The Count of Monte Cristo

Storia di un uomo in cerca di vendetta per la sua ingiusta detenzione.

Book Excerpt:

Lovely as the Greek girls of Cyprus or Chios, Mercédès boasted the same

bright flashing eyes of jet, and ripe, round, coral lips. She moved with the light,

free step of an Arlesienne or an Andalusian. One more practiced in the arts of

great cities would have hid her blushes beneath a veil, or, at least, have cast

down her thickly fringed lashes, so as to have concealed the liquid lustre of her

animated eyes; but, on the contrary, the delighted girl looked around her with a

smile that seemed to say: “If you are my friends, rejoice with me, for I am very

happy.”

As soon as the bridal party came in sight of La Réserve, M. Morrel descended

and came forth to meet it, followed by the soldiers and sailors there assembled,

to whom he had repeated the promise already given, that Dantès should be the

successor to the late Captain Leclere. Edmond, at the approach of his patron,

respectfully placed the arm of his affianced bride within that of M. Morrel, who,

forthwith conducting her up the flight of wooden steps leading to the chamber in

which the feast was prepared, was gayly followed by the guests, beneath whose

heavy tread the slight structure creaked and groaned for the space of several

minutes.

“Father,” said Mercédès, stopping when she had reached the centre of the

table, “sit, I pray you, on my right hand; on my left I will place him who has

ever been as a brother to me,” pointing with a soft and gentle smile to Fernand;

but her words and look seemed to inflict the direst torture on him, for his lips

became ghastly pale, and even beneath the dark hue of his complexion the blood

might be seen retreating as though some sudden pang drove it back to the heart.

During this time, Dantès, at the opposite side of the table, had been occupied

in similarly placing his most honored guests. M. Morrel was seated at his right

hand, Danglars at his left; while, at a sign from Edmond, the rest of the company

ranged themselves as they found it most agreeable.

Then they began to pass around the dusky, piquant, Arlesian sausages, and

lobsters in their dazzling red cuirasses, prawns of large size and brilliant color,

the echinus with its prickly outside and dainty morsel within, the clovis,

esteemed by the epicures of the South as more than rivalling the exquisite flavor

of the oyster, North. All the delicacies, in fact, that are cast up by the wash of

waters on the sandy beach, and styled by the grateful fishermen “fruits of the

sea.”

“A pretty silence truly!” said the old father of the bridegroom, as he carried to

his lips a glass of wine of the hue and brightness of the topaz, and which had just

been placed before Mercédès herself. “Now, would anybody think that this room

contained a happy, merry party, who desire nothing better than to laugh and

dance the hours away?”

“Ah,” sighed Caderousse, “a man cannot always feel happy because he is

about to be married.”

“The truth is,” replied Dantès, “that I am too happy for noisy mirth; if that is

what you meant by your observation, my worthy friend, you are right; joy takes

a strange effect at times, it seems to oppress us almost the same as sorrow.”

Danglars looked towards Fernand, whose excitable nature received and

betrayed each fresh impression.

“Why, what ails you?” asked he of Edmond. “Do you fear any approaching

evil? I should say that you were the happiest man alive at this instant.”

“And that is the very thing that alarms me,” returned Dantès. “Man does not

appear to me to be intended to enjoy felicity so unmixed; happiness is like the

enchanted palaces we read of in our childhood, where fierce, fiery dragons

defend the entrance and approach; and monsters of all shapes and kinds,

requiring to be overcome ere victory is ours. I own that I am lost in wonder to

find myself promoted to an honor of which I feel myself unworthy—that of

being the husband of Mercédès.”