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,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 bea 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