The Crystal City Under the Sea (25 page)

“That young fellow,” said he, pointing to Kermadec, “will make light of carrying it away for you on his lusty shoulders.” Then, taking out from the inexhaustible casket a second leather bag, much larger and heavier than the first, Charicles turned towards Patrice and graciously begged him to accept the contents, in recognition of his kind and skilful attentions to him. Patrice, would have declined to receive it, but the old man insisted with fatherly kindness. How the young doctor’s heart beat when Charicles untied the bag, and poured its contents out upon the bed! It was a collection of Greek and Phœnician coins, which must be of untold value, from their great antiquity, Patrice could not help casting a meaning glance at Hdene! Here was the fortune, the want of which was the only obstacle which his pride kept up between her and himself. Charicles noted the look, and appeared to understand what it meant.

“Do not scruple to accept this offering from thy patient, young disciple of Esculapius,” said he, smiling. “It will, perhaps, enable you to begin housekeeping.”

“But your daughter—René—” stammered he. “ My daughter is provided for beyond her needs,” replied Charicles; “ and, even if it were not so, can you doubt that she also would wish to recognize the service you have rendered to her old father? Go to; she is not ungrateful. Besides, she would never know the use of this metal, which you people who live on the earth value so much. My reason in giving it thee is that, where thou livest, such objects acquire importance. Accept it, young man, and let Charicles thank the gods, before his death, that he has been of use to some one.”

Thus pressed, there was nothing to be done but to accept it with gratitude. Madame Caoudal, already delighted with the royal dowry conferred upon Atlantis, could not conceal the satisfaction of seeing Patrice’s share in the gifts. In truth, there was some good in being down in this grotto, and the excellent woman began to understand her son’s taste for travelling in unknown and dangerous regions.

CHAPTER XXI
THE LAST OF THE ATLANTES.

G
RATIFIED, and proud of her father’s liberality, and happy at the approbation she read in her new friends’ eyes, Atlantis had watched, with a pleased look? on her face, the distribution of the sumptuous gifts; but her kind heart told her that something yet remained to be done.

“And the others,” said she; “they are also our guests, father. Are you not going to give them some souvenir?”

“Where are they? “ said Charicles; “bring them to me. If I have neglected them, it is because they were out of my sight. I praise thee, daughter,” continued the old man, with a look of tender pride, “I praise thee for the thought. Thou art on the threshold of a new life—social life—and already thou knowest how to show courtesy; thou seekest to spare thy friends any possible slight; thou even thinkest of forestalling their wishes. Go. Thou canst boldly face the human family: thou wilt hold thy place there. And you, who are about to receive her at your hearth and home, receive her with confidence; she will do you honour.”

Meanwhile, Kermadec had gone in search of the prince and his companion, the former of whom he found rapidly inscribing in a note-book, notes and rough outlines, and the latter vaguely ferreting about here and there. Charicles addressed them, courteously:

“I am about to take leave of all. my guests,” said he to Monte Cristo. “ Each has received from me a proof of affection or esteem. I wish also to leave thee a souvenir. Accept this ring. The material and the work are of no great merit. Its value lies in the history attached to it. It has been kept for four and twenty centuries in our family as a proof of the inexorable fatality of our lot. Polycrates, an arrogant and cruel prince, had experienced, notwithstanding his crimes, an unheard-of success in everything he undertook. Fearing that such prosperity might prove fatal to him, and that the gods, jealous of the happiness of mortals, might demand a severe reckoning from him for his good fortune, he resolved to offer them a propitiatory sacrifice, and, choosing a ring as a present to Neptune, he threw it into the sea, supplicating the god to accept his homage. A few days afterwards, on cutting open the turbot which his cook had just set before him, the prince found the ring in the stomach of the fish.

By this, he knew that the gods had refused his offering. A little while afterwards he perished, murdered by a crowd of his infuriated subjects, who rose in revolt against him. One of our family espoused a woman of his race, who brought among her jewels to her husband the tyrant’s ring. Accept it. Prince of Monte Cristo, and, if ever the vanity of success darkens thy heart or thy mind, remember the story of Polycrates.”

Paying but scant attention to Charicles’s peroration, the prince accepted the ring with undisguised satisfaction. “Ah, ha! This is a curiosity,” murmured he.

Devoured with the wish to astonish the masses on his return, by the account of the marvellous things he had seen, he had already been a prey to fears that he would not be believed; but here was a proof.

Meanwhile, Charicles had presented Sacripanti with another precious jewel, which had brought to the squinting eyes of that personage a gleam of triumph and pleasure.

“Sacripanti, my friend,” said he to himself, “you see yourself well out of this business. Oh, blessed voyage! Oh, unexpected chance! I shall give up the trade of interpreter, and take a shop. This emerald is worth fifty thousand francs if it is worth a sou. As soon as ever I get to Paris, I shall invest in Eastern wares and advertise them all round the Palais Royal. I shall live like a Turk; my dream! Oh, unlooked-for piece of luck! Oh, surprising old man! How he can throw away his goods like this, is what surpasses me.”

Jubilant, and bowing to the ground, the captain backed out of the room. Monte Cristo soon followed him; and, with a last regretful look, Madame Caoudal and her niece retired, as also did Patrice, to the adjoining room, fearing that their prolonged stay might fatigue the dying man, and wishing, in any case, to leave him to say his last farewell to his daughter. There was a long interval, during which Charicles said nothing. He was not sleeping; his eyes showed that he was still in the full possession of all his faculties. He was deep in meditation, and, respecting his silence, Atlantis and René refrained from breaking it by sign or movement.

“I think,” he said, at last, “that I have forgotten nothing. My instructions about the tunnel have been quite understood?”

“Perfectly,” said René.

“You will leave an hour after my death, which cannot now be long delayed.”

“We will obey you.”

“Father,” said Atlantis, beseechingly, “may I ask thee something?”

“Speak, my daughter.”

“Why must thou stay here? Why not come with us? Would it not be better for us to carry thee with us. Perhaps the air of the upper world would give life to thee!”

“No, my child,” said Charicles; “my journey is accomplished and must end here. I wish to sleep my last sleep here, and to be buried under the waters of this sea where I have lived my calm and simple life. I do not reprove thee for thy proposal, but I cannot agree to it. My desire is that one hour after my death—one hour, not later—you leave by the way I have pointed out. Half way through, you will find a room where you can rest and take a light repast before continuing your route. Once arrived at the crystal door, you will open it easily; and at once—understand me—you will emerge at once into the light of day, without waiting to see what will happen in the tunnel.”

As he said these words an enigmatical smile spread itself over his emaciated features; which soon, however, regained their usual dignified serenity. “All is said!” added he. “I shall speak no more. Atlantis, go, and take one last look at the dwelling where thou wast born, and which hath sheltered thy infancy and developed thy youthful graces. Go to the garden where we have taken our daily walks together; take with thee thy newly found sister— herself a sister of the Graces—gather with a pious hand the flowers with which thou wilt lovingly deck my funeral couch. Once more I bless thee. Leave me to commune with myself. I will say no more.”

Strictly observant of her father’s commands, and having pressed a kiss upon his forehead, Atlantis turned to go into the garden, requesting Helene to assist her in the mournful and gracious task; and Helene, gratified at having been named in so solemn a moment, hastened at once to help her to the best of her ability to gather the flowers. René, Patrice, Madame Caoudal and Kermadec busied themselves with preparations for their departure; taking care that some one should be near enough to the dying man’s bedside to hear him breathe, while respecting the solitude in which it pleased him to enfold his last hour. Before going into the garden, the young girls, as Charicles had desired, began by saying good-by to the apartments of the palace in turn. And this pious pilgrimage was an enchantment to Helene.

“What!” she said to herself, as Atlantis took her to her own room—exquisite casket, fit for such a pearl—furnished with mother-of-pearl and transparent draperies; then to the other parts of the sumptuous dwelling, workrooms, rooms for resting, dining-rooms, and rooms for pure ornament; then to servants’ apartments, kitchens, various offices, baths, and different workshops and studios. “What!” she repeated, completely dazzled, “talk of civilizing these refined people! Have we anything to teach them? It is we who need to learn of them. It is to be feared that Atlantis will find the arrangement of our houses rudimentary! Happily, Aunt Alice is a notable housewife, and propriety and good order reign at (The Poplars,’ and we have no need to blush for our offices and utensils. But for that I should feel positively humiliated at being shown all this magnificence. But enough of these thoughts of commonplace rivalry! Is it likely that Atlantis, this living poem, will amuse herself with disparaging anything she finds under our roof? Dear child, she will see, I am sure, only the beautiful side of everything, and all her judgments will be indulgent and gentle, like herself!”

Arrived at this point in her reflections. Mademoiselle Rieux threw her arms round the neck of her companion, who certainly had not the least idea of the motive of this sudden display of tenderness, but who accepted her caress without troubling to find out the reason, and returned it with interest. The girls had arrived at a peristyle of red marble that Hélène had not seen before, and which opened out upon Atlantis’s own garden. Hélène stopped, entranced. This surpassed all the glory and splendour she had yet seen. The balmy retreat, which had belonged to the mother and grandmother of Atlantis, and before them to a series of ancestresses, this privileged enclosure was, in truth, an enchanted garden.

Facing the entrance of the portico, a wide avenue of giant rose-trees opened out, and led in the distance to an endless variety of flowering shrubs. On the lawns were baskets of roses. The side alleys led to masses of roses. Borders, beds, grottoes, shrubberies, rustic seats, shady nooks, everywhere were’ planted roses, everything was enveloped, submerged in roses; but not without arrangement of colour. From a blush rose to a deep purplish red, from deep velvety carnation to the purest white moss-rose, the eye was conducted by insensible degrees. No harsh or careless combination offended the eye; and, if by an ingenious contrast, now and then, at the root of a flaming bush of briar roses a tea-rose bent its pale head, one could discern, under this capricious arrangement, the hand of an artist or a poet.

“Let us sit here,” said Atlantis. “This was my mother’s garden. Very often, Charicles has told me, she came here in a melancholy mood, as if smitten with a presentiment of her early death.”

“You lost her, then, when you were quite little?” inquired Hélène, timidly.

“I never knew her.”

“Nor I,” said Hélène, with moistening eyes; “I never knew my mother, and, less happy than you, Atlantis, I lost my father also when I was in my cradle. But Aunt Alice has made up to me for all I have lost. She will also be a mother to you. She is so good and kind!”

”Yes,” said the Greek girl, “I feel strongly attracted to her. But we must get to work. Let us gather the flowers out of this garden to cover my father’s funeral couch; that is his expressed desire.”

They were for a long time occupied in rambling about, looking for the finest roses they could find, cutting with golden scissors the choice ones, and leaving any that had any defect. Soon the armfuls they gathered were more than they could hold. They laid them down on a mossy bank, and called René and Patrice to carry away the harvest.

“It is time,” said Patrice to Hélène in a low voice; “his end is drawing very near. It is impossible to imagine a more august or peaceful death.”

“Courage, dear Atlantis,” said René to his betrothed. “ A cruel separation awaits you; but do not forget that I share all your grief. I wish I could bear it all for you.”

“I will be courageous, I promise you,” said she, with straightforward simplicity. “ You have seen me, René, in these trying hours, so full of poignant grief, give way sometimes to weakness. I have trembled and wept; that has displeased my father, and he has gently reproved me. I know now what would please him. I will not disturb his last hour with noisy grief.”

They had come to the side of the dying man. The flowers were placed on a low table, near. Without loss of time Atlantis began to dispose them round him with a light hand, Hélène handing them to her. From time to time she stopped to look at the face of the demigod in its repose; the only face she had known for so long a time, and that she was about to lose forever. Then a tear would fall from her eyes, like a drop of dew, into the heart of one of the roses; but no contraction of her features marred their beauty; no sob disturbed the stillness. Her behaviour was all that Charicles had wished. Soon, the funeral preparations were complete. When Hélène had