in its execution. Dantes would not allow that any such infraction of
regular and proper rules should be made in his favor. "No, no," he said
to the patron, "I was awkward, and it is just that I pay the penalty of
my clumsiness. Leave me a small supply of biscuit, a gun, powder, and
balls, to kill the kids or defend myself at need, and a pickaxe, that I
may build a shelter if you delay in coming back for me."
"But you'll die of hunger," said the patron.
"I would rather do so," was Edmond reply, "than suffer the inexpressible
agonies which the slightest movement causes me." The patron turned
towards his vessel, which was rolling on the swell in the little harbor,
and, with sails partly set, would be ready for sea when her toilet
should be completed.
"What are we to do, Maltese?" asked the captain. "We cannot leave you
here so, and yet we cannot stay."
"Go, go!" exclaimed Dantes.
"We shall be absent at least a week," said the patron, "and then we must
run out of our course to come here and take you up again."
"Why," said Dantes, "if in two or three days you hail any fishing-boat,
desire them to come here to me. I will pay twenty-five piastres for my
passage back to Leghorn. If you do not come across one, return for me."
The patron shook his head.
"Listen, Captain Baldi; there's one way of settling this," said Jacopo.
"Do you go, and I will stay and take care of the wounded man."
"And give up your share of the venture," said Edmond, "to remain with
me?"
"Yes," said Jacopo, "and without any hesitation."
"You are a good fellow and a kind-hearted messmate," replied Edmond,
"and heaven will recompense you for your generous intentions; but I do
not wish any one to stay with me. A day or two of rest will set me up,
and I hope I shall find among the rocks certain herbs most excellent for
bruises."
A peculiar smile passed over Dantes' lips; he squeezed Jacopo's hand
warmly, but nothing could shake his determination to remain--and remain
alone. The smugglers left with Edmond what he had requested and set
sail, but not without turning about several times, and each time making
signs of a cordial farewell, to which Edmond replied with his hand
only, as if he could not move the rest of his body. Then, when they
had disappeared, he said with a smile,--"'Tis strange that it should be
among such men that we find proofs of friendship and devotion." Then
he dragged himself cautiously to the top of a rock, from which he had
a full view of the sea, and thence he saw the tartan complete her
preparations for sailing, weigh anchor, and, balancing herself as
gracefully as a water-fowl ere it takes to the wing, set sail. At
the end of an hour she was completely out of sight; at least, it was
impossible for the wounded man to see her any longer from the spot where
he was. Then Dantes rose more agile and light than the kid among the
myrtles and shrubs of these wild rocks, took his gun in one hand, his
pickaxe in the other, and hastened towards the rock on which the marks
he had noted terminated. "And now," he exclaimed, remembering the tale
of the Arabian fisherman, which Faria had related to him, "now, open
sesame!"
Chapter 24. The Secret Cave.
The sun had nearly reached the meridian, and his scorching rays fell
full on the rocks, which seemed themselves sensible of the heat.
Thousands of grasshoppers, hidden in the bushes, chirped with a
monotonous and dull note; the leaves of the myrtle and olive trees waved
and rustled in the wind. At every step that Edmond took he disturbed
the lizards glittering with the hues of the emerald; afar off he saw
the wild goats bounding from crag to crag. In a word, the island was
inhabited, yet Edmond felt himself alone, guided by the hand of God. He
felt an indescribable sensation somewhat akin to dread--that dread of
the daylight which even in the desert makes us fear we are watched and
observed. This feeling was so strong that at the moment when Edmond was
about to begin his labor, he stopped, laid down his pickaxe, seized his
gun, mounted to the summit of the highest rock, and from thence gazed
round in every direction.
But it was not upon Corsica, the very houses of which he could
distinguish; or on Sardinia; or on the Island of Elba, with its
historical associations; or upon the almost imperceptible line that to
the experienced eye of a sailor alone revealed the coast of Genoa
the proud, and Leghorn the commercial, that he gazed. It was at the
brigantine that had left in the morning, and the tartan that had just
set sail, that Edmond fixed his eyes. The first was just disappearing
in the straits of Bonifacio; the other, following an opposite direction,
was about to round the Island of Corsica. This sight reassured him. He
then looked at the objects near him. He saw that he was on the highest
point of the island,--a statue on this vast pedestal of granite, nothing
human appearing in sight, while the blue ocean beat against the base of
the island, and covered it with a fringe of foam. Then he descended with
cautious and slow step, for he dreaded lest an accident similar to that
he had so adroitly feigned should happen in reality.
Dantes, as we have said, had traced the marks along the rocks, and he
had noticed that they led to a small creek, which was hidden like the
bath of some ancient nymph. This creek was sufficiently wide at its
mouth, and deep in the centre, to admit of the entrance of a small
vessel of the lugger class, which would be perfectly concealed from
observation.
Then following the clew that, in the hands of the Abbe Faria, had
been so skilfully used to guide him through the Daedalian labyrinth of
probabilities, he thought that the Cardinal Spada, anxious not to be
watched, had entered the creek, concealed his little barque, followed
the line marked by the notches in the rock, and at the end of it had
buried his treasure. It was this idea that had brought Dantes back to
the circular rock. One thing only perplexed Edmond, and destroyed his
theory. How could this rock, which weighed several tons, have been
lifted to this spot, without the aid of many men? Suddenly an idea
flashed across his mind. Instead of raising it, thought he, they have
lowered it. And he sprang from the rock in order to inspect the base
on which it had formerly stood. He soon perceived that a slope had been
formed, and the rock had slid along this until it stopped at the spot
it now occupied. A large stone had served as a wedge; flints and pebbles
had been inserted around it, so as to conceal the orifice; this species
of masonry had been covered with earth, and grass and weeds had grown
there, moss had clung to the stones, myrtle-bushes had taken root, and
the old rock seemed fixed to the earth.
Dantes dug away the earth carefully, and detected, or fancied he
detected, the ingenious artifice. He attacked this wall, cemented by the
hand of time, with his pickaxe. After ten minutes' labor the wall gave
way, and a hole large enough to insert the arm was opened. Dantes
went and cut the strongest olive-tree he could find, stripped off its
branches, inserted it in the hole, and used it as a lever. But the rock
was too heavy, and too firmly wedged, to be moved by any one man, were
he Hercules himself. Dantes saw that he must attack the wedge. But
how? He cast his eyes around, and saw the horn full of powder which
his friend Jacopo had left him. He smiled; the infernal invention would
serve him for this purpose. With the aid of his pickaxe, Dantes, after
the manner of a labor-saving pioneer, dug a mine between the upper rock
and the one that supported it, filled it with powder, then made a match
by rolling his handkerchief in saltpetre. He lighted it and retired. The
explosion soon followed; the upper rock was lifted from its base by the
terrific force of the powder; the lower one flew into pieces; thousands
of insects escaped from the aperture Dantes had previously formed, and
a huge snake, like the guardian demon of the treasure, rolled himself
along in darkening coils, and disappeared.
Dantes approached the upper rock, which now, without any support, leaned
towards the sea. The intrepid treasure-seeker walked round it, and,
selecting the spot from whence it appeared most susceptible to attack,
placed his lever in one of the crevices, and strained every nerve to
move the mass. The rock, already shaken by the explosion, tottered
on its base. Dantes redoubled his efforts; he seemed like one of the
ancient Titans, who uprooted the mountains to hurl against the father
of the gods. The rock yielded, rolled over, bounded from point to point,
and finally disappeared in the ocean.
On the spot it had occupied was a circular space, exposing an iron ring
let into a square flag-stone. Dantes uttered a cry of joy and surprise;
never had a first attempt been crowned with more perfect success. He
would fain have continued, but his knees trembled, and his heart beat
so violently, and his sight became so dim, that he was forced to pause.
This feeling lasted but for a moment. Edmond inserted his lever in the
ring and exerted all his strength; the flag-stone yielded, and disclosed
steps that descended until they were lost in the obscurity of a
subterraneous grotto. Any one else would have rushed on with a cry of
joy. Dantes turned pale, hesitated, and reflected. "Come," said he to
himself, "be a man. I am accustomed to adversity. I must not be cast
down by the discovery that I have been deceived. What, then, would be
the use of all I have suffered? The heart breaks when, after having been
elated by flattering hopes, it sees all its illusions destroyed. Faria
has dreamed this; the Cardinal Spada buried no treasure here; perhaps he
never came here, or if he did, Caesar Borgia, the intrepid adventurer,
the stealthy and indefatigable plunderer, has followed him, discovered
his traces, pursued them as I have done, raised the stone, and
descending before me, has left me nothing." He remained motionless and
pensive, his eyes fixed on the gloomy aperture that was open at his
feet.
"Now that I expect nothing, now that I no longer entertain the slightest
hopes, the end of this adventure becomes simply a matter of curiosity."
And he remained again motionless and thoughtful.
"Yes, yes; this is an adventure worthy a place in the varied career of
that royal bandit. This fabulous event formed but a link in a long chain
of marvels. Yes, Borgia has been here, a torch in one hand, a sword in
the other, and within twenty paces, at the foot of this rock, perhaps
two guards kept watch on land and sea, while their master descended, as
I am about to descend, dispelling the darkness before his awe-inspiring
progress."
"But what was the fate of the guards who thus possessed his secret?"
asked Dantes of himself.
"The fate," replied he, smiling, "of those who buried Alaric."
"Yet, had he come," thought Dantes, "he would have found the treasure,
and Borgia, he who compared Italy to an artichoke, which he could devour
leaf by leaf, knew too well the value of time to waste it in replacing
this rock. I will go down."
Then he descended, a smile on his lips, and murmuring that last word of
human philosophy, "Perhaps!" But instead of the darkness, and the thick
and mephitic atmosphere he had expected to find, Dantes saw a dim and
bluish light, which, as well as the air, entered, not merely by the
aperture he had just formed, but by the interstices and crevices of
the rock which were visible from without, and through which he could
distinguish the blue sky and the waving branches of the evergreen oaks,
and the tendrils of the creepers that grew from the rocks. After having
stood a few minutes in the cavern, the atmosphere of which was rather
warm than damp, Dantes' eye, habituated as it was to darkness, could
pierce even to the remotest angles of the cavern, which was of granite
that sparkled like diamonds. "Alas," said Edmond, smiling, "these are
the treasures the cardinal has left; and the good abbe, seeing in a
dream these glittering walls, has indulged in fallacious hopes."
But he called to mind the words of the will, which he knew by heart. "In
the farthest angle of the second opening," said the cardinal's will. He
had only found the first grotto; he had now to seek the second.
Dantes continued his search. He reflected that this second grotto must
penetrate deeper into the island; he examined the stones, and sounded
one part of the wall where he fancied the opening existed, masked for
precaution's sake. The pickaxe struck for a moment with a dull sound
that drew out of Dantes' forehead large drops of perspiration. At last
it seemed to him that one part of the wall gave forth a more hollow and
deeper echo; he eagerly advanced, and with the quickness of perception
that no one but a prisoner possesses, saw that there, in all
probability, the opening must be.
However, he, like Caesar Borgia, knew the value of time; and, in
order to avoid fruitless toil, he sounded all the other walls with his
pickaxe, struck the earth with the butt of his gun, and finding nothing
that appeared suspicious, returned to that part of the wall whence
issued the consoling sound he had before heard. He again struck it, and
with greater force. Then a singular thing occurred. As he struck the
wall, pieces of stucco similar to that used in the ground work of
arabesques broke off, and fell to the ground in flakes, exposing a large
white stone. The aperture of the rock had been closed with stones, then
this stucco had been applied, and painted to imitate granite. Dantes
struck with the sharp end of his pickaxe, which entered someway between
the interstices. It was there he must dig. But by some strange play of
emotion, in proportion as the proofs that Faria, had not been
