so abased?"
Dantes' whole attention was riveted on a man who could thus
forget his own misfortunes while occupying himself with the
destinies of others.
"Yes, yes," continued he, "'Twill be the same as it was in
England. After Charles I., Cromwell; after Cromwell, Charles II.,
and then James II., and then some son-in-law or relation, some
Prince of Orange, a stadtholder who becomes a king. Then new
concessions to the people, then a constitution, then liberty. Ah,
my friend!" said the abbe, turning towards Dantes, and surveying
him with the kindling gaze of a prophet, "you are young, you will
see all this come to pass."
"Probably, if ever I get out of prison!"
"True," replied Faria, "we are prisoners; but I forget this
sometimes, and there are even moments when my mental vision
transports me beyond these walls, and I fancy myself at
liberty."
"But wherefore are you here?"
"Because in 1807 I dreamed of the very plan Napoleon tried to
realize in 1811; because, like Machiavelli, I desired to alter the
political face of Italy, and instead of allowing it to be split up
into a quantity of petty principalities, each held by some weak or
tyrannical ruler, I sought to form one large, compact, and powerful
empire; and, lastly, because I fancied I had found my Caesar Borgia
in a crowned simpleton, who feigned to enter into my views only to
betray me. It was the plan of Alexander VI. and Clement VII., but
it will never succeed now, for they attempted it fruitlessly, and
Napoleon was unable to complete his work. Italy seems fated to
misfortune." And the old man bowed his head.
Dantes could not understand a man risking his life for such
matters. Napoleon certainly he knew something of, inasmuch as he
had seen and spoken with him; but of Clement VII. and Alexander VI.
he knew nothing.
"Are you not," he asked, "the priest who here in the Chateau
d'If is generally thought to be — ill?"
"Mad, you mean, don't you?"
"I did not like to say so," answered Dantes, smiling.
"Well, then," resumed Faria with a bitter smile, "let me answer"Well, then," resumed Faria with a bitter smile, "let me answer
your question in full, by acknowledging that I am the poor mad
prisoner of the Chateau d'If, for many years permitted to amuse the
different visitors with what is said to be my insanity; and, in all
probability, I should be promoted to the honor of making sport for
the children, if such innocent beings could be found in an abode
devoted like this to suffering and despair."
Dantes remained for a short time mute and motionless; at length
he said, — "Then you abandon all hope of escape?"
"I perceive its utter impossibility; and I consider it impious
to attempt that which the Almighty evidently does not approve."
"Nay, be not discouraged. Would it not be expecting too much to
hope to succeed at your first attempt? Why not try to find an
opening in another direction from that which has so unfortunately
failed?"
"Alas, it shows how little notion you can have of all it has
cost me to effect a purpose so unexpectedly frustrated, that you
talk of beginning over again. In the first place, I was four years
making the tools I possess, and have been two years scraping and
digging out earth, hard as granite itself; then what toil and
fatigue has it not been to remove huge stones I should once have
deemed impossible to loosen. Whole days have I passed in these
Titanic efforts, considering my labor well repaid if, by night-time
I had contrived to carry away a square inch of this hard-bound
cement, changed by ages into a substance unyielding as the stones
themselves; then to conceal the mass of earth and rubbish I dug up,
I was compelled to break through a staircase, and throw the fruits
of my labor into the hollow part of it; but the well is now so
completely choked up, that I scarcely think it would be possible to
add another handful of dust without leading to discovery. Consider
also that I fully believed I had accomplished the end and aim of my
undertaking, for which I had so exactly husbanded my strength as toundertaking, for which I had so exactly husbanded my strength as to
make it just hold out to the termination of my enterprise; and now,
at the moment when I reckoned upon success, my hopes are forever
dashed from me. No, I repeat again, that nothing shall induce me to
renew attempts evidently at variance with the Almighty's
pleasure."
Dantes held down his head, that the other might not see how joy
at the thought of having a companion outweighed the sympathy he
felt for the failure of the abbe's plans.
The abbe sank upon Edmond's bed, while Edmond himself remained
standing. Escape had never once occurred to him. There are, indeed,
some things which appear so impossible that the mind does not dwell
on them for an instant. To undermine the ground for fifty feet — to
devote three years to a labor which, if successful, would conduct
you to a precipice overhanging the sea — to plunge into the waves
from the height of fifty, sixty, perhaps a hundred feet, at the
risk of being dashed to pieces against the rocks, should you have
been fortunate enough to have escaped the fire of the sentinels;
and even, supposing all these perils past, then to have to swim for
your life a distance of at least three miles ere you could reach
the shore — were difficulties so startling and formidable that
Dantes had never even dreamed of such a scheme, resigning himself
rather to death. But the sight of an old man clinging to life with
so desperate a courage, gave a fresh turn to his ideas, and
inspired him with new courage. Another, older and less strong than
he, had attempted what he had not had sufficient resolution to
undertake, and had failed only because of an error in calculation.
This same person, with almost incredible patience and perseverance,
had contrived to provide himself with tools requisite for so
unparalleled an attempt. Another had done all this; why, then, was
it impossible to Dantes? Faria had dug his way through fifty feet,
Dantes would dig a hundred; Faria, at the age of fifty, had devoted