"He shall be both blind and deaf," replied the young man, with an air of
determination that made his companion shudder.
"No, no," cried the abbe; "impossible!" Dantes endeavored to renew the
subject; the abbe shook his head in token of disapproval, and refused to
make any further response. Three months passed away.
"Are you strong?" the abbe asked one day of Dantes. The young man, in
reply, took up the chisel, bent it into the form of a horseshoe, and
then as readily straightened it.
"And will you engage not to do any harm to the sentry, except as a last
resort?"
"I promise on my honor."
"Then," said the abbe, "we may hope to put our design into execution."
"And how long shall we be in accomplishing the necessary work?"
"At least a year."
"And shall we begin at once?"
"At once."
"We have lost a year to no purpose!" cried Dantes.
"Do you consider the last twelve months to have been wasted?" asked the
abbe.
"Forgive me!" cried Edmond, blushing deeply.
"Tut, tut!" answered the abbe, "man is but man after all, and you are
about the best specimen of the genus I have ever known. Come, let me
show you my plan." The abbe then showed Dantes the sketch he had made
for their escape. It consisted of a plan of his own cell and that of
Dantes, with the passage which united them. In this passage he proposed
to drive a level as they do in mines; this level would bring the two
prisoners immediately beneath the gallery where the sentry kept watch;
once there, a large excavation would be made, and one of the flag-stones
with which the gallery was paved be so completely loosened that at the
desired moment it would give way beneath the feet of the soldier, who,
stunned by his fall, would be immediately bound and gagged by Dantes
before he had power to offer any resistance. The prisoners were then to
make their way through one of the gallery windows, and to let themselves
down from the outer walls by means of the abbe's ladder of cords.
Dantes' eyes sparkled with joy, and he rubbed his hands with delight at
the idea of a plan so simple, yet apparently so certain to succeed.
That very day the miners began their labors, with a vigor and alacrity
proportionate to their long rest from fatigue and their hopes of
ultimate success. Nothing interrupted the progress of the work
except the necessity that each was under of returning to his cell in
anticipation of the turnkey's visits. They had learned to distinguish
the almost imperceptible sound of his footsteps as he descended towards
their dungeons, and happily, never failed of being prepared for his
coming. The fresh earth excavated during their present work, and which
would have entirely blocked up the old passage, was thrown, by degrees
and with the utmost precaution, out of the window in either Faria's
or Dantes' cell, the rubbish being first pulverized so finely that the
night wind carried it far away without permitting the smallest trace to
remain. More than a year had been consumed in this undertaking, the only
tools for which had been a chisel, a knife, and a wooden lever; Faria
still continuing to instruct Dantes by conversing with him, sometimes
in one language, sometimes in another; at others, relating to him the
history of nations and great men who from time to time have risen to
fame and trodden the path of glory.
The abbe was a man of the world, and had, moreover, mixed in the first
society of the day; he wore an air of melancholy dignity which Dantes,
thanks to the imitative powers bestowed on him by nature, easily
acquired, as well as that outward polish and politeness he had before
been wanting in, and which is seldom possessed except by those who
have been placed in constant intercourse with persons of high birth and
breeding. At the end of fifteen months the level was finished, and the
excavation completed beneath the gallery, and the two workmen could
distinctly hear the measured tread of the sentinel as he paced to and
fro over their heads.
Compelled, as they were, to await a night sufficiently dark to favor
their flight, they were obliged to defer their final attempt till that
auspicious moment should arrive; their greatest dread now was lest the
stone through which the sentry was doomed to fall should give way before
its right time, and this they had in some measure provided against by
propping it up with a small beam which they had discovered in the
walls through which they had worked their way. Dantes was occupied in
arranging this piece of wood when he heard Faria, who had remained
in Edmond's cell for the purpose of cutting a peg to secure their
rope-ladder, call to him in a tone indicative of great suffering. Dantes
hastened to his dungeon, where he found him standing in the middle of
the room, pale as death, his forehead streaming with perspiration, and
his hands clinched tightly together.
"Gracious heavens!" exclaimed Dantes, "what is the matter? what has
happened?"
"Quick! quick!" returned the abbe, "listen to what I have to say."
Dantes looked in fear and wonder at the livid countenance of Faria,
whose eyes, already dull and sunken, were surrounded by purple circles,
while his lips were white as those of a corpse, and his very hair seemed
to stand on end.
"Tell me, I beseech you, what ails you?" cried Dantes, letting his
chisel fall to the floor.
"Alas," faltered out the abbe, "all is over with me. I am seized with a
terrible, perhaps mortal illness; I can feel that the paroxysm is
fast approaching. I had a similar attack the year previous to my
imprisonment. This malady admits but of one remedy; I will tell you what
that is. Go into my cell as quickly as you can; draw out one of the feet
that support the bed; you will find it has been hollowed out for the
purpose of containing a small phial you will see there half-filled with
a red-looking fluid. Bring it to me--or rather--no, no!--I may be found
here, therefore help me back to my room while I have the strength to
drag myself along. Who knows what may happen, or how long the attack may
last?"
In spite of the magnitude of the misfortune which thus suddenly
frustrated his hopes, Dantes did not lose his presence of mind, but
descended into the passage, dragging his unfortunate companion with him;
then, half-carrying, half-supporting him, he managed to reach the abbe's
chamber, when he immediately laid the sufferer on his bed.
"Thanks," said the poor abbe, shivering as though his veins were filled
with ice. "I am about to be seized with a fit of catalepsy; when it
comes to its height I shall probably lie still and motionless as though
dead, uttering neither sigh nor groan. On the other hand, the symptoms
may be much more violent, and cause me to fall into fearful convulsions,
foam at the mouth, and cry out loudly. Take care my cries are not heard,
for if they are it is more than probable I should be removed to another
part of the prison, and we be separated forever. When I become quite
motionless, cold, and rigid as a corpse, then, and not before,--be
careful about this,--force open my teeth with the knife, pour from eight
to ten drops of the liquor contained in the phial down my throat, and I
may perhaps revive."
"Perhaps!" exclaimed Dantes in grief-stricken tones.
"Help! help!" cried the abbe, "I--I--die--I"--
So sudden and violent was the fit that the unfortunate prisoner was
unable to complete the sentence; a violent convulsion shook his whole
frame, his eyes started from their sockets, his mouth was drawn on one
side, his cheeks became purple, he struggled, foamed, dashed himself
about, and uttered the most dreadful cries, which, however, Dantes
prevented from being heard by covering his head with the blanket. The
fit lasted two hours; then, more helpless than an infant, and colder and
paler than marble, more crushed and broken than a reed trampled under
foot, he fell back, doubled up in one last convulsion, and became as
rigid as a corpse.
Edmond waited till life seemed extinct in the body of his friend, then,
taking up the knife, he with difficulty forced open the closely
fixed jaws, carefully administered the appointed number of drops, and
anxiously awaited the result. An hour passed away and the old man gave
no sign of returning animation. Dantes began to fear he had delayed too
long ere he administered the remedy, and, thrusting his hands into his
hair, continued gazing on the lifeless features of his friend. At length
a slight color tinged the livid cheeks, consciousness returned to the
dull, open eyeballs, a faint sigh issued from the lips, and the sufferer
made a feeble effort to move.
"He is saved! he is saved!" cried Dantes in a paroxysm of delight.
The sick man was not yet able to speak, but he pointed with evident
anxiety towards the door. Dantes listened, and plainly distinguished the
approaching steps of the jailer. It was therefore near seven o'clock;
but Edmond's anxiety had put all thoughts of time out of his head. The
young man sprang to the entrance, darted through it, carefully drawing
the stone over the opening, and hurried to his cell. He had scarcely
done so before the door opened, and the jailer saw the prisoner seated
as usual on the side of his bed. Almost before the key had turned in the
lock, and before the departing steps of the jailer had died away in
the long corridor he had to traverse, Dantes, whose restless anxiety
concerning his friend left him no desire to touch the food brought him,
hurried back to the abbe's chamber, and raising the stone by pressing
his head against it, was soon beside the sick man's couch. Faria had
now fully regained his consciousness, but he still lay helpless and
exhausted.
"I did not expect to see you again," said he feebly, to Dantes.
"And why not?" asked the young man. "Did you fancy yourself dying?"
"No, I had no such idea; but, knowing that all was ready for flight, I
thought you might have made your escape." The deep glow of indignation
suffused the cheeks of Dantes.
"Without you? Did you really think me capable of that?"
"At least," said the abbe, "I now see how wrong such an opinion would
have been. Alas, alas! I am fearfully exhausted and debilitated by this
attack."
"Be of good cheer," replied Dantes; "your strength will return." And
as he spoke he seated himself near the bed beside Faria, and took his
hands. The abbe shook his head.
"The last attack I had," said he, "lasted but half an hour, and after it
I was hungry, and got up without help; now I can move neither my right
arm nor leg, and my head seems uncomfortable, which shows that there
has been a suffusion of blood on the brain. The third attack will either
carry me off, or leave me paralyzed for life."
"No, no," cried Dantes; "you are mistaken--you will not die! And your
third attack (if, indeed, you should have another) will find you at
liberty. We shall save you another time, as we have done this, only with
a better chance of success, because we shall be able to command every
requisite assistance."
"My good Edmond," answered the abbe, "be not deceived. The attack which
has just passed away, condemns me forever to the walls of a prison. None
can fly from a dungeon who cannot walk."
"Well, we will wait,--a week, a month, two months, if need be,--and
meanwhile your strength will return. Everything is in readiness for our
flight, and we can select any time we choose. As soon as you feel able
to swim we will go."
"I shall never swim again," replied Faria. "This arm is paralyzed; not
for a time, but forever. Lift it, and judge if I am mistaken." The
young man raised the arm, which fell back by its own weight, perfectly
inanimate and helpless. A sigh escaped him.
"You are convinced now, Edmond, are you not?" asked the abbe. "Depend
upon it, I know what I say. Since the first attack I experienced of this
malady, I have continually reflected on it. Indeed, I expected it, for
it is a family inheritance; both my father and grandfather died of it
in a third attack. The physician who prepared for me the remedy I have
twice successfully taken, was no other than the celebrated Cabanis, and
he predicted a similar end for me."
"The physician may be mistaken!" exclaimed Dantes. "And as for your poor
arm, what difference will that make? I can take you on my shoulders, and
swim for both of us."
"My son," said the abbe, "you, who are a sailor and a swimmer, must know
as well as I do that a man so loaded would sink before he had done fifty
strokes. Cease, then, to allow yourself to be duped by vain hopes, that
even your own excellent heart refuses to believe in. Here I shall
remain till the hour of my deliverance arrives, and that, in all human
probability, will be the hour of my death. As for you, who are young
and active, delay not on my account, but fly--go--I give you back your
promise."
"It is well," said Dantes. "Then I shall also remain." Then, rising and
extending his hand with an air of solemnity over the old man's head, he
slowly added, "By the blood of Christ I swear never to leave you while
you live."
Faria gazed fondly on his noble-minded, single-hearted, high-principled
young friend, and read in his countenance ample confirmation of the
sincerity of his devotion and the loyalty of his purpose.
"Thanks," murmured the invalid, extending one hand. "I accept. You may
one of these days reap the reward of your disinterested devotion. But
as I cannot, and you will not, quit this place, it becomes necessary
to fill up the excavation beneath the soldier's gallery; he might, by
