Part 5

“Oh, if you take it in that sense,” said Caderousse, “it is another thing. But I thought you were a Catalan, and they told me the Catalans were not men to allow themselves to be supplanted by a rival. It was even 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 from the bottom of his heart. “Why, you see, he did not expect to see Dantès return so suddenly—he thought he was dead, perhaps; or perchance faithless! These things always come on us more severely when they come suddenly.” “Ah, _ma foi_, under any circumstances!” said Caderousse, who drank as he spoke, and on whom the fumes of the wine began to take effect,—“under any circumstances Fernand is not the only person put out by the fortunate 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 for Fernand, and filling his own for the eighth or ninth time, while Danglars had merely sipped his. “Never mind—in the meantime he marries Mercédès—the lovely Mercédès—at least he returns to do that.” During this time Danglars fixed his piercing glance on the young man, on whose 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 be captain 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 was premeditated; but he read nothing but envy in a countenance already rendered brutal and stupid by drunkenness. “Well,” said he, filling the glasses, “let us drink to Captain Edmond Dantès, husband of the beautiful Catalane!” Caderousse raised his glass to his mouth with unsteady hand, and swallowed the contents at a gulp. Fernand dashed his on the ground. “Eh, eh, eh!” stammered Caderousse. “What do I see down there by the wall, in the direction of the Catalans? Look, Fernand, your eyes are better 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 in hand. Heaven forgive me, they do not know that we can see them, and they are 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 when the wedding is to be, for Fernand here is so obstinate he will not tell us.” “Hold your tongue, will you?” said Danglars, pretending to restrain Caderousse, who, with the tenacity of drunkards, leaned out of the arbor. “Try to stand upright, and let the lovers make love without interruption. See, look at Fernand, and follow his example; he is well-behaved!” 0051m Fernand, probably excited beyond bearing, pricked by Danglars, as the bull is by the bandilleros, was about to rush out; for he had risen from his seat, and seemed to be collecting himself to dash headlong upon his rival, when Mercédès, smiling and graceful, lifted up her lovely head, and looked at them with her clear and bright eyes. At this Fernand recollected her threat of dying if Edmond died, and dropped again heavily on his seat. Danglars looked at the two men, one after the other, the one brutalized by liquor, the other overwhelmed with love. “I shall get nothing from these fools,” he muttered; “and I am very much afraid of being here between a drunkard and a coward. Here’s an envious fellow making himself boozy on wine when he ought to be nursing his wrath, and here is a fool who sees the woman he loves stolen from under his nose and takes on like a big baby. Yet this Catalan has eyes that glisten 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 the splendid girl—he will be captain, too, and laugh at us all, unless”—a sinister smile passed over Danglars’ lips—“unless I take a hand in the affair,” he added. “Hallo!” continued Caderousse, half-rising, and with his fist on the table, “hallo, Edmond! do you not see your friends, or are you too proud to 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 my country it bodes ill fortune, they say, to call a young girl by the name of her betrothed before he becomes her husband. So call me Mercédès, if you please.” “We must excuse our worthy neighbor, Caderousse,” said Dantès, “he is so easily mistaken.” “So, then, the wedding is to take place immediately, M. Dantès,” said Danglars, bowing to the young couple. “As soon as possible, M. Danglars; today all preliminaries will be arranged at my father’s, and tomorrow, or next day at latest, the wedding 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, is invited!” “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, and he could not utter a word. “Today the preliminaries, tomorrow or next day the ceremony! You are in a hurry, captain!” “Danglars,” said Edmond, smiling, “I will say to you as Mercédès said just now to Caderousse, ‘Do not give me a title which does not belong to me’; 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 in less than three months.” “We are always in a hurry to be happy, M. Danglars; for when we have suffered a long time, we have great difficulty in believing in good fortune. But it is not selfishness alone that makes me thus in haste; I must go to Paris.” “Ah, really?—to Paris! and will it be the first time you have ever been there, Dantès?” “Yes.” “Have you business there?” “Not of my own; the last commission of poor Captain Leclere; you know to what I allude, Danglars—it is sacred. Besides, I shall only take the time to go and return.” “Yes, yes, I understand,” said Danglars, and then in a low tone, he added, “To Paris, no doubt to deliver the letter which the grand marshal gave 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 ship _Pharaon_;” then turning towards Edmond, who was walking away, “A pleasant journey,” he cried. “Thank you,” said Edmond with a friendly nod, and the two lovers continued on their way, as calm and joyous as if they were the very elect of heaven. Chapter 4. Conspiracy Danglars followed Edmond and Mercédès with his eyes until the two lovers disappeared behind one of the angles of Fort Saint Nicolas; then, turning round, he perceived Fernand, who had fallen, pale and trembling, into his chair, while Caderousse stammered out the words of a drinking-song. “Well, my dear sir,” said Danglars to Fernand, “here is a marriage which does not appear to make everybody happy.” “It drives me to despair,” said Fernand. “Do you, then, love Mercédès?” “I adore her!” “For long?” “As long as I have known her—always.” “And you sit there, tearing your hair, instead of seeking to remedy your condition; I did not think that was the way of your people.” “What would you have me do?” said Fernand. “How do I know? Is it my affair? I am not in love with Mademoiselle Mercédès; but for you—in the words of the gospel, seek, and you shall find.” “I have found already.” “What?” “I would stab the man, but the woman told me that if any misfortune happened to her betrothed, she would kill herself.” “Pooh! Women say those things, but never do them.” “You do not know Mercédès; what she threatens she will do.” “Idiot!” muttered Danglars; “whether she kill herself or not, what matter, provided Dantès is not captain?” “Before Mercédès should die,” replied Fernand, with the accents of unshaken resolution, “I would die myself!” “That’s what I call love!” said Caderousse with a voice more tipsy than ever. “That’s love, or I don’t know what love is.” “Come,” said Danglars, “you appear to me a good sort of fellow, and hang me, I should like to help you, but——” “Yes,” said Caderousse, “but how?” “My dear fellow,” replied Danglars, “you are three parts drunk; finish the bottle, and you will be completely so. Drink then, and do not meddle with what we are discussing, for that requires all one’s wit and cool judgment.” “I—drunk!” said Caderousse; “well that’s a good one! I could drink four more such bottles; they are no bigger than cologne flasks. Père Pamphile, more wine!” And Caderousse rattled his glass upon the table. “You were saying, sir——” said Fernand, awaiting with great anxiety the end of this interrupted remark. “What was I saying? I forget. This drunken Caderousse has made me lose the thread of my sentence.” “Drunk, if you like; so much the worse for those who fear wine, for it is because they have bad thoughts which they are afraid the liquor will extract from their hearts;” and Caderousse began to sing the two last lines of a song very popular at the time: ‘Tous les méchants sont buveurs d’eau; C’est bien prouvé par le déluge.’1 “You said, sir, you would like to help me, but——” “Yes; but I added, to help you it would be sufficient that Dantès did not marry her you love; and the marriage may easily be thwarted, methinks, and yet Dantès need not die.” “Death alone can separate them,” remarked Fernand. “You talk like a noodle, my friend,” said Caderousse; “and here is Danglars, who is a wide-awake, clever, deep fellow, who will prove to you that you are wrong. Prove it, Danglars. I have answered for you. Say there is no need why Dantès should die; it would, indeed, be a pity he should. Dantès is a good fellow; I like Dantès. Dantès, your health.” Fernand rose impatiently. “Let him run on,” said Danglars, restraining the young man; “drunk as he is, he is not much out in what he says. Absence severs as well as death, and if the walls of a prison were between Edmond and Mercédès they would be as effectually separated as if he lay under a tombstone.” 0056m “Yes; but one gets out of prison,” said Caderousse, who, with what sense was left him, listened eagerly to the conversation, “and when one gets out and one’s name is Edmond Dantès, one seeks revenge——” “What matters that?” muttered Fernand. “And why, I should like to know,” persisted Caderousse, “should they put Dantès in prison? he has neither robbed, nor killed, nor murdered.” “Hold your tongue!” said Danglars. “I won’t hold my tongue!” replied Caderousse; “I say I want to know why they should put Dantès in prison; I like Dantès; Dantès, your health!” and he swallowed another glass of wine. 0057m Danglars saw in the muddled look of the tailor the progress of his intoxication, and turning towards Fernand, said, “Well, you understand there is no need to kill him.” “Certainly not, if, as you said just now, you have the means of having Dantès arrested. Have you that means?” “It is to be found for the searching. But why should I meddle in the matter? it is no affair of mine.” “I know not why you meddle,” said Fernand, seizing his arm; “but this I know, you have some motive of personal hatred against Dantès, for he who himself hates is never mistaken in the sentiments of others.”