The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (55 page)

However, as we mentioned, Franz was prudent, so he wanted to know as much as he could about his strange and mysterious host. Consequently he went back to the sailor who, while the above conversation was going on, had been plucking the partridges with
the grave air of a man proud of his job, and asked him what kind of vessel the other men had landed in, since he could not see any
speronara
, tartan or other boat.

‘I’m not concerned about that,’ the sailor said. ‘I know their vessel.’

‘Is it a fine one?’

‘I wish Your Excellency such a one, should he sail round the world.’

‘What is its displacement?’

‘A hundred tons, or thereabouts. In any event, it is a pleasure boat – a yacht, as the English call it – but built, you understand, in such a way that it can go to sea in any weather.’

‘Where was it built?’

‘That I don’t know; but I believe in Genoa.’

‘And how does the head of a gang of smugglers,’ Franz asked, ‘dare to have a yacht built for his trade in the port of Genoa?’

‘I didn’t say that the owner of the yacht was a smuggler,’ the sailor replied.

‘No, but I believe Gaetano said so.’

‘Gaetano had seen the crew from a distance, but he had not yet spoken to anyone.’

‘And if the man is not a smuggler, then what is he?’

‘A rich aristocrat who travels for his own pleasure.’

‘Come now,’ Franz thought to himself. ‘This man is becoming more and more mysterious, since the stories differ.’ Then he said aloud: ‘What is his name?’

‘When asked, he replies that he is called Sinbad the Sailor. But I suspect this may not be his true name.’

‘Sinbad the Sailor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where does this gentleman live?’

‘At sea.’

‘What country does he come from?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Have you seen him?’

‘A few times.’

‘What is he like?’

‘Your Excellency can judge for himself.’

‘And where will he entertain me?’

‘Doubtless in the underground palace that Gaetano mentioned.’

‘But have you never been curious, when you landed on this island and found it deserted, to try and enter this enchanted palace?’

‘Oh, yes indeed, Excellency,’ the sailor replied. ‘More than once, in fact. But all our efforts have been fruitless. We have looked all round the grotto and not found the smallest passageway. In any case, it is said that the door does not open with a key, but with a magic word.’

‘I have definitely stepped off into a tale from the
Thousand and One Nights
,’ Franz muttered.

‘His Excellency awaits you,’ said a voice behind him which he recognized as that of the sentry. He had with him two men from the crew of the yacht. In reply, Franz simply took out his handkerchief and offered it to the man who had spoken.

Without a word, they blindfolded him, taking enough care to show that they were afraid he might commit some indiscretion, then made him swear that he would not try to remove the blindfold. He swore. At that, the two men each took one of his arms and they led him forward, preceded by the sentry.

After some thirty paces, he guessed, from the increasingly appetizing smell of kid, that they were walking past the encampment. They carried on for about fifty paces more, clearly proceeding in the direction that had been forbidden to Gaetano, which explained why they had not wanted him to go there. Soon, from the change in the air, he realized that he was going underground and, after they had walked for a few more seconds, he heard a creaking sound and felt that the air had again changed, to become warm and scented. Finally he felt his feet walking on a thick, soft carpet, and his guides let go of his arms. There was a moment’s silence and a voice said, in good French, though with a foreign accent: ‘Welcome to my home, Monsieur. You may take off your handkerchief.’

As one may imagine, Franz did not wait to be asked again: he took off his handkerchief and found himself standing in front of a man of between thirty-eight and forty, wearing Tunisian dress, that is to say a red skullcap with a long blue silk tassel; a jacket in black woollen cloth embroidered all over with gold thread; wide, loose, dark-red trousers, with gaiters in the same colour, embroidered in gold like the jacket; and yellow Turkish slippers. Around his waist was a splendid cashmere belt with a sharp little curved dagger hanging from it.

Although his colouring was an almost livid white, the man had
a remarkably handsome face. The eyes were bright and penetrating, the nose straight and almost on a level with the forehead, suggesting the purest Greek type; and the teeth, white as pearls, shone splendidly under a dark moustache. It was only the pallor that was strange: the man looked as if he had been shut up for a long time in a tomb and afterwards had been unable to recover the natural rosy complexion of the living.

Though not very tall, he was well-built and had the small hands and feet typical of Mediterranean men.

However, what astonished Franz, who had treated Gaetano’s story as a fantasy, was the sumptuousness of the furnishings. The whole room was hung with crimson Turkish hangings, brocaded with gold flowers. In a recess there was a sort of divan, and above it a display of Arab swords with vermeil sheaths and hilts shining with precious stones. From the ceiling dangled a lamp in Venetian glass, delightful in shape and colour, and his feet sank up to the ankles in the Turkish rug underneath them. There were curtains hanging in front of the door by which Franz had entered and in front of another door which led into a second room which seemed to be splendidly lit.

The man allowed his guest a moment to take all this in, while using the opportunity to examine him in turn and keeping his eyes fixed on him.

‘Monsieur,’ he said finally, ‘I beg you to forgive me a thousand times for the precautions that we had to take before showing you into my home, but, since this island is deserted for most of the time, if the secret of where I live were to get out I should no doubt return to find my dwelling in a rather poor state. I should be much displeased at this, not because of any loss that it might occasion, but because I should no longer have the assurance that, whenever I wish, I can separate myself from the rest of the world. Now I shall try to make you forget any slight displeasure I may have caused you, by offering you something that you surely did not expect to find here, namely a decent supper and quite a good bed.’

‘My dear host,’ said Franz, ‘you must not apologize. I know that people who visit enchanted palaces always do so blindfold: look at Raoul in
The Huguenots
.
⁵
And I really have no cause for complaint, because what you are showing me is equal to the marvels of the
Arabian Nights
.’

‘Alas! I have to say, like Lucullus: if I had known I was going to
have the honour of your visit, I should have made some preparation for it. But, in the event, I put my humble retreat at your disposal and invite you to share my supper, such as it is. Ali, are we served?’

At almost that very moment the curtain in front of the door was raised and a Nubian, black as ebony and wearing a simple white tunic, indicated to his master that they could proceed to the dining-room.

‘Now,’ the stranger told Franz, ‘I am not sure whether you agree with me, but I find nothing more irritating than to spend two or three hours with a person and not know by what name or title one should address him. Observe that I respect the laws of hospitality too much to ask you your name or title. I should just like to ask you to suggest some name or other which I might use when speaking to you. As for myself, to put you similarly at ease, I should tell you that people are accustomed to call me Sinbad the Sailor.’

‘And I,’ said Franz, ‘I shall tell you that, as I have everything except the celebrated magic lamp, I see no objection for the moment to your calling me Aladdin. In this way we can stay in the Orient, where I suspect that I must have been transported with the help of some good genie.’

‘Well, Aladdin, sir,’ said the strange host, ‘you heard that we are served, I think? So please be good enough to come into the dining-room. Your humble servant will go first to show you the way.’

At these words, raising the curtain, Sinbad stepped through the doorway.

Franz went from one wonder to another. The table was splendidly laid. Once he had assured himself of this important detail, he looked around: the dining-room was no less magnificent than the boudoir that he had just left. It was entirely in marble, with the most precious antique bas-reliefs. The room was oblong, and at each end there were superb statues carrying baskets on their heads. The baskets contained two pyramids of wonderful fruit: Sicilian pineapples, pomegranates from Malaga, oranges from the Balearics, French peaches and Tunisian dates.

As for the ‘supper’, it consisted of a roast pheasant sitting on a bed of Corsican blackbirds, a wild boar’s ham in jelly, a quarter of a kid
à la tartare
, a magnificent turbot and a huge lobster. Between the main dishes were smaller plates with the various side-dishes.

The serving dishes were silver and the plates of Japanese porcelain.

Franz rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming.

Only Ali was allowed to wait on them, acquitting himself very well. The guest complimented his host on the fact.

‘Yes, yes,’ the other replied, continuing to do the honours of his table in the most easy manner. ‘He’s a poor devil who is most devoted to me and who does his best. He recalls that I saved his life and, as he was attached to his head, apparently, he owes me some gratitude for having preserved it for him.’

Ali went up to his master, took his hand and kissed it.

‘It’s very simple,’ the host replied. ‘It appears that the fellow had wandered closer to the harem of the Bey of Tunis than is acceptable for a lad of his colour. In consequence he was condemned by the bey to have his tongue, his hand and his head cut off: the tongue on the first day, the hand on the second and the head on the third. I had always wanted to have a dumb servant. I waited for him to have his tongue cut out, then I went to offer the bey, in exchange for him, a splendid two-stroke repeating rifle which, on the previous day, had appeared to take His Highness’s fancy. He hesitated a moment, so keen was he to make an end of this poor devil. But I added to the rifle an English hunting knife with which I had blunted His Highness’s yataghan;
⁶
as a result the bey decided to spare him his hand and his head, on condition that he never again set foot in Tunis. The stipulation was unnecessary. As soon as the miscreant catches sight of the African coast, he flees to the bottom of the hold and cannot be persuaded to come out until we have lost sight of the third quarter of the world.’

For a moment Franz said nothing, considering what he should think of the cruel good humour with which his host had told him this story.

‘And, like the honourable sailor whose name you have taken,’ he asked, changing the subject, ‘do you spend all your time travelling?’

‘Yes, this is the result of a vow that I made at a time when I did not expect I should be able to accomplish it,’ the stranger said with a smile. ‘I have made a few vows of that sort, and I hope to be able to accomplish them all in due course.’

Though Sinbad had spoken these words with the greatest sang-froid, his eyes gave a glance of peculiar ferocity.

‘Have you suffered a great deal, Monsieur?’ Franz asked.

Sinbad shuddered, and stared closely at him.

‘How can you tell that?’ he asked.

‘Everything speaks of it,’ said Franz. ‘Your voice, your look, your pallor, even the sort of life that you lead.’

‘What! I lead the happiest life of any man I know – the life of a pasha! I am the lord of creation: if I am enjoying myself in a place, I stay there; if I am bored, I leave. I am as free as a bird and, like a bird, I have wings. I have only to make a sign for the people around me to obey me. From time to time I amuse myself in teasing justice by snatching a wanted bandit away from it, or a criminal with the police on his trail. Then I have my own justice, high and low, which suspends no sentences and hears no appeals, which merely condemns or pardons, and concerns nobody. Oh, if you could have tasted my life, you would want no other, you would never return to the world, unless you had some great project to carry out.’

‘Some act of revenge, for example,’ said Franz.

The stranger held the young man in one of those looks that penetrate to the depths of the soul and the mind. ‘Why revenge?’ he asked.

‘Because,’ said Franz, ‘you look to me like a man who has been persecuted by society and has a terrible account to settle with it.’

‘Well, well,’ Sinbad said, laughing his strange laugh and showing his sharp, white teeth, ‘you’re quite wrong. You might not think it, but I am a kind of philanthropist and perhaps one day I shall go to Paris to rival Monsieur Appert
⁷
and the Man in the Little Blue Cloak.’

‘Would that be your first visit?’

‘Certainly, it would. I don’t appear very curious, do I? I assure you, however, that it is not my fault if I have not been before, and it will happen one day or another.’