第五章: 婚筵 The Betrothal_基督山伯爵

Although the meal was due to begin only at noon, this gallery was crowded with impatient onlookers from eleven o'clock in the morning. These were a few chosen sailors from the Pharaon and some soldiers who were Dantès' friends. All of them were in their Sunday best, in honour of the engaged couple.

The meal had been set out on the first floor of the same inn, La Réserve, with the terrace of which we are already acquainted. It was a large room, lit by five or six windows, above each of which (for some inexplicable reason) was inscribed the name of one of the great towns of France. A gallery -- of wood, like the rest of the building -- ran the whole length of the room under the windows.

The rumour circulating among these expectant guests was that the owners of the Pharaon were to honour its first mate's betrothal feast with their presence, but this would have been to do such a great honour to Dantès that no one yet dared believe it. However, Danglars, when he arrived with Caderousse, confirmed the news: he had seen M. Morrel himself, that morning, and M. Morrel had said that he would be dining at La Réserve.

Danglars and Caderousse set off at full speed, but had hardly gone any distance before they saw the little band approaching, just coming past the powder magazine. It was made up of four young women, friends of Mercédès and Catalans like her, who were accompanying the fiancée while Edmond gave her his arm. Next to her walked Old Dantès and behind them came Fernand, with his sour smile.

Indeed, a moment later, M. Morrel made his entrance into the room and was saluted by the crew of the Pharaon with a unanimous burst of applause and shouts of "Hurrah!" The owner's presence was seen by them as confirmation of a rumour, already going about, that Dantès was to be appointed captain; and, since Dantès was much liked on board, the men took this way of thanking the owner because, for once, his choice was concordant with their wishes. Hardly had M. Morrel entered than Danglars and Caderousse were, by general agreement, dispatched to find the fiancé, with orders to advise him of the arrival of this important person whose appearance had caused such a stir, and to tell him to hurry.

Neither Mercédès nor Edmond could see the smile on Fernand's face. The poor children were so happy that they saw nothing except one another and the pure, clear sky that showered its blessing on them.

The old man was wearing his fine coat of fluted taffeta, decorated with large-faceted steel buttons. His lanky but vigorous legs were clothed in a splendid pair of spotted stockings that cried out English contraband. A mass of white and blue ribbons hung from his three-cornered hat. Finally, he was supported by a stick of twisted wood, bent at the top like a classical staff or pedum. He looked like one of those dandies who used to parade in 1796 in the newly re-opened gardens of the Luxembourg or the Tuileries.

Danglars and Caderousse discharged their diplomatic mission, then exchanged a warm and energetic handshake with Edmond, and took up their places, Danglars next to Fernand and Caderousse beside Old Dantès, who was the general centre of attention.

As we said, Caderousse had slipped into step beside him -- Caderousse, entirely reconciled with the Dantès by the prospect of a good meal, Caderousse whose mind retained some vague memory of what had happened the previous day, as one's brain on waking in the morning may hold a shadow of the dream that it experienced in sleep.

Dantès was dressed simply. Since he belonged to the merchant marine, his clothes were halfway between military uniform and civilian dress; in this habit, his evident good health, set off against the happiness and beauty of his fiancée, was perfect.

As he came up to Fernand, Danglars searched deep into the disappointed lover's soul. He was walking behind the engaged couple, entirely forgotten by Mercédès, who, with the childlike and endearing egoism of love, had eyes only for her Edmond. Fernand was pale, then his colour would heighten suddenly, only to give way again to a deepening pallor. From time to time he looked towards Marseille, and an involuntary nervous tremor would shake his limbs. He seemed to be expecting, or at least to anticipate the possibility of, some important event.

Mercédès was as lovely as one of those Greek women of Cyprus or Chios, with jet-black eyes and coral lips. She stepped out with the frankness and freedom of an Arlésienne or an Andalusian woman. A city girl might perhaps have tried to conceal her joy under a veil or at least beneath the velvet shade of her eyelids, but Mercédès smiled and looked at all those around her; and her look and her smile said as plainly as she could have in words: if you are my friends, rejoice with me, because I am truly happy!

"Father," Mercédès said, stopping at the middle of the table, "you go on my right, I pray you; and on my left, I shall place the one who has been a brother to me." She spoke with such softness that it struck Fernand to the depth of his soul like a blow from a dagger. His lips paled and, under the tanned colouring of his masculine features, you could once more see the blood draining bit by bit as it flooded into his heart.

Meanwhile Dantès had done the same: on his right, he placed M. Morrel, and on his left Danglars. Then he signalled to everyone to sit down wherever they wished.

As soon as the couple and those accompanying them were in sight of La Réserve, M. Morrel came down and set out to meet them, followed by the sailors and soldiers: he had stayed with them to renew the promise he had already made to Dantès himself, that he would succeed Captain Leclère. Seeing him approach, Edmond let go of his fiancée's arm, which he placed under M. Morrel's. Thus the shipowner and the young woman gave a lead by going first up the wooden stairs leading to the room where dinner was served, and the staircase groaned for five minutes under the heavy feet of the guests.

Already the guests were passing round the strong-smelling Arles sausage with its brown flesh, crayfish in their dazzling armour, pink-shelled clams, sea-urchins looking like chestnuts in their spiny cases, and clovisses, those shellfish that gourmets from the South claim are more than an adequate substitute for the oysters of northern waters; in short, all the delicate hors-d'oeuvres that are washed up by the waves on these sandy shores and to which grateful fishermen accord the general appellation of fruits de mer.

"The fact is," Dantès said, "that I am too happy at this moment to be merry. If that's what you mean, neighbour, you are right. Joy may sometimes produce strange effects and be as oppressive as sorrow."

"Why this silence?" the old man exclaimed, sipping a glass of a wine as yellow as topaz, which Père Pamphile in person had just set down in front of Mercédès. "Who would imagine that there are thirty people here who ask nothing better than to be merry?"

"Huh! A husband is not always merry," said Caderousse.

"Husband! Husband!" Caderousse said, laughing. "Not yet, Captain. Try behaving like her husband right now and you'll see how she treats you."

"Come now," he said. "Have you anything to fear? It seems to me, on the contrary, that everything is working out as you would wish."

"By heaven, neighbour," said Dantès, "you have no need to give me the lie for so little. It's true, Mercédès is not yet my wife, but…" (he took out his watch) "… in an hour and a half, she will be!"

Fernand was shuffling on his chair, starting at the slightest noise and, from time to time, wiping large beads of sweat from his forehead, which seemed to have fallen there like the first drops of rain before a storm.

"That is precisely what terrifies me," said Dantès. "I cannot think that man is meant to find happiness so easily! Happiness is like one of those palaces on an enchanted island, its gates guarded by dragons. One must fight to gain it; and, in truth, I do not know what I have done to deserve the good fortune of becoming Mercédès' husband."

Danglars was watching Fernand, whose impressionable nature absorbed and reflected his every feeling.

Mercédès blushed.

"In an hour!" said Danglars, himself going pale. "How is that?"

Fernand closed his eyes. A fiery cloud was burning behind their lids and he grasped the table to keep himself from fainting; but, despite his efforts to do so, he could not repress a deep groan that was drowned by laughter and the congratulations of the guests.

There was a gasp of surprise from everyone, except Old Dantès, who exhibited his fine set of teeth in a broad laugh. Mercédès smiled and was no longer blushing. Fernand made a convulsive lunge towards the handle of his dagger.

"Yes, friends," Dantès replied. "Thanks to an advance from Monsieur Morrel, the man to whom -- after my father -- I owe the most in the world, all our difficulties have been overcome. We have paid for the banns and at half-past two the Mayor of Marseille is expecting us at the Town Hall. Now, since it has just sounded a quarter past one, I think I am not much mistaken in saying that in one hour and thirty minutes Mercédès will be Madame Dantès."

"That's the way to do it, no?" Old Dantès said. "What would you say? Has he wasted any time? Disembarked yesterday morning, married today at three o'clock! Trust a sailor to get the job done without messing around."

"But," Danglars put in timidly, "what about the other formalities: the contract, the settlement?"

"The contract!" Dantès said with a laugh. "The contract is already made: Mercédès has nothing, and neither have I! We shall be married under a settlement of common estate, that's all. It took little time to write out and won't be expensive."

This sally brought a further round of applause and hurrahs.

"So, what we thought was a betrothal is nothing less than a wedding feast," said Danglars.

"Not so," said Dantès. "Don't worry, you won't be missing anything. Tomorrow morning, I leave for Paris: four days to travel there, four days to return and a day to carry out my errand conscientiously. On March the first I shall be back; on March the second, then, we shall have the real wedding feast."

The prospect of a second meal increased the level of hilarity to such a point that Old Dantès, who had complained of the silence at the start of the dinner, was now making futile efforts, in the midst of the general hubbub, to propose a toast to the prosperity of the happy couple.

Fernand's pallor was almost reflected on the cheeks of Danglars; as for Fernand himself, all life appeared to have left him and he was like one of the damned in a lake of fire. He had been among the first to get up and was striding backwards and forwards across the room, trying to block his ears to the sound of songs and clinking glasses.

Dantès guessed what was in his father's mind and replied with a smile full of filial love. Mercédès had started to watch the time on the cuckoo clock in the room, and she made a sign to Edmond.

Around the table reigned the noisy merriment and freedom of manners that, among people of the lower orders, are common accompaniments to the end of a meal. Those who were dissatisfied with their places had got up from the table and gone to find new neighbours. Everyone had started to speak at once, and no one was bothering to listen to what the person next to him was saying, but was concerned only with his own thoughts.

Caderousse went over to him, just as Danglars, whom he had apparently been trying to avoid, caught up with him in a corner of the room.

Caderousse looked at Fernand. He was deathly pale.

"The sacrifice is all the greater," Danglars went on, "as the girl is so decidedly pretty. Dammit! My future captain is a lucky dog: I wish I could be in his shoes for just half a day."

"I must say," Caderousse remarked, the last remnants of the hatred which Dantès' unexpected good fortune had sowed in his mind having succumbed to Dantès' joviality and, above all, to Père Pamphile's excellent wine. "Dantès is a good fellow and when I see him like this beside his fiancée I feel that it would have been a pity to play the unkind trick on him that you were plotting yesterday."

"Shall we go?" Mercédès said softly. "It is striking two and we are expected at a quarter past."

"Well, then," Danglars replied, "you can see that the matter went no further. Poor Monsieur Fernand was so upset that, at first, I felt sorry for him; but now that he has made up his mind to accept the situation, to the point of allowing himself to become his rival's best man, there is nothing more to be said."

"Yes, yes, let's go," Dantès exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

At that moment Danglars, who had not taken his eyes off Fernand where he was sitting on the window-ledge, saw him look up frantically, rise as though with a convulsive start, then fall back on to his seat in the casement. At almost the same moment a dull sound echoed through the stairway, the sound of heavy footsteps and confused voices, mingled with the clanking of weapons, which rose above the exclamations of the guests (loud though these were) and instantly attracted everybody's attention, creating an uneasy hush.

"Let's go!" all the guests repeated in unison.

Uneasiness gave way to terror.

The sounds drew closer. Three knocks sounded on the door, and all those in the room looked at their neighbours in astonishment.

"Open, in the name of the law!" cried a voice, in a resounding tone. No one answered. At once the door flew open and a commissioner of police,1 wearing his sash, strode into the room, followed by four armed soldiers under the command of a corporal.

"What is wrong?" the shipowner asked, going over to the commissioner, whom he knew. "Monsieur, there must undoubtedly be some mistake."

"If there is a mistake, Monsieur Morrel," the commissioner replied, "you may be sure that it will soon be put right. In the meanwhile, I have a warrant here; and though I do it with regret, I must fulfil my duty. Which of you gentlemen is Edmond Dantès?"

All eyes turned towards the young man who, preserving his dignity despite his astonishment, stepped forward and said: "I am, Monsieur. What do you want with me?"

"Edmond Dantès," the commissioner said, "I arrest you in the name of the law."

"Arrest me!" Edmond said, paling slightly. "Why are you arresting me?"

M. Morrel realized that there was no sense in trying to argue in the circumstances: a commissioner wearing his sash is no longer a man but a statue of the law, cold, deaf and dumb. But the old man rushed over to the officer: it is impossible, in some situations, to reason with the heart of a parent.

"I have no idea of that, Monsieur, but you will be informed of it in your first interrogation."

"My dear sir," he said, "calm yourself. Perhaps your son has forgotten some formality to do with the Customs or the health authorities; and, as likely as not, when he has given them the information they require, he will be released."

"How can I tell?" he replied. "Like you, I can see what is happening, but I am at a loss to understand it."

He begged and prayed: prayers and tears were ineffectual, but his despair was so great that the commissioner was moved by it.

"Well, I never! What does this mean?" Caderousse asked Danglars quizzically, while Danglars feigned surprise.

Caderousse looked around for Fernand, but he had vanished. At that moment, the whole of the previous evening's events flashed before his eyes with terrifying clarity. It was as though the catastrophe had lifted the veil that drunkenness had cast over his memory of the day before.

"Oh! Oh!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Can this be a consequence of the joke you were speaking about yesterday, Danglars? If that is the case, damnation take the perpetrator, for it is a cruel one."

"Nothing of the sort!" muttered Danglars. "Far from it: you know very well that I tore up the paper."

"That you did not," said Caderousse. "You merely threw it into a corner."

"Hold your tongue. You were drunk, you saw nothing."

"Where is Fernand?" Caderousse asked.

"Certainly not, I guarantee it," Danglars said, coming across at that moment to the group, as he had indicated.

"How do I know?" replied Danglars. "About his business, no doubt. But instead of worrying about that, why don't we go and comfort these poor people."

Dantès went down the stairs, following the commissioner of police, with the soldiers surrounding him. A carriage, its door wide open, was waiting outside. He got in. Two soldiers and the commissioner got up behind him, the door closed and the carriage set out on the road back to Marseille.

While this conversation was taking place, Dantès had in effect been shaking the hands of all his friends, with a smile to each, and relinquished himself into captivity, saying: "Stay calm. The mistake will doubtless be explained and it is quite probable that I shall not even go as far as the prison."

"Farewell, Dantès! Farewell, Edmond!" cried Mercédès, leaning across the balustrade.

The prisoner heard this last cry, wrung like a sob from his fiancée's tormented heart. He leant out of the carriage window and called: "Goodbye, Mercédès!" as he disappeared round one corner of the Fort Saint-Nicholas.

"Wait for me here," said the shipowner. "I shall take the first carriage I can find, hurry to Marseille and bring the news back to you."

"Yes!" everyone cried. "Go on, and come quickly back."

After this double departure there was a dreadful moment of stunned silence among all who remained behind. For a time, the old man and Mercédès stayed apart, each immured in grief. But at length their eyes met. Each recognized the other as a victim stricken by the same blow and they fell into each other's arms.

Meanwhile Fernand returned, poured himself a glass of water, drank it and sat down on a chair. By chance, this happened to be next to the chair into which Mercédès sank when she parted from the old man's embrace. Fernand instinctively moved his own chair away.

"And you, Danglars?" someone asked. "What do you think about what has happened?"

Everyone else, meanwhile, had been discussing every angle of Dantès' arrest.

"That may be so, but the supercargo doesn't know about any goods unless they are declared to him. I know that we were carrying cotton, that's all, and that we took the cargo on at Alexandria, from Monsieur Pastret, and at Smyrna, from Monsieur Pascal. Don't expect me to know anything more than that."

"Pah! If one were to be held to account for every remark one lets fall…"

"Yes, when it falls point downwards."

"But if that was the case, you should know about it, Danglars, since you were the ship's supercargo."

"Yes, I remember now," Dantès' poor father muttered, clutching at this straw. "He told me yesterday that he had brought me a cask of coffee and one of tobacco."

"My view is that he must have brought back some packets of prohibited goods."

"He's the one," Caderousse told Danglars, not having taken his eyes off the Catalan.

"I doubt it," Danglars replied. "He was not clever enough. In any case, let whoever is responsible take the blame."

"You are forgetting the person who advised him."

"Hope," Fernand tried to mutter. But the word stuck in his throat, his lips trembled and no sound emerged from them.

"Come, come! Don't lose hope," Old Dantès said, though without really knowing what he was saying.

"I believe him to be so," M. Morrel replied, "but he is accused…"

"Gentlemen!" cried one of the guests, who had been keeping watch from the balcony. "Gentlemen, a carriage! Ah, it's Monsieur Morrel! Come now, he must surely be bringing good news."

Mercédès and the old man ran out to greet the shipowner, who met them at the door. M. Morrel's face was pale.

Mercédès did not believe any of this; and, having up to then contained her distress, she burst into a fit of sobbing.

"Well?" they all cried at once.

"You see," said Danglars. "That's it: while we were away, the Customs must have gone on board the Pharaon and discovered the contraband."

"Hope!" Danglars repeated.

"But, Monsieur!" cried Mercédès. "He is innocent!"

"Well, my friends," the shipowner replied, shaking his head. "The matter is more serious than we thought."

Mercédès gave a cry, and the old man sank into a chair.

"Of being an agent of Bonaparte."

"What is he accused of?" Old Dantès asked.

"Hold your tongue, wretch!" Danglars exclaimed, grasping Caderousse's hand. "Otherwise I can't answer for what may happen to you. How do you know that Dantès is not in fact guilty? The ship did call in at the island of Elba, he landed there and stayed a day in Porto Ferrajo. If he has been found with some compromising letter on his person, anyone who takes his part will look like an accomplice."

Those readers who lived through the period in which this story takes place will recall what a dreadful accusation it was that M. Morrel had just pronounced in those days.

"So," Caderousse muttered. "You lied to me, Danglars: the trick was played after all. But I do not intend to let this old man and this young woman die of grief, and I shall tell them everything."

Caderousse was rapidly informed of the full strength of this argument by the dictates of self-interest, and he looked at Danglars with an expression deadened by fear and grief. Having just taken one step forward, he proceeded to take two back.

"Yes, we'll wait," Danglars answered. "If he is innocent, he will be freed; if he is guilty, there is no sense in compromising oneself for the sake of a conspirator."

"So, let's wait and see," he muttered.

"Let's go, then. I can't stay here any longer."

The news that Dantès had just been arrested as a Bonapartist agent soon spread through Marseille.

They left; and Fernand, resuming his former role in support of the young woman, took Mercédès' hand and led her back to Les Catalans. For their part, Dantès' friends took the old man, in a state of near-collapse, back to the Allées de Meilhan.

"Yes, come on," said Danglars, delighted at having someone to accompany him out of the room. "Come, we shall let them extricate themselves as best they may."

"Would you have believed it, my dear Danglars?" M. Morrel said, catching up with his supercargo and Caderousse (for he was also heading for town as fast as he could, to have some first-hand news of Edmond from the crown prosecutor, M. de Villefort, who was a slight acquaintance of his). "Would you believe it?"

"But did you tell anyone else of your suspicions?"

"Well done, Danglars, well done. You're a good fellow. I had already thought about you, in the event of poor Dantès becoming captain of the Pharaon."

"Well, now, Monsieur!" Danglars replied. "I told you that Dantès put into Elba, for no apparent reason, and that this call seemed suspicious to me."

"I was careful not to do any such thing," Danglars assured him, lowering his voice. "You know very well that, on account of your uncle, Monsieur Policar Morrel, who served under you-know-whom and makes no secret of his feelings, you are suspected of hankering after the old regime. I would have been afraid I might harm Dantès and also yourself. There are some things that a subordinate has a duty to tell the owner, and to keep well hidden from anyone else."

"How so, Monsieur?"

"Well, you see, I did ask Dantès what he thought of you and if he would have any objection to my leaving you in your post; I don't know why, but I thought I had noticed some coldness between you."

"Hypocrite!" muttered Danglars.

"Poor Dantès," said Caderousse. "He was an excellent fellow, and that's a fact."

"He told me that he did indeed feel that he had some grievance against you, though in circumstances that he would not explain; but that anyone who enjoyed the shipowner's confidence also had his own."

"Yes, but meanwhile," M. Morrel said, "the Pharaon has no captain."

"Of course, but in the meanwhile?"

"And what was his reply?"

"Oh, we must hope," said Danglars, "that, since we cannot sail again for three months, Dantès will be freed before then."

"Thank you, Danglars," said the shipowner. "That arranges everything. I therefore authorize you to take command and supervise the unloading: whatever disaster may befall an individual, business must not suffer."

"Well, Monsieur Morrel, in the meantime, I am here. As you know, I can manage a ship as well as the first ocean-going captain who may come along. It may even benefit you to use me, because when Edmond comes out of prison you will not have to dismiss anybody: he will quite simply resume his post and I mine."

"No," said Danglars. "Though I have heard it said that he is ambitious, which is much the same."

"Well, we shall find out," M. Morrel said, with a sigh. "Go on board and I'll join you there." He left the two friends, to make his way towards the law courts.

"Have no fear, Monsieur. But can we at least go and visit him? Poor Edmond!"

"I'll let you know as soon as I can, Danglars. I shall try to speak to Monsieur de Villefort and intercede with him on the prisoner's behalf. I know that he is a rabid Royalist; but, dammit, though he's a Royalist and the crown prosecutor, he is also a man and not, I believe, a wicked one."

"Pah! Who played the trick? Not you or I. You know very well that I threw the paper into a corner. I even thought I had torn it up."

"You see how things are turning out?" Danglars said to Caderousse. "Do you still want to go and speak for Dantès?"

"No, indeed not. But it is dreadful that a trick should have such dire consequences."

"No, no," Caderousse insisted. "As far as that goes, I am certain. I can see it in the corner of the arbour, screwed up in a ball -- and I wish it were still in the place where I saw it."

"Did I know? I knew nothing at all. As I told you, I was making a joke, that's all. It seems that, like Harlequin, I spoke a true word in jest."

"What do you expect? Fernand must have picked it up, copied it or had it copied; perhaps he did not even take that trouble; which means… Good Lord! Suppose he sent my own letter! Luckily I disguised my handwriting."

"No matter," said Caderousse. "I'd give a great deal for this not to have happened, or at least not to be involved in it. You wait and see, Danglars! It will bring us misfortune!"

"But did you know that Dantès was a conspirator?"

"If it brings misfortune, it will be to the guilty party, and the real responsibility lies with Fernand, not with us. What ill do you suppose could befall us? All we have to do is to keep quiet and not breathe a word of this, and the storm will blow over without striking us."

"Amen!" Caderousse said, waving goodbye to Danglars and making his way towards the Allées de Meilhan, shaking his head and muttering to himself, as people are inclined to do when they have a good deal on their minds.

"Good!" Danglars exclaimed. "Everything is working out as I expected. I am now captain pro tem and, if only that idiot Caderousse can keep his mouth shut, captain for good. So, the only other eventuality is that the Law may release Dantès? Ah, well," he added, with a smile, "the Law is the Law, and I am happy to put myself in her hands."

Upon which, he leapt into a boat and gave the boatman the order to row him out to the Pharaon where the shipowner, as you will recall, had arranged to meet him.