Chapter 2. Father and Son
We will leave Danglars struggling with the demon of hatred, andendeavoring to insinuate in the ear of the shipowner some evilsuspicions against his comrade, and follow Dantès, who, after havingtraversed La Canebière, took the Rue de Noailles, and entering a smallhouse, on the left of the Allées de Meilhan, rapidly ascended fourflights of a dark staircase, holding the baluster with one hand, whilewith the other he repressed the beatings of his heart, and paused beforea half-open door, from which he could see the whole of a small room.
This room was occupied by Dantès’ father. The news of the arrival of thePharaon had not yet reached the old man, who, mounted on a chair, wasamusing himself by training with trembling hand the nasturtiums andsprays of clematis that clambered over the trellis at his window.Suddenly, he felt an arm thrown around his body, and a well-known voicebehind him exclaimed, “Father—dear father!”
The old man uttered a cry, and turned round; then, seeing his son, hefell into his arms, pale and trembling.
“What ails you, my dearest father? Are you ill?” inquired the young man,much alarmed.
“No, no, my dear Edmond—my boy—my son!—no; but I did not expect you; andjoy, the surprise of seeing you so suddenly—Ah, I feel as if I weregoing to die.”
“Come, come, cheer up, my dear father! ’Tis I—really I! They say joynever hurts, and so I came to you without any warning. Come now, dosmile, instead of looking at me so solemnly. Here I am back again, andwe are going to be happy.”
“Yes, yes, my boy, so we will—so we will,” replied the old man; “but howshall we be happy? Shall you never leave me again? Come, tell me all thegood fortune that has befallen you.”
“God forgive me,” said the young man, “for rejoicing at happinessderived from the misery of others, but, Heaven knows, I did not seekthis good fortune; it has happened, and I really cannot pretend tolament it. The good Captain Leclere is dead, father, and it is probablethat, with the aid of M. Morrel, I shall have his place. Do youunderstand, father? Only imagine me a captain at twenty, with a hundredlouis pay, and a share in the profits! Is this not more than a poorsailor like me could have hoped for?”
“Yes, my dear boy,” replied the old man, “it is very fortunate.”
“Well, then, with the first money I touch, I mean you to have a smallhouse, with a garden in which to plant clematis, nasturtiums, andhoneysuckle. But what ails you, father? Are you not well?”
“’Tis nothing, nothing; it will soon pass away”—and as he said so theold man’s strength failed him, and he fell backwards.
“Come, come,” said the young man, “a glass of wine, father, will reviveyou. Where do you keep your wine?”
“No, no; thanks. You need not look for it; I do not want it,” said theold man.
“Yes, yes, father, tell me where it is,” and he opened two or threecupboards.
“It is no use,” said the old man, “there is no wine.”
“What, no wine?” said Dantès, turning pale, and looking alternately atthe hollow cheeks of the old man and the empty cupboards. “What, nowine? Have you wanted money, father?”
“I want nothing now that I have you,” said the old man.
“Yet,” stammered Dantès, wiping the perspiration from his brow,—“yet Igave you two hundred francs when I left, three months ago.”
“Yes, yes, Edmond, that is true, but you forgot at that time a littledebt to our neighbor, Caderousse. He reminded me of it, telling me if Idid not pay for you, he would be paid by M. Morrel; and so, you see,lest he might do you an injury——”
“Well?”
“Why, I paid him.”
“But,” cried Dantès, “it was a hundred and forty francs I owedCaderousse.”
“Yes,” stammered the old man.
“And you paid him out of the two hundred francs I left you?”
The old man nodded.
“So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs,” mutteredEdmond.
“You know how little I require,” said the old man.
“Heaven pardon me,” cried Edmond, falling on his knees before hisfather.
“What are you doing?”
“You have wounded me to the heart.”
“Never mind it, for I see you once more,” said the old man; “and nowit’s all over—everything is all right again.”
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“Yes, here I am,” said the young man, “with a promising future and alittle money. Here, father, here!” he said, “take this—take it, and sendfor something immediately.” And he emptied his pockets on the table, thecontents consisting of a dozen gold pieces, five or six five-francpieces, and some smaller coin. The countenance of old Dantès brightened.
“Whom does this belong to?” he inquired.
“To me, to you, to us! Take it; buy some provisions; be happy, andtomorrow we shall have more.”
“Gently, gently,” said the old man, with a smile; “and by your leave Iwill use your purse moderately, for they would say, if they saw me buytoo many things at a time, that I had been obliged to await your return,in order to be able to purchase them.”
“Do as you please; but, first of all, pray have a servant, father. Iwill not have you left alone so long. I have some smuggled coffee andmost capital tobacco, in a small chest in the hold, which you shall havetomorrow. But, hush, here comes somebody.”
“’Tis Caderousse, who has heard of your arrival, and no doubt comes tocongratulate you on your fortunate return.”
“Ah, lips that say one thing, while the heart thinks another,” murmuredEdmond. “But, never mind, he is a neighbor who has done us a service ona time, so he’s welcome.”
As Edmond paused, the black and bearded head of Caderousse appeared atthe door. He was a man of twenty-five or six, and held a piece of cloth,which, being a tailor, he was about to make into a coat-lining.
“What, is it you, Edmond, back again?” said he, with a broadMarseillaise accent, and a grin that displayed his ivory-white teeth.
“Yes, as you see, neighbor Caderousse; and ready to be agreeable to youin any and every way,” replied Dantès, but ill-concealing his coldnessunder this cloak of civility.
“Thanks—thanks; but, fortunately, I do not want for anything; and itchances that at times there are others who have need of me.” Dantès madea gesture. “I do not allude to you, my boy. No!—no! I lent you money,and you returned it; that’s like good neighbors, and we are quits.”
“We are never quits with those who oblige us,” was Dantès’ reply; “forwhen we do not owe them money, we owe them gratitude.”
“What’s the use of mentioning that? What is done is done. Let us talk ofyour happy return, my boy. I had gone on the quay to match a piece ofmulberry cloth, when I met friend Danglars. ‘You at Marseilles?’—‘Yes,’says he.
“‘I thought you were at Smyrna.’—‘I was; but am now back again.’
“‘And where is the dear boy, our little Edmond?’
“‘Why, with his father, no doubt,’ replied Danglars. And so I came,”added Caderousse, “as fast as I could to have the pleasure of shakinghands with a friend.”
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“Worthy Caderousse!” said the old man, “he is so much attached to us.”
“Yes, to be sure I am. I love and esteem you, because honest folks areso rare. But it seems you have come back rich, my boy,” continued thetailor, looking askance at the handful of gold and silver which Dantèshad thrown on the table.
The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the dark eyes ofhis neighbor. “Eh,” he said, negligently, “this money is not mine. I wasexpressing to my father my fears that he had wanted many things in myabsence, and to convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Come,father” added Dantès, “put this money back in your box—unless neighborCaderousse wants anything, and in that case it is at his service.”
“No, my boy, no,” said Caderousse. “I am not in any want, thank God, myliving is suited to my means
. Keep your money—keep it, I say;—one neverhas too much;—but, at the same time, my boy, I am as much obliged byyour offer as if I took advantage of it.”
“It was offered with good will,” said Dantès.
“No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M. Morrel Ihear,—you insinuating dog, you!”
“M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me,” replied Dantès.
“Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him.”
“What, did you refuse to dine with him?” said old Dantès; “and did heinvite you to dine?”
“Yes, my dear father,” replied Edmond, smiling at his father’sastonishment at the excessive honor paid to his son.
“And why did you refuse, my son?” inquired the old man.
“That I might the sooner see you again, my dear father,” replied theyoung man. “I was most anxious to see you.”
“But it must have vexed M. Morrel, good, worthy man,” said Caderousse.“And when you are looking forward to be captain, it was wrong to annoythe owner.”
“But I explained to him the cause of my refusal,” replied Dantès, “and Ihope he fully understood it.”
“Yes, but to be captain one must do a little flattery to one’s patrons.”
“I hope to be captain without that,” said Dantès.
“So much the better—so much the better! Nothing will give greaterpleasure to all your old friends; and I know one down there behind theSaint Nicolas citadel who will not be sorry to hear it.”
“Mercédès?” said the old man.
“Yes, my dear father, and with your permission, now I have seen you, andknow you are well and have all you require, I will ask your consent togo and pay a visit to the Catalans.”
“Go, my dear boy,” said old Dantès; “and Heaven bless you in your wife,as it has blessed me in my son!”
“His wife!” said Caderousse; “why, how fast you go on, father Dantès;she is not his wife yet, as it seems to me.”
“No, but according to all probability she soon will be,” replied Edmond.
“Yes—yes,” said Caderousse; “but you were right to return as soon aspossible, my boy.”
“And why?”
“Because Mercédès is a very fine girl, and fine girls never lackfollowers; she particularly has them by dozens.”
“Really?” answered Edmond, with a smile which had in it traces of slightuneasiness.
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“Ah, yes,” continued Caderousse, “and capital offers, too; but you know,you will be captain, and who could refuse you then?”
“Meaning to say,” replied Dantès, with a smile which but ill-concealedhis trouble, “that if I were not a captain——”
“Eh—eh!” said Caderousse, shaking his head.
“Come, come,” said the sailor, “I have a better opinion than you ofwomen in general, and of Mercédès in particular; and I am certain that,captain or not, she will remain ever faithful to me.”
“So much the better—so much the better,” said Caderousse. “When one isgoing to be married, there is nothing like implicit confidence; butnever mind that, my boy,—go and announce your arrival, and let her knowall your hopes and prospects.”
“I will go directly,” was Edmond’s reply; and, embracing his father, andnodding to Caderousse, he left the apartment.
Caderousse lingered for a moment, then taking leave of old Dantès, hewent downstairs to rejoin Danglars, who awaited him at the corner of theRue Senac.
“Well,” said Danglars, “did you see him?”
“I have just left him,” answered Caderousse.
“Did he allude to his hope of being captain?”
“He spoke of it as a thing already decided.”
“Indeed!” said Danglars, “he is in too much hurry, it appears to me.”
“Why, it seems M. Morrel has promised him the thing.”
“So that he is quite elated about it?”
“Why, yes, he is actually insolent over the matter—has already offeredme his patronage, as if he were a grand personage, and proffered me aloan of money, as though he were a banker.”
“Which you refused?”
“Most assuredly; although I might easily have accepted it, for it was Iwho put into his hands the first silver he ever earned; but now M.Dantès has no longer any occasion for assistance—he is about to become acaptain.”
“Pooh!” said Danglars, “he is not one yet.”
“Ma foi! it will be as well if he is not,” answered Caderousse; “for ifhe should be, there will be really no speaking to him.”
“If we choose,” replied Danglars, “he will remain what he is; andperhaps become even less than he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing—I was speaking to myself. And is he still in love with theCatalane?”
“Over head and ears; but, unless I am much mistaken, there will be astorm in that quarter.”
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“Explain yourself.”
“Why should I?”
“It is more important than you think, perhaps. You do not like Dantès?”
“I never like upstarts.”
“Then tell me all you know about the Catalane.”
“I know nothing for certain; only I have seen things which induce me tobelieve, as I told you, that the future captain will find some annoyancein the vicinity of the Vieilles Infirmeries.”
“What have you seen?—come, tell me!”
“Well, every time I have seen Mercédès come into the city she has beenaccompanied by a tall, strapping, black-eyed Catalan, with a redcomplexion, brown skin, and fierce air, whom she calls cousin.”
“Really; and you think this cousin pays her attentions?”
“I only suppose so. What else can a strapping chap of twenty-one meanwith a fine wench of seventeen?”
“And you say that Dantès has gone to the Catalans?”
“He went before I came down.”
“Let us go the same way; we will stop at La Réserve, and we can drink aglass of La Malgue, whilst we wait for news.”
“Come along,” said Caderousse; “but you pay the score.”
“Of course,” replied Danglars; and going quickly to the designatedplace, they called for a bottle of wine, and two glasses.
Père Pamphile had seen Dantès pass not ten minutes before; and assuredthat he was at the Catalans, they sat down under the budding foliage ofthe planes and sycamores, in the branches of which the birds weresinging their welcome to one of the first days of spring.