Chapter 19 The Third Attack
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NOW
THAT this treasure, which had so long been the object of the abbиж's meditations, could insure the
future happiness of him whom Faria really loved as a son, it had doubled
its value in his eyes, and every day he expatiated on the amount,
explaining to Dantииs
all the good which, with thirteen or fourteen millions of francs, a man
could do in these days to his friends; and then Dantииs' countenance became gloomy, for the oath of
vengeance he had taken recurred to his memory, and he reflected how much
ill, in these times, a man with thirteen or fourteen millions could do to
his enemies. The
abbиж did not know the Island of Monte
Cristo; but Dantииs
knew it, and had often passed it, situated twenty-five miles from Pianosa,
between Corsica and the Island of Elba, and had once touched there. This
island was, always had been, and still is, completely deserted. It is a
rock of almost conical form, which looks as though it had been thrust up
by volcanic force from the depth to the surface of the ocean. Dantииs drew a plan of the island for Faria, and Faria
gave Dantииs
advice as to the means he should employ to recover the treasure. But Dantииs was far from being as
enthusiastic and confident as the old man. It was past a question now that
Faria was not a lunatic, and the way in which he had achieved the
discovery, which had given rise to the suspicion of his madness, increased
Edmond's admiration of him; but at the same time Dantииs could not believe that the deposit, supposing it
had ever existed, still existed; and though he considered the treasure as
by no means chimerical, he yet believed it was no longer there. However,
as if fate resolved on depriving the prisoners of their last chance, and
making them understand that they were condemned to perpetual imprisonment,
a new misfortune befell them; the gallery on the sea side, which had long
been in ruins, was rebuilt. They had repaired it completely, and stopped
up with vast masses of stone the hole Dantииs
had partly filled in. But for this precaution, which, it will be
remembered, the abbиж
had made to Edmond, the misfortune would have been still greater, for
their attempt to escape would have been detected, and they would
undoubtedly have been separated. Thus a new, a stronger, and more
inexorable barrier was interposed to cut off the realization of their
hopes. "You
see," said the young man, with an air of sorrowful resignation, to
Faria, "that God deems it right to take from me any claim to merit
for what you call my devotion to you. I have promised to remain forever
with you, and now I could not break my promise if I would. The treasure
will be no more mine than yours, and neither of us will quit this prison.
But my real treasure is not that, my dear friend, which awaits me beneath
the sombre rocks of Monte Cristo, it is your presence, our living together
five or six hours a day, in spite of our jailers; it is the rays of
intelligence you have elicited from my brain, the languages you have
implanted in my memory, and which have taken root there with all their
philological ramifications. These different sciences that you have made so
easy to me by the depth of the knowledge you possess of them, and the
clearness of the principles to which you have reduced them--this is my
treasure, my beloved friend, and with this you have made me rich and
happy. Believe me, and take comfort, this is better for me than tons of
gold and cases of diamonds, even were they not as problematical as the
clouds we see in the morning floating over the sea, which we take for
terra firma, and which evaporate and vanish as we draw near to them. To
have you as long as possible near me, to hear your eloquent speech,--which
embellishes my mind, strengthens my soul, and makes my whole frame capable
of great and terrible things, if I should ever be free,--so fills my whole
existence, that the despair to which I was just on the point of yielding
when I knew you, has no longer any hold over me; and this--this is my
fortune--not chimerical, but actual. I owe you my real good, my present
happiness; and all the sovereigns of the earth, even C?sar Borgia himself,
could not deprive me of this." Thus,
if not actually happy, yet the days these two unfortunates passed together
went quickly. Faria, who for so long a time had kept silence as to the
treasure, now perpetually talked of it. As he had prophesied would be the
case, he remained paralyzed in the right arm and the left leg, and had
given up all hope of ever enjoying it himself. But he was continually
thinking over some means of escape for his young companion, and
anticipating the pleasure he would enjoy. For fear the letter might be
some day lost or stolen, he compelled Dantииs to learn it by heart; and Dantииs knew it from the first to the
last word. Then he destroyed the second portion, assured that if the first
were seized, no one would be able to discover its real meaning. Whole
hours sometimes passed while Faria was giving instructions to Dantииs,--instructions which were to
serve him when he was at liberty. Then, once free, from the day and hour
and moment when he was so, he could have but one only thought, which was,
to gain Monte Cristo by some means, and remain there alone under some
pretext which would arouse no suspicions; and once there, to endeavor to
find the wonderful caverns, and search in the appointed spot,--the
appointed spot, be it remembered, being the farthest angle in the second
opening. In
the meanwhile the hours passed, if not rapidly, at least tolerably. Faria,
as we have said, without having recovered the use of his hand and foot,
had regained all the clearness of his understanding, and had gradually,
besides the moral instructions we have detailed, taught his youthful
companion the patient and sublime duty of a prisoner, who learns to make
something from nothing. They were thus perpetually employed,--Faria, that
he might not see himself grow old; Dantииs,
for fear of recalling the almost extinct past which now only floated in
his memory like a distant light wandering in the night. So life went on
for them as it does for those who are not victims of misfortune and whose
activities glide along mechanically and tranquilly beneath the eye of
providence. But
beneath this superficial calm there were in the heart of the young man,
and perhaps in that of the old man, many repressed desires, many stifled
sighs, which found vent when Faria was left alone, and when Edmond
returned to his cell. One night Edmond awoke suddenly, believing that he
heard some one calling him. He opened his eyes upon utter darkness. His
name, or rather a plaintive voice which essayed to pronounce his name,
reached him. He sat up in bed and a cold sweat broke out upon his brow.
Undoubtedly the call came from Faria's dungeon. "Alas," murmured
Edmond; "can it be?" He
moved his bed, drew up the stone, rushed into the passage, and reached the
opposite extremity; the secret entrance was open. By the light of the
wretched and wavering lamp, of which we have spoken, Dantииs saw the old man, pale, but yet erect, clinging to
the bedstead. His features were writhing with those horrible symptoms
which he already knew, and which had so seriously alarmed him when he saw
them for the first time. "Alas,
my dear friend," said Faria in a resigned tone, "you understand,
do you not, and I need not attempt to explain to you?" Edmond
uttered a cry of agony, and, quite out of his senses, rushed towards the
door, exclaiming, "Help, help!" Faria had just sufficient
strength to restrain him. "Silence,"
he said, "or you are lost. We must now only think of you, my dear
friend, and so act as to render your captivity supportable or your flight
possible. It would require years to do again what I have done here, and
the results would be instantly destroyed if our jailers knew we had
communicated with each other. Besides, be assured, my dear Edmond, the
dungeon I am about to leave will not long remain empty; some other
unfortunate being will soon take my place, and to him you will appear like
an angel of salvation. Perhaps he will be young, strong, and enduring,
like yourself, and will aid you in your escape, while I have been but a
hindrance. You will no longer have half a dead body tied to you as a drag
to all your movements. At length providence has done something for you; he
restores to you more than he takes away, and it was time I should
die." Edmond
could only clasp his hands and exclaim, "Oh, my friend, my friend,
speak not thus!" and then resuming all his presence of mind, which
had for a moment staggered under this blow, and his strength, which had
failed at the words of the old man, he said, "Oh, I have saved you
once, and I will save you a second time!" And raising the foot of the
bed, he drew out the phial, still a third filled with the red liquor. "See,"
he exclaimed, "there remains still some of the magic draught. Quick,
quick! tell me what I must do this time; are there any fresh instructions?
Speak, my friend; I listen." "There
is not a hope," replied Faria, shaking his head, "but no matter;
God wills it that man whom he has created, and in whose heart he has so
profoundly rooted the love of life, should do all in his power to preserve
that existence, which, however painful it may be, is yet always so
dear." "Oh,
yes, yes!" exclaimed Dantииs;
"and I tell you that I will save you yet." "Well,
then, try. The cold gains upon me. I feel the blood flowing towards my
brain. These horrible chills, which make my teeth chatter and seem to
dislocate my bones, begin to pervade my whole frame; in five minutes the
malady will reach its height, and in a quarter of an hour there will be
nothing left of me but a corpse." "Oh!"
exclaimed Dantииs,
his heart wrung with anguish. "Do
as you did before, only do not wait so long, all the springs of life are
now exhausted in me, and death," he continued, looking at his
paralyzed arm and leg, "has but half its work to do. If, after having
made me swallow twelve drops instead of ten, you see that I do not
recover, then pour the rest down my throat. Now lift me on my bed, for I
can no longer support myself." Edmond
took the old man in his arms, and laid him on the bed. "And
now, my dear friend," said Faria, "sole consolation of my
wretched existence,--you whom heaven gave me somewhat late, but still gave
me, a priceless gift, and for which I am most grateful,--at the moment of
separating from you forever, I wish you all the happiness and all the
prosperity you so well deserve. My son, I bless thee!" The young man
cast himself on his knees, leaning his head against the old man's bed. "Listen,
now, to what I say in this my dying moment. The treasure of the Spadas
exists. God grants me the boon of vision unrestricted by time or space. I
see it in the depths of the inner cavern. My eyes pierce the inmost
recesses of the earth, and are dazzled at the sight of so much riches. If
you do escape, remember that the poor abbиж,
whom all the world called mad, was not so. Hasten to Monte Cristo--avail
yourself of the fortune--for you have indeed suffered long enough." A
violent convulsion attacked the old man. Dantииs raised his head and saw Faria's eyes injected with
blood. It seemed as if a flow of blood had ascended from the chest to the
head. "Adieu,
adieu!" murmured the old man, clasping Edmond's hand
convulsively--"adieu!" "Oh,
no,--no, not yet," he cried; "do not forsake me! Oh, succor him!
Help--help--help!" "Hush--hush!"
murmured the dying man, "that they may not separate us if you save
me!" "You
are right. Oh, yes, yes; be assured I shall save you! Besides, although
you suffer much, you do not seem to be in such agony as you were
before." "Do
not mistake. I suffer less because there is in me less strength to endure.
At your age we have faith in life; it is the privilege of youth to believe
and hope, but old men see death more clearly. Oh, 'tis here--'tis
here--'tis over--my sight is gone--my senses fail! Your hand, Dantииs! Adieu--adieu!" And
raising himself by a final effort, in which he summoned all his faculties,
he said,--"Monte Cristo, forget not Monte Cristo!" And he fell
back on the bed. The crisis was terrible, and a rigid form with twisted
limbs, swollen eyelids, and lips flecked with bloody foam, lay on the bed
of torture, in place of the intellectual being who so lately rested there.
Dantииs took the lamp, placed it on a
projecting stone above the bed, whence its tremulous light fell with
strange and fantastic ray on the distorted countenance and motionless,
stiffened body. With steady gaze he awaited confidently the moment for
administering the restorative. When
he believed that the right moment had arrived, he took the knife, pried
open the teeth, which offered less resistance than before, counted one
after the other twelve drops, and watched; the phial contained, perhaps,
twice as much more. He waited ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, half an
hour,--no change took place. Trembling, his hair erect, his brow bathed
with perspiration, he counted the seconds by the beating of his heart.
Then he thought it was time to make the last trial, and he put the phial
to the purple lips of Faria, and without having occasion to force open his
jaws, which had remained extended, he poured the whole of the liquid down
his throat. The
draught produced a galvanic effect, a violent trembling pervaded the old
man's limbs, his eyes opened until it was fearful to gaze upon them, he
heaved a sigh which resembled a shriek, and then his convulsed body
returned gradually to its former immobility, the eyes remaining open. Half
an hour, an hour, an hour and a half elapsed, and during this period of
anguish, Edmond leaned over his friend, his hand applied to his heart, and
felt the body gradually grow cold, and the heart's pulsation become more
and more deep and dull, until at length it stopped; the last movement of
the heart ceased, the face became livid, the eyes remained open, but the
eyeballs were glazed. It was six o'clock in the morning, the dawn was just
breaking, and its feeble ray came into the dungeon, and paled the
ineffectual light of the lamp. Strange shadows passed over the countenance
of the dead man, and at times gave it the appearance of life. While the
struggle between day and night lasted, Dantииs still doubted; but as soon as
the daylight gained the pre-eminence, he saw that he was alone with a
corpse. Then an invincible and extreme terror seized upon him, and he
dared not again press the hand that hung out of bed, he dared no longer to
gaze on those fixed and vacant eyes, which he tried many times to close,
but in vain--they opened again as soon as shut. He extinguished the lamp,
carefully concealed it, and then went away, closing as well as he could
the entrance to the secret passage by the large stone as he descended. It
was time, for the jailer was coming. On this occasion he began his rounds
at Dantииs' cell, and on leaving him he
went on to Faria's dungeon, taking thither breakfast and some linen.
Nothing betokened that the man know anything of what had occurred. He went
on his way. Dantииs was then seized with an
indescribable desire to know what was going on in the dungeon of his
unfortunate friend. He therefore returned by the subterraneous gallery,
and arrived in time to hear the exclamations of the turnkey, who called
out for help. Other turnkeys came, and then was heard the regular tramp of
soldiers. Last of all came the governor. Edmond
heard the creaking of the bed as they moved the corpse, heard the voice of
the governor, who asked them to throw water on the dead man's face; and
seeing that, in spite of this application, the prisoner did not recover,
they sent for the doctor. The governor then went out, and words of pity
fell on Dantииs' listening ears, mingled with
brutal laughter. "Well,
well," said one, "the madman has gone to look after his
treasure. Good journey to him!" "With
all his millions, he will not have enough to pay for his shroud!"
said another. "Oh,"
added a third voice, "the shrouds of the Chateau d'If are not
dear!" "Perhaps,"
said one of the previous speakers, "as he was a churchman, they may
go to some expense in his behalf." "They
may give him the honors of the sack." Edmond
did not lose a word, but comprehended very little of what was said. The
voices soon ceased, and it seemed to him as if every one had left the
cell. Still he dared not to enter, as they might have left some turnkey to
watch the dead. He remained, therefore, mute and motionless, hardly
venturing to breathe. At the end of an hour, he heard a faint noise, which
increased. It was the governor who returned, followed by the doctor and
other attendants. There was a moment's silence,--it was evident that the
doctor was examining the dead body. The inquiries soon commenced. The
doctor analyzed the symptoms of the malady to which the prisoner had
succumbed, and declared that he was dead. Questions and answers followed
in a nonchalant manner that made Dantииs
indignant, for he felt that all the world should have for the poor abbиж a love and respect equal to his
own. "I
am very sorry for what you tell me," said the governor, replying to
the assurance of the doctor, "that the old man is really dead; for he
was a quiet, inoffensive prisoner, happy in his folly, and required no
watching." "Ah,"
added the turnkey, "there was no occasion for watching him: he would
have stayed here fifty years, I'll answer for it, without any attempt to
escape." "Still,"
said the governor, "I believe it will be requisite, notwithstanding
your certainty, and not that I doubt your science, but in discharge of my
official duty, that we should be perfectly assured that the prisoner is
dead." There was a moment of complete silence, during which Dantииs, still listening, knew that the
doctor was examining the corpse a second time. "You
may make your mind easy," said the doctor; "he is dead. I will
answer for that." "You
know, sir," said the governor, persisting, "that we are not
content in such cases as this with such a simple examination. In spite of
all appearances, be so kind, therefore, as to finish your duty by
fulfilling the formalities described by law." "Let
the irons be heated," said the doctor; "but really it is a
useless precaution." This order to heat the irons made Dantииs shudder. He heard hasty steps,
the creaking of a door, people going and coming, and some minutes
afterwards a turnkey entered, saying,-- "Here
is the brazier, lighted." There was a moment's silence, and then was
heard the crackling of burning flesh, of which the peculiar and nauseous
smell penetrated even behind the wall where Dantииs was listening in horror. The perspiration poured
forth upon the young man's brow, and he felt as if he should faint. "You
see, sir, he is really dead," said the doctor; "this burn in the
heel is decisive. The poor fool is cured of his folly, and delivered from
his captivity." "Wasn't
his name Faria?" inquired one of the officers who accompanied the
governor. "Yes,
sir; and, as he said, it was an ancient name. He was, too, very learned,
and rational enough on all points which did not relate to his treasure;
but on that, indeed, he was intractable." "It
is the sort of malady which we call monomania," said the doctor. "You
had never anything to complain of?" said the governor to the jailer
who had charge of the abbиж.
"Never,
sir," replied the jailer, "never; on the contrary, he sometimes
amused me very much by telling me stories. One day, too, when my wife was
ill, he gave me a prescription which cured her." "Ah,
ah!" said the doctor, "I did not know that I had a rival; but I
hope, governor, that you will show him all proper respect." "Yes,
yes, make your mind easy, he shall be decently interred in the newest sack
we can find. Will that satisfy you?" "Must
this last formality take place in your presence, sir?" inquired a
turnkey. "Certainly.
But make haste--I cannot stay here all day." Other footsteps, going
and coming, were now heard, and a moment afterwards the noise of rustling
canvas reached Dantииs'
ears, the bed creaked, and the heavy footfall of a man who lifts a weight
sounded on the floor; then the bed again creaked under the weight
deposited upon it. "This
evening," said the governor. "Will
there be any mass?" asked one of the attendants. "That
is impossible," replied the governor. "The chaplain of the
Chateau came to me yesterday to beg for leave of absence, in order to take
a trip to Hyииres for a week. I told him I
would attend to the prisoners in his absence. If the poor abbиж had not been in such a hurry, he
might have had his requiem." "Pooh,
pooh;" said the doctor, with the impiety usual in persons of his
profession; "he is a churchman. God will respect his profession, and
not give the devil the wicked delight of sending him a priest." A
shout of laughter followed this brutal jest. Meanwhile the operation of
putting the body in the sack was going on. "This
evening," said the governor, when the task was ended. "At
what hour?" inquired a turnkey. "Why,
about ten or eleven o'clock." "Shall
we watch by the corpse?" "Of
what use would it be? Shut the dungeon as if he were alive--that is
all." Then the steps retreated, and the voices died away in the
distance; the noise of the door, with its creaking hinges and bolts
ceased, and a silence more sombre than that of solitude ensued,--the
silence of death, which was all-pervasive, and struck its icy chill to the
very soul of Dantииs. Then he raised the flag-stone
cautiously with his head, and looked carefully around the chamber. It was
empty, and Dantииs
emerged from the tunnel. |
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