Dantes would dig a hundred; Faria, at the age of fifty, had devoted
three years to the task; he, who was but half as old, would
sacrifice six; Faria, a priest and savant, had not shrunk from the
idea of risking his life by trying to swim a distance of three
miles to one of the islands — Daume, Rattonneau, or Lemaire; should
a hardy sailer, an experienced diver, like himself, shrink from a
similar task; should he, who had so often for mere amusement's sake
plunged to the bottom of the sea to fetch up the bright coral
branch, hesitate to entertain the same project? He could do it in
an hour, and how many times had he, for pure pastime, continued in
the water for more than twice as long! At once Dantes resolved to
follow the brave example of his energetic companion, and to
remember that what has once been done may be done again.
After continuing some time in profound meditation, the young man
suddenly exclaimed, "I have found what you were in search of!"
Faria started: "Have you, indeed?" cried he, raising his head
with quick anxiety; "pray, let me know what it is you have
discovered?"
"The corridor through which you have bored your way from the
cell you occupy here, extends in the same direction as the outer
gallery, does it not?"
"It does."
"And is not above fifteen feet from it?"
"About that."
"Well, then, I will tell you what we must do. We must pierce
through the corridor by forming a side opening about the middle, as
it were the top part of a cross. This time you will lay your plans
more accurately; we shall get out into the gallery you have
described; kill the sentinel who guards it, and make our escape.
All we require to insure success is courage, and that you possess,
and strength, which I am not deficient in; as for patience, you
have abundantly proved yours — you shall now see me prove
mine."
"One instant, my dear friend," replied the abbe; "it is clear
you do not understand the nature of the courage with which I am
endowed, and what use I intend making of my strength. As forendowed, and what use I intend making of my strength. As for
patience, I consider that I have abundantly exercised that in
beginning every morning the task of the night before, and every
night renewing the task of the day. But then, young man (and I pray
of you to give me your full attention), then I thought I could not
be doing anything displeasing to the Almighty in trying to set an
innocent being at liberty — one who had committed no offence, and
merited not condemnation."
"And have your notions changed?" asked Dantes with much
surprise; "do you think yourself more guilty in making the attempt
since you have encountered me?"
"No; neither do I wish to incur guilt. Hitherto I have fancied
myself merely waging war against circumstances, not men. I have
thought it no sin to bore through a wall, or destroy a staircase;
but I cannot so easily persuade myself to pierce a heart or take
away a life." A slight movement of surprise escaped Dantes.
"Is it possible," said he, "that where your liberty is at stake
you can allow any such scruple to deter you from obtaining it?"
"Tell me," replied Faria, "what has hindered you from knocking
down your jailer with a piece of wood torn from your bedstead,
dressing yourself in his clothes, and endeavoring to escape?"
"Simply the fact that the idea never occurred to me," answered
Dantes.
"Because," said the old man, "the natural repugnance to the
commission of such a crime prevented you from thinking of it; and
so it ever is because in simple and allowable things our natural
instincts keep us from deviating from the strict line of duty. The
tiger, whose nature teaches him to delight in shedding blood, needs
but the sense of smell to show him when his prey is within his
reach, and by following this instinct he is enabled to measure the
leap necessary to permit him to spring on his victim; but man, on
the contrary, loathes the idea of blood — it is not alone that the
laws of social life inspire him with a shrinking dread of takinglaws of social life inspire him with a shrinking dread of taking
life; his natural construction and physiological formation" —
Dantes was confused and silent at this explanation of the
thoughts which had unconsciously been working in his mind, or
rather soul; for there are two distinct sorts of ideas, those that
proceed from the head and those that emanate from the heart.
"Since my imprisonment," said Faria, "I have thought over all
the most celebrated cases of escape on record. They have rarely
been successful. Those that have been crowned with full success
have been long meditated upon, and carefully arranged; such, for
instance, as the escape of the Duc de Beaufort from the Chateau de
Vincennes, that of the Abbe Dubuquoi from For l'Eveque; of Latude
from the Bastille. Then there are those for which chance sometimes
affords opportunity, and those are the best of all. Let us,
therefore, wait patiently for some favorable moment, and when it
presents itself, profit by it."
"Ah," said Dantes, "you might well endure the tedious delay; you
were constantly employed in the task you set yourself, and when
weary with toil, you had your hopes to refresh and encourage
you."
"I assure you," replied the old man, "I did not turn to that
source for recreation or support."
"What did you do then?"
"I wrote or studied."
"Were you then permitted the use of pens, ink, and paper?"
"Oh, no," answered the abbe; "I had none but what I made for
myself."
"You made paper, pens and ink?"
"Yes."
Dantes gazed with admiration, but he had some difficulty in
believing. Faria saw this.
"When you pay me a visit in my cell, my young friend," said he,
"I will show you an entire work, the fruits of the thoughts and
reflections of my whole life; many of them meditated over in the
shades of the Coloseum at Rome, at the foot of St. Mark's column at
Venice, and on the borders of the Arno at Florence, little
imagining at the time that they would be arranged in order within
the walls of the Chateau d'If. The work I speak of is called `A