin, was in fact advancing to meet the shipowner.

The newcomer was a man of twenty-five to twenty-six years, of rather gloomy countenance, obsequious toward his superiors, insolent toward his subordinates: thus, besides his title of chief clerk, which is always a cause of repulsion to sailors, he was generally as ill-liked by the crew as Edmond Dantès, on the contrary, was beloved.

"Well, Mr. Morrel," said Danglars, "you know the misfortune, do you not?"

"Yes, yes, poor Captain Leclère! he was a brave and honest man!"

"And an excellent seaman above all, grown old between sky and water, as befits a man entrusted with the interests of a house as important as Morrel and Son," answered Danglars.

"But," said the shipowner, following Dantès with his eyes as he sought his anchorage, "but it seems to me there is no need to be so old a sailor as you say, Danglars, to know one's trade, and here is our friend Edmond who is doing his, as it seems to me, like a man who needs to ask advice of no one."

"Yes," said Danglars, casting a sidelong glance at Dantès in which flashed a spark of hatred, "yes, he is young, and doubts nothing. Scarcely was the captain dead than he took command without consulting anyone, and made us lose a day and a half at the island of Elba instead of returning directly to Marseille."

"As to taking command of the ship," said the shipowner, "it was his duty as mate; as to losing a day and a half at the island of Elba, he was wrong; unless the ship had some damage to repair."

"The ship was as well as I am, and as I hope you are, Mr. Morrel; and that day and a half was lost through pure caprice, for the pleasure of going ashore, that is all."

"Dantès," said the shipowner, turning toward the young man, "come here."

"Pardon, sir," said Dantès, "I am with you in an instant."

Then, addressing the crew: "Anchor!" said he.

Immediately the anchor fell, and the chain ran out with a noise. Dantès remained at his post, despite the presence of the pilot, until this last maneuver was finished; then:

"Lower the pennant to half-mast, place the flag at half-staff, cross the yards!"

"You see," said Danglars, "he already thinks himself captain, upon my word."

"And he is so in fact," said the shipowner.

"Yes, save your signature and that of your partner, Mr. Morrel."

"Why, why should we not leave him in that post?" said the shipowner. "He is young, I know well, but he seems to me thoroughly up to it, and very experienced in his calling."

A cloud passed over Danglars's brow.

"Pardon, Mr. Morrel," said Dantès, approaching, "now that the ship is anchored, here I am entirely at your service: you called me, I believe?"

Danglars stepped back a pace.

"I wished to ask you why you stopped at the island of Elba?"

"I do not know, sir; it was to fulfill a last order of Captain Leclère, who, on his deathbed, had given me a packet for the Grand Marshal Bertrand."

"Did you then see him, Edmond?"

"Whom?"

"The Grand Marshal?"

"Yes."

Morrel looked around him, and drew Dantès aside.

"And how is the Emperor?" he asked eagerly.

"Well, as far as I could judge with my own eyes."

"You saw the Emperor too?"

"He entered the marshal's house while I was there."

"And you spoke to him?"

"That is to say, it was he who spoke to me, sir," said Dantès, smiling.

"And what did he say to you?"

"He asked me questions about the ship, about the time of its departure for Marseille, about the route it had followed, and about the cargo it carried. I believe that if it had been empty, and I had been its master, his intention would have been to buy it; but I told him I was only mate, and that the ship belonged to the house of Morrel and Son. 'Ah! ah!' said he, 'I know them. The Morrels have been shipowners from father to son, and there was a Morrel who served in the same regiment as I when I was garrisoned at Valence.'"

"That is gospel truth!" cried the shipowner, overjoyed; "it was Policar Morrel, my uncle, who became a captain. Dantès, you will tell my uncle that the Emperor remembered him, and you will see the old grumbler weep. Come, come," continued the shipowner, tapping the young man familiarly on the shoulder, "you did well, Dantès, to follow Captain Leclère's instructions and stop at the island of Elba, although, if it were known that you delivered a packet to the marshal and talked with the Emperor, that might compromise you."

"How can that compromise me, sir?" said Dantès; "I do not even know what I was carrying, and the Emperor asked me only the questions he would have put to the first comer. But, pardon," resumed Dantès, "here come the health officers and the customs; you permit me, do you not?"

"Go, go, my dear Dantès."

The young man moved away, and, as he did so, Danglars drew near.

"Well," he asked, "it seems he gave you good reasons for his anchoring at Porto-Ferrajo?"

"Excellent ones, my dear Mr. Danglars."

"Ah! so much the better," replied the latter, "for it is always painful to see a comrade not doing his duty."

"Dantès did his," answered the shipowner; "there is nothing to be said. It was Captain Leclère who had ordered him that stop."

"By the way, of Captain Leclère, did he not give you a letter from him?"

"Who?"

"Dantès."

"To me, no! Had he one then?"

"I thought that besides the packet, Captain Leclère had entrusted him with a letter."

"Of what packet are you speaking, Danglars?"

"Why, of the one Dantès left at Porto-Ferrajo?"

"How do you know he had a packet to leave at Porto-Ferrajo?"

Danglars blushed.

"I was passing in front of the captain's door, which was ajar, and I saw him hand that packet and letter to Dantès."

"He said nothing of it to me," said the shipowner; "but if he has that letter, he will give it to me."

Danglars reflected for a moment.

"Then, Mr. Morrel, I beg of you," said he, "do not speak of this to Dantès; I must have been mistaken."

At this moment the young man returned; Danglars moved away.

"Well, my dear Dantès, are you free?" asked the shipowner.

"Yes, sir."

"That did not take long."

"No, I gave the customs officers the list of goods; and as for the harbor master, he had sent a man with the coastal pilot to whom I handed our papers."

"Then you have nothing more to do here?"

Dantès cast a rapid glance around him.

"No, all is in order," said he.

"Then you can come dine with us?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Morrel, excuse me, I beg of you, but I must pay my first visit to my father. I am none the less grateful for the honor you do me."

"That is right, Dantès, that is right. I know you are a good son."

"And..." asked Dantès with a certain hesitation, "and he is well, as you know, my father?"

"Why, I believe so, my dear Edmond, though I have not seen him."

"Yes, he keeps shut up in his little room."

"That at least proves he wanted for nothing during your absence."

Dantès smiled.

"My father is proud, sir, and, had he lacked everything, I doubt he would have asked anything of anyone in the world, except of God."

"Well, after this first visit, we count on you."

"Excuse me again, Mr. Morrel, but after this first visit, I have a second which is no less close to my heart."

"Ah! that is true, Dantès; I forgot that at the Catalans there is someone who must be awaiting you with no less impatience than your father: it is the fair Mercédès."

Dantès smiled.

"Ah! ah!" said the shipowner, "it no longer surprises me that she came three times to ask me for news of the _Pharaon_. Pshaw! Edmond, you are not to be pitied, and you have there a pretty mistress!"

"She is not my mistress, sir," said the young sailor gravely; "she is my betrothed."

"That is sometimes all one," said the shipowner, laughing.

"Not for us, sir," answered Dantès.

"Come, come, my dear Edmond," continued the shipowner, "let me not detain you; you have done my business well enough for me to give you every leisure to do your own. Do you need money?"

"No, sir; I have all my pay for the voyage, that is to say, nearly three months' wages."

"You are a steady fellow, Edmond."

"Add that I have a poor father, Mr. Morrel."

"Yes, yes, I know you are a good son. Go then and see your father: I too have a son, and I should be angry with anyone who, after a three months' voyage, kept him from me."

"Then, you permit?" said the young man, bowing.

"Yes, if you have nothing more to say to me."

"No."

"Did not Captain Leclère, on his deathbed, give you a letter for me?"

"He could not have written, sir; but that reminds me that I shall have to ask you for a fortnight's leave."

"To marry?"

"First; then to go to Paris."

"Good, good! take what time you please, Dantès; unloading the ship will take us a good six weeks, and we shall hardly put to sea again before three months.... Only, in three months, you must be here. The _Pharaon_," continued the shipowner, tapping the young sailor on the shoulder, "could not sail again without her captain."

"Without her captain!" cried Dantès, his eyes shining with joy; "mind well what you say, sir, for you have just answered the most secret hopes of my heart. Would it be your intention to name me captain of the _Pharaon_?"

"Were I alone, I would hold out my hand, my dear Dantès, and say to you: 'It is done.' But I have a partner, and you know the Italian proverb: _He who has a partner has a master_. But half the work is at least done, since of two votes you already have one. Rely on me to get the other, and I will do my best."

"Oh! Mr. Morrel," cried the young sailor, seizing the shipowner's hands with tears in his eyes, "Mr. Morrel, I thank you, in the name of my father and of Mercédès."

"That is well, that is well, Edmond, there is a God in heaven for brave folk, the deuce! Go see your father, go see Mercédès, and come back to me afterward."

"But you do not wish me to row you ashore?"

"No, thank you; I stay to settle my accounts with Danglars. Were you satisfied with him during the voyage?"

"That depends on the sense you attach to the question, sir. If it is as a good comrade, no, for I believe he has not liked me since the day I had the folly, following a little quarrel we had together, to propose to him that we stop ten minutes at the island of Monte-Cristo to settle that quarrel; a proposition I was wrong to make him, and he, on his part, right to refuse. If it is as accountant that you ask me the question, I believe there is nothing to say, and that you will be satisfied with the way his work is done."

"But," asked the shipowner, "come now, Dantès, if you were captain of the _Pharaon_, would you keep Danglars with pleasure?"

"Captain or mate, Mr. Morrel," said Dantès, "I shall always have the greatest regard for those who possess the confidence of my shipowners."

"Come, come, Dantès, I see that in every respect you are a fine fellow. Let me detain you no longer: go, for I see you are on coals."

"Then I have my leave?" asked Dantès.

"Go, I tell you."

"You permit me to take your skiff?"

"Take it."

"Farewell, Mr. Morrel, and a thousand times thanks."

"Farewell, my dear Edmond, good luck!"

The young sailor jumped into the skiff, went to sit at the stern, and gave the order to land at the Canebière. Two sailors at once bent to their oars, and the boat glided as rapidly as possible amid the thousand small craft that obstruct the sort of narrow street leading, between two rows of ships, from the port entrance to the quay of Orléans.

The shipowner followed him with his eyes, smiling, to the shore, saw him leap onto the flagstones of the quay, and immediately lose himself in the motley crowd which, from five in the morning to nine in the evening, throngs that famous Canebière street, of which the modern Phocaeans are so proud that they say, with the utmost seriousness in the world and with that accent which gives such character to what they say: "If Paris had the Canebière, Paris would be a little Marseille."

On turning round, the shipowner saw behind him Danglars, who, apparently, seemed to await his orders, but who, in reality, like him was following the young sailor with his eyes.

Only, there was a great difference in the expression of that double gaze which followed the same man.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”