Edmond Dantès | Page 7

and,
grasping Haydée tightly, leaped with her into the midst of the angry sea.
Ali followed his master, and soon they were seen far in the distance,
struggling and battling with the waves.
CHAPTER II.
THE ISLAND.
It was the month of December, but on the little Island of Salmis in the
Grecian Archipelago the temperature was as mild and genial as that of
June. The grass was rank and thick, while the blooming almond trees
filled the atmosphere with fragrance. On a narrow strip of sandy beach
three or four fishermen were preparing their nets and boats for a fishing
expedition to the waters beyond. They chatted as they toiled. The eldest
of them, a man about sixty, with silvered locks and a long gray beard,
said:
"You may talk of storms as much as you please, but I maintain that the
most severe tempest ever experienced in this neighborhood was the one

I witnessed ten years ago last October, when we had the earthquake and
the strange man, who now owns this island, was washed ashore."
"The Count of Monte-Cristo you mean?" remarked one of the party.
"Yes, the Count of Monte-Cristo, who has done so much for us all and
whose wife is nothing less than an angel of goodness and charity."
"You rescued him, did you not, Alexis?"
"I found him lying upon the beach, with the lady who is now his wife
tightly clasped in his arms, so tightly that I had no end of trouble to
separate them. Both were unconscious at the time, and no wonder, for
the sea was furious and they must have been dashed about at a fearful
rate. It was a miracle they escaped with their lives. Near them lay that
dark-skinned African, their servant, who styles himself Ali, as well as
the corpses of several sailors. The African, however, revived just as I
approached him. He's a man of iron, I tell you, for he immediately
leaped to his feet and helped me to restore his master and mistress.
When they came to, I took the whole party to my hut and cared for
them. The next day I rowed the Count and the African out to the wreck
of their vessel on that rock you see away over there, and they brought
back with them a fabulous amount of money and jewels that they found
in the strangest closets I ever saw in the cabin. Then the Count bought
this island and has lived here ever since. He took the lady to Athens
and was married to her there, and on his return he had the palace they
now occupy built in the midst of the palm grove."
By this time the fishermen had completed their preparations and,
leaping into their boats, they started on their expedition.
The palace in the palm grove to which old Alexis had alluded was,
indeed, a magnificent dwelling, suitable in every respect for the
residence of an oriental monarch. It was built in the Turkish fashion
and its exterior was singularly beautiful and imposing. Huge palm trees
surrounded it; they were planted in regular rows upon a vast lawn that
was adorned with costly statues and fountains, while at intervals were
scattered great flower beds filled with choice exotics and blooming

plants of endless variety. A wide graveled walk and carriage-road led to
the palace, the main entrance to which was flanked on either side by
columns of dark-veined marble. The edifice itself was of green stone,
and sparkled in the sunlight like a colossal emerald. It was surmounted
by three zinc-covered domes, above each of which towered a gilded
crescent.
Within all was elegance and luxury. There were immense salons, with
marble floors, and walls covered with Smyrna hangings of the most
beautiful description that of themselves must have cost a fortune. These
salons were furnished with rich divans, tables of malachite, cabinets of
ebony, and oriental rugs of the most artistic and complicated
workmanship. There were dazzling reception rooms filled with
exquisite statues and superb paintings, the works of the greatest
sculptors and artists of the east and west, of the past and the present.
Figures by Thorwaldsen, Powers and other modern celebrities of the
block and chisel stood beside antique masterpieces framed by the
genius of Phidias and his brother sculptors of old Greece and Rome,
masterpieces that had been torn from the ruins of antiquity by the hand
of the untiring and enterprising excavator. Among the paintings were
fine specimens of the skill of Albert Dürer, Murillo, Rubens, Van Dyck,
Rembrandt, Sir Joshua Reynolds and other votaries of the brush whose
names are immortal. These paintings did not hang on the walls, for they
were covered with rich tapestry from the looms of Benares and the
Gobelins, but rested