the count of monte cristo rotten tomatoes

The count of monte cristo rotten tomatoes update#

The eight oars fell into the sea simultaneously without splashing a drop of water, and the boat, yielding to the impulsion, glided forward. The rowers waited, their oars half lifted out of the water, like birds drying their wings. The traveller descended, and instead of sitting down at the stern of the boat, which had been decorated with a blue carpet for his accommodation, stood up with his arms crossed. The gig was already lowered, and in it were four oarsmen and a coxswain. Ten minutes afterwards, the sails were furled, and they cast anchor about a hundred fathoms from the little harbor.

The captain gave him a loaded carbine the traveller slowly raised it, and fired in the air. “Ah, yes,” he said, as if awaking from a dream. “What signal?” The captain pointed towards the island, up the side of which ascended a volume of smoke, increasing as it rose.

“Your excellency,” said the captain, “that was the land signal, will you answer yourself?” A few minutes afterwards a flash of light, which was extinguished instantly, was seen on the land, and the sound of firearms reached the yacht. Then he added, in a low tone, “Yes that is the haven.” And then he again plunged into a train of thought, the character of which was better revealed by a sad smile, than it would have been by tears. “We have reached it!” repeated the traveller in an accent of indescribable sadness. “Yes, your excellency,” said the captain, “we have reached it.” “Is that Monte Cristo?” asked the traveller, to whose orders the yacht was for the time submitted, in a melancholy voice. Standing on the prow was a tall man, of a dark complexion, who saw with dilating eyes that they were approaching a dark mass of land in the shape of a cone, which rose from the midst of the waves like the hat of a Catalan. The yacht moved rapidly on, though there did not appear to be sufficient wind to ruffle the curls on the head of a young girl. By degrees the sun disappeared behind the western horizon but as though to prove the truth of the fanciful ideas in heathen mythology, its indiscreet rays reappeared on the summit of every wave, as if the god of fire had just sunk upon the bosom of Amphitrite, who in vain endeavored to hide her lover beneath her azure mantle. It advanced swiftly and gracefully, leaving behind it a glittering stretch of foam. The vessel resembled a swan with its wings opened towards the wind, gliding on the water.

A delicious zephyr played along the coasts of the Mediterranean, and wafted from shore to shore the sweet perfume of plants, mingled with the fresh smell of the sea.Ī light yacht, chaste and elegant in its form, was gliding amidst the first dews of night over the immense lake, extending from Gibraltar to the Dardanelles, and from Tunis to Venice. The heat of the day had gradually decreased, and a light breeze arose, seeming like the respiration of nature on awakening from the burning siesta of the south. It was about six o’clock in the evening an opal–colored light, through which an autumnal sun shed its golden rays, descended on the blue ocean.

The count of monte cristo rotten tomatoes update#

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