The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 19 The Third Attack



NOW THAT this treasure, which had so long been the object of the abbé'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 Dantès all the good which, with thirteen or fourteen millions of francs, a man could do in these days to his friends; and then Dantès' 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 abbé did not know the Island of Monte Cristo; but Dantès 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. Dantès drew a plan of the island for Faria, and Faria gave Dantès advice as to the means he should employ to recover the treasure. But Dantès 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 Dantès 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 perpetualimprisonment, a new misfortunebefell 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 Dantès had partly filled in. But for this precaution, which, it will be remembered, the abbé 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 sorrowfulresignation, 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 Dantès to learn it by heart; and Dantès 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 Dantès,--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; Dantès, 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, Dantès 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 Dantès; "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 Dantès, 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 abbé, 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. Dantès 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, Dantès! 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.

Dantès 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, Dantès 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 Dantès' 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.

Dantès 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 Dantès' 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 Dantès indignant, for he felt that all the world should have for the poor abbé 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 perfectlyassured that the prisoner is dead." There was a moment of complete silence, during which Dantès, 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 Dantès 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 Dantès 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 abbé.

"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 Dantès' 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 Hyères for a week. I told him I would attend to the prisoners in his absence. If the poor abbé 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 Dantès. Then he raised the flag-stone cautiously with his head, and looked carefully around the chamber. It was empty, and Dantès emerged from the tunnel.



基督山伯爵

第十九章　第三次发病



长久以来，神甫一直在沉思默想这个宝藏，现在，他终于能用它来保证他爱如己子的唐太斯的未来的幸福了。于是，在法利亚的眼中无形中宝藏的价值增加了一倍，他每天絮絮叨叨谈论它的数目，向唐太斯解释，在当个这个时代，一个人拥有了一千三百万或一千四百万的财富，能如何如何地为他的朋友造福。可是唐太斯的脸却阴沉起来，因为他脑海中复仇的誓言又出现了，他也想到，在当今这个时代，一个人拥有了一千三百万或一千四百万财富，能给他的仇人带去多大的灾难。

神甫不知道基督山岛在什么地方，但唐太斯却知道，而且常常经过那个地方，甚至还曾上去过一次，它离皮亚诺扎只有二十五哩，在科西嘉岛和厄尔巴岛之间。这个岛以前一向是，而且现在也还是荒无人烟的地方。它像是一块圆椎形的大岩石，似乎是某次海底火山爆发把它推到海面上来的。唐太斯把那个岛画了一张地图给法利亚看，法利亚则指导唐太斯应该用什么办法去找到那宝藏。不过唐太斯却远没有老人那样热情和有信心。不错，法利亚确实不是一个疯子，他的发现让人以为他疯了，可是发现这个秘密的艰苦经过更增加了唐太斯对他的敬仰。同时，即使那笔宝藏的确存在，他也不能相信现在它是否依旧还存在着，虽然他认为那宝藏决不是想象出来的东西，可是他相信它已不在那儿了。

即使他相信那宝藏还在那儿，但命运仿佛有意要剥夺这两个囚徒的最后的一些希望似的，象是要让他们懂得他们已命中注定要一辈子坐牢似的，一次新的灾难又降临到了他们头上。靠海的那条走廊，早已有坍陷的危险，近来又重新加固起来。他们用许多大石头填没了唐太斯已经填过了一半的洞。

要是没有采取神甫建议过的这一预防措施，他们就会遇到更大的不幸，因为他们逃走的企图一旦被发现，他们俩肯定被隔离开的。现在，他们被关在一道新的一更坚固的牢门里面了。

"你看，"年轻人带着一种悲哀的、听天由命的口气对法利亚说，"你说我肯为你牺牲，但上帝认为这种赞誉我是不应该接受的。我答应过永远和你在一起，现在即使我想违背我的诺言，事实也不允许了。我和你一样得不到那宝藏了，我们俩谁也出不了这个监狱。但我真正的财富并不是那个，我的朋友，并不是在基督山岛阴森的岩石底下等待着我的那些东西，而是和你会面，虽然有狱卒，我们每天仍可以共同度过五六个钟头。是你那些智慧之光启发了我的头脑，你的话已深深根植在我的记忆里，会在那儿成长，开花，结果的。你教给了我各门科学知识，你对它们有着深刻的认识，所以才能把它们变得明白易懂，使我很容易便掌握了它们，这才是我的财富，我敬爱的朋友，就凭这一切，你已经使我富足和幸福了。相信我吧，请放心吧！对我来说，这比成吨的黄金和成箱的钻石更加珍贵，即使那些黄金和钻石确实存在，不象我们在早晨看到深浮在海面上的，以为是陆地，而向它渐渐走近的时候就消失了的海市蜃楼。可能长时间地与你呆在一起，倾听你那雄辩的声音来丰富我的头脑，振作我的精神，使我的身心能在一旦获得自由的时候经受得住可怕的打击，它们丰富了我的心灵，使快要向绝望让步的我，自从认识了你以后，不再伤心绝望，这些才是我的财富，真正属于我的财富。这一切都是你赐给我的。世上所有的帝王，即使是凯撒·布琪亚，也休想从我这儿把它们夺走的。"

于是，这两个不幸的人往后的日子，虽然说不上幸福的日子，但也一天天地过得很快。法利亚对那宝藏以前多年来一直保守着秘密，现在却不断地谈到它。果然不出他所料，他的右臂和右腿依旧麻痹不能动，他自己已放弃了享受那宝藏的任何希望。然而他仍不断地在为他的年轻伙伴考虑逃走的办法。

他怕那张遗嘱说不定哪天会失落或失窃，所以强迫唐太斯把它熟记在心里，使他能逐字背出来。然后他把另一半毁掉了，以保证即使前一半被人弄了去也没有人能够猜透其中的真意。有时候，法利亚以整小时地整个小时指教唐太斯，指教他在得到自由以后该如何如何。如果一旦获得自由，从获得自由的那一天、一时、一刻起，他应该只有一个念头，就是想方设法到基督山岛去。并找一个不会引起怀疑的借口独自留在那儿。

一到了那，就得努力去找到那神奇的洞窟，在指定的地点去挖，读者还记得，那指定的地点就是在第二个洞口最深的一个角落里。

在这期间，时间的消逝虽说不上很快，但至少不致于令人难以忍受。我们已经说过，法利亚身体一侧的手脚虽不能恢复活动了，但他的头脑仍然很清醒，理解力也已全部恢复，除了我们已详述过的那种为人处世的种种教诲以外，他还逐渐地教导他的年轻伙伴，教他应该做一个耐心和高尚的犯人，怎样懂得从无所事事找些事来做。因此他俩永远是有事可做的，法利亚借此来忘却他自己的逐渐衰老；唐太斯则借此避免去回忆那以前曾一度几乎熄灭，而现在却象夜里漂荡在远处的一盏明灯那样浮动在他记忆里的往事。日子就这样平平静静地过去了，再也没有新的灾难降临，在上帝的庇护之下，时光机械地、宁静地流逝了。

在那年轻人的心里，或许也那老人的心里，在这种表面的宁静之下，隐藏着许多被压抑了的愿望，和被窒息住了的叹息。每当法利亚独自一个人时，当爱德蒙回到他自己的牢房里时，它们就都表露出来。有一天晚上，爱德蒙突然醒来，他好象听到有人在呼唤他。他睁开眼睛，尽力在黑暗中张望。他听到有人在喊他的名字，或者确切地说，是一种费力地呼喊他名字的呻吟声。"天哪！"爱德蒙自言自语地说，"难道真的发生了？"

他迅速移开他的床，搬起那块石头，钻入了地道，爬到那一端，那秘密洞口已经打开。我们提到过的那可怜的摇曳的灯光下，唐太斯看到神甫脸色苍白地抓住了床架。他的脸上可拍地抽搐着，唐太斯熟悉这可怕的证状，当他第一次看到的时候，曾非常惊惶。

"唉，我的朋友，"法利亚用一种听天由命的口吻说道，"你知道是怎么回事，对吧？我不必再向你解释什么了。"

爱德蒙痛苦地惨叫了一声，他失去了理智，冲到门口，大喊起来，"救命！救命！"法利亚用最后一点力气阻止了他。

"别出声！"他说，"不然你就完了。现在指望你自己吧，使你的狱中生活过得好一点，使自己还可以逃走。我在这里所做的一切你得花几年功夫才能完成，假如狱卒知道我们互相有来往，一切就都完了。放心吧，我亲爱的爱德蒙，我就要离开的这间牢房，是不会长期空着的，另一个受难人不久就会来接替我的位置的，他将把你看作是一个拯救天使。也许他也同样年轻，强壮，能吃苦耐劳，就象你一样，他可以帮助你一起逃，而我却只能妨碍你。你不再会有一个半死的身体绑在你的身上，使你动弹不得。上帝终于为你做了件好事，把你被剥夺的一切加倍偿还了你，现在是我该死的时候了。"