基督山伯爵 英文版 The Count of Monte Cristo
大仲马 Alexandre Dumas père
Chapter 15 Page 2
This time he could not blame Dantes. He was wrong to leaveit there, but the jailer was wrong not to have looked beforehim.
The jailer, therefore, only grumbled. Then he looked aboutfor something to pour the soup into; Dantes' entire dinnerservice consisted of one plate -- there was no alternative.
"Leave the saucepan," said Dantes; "you can take it awaywhen you bring me my breakfast." This advice was to thejailer's taste, as it spared him the necessity of makinganother trip. He left the saucepan.
Dantes was beside himself with joy. He rapidly devoured hisfood, and after waiting an hour, lest the jailer shouldchange his mind and return, he removed his bed, took thehandle of the saucepan, inserted the point between the hewnstone and rough stones of the wall, and employed it as alever. A slight oscillation showed Dantes that all wentwell. At the end of an hour the stone was extricated fromthe wall, leaving a cavity a foot and a half in diameter.
Dantes carefully collected the plaster, carried it into thecorner of his cell, and covered it with earth. Then, wishingto make the best use of his time while he had the means oflabor, he continued to work without ceasing. At the dawn ofday he replaced the stone, pushed his bed against the wall,and lay down. The breakfast consisted of a piece of bread;the jailer entered and placed the bread on the table.
"Well, don't you intend to bring me another plate?" saidDantes.
"No," replied the turnkey; "you destroy everything. Firstyou break your jug, then you make me break your plate; ifall the prisoners followed your example, the governmentwould be ruined. I shall leave you the saucepan, and pouryour soup into that. So for the future I hope you will notbe so destructive."
Dantes raised his eyes to heaven and clasped his handsbeneath the coverlet. He felt more gratitude for thepossession of this piece of iron than he had ever felt foranything. He had noticed, however, that the prisoner on theother side had ceased to labor; no matter, this was agreater reason for proceeding -- if his neighbor would notcome to him, he would go to his neighbor. All day he toiledon untiringly, and by the evening he had succeeded inextracting ten handfuls of plaster and fragments of stone.When the hour for his jailer's visit arrived, Dantesstraightened the handle of the saucepan as well as he could,and placed it in its accustomed place. The turnkey pouredhis ration of soup into it, together with the fish -- forthrice a week the prisoners were deprived of meat. Thiswould have been a method of reckoning time, had not Danteslong ceased to do so. Having poured out the soup, theturnkey retired. Dantes wished to ascertain whether hisneighbor had really ceased to work. He listened -- all wassilent, as it had been for the last three days. Dantessighed; it was evident that his neighbor distrusted him.However, he toiled on all the night without beingdiscouraged; but after two or three hours he encountered anobstacle. The iron made no impression, but met with a smoothsurface; Dantes touched it, and found that it was a beam.This beam crossed, or rather blocked up, the hole Dantes hadmade; it was necessary, therefore, to dig above or under it.The unhappy young man had not thought of this. "O my God, myGod!" murmured he, "I have so earnestly prayed to you, thatI hoped my prayers had been heard. After having deprived meof my liberty, after having deprived me of death, afterhaving recalled me to existence, my God, have pity on me,and do not let me die in despair!"
"Who talks of God and despair at the same time?" said avoice that seemed to come from beneath the earth, and,deadened by the distance, sounded hollow and sepulchral inthe young man's ears. Edmond's hair stood on end, and herose to his knees.
"Ah," said he, "I hear a human voice." Edmond had not heardany one speak save his jailer for four or five years; and ajailer is no man to a prisoner -- he is a living door, abarrier of flesh and blood adding strength to restraints ofoak and iron.
"In the name of heaven," cried Dantes, "speak again, thoughthe sound of your voice terrifies me. Who are you?"
"Who are you?" said the voice.
"An unhappy prisoner," replied Dantes, who made nohesitation in answering.
"Of what country?"
"A Frenchman."
"Your name?"
"Edmond Dantes."
"Your profession?"
"A sailor."
"How long have you been here?"
"Since the 28th of February, 1815."
"Your crime?"
"I am innocent."
"But of what are you accused?"
"Of having conspired to aid the emperor's return."
"What! For the emperor's return? -- the emperor is no longeron the throne, then?"
"Since 1811."
Dantes shuddered; this man had been four years longer thanhimself in prison.
"Do not dig any more," said the voice; "only tell me howhigh up is your excavation?"
"On a level with the floor."
"How is it concealed?"
"Behind my bed."
"Has your bed been moved since you have been a prisoner?"
"No."
"What does your chamber open on?"
"A corridor."
"And the corridor?"
"On a court."
"Alas!" murmured the voice.
"Oh, what is the matter?" cried Dantes.
"I have made a mistake owing to an error in my plans. I tookthe wrong angle, and have come out fifteen feet from where Iintended. I took the wall you are mining for the outer wallof the fortress."
"But then you would be close to the sea?"
"That is what I hoped."
"And supposing you had succeeded?"
"I should have thrown myself into the sea, gained one of theislands near here -- the Isle de Daume or the Isle deTiboulen -- and then I should have been safe."
"Could you have swum so far?"
"Heaven would have given me strength; but now all is lost."
"All?"
"Yes; stop up your excavation carefully, do not work anymore, and wait until you hear from me."
"Tell me, at least, who you are?"
"I am -- I am No. 27."
"You mistrust me, then," said Dantes. Edmond fancied heheard a bitter laugh resounding from the depths.
"Oh, I am a Christian," cried Dantes, guessing instinctivelythat this man meant to abandon him. "I swear to you by himwho died for us that naught shall induce me to breathe onesyllable to my jailers; but I conjure you do not abandon me.If you do, I swear to you, for I have got to the end of mystrength, that I will dash my brains out against the wall,and you will have my death to reproach yourself with."
"How old are you? Your voice is that of a young man."
"I do not know my age, for I have not counted the years Ihave been here. All I do know is, that I was just nineteenwhen I was arrested, the 28th of February, 1815."
"Not quite twenty-six!" murmured the voice; "at that age hecannot be a traitor."
"Oh, no, no," cried Dantes. "I swear to you again, ratherthan betray you, I would allow myself to be hacked inpieces!"
"You have done well to speak to me, and ask for myassistance, for I was about to form another plan, and leaveyou; but your age reassures me. I will not forget you.Wait."
"How long?"
"I must calculate our chances; I will give you the signal."
"But you will not leave me; you will come to me, or you willlet me come to you. We will escape, and if we cannot escapewe will talk; you of those whom you love, and I of thosewhom I love. You must love somebody?"
"No, I am alone in the world."
"Then you will love me. If you are young, I will be yourcomrade; if you are old, I will be your son. I have a fatherwho is seventy if he yet lives; I only love him and a younggirl called Mercedes. My father has not yet forgotten me, Iam sure, but God alone knows if she loves me still; I shalllove you as I loved my father."
"It is well," returned the voice; "to-morrow."
These few words were uttered with an accent that left nodoubt of his sincerity; Dantes rose, dispersed the fragmentswith the same precaution as before, and pushed his bed backagainst the wall. He then gave himself up to his happiness.He would no longer be alone. He was, perhaps, about toregain his liberty; at the worst, he would have a companion,and captivity that is shared is but half captivity. Plaintsmade in common are almost prayers, and prayers where two orthree are gathered together invoke the mercy of heaven.
All day Dantes walked up and down his cell. He sat downoccasionally on his bed, pressing his hand on his heart. Atthe slightest noise he bounded towards the door. Once ortwice the thought crossed his mind that he might beseparated from this unknown, whom he loved already; and thenhis mind was made up -- when the jailer moved his bed andstooped to examine the opening, he would kill him with hiswater jug. He would be condemned to die, but he was about todie of grief and despair when this miraculous noise recalledhim to life.
The jailer came in the evening. Dantes was on his bed. Itseemed to him that thus he better guarded the unfinishedopening. Doubtless there was a strange expression in hiseyes, for the jailer said, "Come, are you going mad again?"
Dantes did not answer; he feared that the emotion of hisvoice would betray him. The jailer went away shaking hishead. Night came; Dantes hoped that his neighbor wouldprofit by the silence to address him, but he was mistaken.The next morning, however, just as he removed his bed fromthe wall, he heard three knocks; he threw himself on hisknees.
"Is it you?" said he; "I am here."
"Is your jailer gone?"
"Yes," said Dantes; "he will not return until the evening;so that we have twelve hours before us."
"I can work, then?" said the voice.
"Oh, yes, yes; this instant, I entreat you."
In a moment that part of the floor on which Dantes wasresting his two hands, as he knelt with his head in theopening, suddenly gave way; he drew back smartly, while amass of stones and earth disappeared in a hole that openedbeneath the aperture he himself had formed. Then from thebottom of this passage, the depth of which it was impossibleto measure, he saw appear, first the head, then theshoulders, and lastly the body of a man, who sprang lightlyinto his cell.