Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23
The Island of Monte Cristo.

Thus, at length, by one of the unexpected strokes of fortune
which sometimes befall those who have for a long time been
the victims of an evil destiny, Dantes was about to secure
the opportunity he wished for, by simple and natural means,
and land on the island without incurring any suspicion. One
night more and he would be on his way.

The night was one of feverish distraction, and in its
progress visions good and evil passed through Dantes' mind.
If he closed his eyes, he saw Cardinal Spada's letter
written on the wall in characters of flame -- if he slept
for a moment the wildest dreams haunted his brain. He
ascended into grottos paved with emeralds, with panels of
rubies, and the roof glowing with diamond stalactites.
Pearls fell drop by drop, as subterranean waters filter in
their caves. Edmond, amazed, wonderstruck, filled his
pockets with the radiant gems and then returned to daylight,
when be discovered that his prizes had all changed into
common pebbles. He then endeavored to re-enter the
marvellous grottos, but they had suddenly receded, and now
the path became a labyrinth, and then the entrance vanished,
and in vain did he tax his memory for the magic and
mysterious word which opened the splendid caverns of Ali
Baba to the Arabian fisherman. All was useless, the treasure
disappeared, and had again reverted to the genii from whom
for a moment he had hoped to carry it off. The day came at
length, and was almost as feverish as the night had been,
but it brought reason to the aid of imagination, and Dantes
was then enabled to arrange a plan which had hitherto been
vague and unsettled in his brain. Night came, and with it
the preparation for departure, and these preparations served
to conceal Dantes' agitation. He had by degrees assumed such
authority over his companions that he was almost like a
commander on board; and as his orders were always clear,
distinct, and easy of execution, his comrades obeyed him
with celerity and pleasure.

The old patron did not interfere, for he too had recognized
the superiority of Dantes over the crew and himself. He saw
in the young man his natural successor, and regretted that
he had not a daughter, that he might have bound Edmond to
him by a more secure alliance. At seven o'clock in the
evening all was ready, and at ten minutes past seven they
doubled the lighthouse just as the beacon was kindled. The
sea was calm, and, with a fresh breeze from the south-east,
they sailed beneath a bright blue sky, in which God also
lighted up in turn his beacon lights, each of which is a
world. Dantes told them that all hands might turn in, and he
would take the helm. When the Maltese