When Gaetano had communicated this to him, the sentry gave an order to one of the men sitting at the fire; he immediately got up and disappeared among the rocks.
There was a silence. Everyone appeared preoccupied with his own affairs: Franz with the landing, the sailors with their sails, the smugglers with their kid; but, in the midst of this apparent lack of curiosity, they were observing one another.
The man who had gone away suddenly came back, from the opposite direction to the one in which he had gone. He nodded to the sentry, who turned to them and said merely: ‘S’accommodi.’
This Italian ‘s’accommodi’ is untranslatable. It means at once: come, come in, welcome, make yourself at home, you are the master. It’s like the Turkish phrase in Molière’s play which astonished the Bourgeois Gentilhomme4 by all the meanings that it could contain.
The sailors did not wait to be asked twice. With four strokes of the oars they brought the boat to shore. Gaetano jumped on to the beach, whispered a few more words to the sentry, and his crew then came down one after the other. Finally it was Franz’s turn.
He had one of his guns slung across his shoulder, Gaetano had the other and one of the sailors was holding the rifle. His dress had something of both the artist and the dandy, which aroused no suspicion in his hosts, and consequently no unease.
The boat was tied up on the shore and they started to walk around, looking for a suitable place to camp; but the direction in which they were walking was not to the liking of the smuggler who was acting as sentry, because he shouted to Gaetano: ‘No, not over there, please.’
Gaetano mumbled some excuse and, without argument, went over to the other side, while two sailors went to fetch lighted torches so that they could see their way.
They went for about thirty yards then stopped on a little esplanade entirely surrounded by rocks, in each of which a kind of seat had been hollowed, not unlike small sentry-boxes where the guard can sit down. Around them, in patches of soil, grew some dwarf oaks and thick clumps of myrtle. Franz lowered a torch and recognized, from a pile of ashes, that he was not the first person to notice the comfort of this spot, which must be one of the usual stopping-places of random visitors to Monte Cristo.
He stopped worrying about any incident that might occur. Once on dry land, and having seen the mood of his hosts which, if not friendly, was at least one of indifference, all his anxieties had vanished; with the smell of roast kid coming from the nearby camp, anxiety had changed to appetite.
He mentioned this to Gaetano, who said that nothing was easier than to make supper when they had bread, wine and six partridge in the boat, and a fire to prepare them.
‘Moreover,’ he added, ‘if Your Excellency is so tempted by the smell of that kid, I can go and offer our neighbours two of our birds for a slice of their beast.’
‘Do it, Gaetano, do it,’ said Franz. ‘You are a born negotiator.’
Meanwhile the sailors had pulled up handfuls of heather and made firewood from myrtle and green oak branches, then set fire to it, so that they had quite a fine blaze going.
Franz was waiting impatiently, sniffing the smell of roasting kid, when the master came back with an anxious look about him.
‘What now?’ asked Franz. ‘Have they refused our offer?’
‘On the contrary,’ Gaetano replied. ‘Their chief, on learning that you were a young Frenchman, has invited you to dine with him.’
‘Well, well,’ said Franz, ‘this chief is a most civil man and I see no reason to refuse, all the more so as I’m bringing my own contribution to the meal.’
‘It’s not that: there is more than enough to eat. But he is imposing an unusual condition on your visiting his home.’
‘His home! Does he have a house here, then?’
‘No, but I am assured that he has a very comfortable home, nonetheless.’
‘Do you know this chief?’
‘I have heard speak of him.’
‘Good things or bad?’
‘Both.’
‘Well, dammit, what is this condition?’
‘That you should let your eyes be bandaged and not remove the blindfold until you are told you can do so.’
Franz read what he could into Gaetano’s face to discover what was behind this suggestion. Gaetano read his thoughts.
‘The devil!’ he said.
‘I know, it needs thinking about.’
‘What would you do in my place?’ the young man asked.
‘I’ve got nothing to lose. I’d go.’
‘You would agree?’
‘Yes, if only out of curiosity.’
‘So this chief can show us something unusual?’
‘Listen,’ Gaetano said, lowering his voice, ‘I don’t know if what they say is true…’ He paused and looked around to make sure they were not overheard.
‘What do they say?’
‘They say that the chief lives in a subterranean abode beside which the Pitti Palace is a mere trifle.’
‘What a dream!’ Franz said, sitting down again.
‘Oh, it’s not a dream, it’s a reality! Cama, pilot of the Saint-Ferdinand, went in there one day and came out completely dazzled, saying that such treasures only exist in fairy-stories.’
‘You know,’ said Franz, ‘what you are telling me sounds as if you were trying to lure me into the caves of Ali Baba.’
‘I am only saying what I was told, Excellency.’
‘So you advise me to accept?’
‘That I’m not saying! Your Excellency will do as he pleases. I should not like to advise him in such circumstances.’
Franz thought for a few moments, realized that such a rich man could not feel any envy for him, as he had only a few thousand francs with him and, since he could see nothing coming of this but an excellent dinner, accepted. Gaetano went back with his answer.
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 w
here 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 previ
ous 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.’