Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31
Italy: Sinbad the Sailor.

Towards the beginning of the year 1838, two young men
belonging to the first society of Paris, the Vicomte Albert
de Morcerf and the Baron Franz d'Epinay, were at Florence.
They had agreed to see the Carnival at Rome that year, and
that Franz, who for the last three or four years had
inhabited Italy, should act as cicerone to Albert. As it is
no inconsiderable affair to spend the Carnival at Rome,
especially when you have no great desire to sleep on the
Piazza del Popolo, or the Campo Vaccino, they wrote to
Signor Pastrini, the proprietor of the Hotel de Londres,
Piazza di Spagna, to reserve comfortable apartments for
them. Signor Pastrini replied that he had only two rooms and
a parlor on the third floor, which he offered at the low
charge of a louis per diem. They accepted his offer; but
wishing to make the best use of the time that was left,
Albert started for Naples. As for Franz, he remained at
Florence, and after having passed a few days in exploring
the paradise of the Cascine, and spending two or three
evenings at the houses of the Florentine nobility, he took a
fancy into his head (having already visited Corsica, the
cradle of Bonaparte) to visit Elba, the waiting-place of
Napoleon.

One evening he cast off the painter of a sailboat from the
iron ring that secured it to the dock at Leghorn, wrapped
himself in his coat and lay down, and said to the crew, --
"To the Island of Elba!" The boat shot out of the harbor
like a bird and the next morning Franz disembarked at
Porto-Ferrajo. He traversed the island, after having
followed the traces which the footsteps of the giant have
left, and re-embarked for Marciana. Two hours after he again
landed at Pianosa, where he was assured that red partridges
abounded. The sport was bad; Franz only succeeded in killing
a few partridges, and, like every unsuccessful sportsman, he
returned to the boat very much out of temper. "Ah, if your
excellency chose," said the captain, "you might have capital
sport."

"Where?"

"Do you see that island?" continued the captain, pointing to
a conical pile rising from the indigo sea.

"Well, what is this island?"

"The Island of Monte Cristo."

"But I have no permission to shoot over this island."

"Your excellency does not require a permit, for the island
is uninhabited."

"Ah, indeed!" said the young man. "A desert island in the
midst of the Mediterranean must be a curiosity."

"It is very natural; this island is a mass of rocks, and
does not contain an acre of land capable of cultivation."

"To whom does this island belong?"

"To Tuscany."

"What game shall I find there!"