基督山伯爵 英文版 The Count of Monte Cristo
大仲马 Alexandre Dumas père
Chapter 17 Page 2
"Pray ask me whatever questions you please; for, in goodtruth, you see more clearly into my life than I do myself."
"In the first place, then, who examined you, -- the king'sattorney, his deputy, or a magistrate?"
"The deputy."
"Was he young or old?"
"About six or seven and twenty years of age, I should say."
"So," answered the abbe. "Old enough to be ambitions, buttoo young to be corrupt. And how did he treat you?"
"With more of mildness than severity."
"Did you tell him your whole story?"
"I did."
"And did his conduct change at all in the course of yourexamination?"
"He did appear much disturbed when he read the letter thathad brought me into this scrape. He seemed quite overcome bymy misfortune."
"By your misfortune?"
"Yes."
"Then you feel quite sure that it was your misfortune hedeplored?"
"He gave me one great proof of his sympathy, at any rate."
"And that?"
"He burnt the sole evidence that could at all havecriminated me."
"What? the accusation?"
"No; the letter."
"Are you sure?"
"That alters the case. This man might, after all, be agreater scoundrel than you have thought possible."
"Upon my word," said Dantes, "you make me shudder. Is theworld filled with tigers and crocodiles?"
"Yes; and remember that two-legged tigers and crocodiles aremore dangerous than the others."
"Never mind; let us go on."
"With all my heart! You tell me he burned the letter?"
"He did; saying at the same time, `You see I thus destroythe only proof existing against you.'"
"This action is somewhat too sublime to be natural."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it. To whom was this letter addressed?"
"To M. Noirtier, No. 13 Coq-Heron, Paris."
"Now can you conceive of any interest that your heroicdeputy could possibly have had in the destruction of thatletter?"
"Why, it is not altogether impossible he might have had, forhe made me promise several times never to speak of thatletter to any one, assuring me he so advised me for my owninterest; and, more than this, he insisted on my taking asolemn oath never to utter the name mentioned in theaddress."
"Noirtier!" repeated the abbe; "Noirtier! -- I knew a personof that name at the court of the Queen of Etruria, -- aNoirtier, who had been a Girondin during the Revolution!What was your deputy called?"
"De Villefort!" The abbe burst into a fit of laughter, whileDantes gazed on him in utter astonishment.
"What ails you?" said he at length.
"Do you see that ray of sunlight?"
"I do."
"Well, the whole thing is more clear to me than that sunbeamis to you. Poor fellow! poor young man! And you tell me thismagistrate expressed great sympathy and commiseration foryou?"
"He did."
"And the worthy man destroyed your compromising letter?"
"Yes."
"And then made you swear never to utter the name ofNoirtier?"
"Yes."
"Why, you poor short-sighted simpleton, can you not guesswho this Noirtier was, whose very name he was so careful tokeep concealed? Noirtier was his father."
Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Dantes, or hellopened its yawning gulf before him, he could not have beenmore completely transfixed with horror than he was at thesound of these unexpected words. Starting up, he clasped hishands around his head as though to prevent his very brainfrom bursting, and exclaimed, "His father! his father!"
"Yes, his father," replied the abbe; "his right name wasNoirtier de Villefort." At this instant a bright light shotthrough the mind of Dantes, and cleared up all that had beendark and obscure before. The change that had come overVillefort during the examination, the destruction of theletter, the exacted promise, the almost supplicating tonesof the magistrate, who seemed rather to implore mercy thanto pronounce punishment, -- all returned with a stunningforce to his memory. He cried out, and staggered against thewall like a drunken man, then he hurried to the opening thatled from the abbe's cell to his own, and said, "I must bealone, to think over all this."
When he regained his dungeon, he threw himself on his bed,where the turnkey found him in the evening visit, sittingwith fixed gaze and contracted features, dumb and motionlessas a statue. During these hours of profound meditation,which to him had seemed only minutes, he had formed afearful resolution, and bound himself to its fulfilment by asolemn oath.
Dantes was at length roused from his revery by the voice ofFaria, who, having also been visited by his jailer, had cometo invite his fellow-sufferer to share his supper. Thereputation of being out of his mind, though harmlessly andeven amusingly so, had procured for the abbe unusualprivileges. He was supplied with bread of a finer, whiterquality than the usual prison fare, and even regaled eachSunday with a small quantity of wine. Now this was a Sunday,and the abbe had come to ask his young companion to sharethe luxuries with him. Dantes followed; his features were nolonger contracted, and now wore their usual expression, butthere was that in his whole appearance that bespoke one whohad come to a fixed and desperate resolve. Faria bent on himhis penetrating eye: "I regret now," said he, "having helpedyou in your late inquiries, or having given you theinformation I did."
"Why so?" inquired Dantes.
"Because it has instilled a new passion in your heart --that of vengeance."
Dantes smiled. "Let us talk of something else," said he.
Again the abbe looked at him, then mournfully shook hishead; but in accordance with Dantes' request, he began tospeak of other matters. The elder prisoner was one of thosepersons whose conversation, like that of all who haveexperienced many trials, contained many useful and importanthints as well as sound information; but it was neveregotistical, for the unfortunate man never alluded to hisown sorrows. Dantes listened with admiring attention to allhe said; some of his remarks corresponded with what healready knew, or applied to the sort of knowledge hisnautical life had enabled him to acquire. A part of the goodabbe's words, however, were wholly incomprehensible to him;but, like the aurora which guides the navigator in northernlatitudes, opened new vistas to the inquiring mind of thelistener, and gave fantastic glimpses of new horizons,enabling him justly to estimate the delight an intellectualmind would have in following one so richly gifted as Fariaalong the heights of truth, where he was so much at home.
"You must teach me a small part of what you know," saidDantes, "if only to prevent your growing weary of me. I canwell believe that so learned a person as yourself wouldprefer absolute solitude to being tormented with the companyof one as ignorant and uninformed as myself. If you willonly agree to my request, I promise you never to mentionanother word about escaping." The abbe smiled. "Alas, myboy," said he, "human knowledge is confined within verynarrow limits; and when I have taught you mathematics,physics, history, and the three or four modern languageswith which I am acquainted, you will know as much as I domyself. Now, it will scarcely require two years for me tocommunicate to you the stock of learning I possess."
"Two years!" exclaimed Dantes; "do you really believe I canacquire all these things in so short a time?"
"Not their application, certainly, but their principles youmay; to learn is not to know; there are the learners and thelearned. Memory makes the one, philosophy the other."
"But cannot one learn philosophy?"
"Philosophy cannot be taught; it is the application of thesciences to truth; it is like the golden cloud in which theMessiah went up into heaven."
"Well, then," said Dantes, "What shall you teach me first? Iam in a hurry to begin. I want to learn."
"Everything," said the abbe. And that very evening theprisoners sketched a plan of education, to be entered uponthe following day. Dantes possessed a prodigious memory,combined with an astonishing quickness and readiness ofconception; the mathematical turn of his mind rendered himapt at all kinds of calculation, while his naturallypoetical feelings threw a light and pleasing veil over thedry reality of arithmetical computation, or the rigidseverity of geometry. He already knew Italian, and had alsopicked up a little of the Romaic dialect during voyages tothe East; and by the aid of these two languages he easilycomprehended the construction of all the others, so that atthe end of six months he began to speak Spanish, English,and German. In strict accordance with the promise made tothe abbe, Dantes spoke no more of escape. Perhaps thedelight his studies afforded him left no room for suchthoughts; perhaps the recollection that he had pledged hisword (on which his sense of honor was keen) kept him fromreferring in any way to the possibilities of flight. Days,even months, passed by unheeded in one rapid and instructivecourse. At the end of a year Dantes was a new man. Dantesobserved, however, that Faria, in spite of the relief hissociety afforded, daily grew sadder; one thought seemedincessantly to harass and distract his mind. Sometimes hewould fall into long reveries, sigh heavily andinvoluntarily, then suddenly rise, and, with folded arms,begin pacing the confined space of his dungeon. One day hestopped all at once, and exclaimed, "Ah, if there were nosentinel!"
"There shall not be one a minute longer than you please,"said Dantes, who had followed the working of his thoughts asaccurately as though his brain were enclosed in crystal soclear as to display its minutest operations.
"I have already told you," answered the abbe, "that I loathethe idea of shedding blood."
"And yet the murder, if you choose to call it so, would besimply a measure of self-preservation."
"No matter! I could never agree to it."
"Still, you have thought of it?"
"Incessantly, alas!" cried the abbe.
"And you have discovered a means of regaining our freedom,have you not?" asked Dantes eagerly.
"I have; if it were only possible to place a deaf and blindsentinel in the gallery beyond us."
"He shall be both blind and deaf," replied the young man,with an air of determination that made his companionshudder.
"No, no," cried the abbe; "impossible!" Dantes endeavored torenew the subject; the abbe shook his head in token ofdisapproval, and refused to make any further response. Threemonths passed away.
"Are you strong?" the abbe asked one day of Dantes. Theyoung man, in reply, took up the chisel, bent it into theform of a horseshoe, and then as readily straightened it.
"And will you engage not to do any harm to the sentry,except as a last resort?"
"I promise on my honor."
"Then," said the abbe, "we may hope to put our design intoexecution."
"And how long shall we be in accomplishing the necessarywork?"
"At least a year."
"And shall we begin at once?"
"At once."
"We have lost a year to no purpose!" cried Dantes.
"Do you consider the last twelve months to have beenwasted?" asked the abbe.
"Forgive me!" cried Edmond, blushing deeply.
"Tut, tut!" answered the abbe, "man is but man after all,and you are about the best specimen of the genus I have everknown. Come, let me show you my plan." The abbe then showedDantes the sketch he had made for their escape. It consistedof a plan of his own cell and that of Dantes, with thepassage which united them. In this passage he proposed todrive a level as they do in mines; this level would bringthe two prisoners immediately beneath the gallery where thesentry kept watch; once there, a large excavation would bemade, and one of the flag-stones with which the gallery waspaved be so completely loosened that at the desired momentit would give way beneath the feet of the soldier, who,stunned by his fall, would be immediately bound and gaggedby Dantes before he had power to offer any resistance. Theprisoners were then to make their way through one of thegallery windows, and to let themselves down from the outerwalls by means of the abbe's ladder of cords. Dantes' eyessparkled with joy, and he rubbed his hands with delight atthe idea of a plan so simple, yet apparently so certain tosucceed.
That very day the miners began their labors, with a vigorand alacrity proportionate to their long rest from fatigueand their hopes of ultimate success. Nothing interrupted theprogress of the work except the necessity that each wasunder of returning to his cell in anticipation of theturnkey's visits. They had learned to distinguish the almostimperceptible sound of his footsteps as he descended towardstheir dungeons, and happily, never failed of being preparedfor his coming. The fresh earth excavated during theirpresent work, and which would have entirely blocked up theold passage, was thrown, by degrees and with the utmostprecaution, out of the window in either Faria's or Dantes'cell, the rubbish being first pulverized so finely that thenight wind carried it far away without permitting thesmallest trace to remain. More than a year had been consumedin this undertaking, the only tools for which had been achisel, a knife, and a wooden lever; Faria still continuingto instruct Dantes by conversing with him, sometimes in onelanguage, sometimes in another; at others, relating to himthe history of nations and great men who from time to timehave risen to fame and trodden the path of glory.
The abbe was a man of the world, and had, moreover, mixed inthe first society of the day; he wore an air of melancholydignity which Dantes, thanks to the imitative powersbestowed on him by nature, easily acquired, as well as thatoutward polish and politeness he had before been wanting in,and which is seldom possessed except by those who have beenplaced in constant intercourse with persons of high birthand breeding. At the end of fifteen months the level wasfinished, and the excavation completed beneath the gallery,and the two workmen could distinctly hear the measured treadof the sentinel as he paced to and fro over their heads.
Compelled, as they were, to await a night sufficiently darkto favor their flight, they were obliged to defer theirfinal attempt till that auspicious moment should arrive;their greatest dread now was lest the stone through whichthe sentry was doomed to fall should give way before itsright time, and this they had in some measure providedagainst by propping it up with a small beam which they haddiscovered in the walls through which they had worked theirway. Dantes was occupied in arranging this piece of woodwhen he heard Faria, who had remained in Edmond's cell forthe purpose of cutting a peg to secure their rope-ladder,call to him in a tone indicative of great suffering. Danteshastened to his dungeon, where he found him standing in themiddle of the room, pale as death, his forehead streamingwith perspiration, and his hands clinched tightly together.
"Gracious heavens!" exclaimed Dantes, "what is the matter?what has happened?"
"Quick! quick!" returned the abbe, "listen to what I have tosay." Dantes looked in fear and wonder at the lividcountenance of Faria, whose eyes, already dull and sunken,were surrounded by purple circles, while his lips were whiteas those of a corpse, and his very hair seemed to stand onend.
"Tell me, I beseech you, what ails you?" cried Dantes,letting his chisel fall to the floor.
"Alas," faltered out the abbe, "all is over with me. I amseized with a terrible, perhaps mortal illness; I can feelthat the paroxysm is fast approaching. I had a similarattack the year previous to my imprisonment. This maladyadmits but of one remedy; I will tell you what that is. Gointo my cell as quickly as you can; draw out one of the feetthat support the bed; you will find it has been hollowed outfor the purpose of containing a small phial you will seethere half-filled with a red-looking fluid. Bring it to me-- or rather -- no, no! -- I may be found here, thereforehelp me back to my room while I have the strength to dragmyself along. Who knows what may happen, or how long theattack may last?"
In spite of the magnitude of the misfortune which thussuddenly frustrated his hopes, Dantes did not lose hispresence of mind, but descended into the passage, dragginghis unfortunate companion with him; then, half-carrying,half-supporting him, he managed to reach the abbe's chamber,when he immediately laid the sufferer on his bed.
"Thanks," said the poor abbe, shivering as though his veinswere filled with ice. "I am about to be seized with a fit ofcatalepsy; when it comes to its height I shall probably liestill and motionless as though dead, uttering neither sighnor groan. On the other hand, the symptoms may be much moreviolent, and cause me to fall into fearful convulsions, foamat the mouth, and cry out loudly. Take care my cries are notheard, for if they are it is more than probable I should beremoved to another part of the prison, and we be separatedforever. When I become quite motionless, cold, and rigid asa corpse, then, and not before, -- be careful about this, --force open my teeth with the knife, pour from eight to tendrops of the liquor contained in the phial down my throat,and I may perhaps revive."
"Perhaps!" exclaimed Dantes in grief-stricken tones.
"Help! help!" cried the abbe, "I -- I -- die -- I" --
So sudden and violent was the fit that the unfortunateprisoner was unable to complete the sentence; a violentconvulsion shook his whole frame, his eyes started fromtheir sockets, his mouth was drawn on one side, his cheeksbecame purple, he struggled, foamed, dashed himself about,and uttered the most dreadful cries, which, however, Dantesprevented from being heard by covering his head with theblanket. The fit lasted two hours; then, more helpless thanan infant, and colder and paler than marble, more crushedand broken than a reed trampled under foot, he fell back,doubled up in one last convulsion, and became as rigid as acorpse.
Edmond waited till life seemed extinct in the body of hisfriend, then, taking up the knife, he with difficulty forcedopen the closely fixed jaws, carefully administered theappointed number of drops, and anxiously awaited the result.An hour passed away and the old man gave no sign ofreturning animation. Dantes began to fear he had delayed toolong ere he administered the remedy, and, thrusting hishands into his hair, continued gazing on the lifelessfeatures of his friend. At length a slight color tinged thelivid cheeks, consciousness returned to the dull, openeyeballs, a faint sigh issued from the lips, and thesufferer made a feeble effort to move.
"He is saved! he is saved!" cried Dantes in a paroxysm ofdelight.
The sick man was not yet able to speak, but he pointed withevident anxiety towards the door. Dantes listened, andplainly distinguished the approaching steps of the jailer.It was therefore near seven o'clock; but Edmond's anxietyhad put all thoughts of time out of his head. The young mansprang to the entrance, darted through it, carefully drawingthe stone over the opening, and hurried to his cell. He hadscarcely done so before the door opened, and the jailer sawthe prisoner seated as usual on the side of his bed. Almostbefore the key had turned in the lock, and before thedeparting steps of the jailer had died away in the longcorridor he had to traverse, Dantes, whose restless anxietyconcerning his friend left him no desire to touch the foodbrought him, hurried back to the abbe's chamber, and raisingthe stone by pressing his head against it, was soon besidethe sick man's couch. Faria had now fully regained hisconsciousness, but he still lay helpless and exhausted.
"I did not expect to see you again," said he feebly, toDantes.
"And why not?" asked the young man. "Did you fancy yourselfdying?"
"No, I had no such idea; but, knowing that all was ready forflight, I thought you might have made your escape." The deepglow of indignation suffused the cheeks of Dantes.
"Without you? Did you really think me capable of that?"
"At least," said the abbe, "I now see how wrong such anopinion would have been. Alas, alas! I am fearfullyexhausted and debilitated by this attack."
"Be of good cheer," replied Dantes; "your strength willreturn." And as he spoke he seated himself near the bedbeside Faria, and took his hands. The abbe shook his head.
"The last attack I had," said he, "lasted but half an hour,and after it I was hungry, and got up without help; now Ican move neither my right arm nor leg, and my head seemsuncomfortable, which shows that there has been a suffusionof blood on the brain. The third attack will either carry meoff, or leave me paralyzed for life."
"No, no," cried Dantes; "you are mistaken -- you will notdie! And your third attack (if, indeed, you should haveanother) will find you at liberty. We shall save you anothertime, as we have done this, only with a better chance ofsuccess, because we shall be able to command every requisiteassistance."
"My good Edmond," answered the abbe, "be not deceived. Theattack which has just passed away, condemns me forever tothe walls of a prison. None can fly from a dungeon whocannot walk."
"Well, we will wait, -- a week, a month, two months, if needbe, -- and meanwhile your strength will return. Everythingis in readiness for our flight, and we can select any timewe choose. As soon as you feel able to swim we will go."
"I shall never swim again," replied Faria. "This arm isparalyzed; not for a time, but forever. Lift it, and judgeif I am mistaken." The young man raised the arm, which fellback by its own weight, perfectly inanimate and helpless. Asigh escaped him.
"You are convinced now, Edmond, are you not?" asked theabbe. "Depend upon it, I know what I say. Since the firstattack I experienced of this malady, I have continuallyreflected on it. Indeed, I expected it, for it is a familyinheritance; both my father and grandfather died of it in athird attack. The physician who prepared for me the remedy Ihave twice successfully taken, was no other than thecelebrated Cabanis, and he predicted a similar end for me."
"The physician may be mistaken!" exclaimed Dantes. "And asfor your poor arm, what difference will that make? I cantake you on my shoulders, and swim for both of us."
"My son," said the abbe, "you, who are a sailor and aswimmer, must know as well as I do that a man so loadedwould sink before he had done fifty strokes. Cease, then, toallow yourself to be duped by vain hopes, that even your ownexcellent heart refuses to believe in. Here I shall remaintill the hour of my deliverance arrives, and that, in allhuman probability, will be the hour of my death. As for you,who are young and active, delay not on my account, but fly-- go-I give you back your promise."
"It is well," said Dantes. "Then I shall also remain." Then,rising and extending his hand with an air of solemnity overthe old man's head, he slowly added, "By the blood of ChristI swear never to leave you while you live."
Faria gazed fondly on his noble-minded, single-hearted,high-principled young friend, and read in his countenanceample confirmation of the sincerity of his devotion and theloyalty of his purpose.
"Thanks," murmured the invalid, extending one hand. "Iaccept. You may one of these days reap the reward of yourdisinterested devotion. But as I cannot, and you will not,quit this place, it becomes necessary to fill up theexcavation beneath the soldier's gallery; he might, bychance, hear the hollow sound of his footsteps, and call theattention of his officer to the circumstance. That wouldbring about a discovery which would inevitably lead to ourbeing separated. Go, then, and set about this work, inwhich, unhappily, I can offer you no assistance; keep at itall night, if necessary, and do not return here to-morrowtill after the jailer his visited me. I shall have somethingof the greatest importance to communicate to you."
Dantes took the hand of the abbe in his, and affectionatelypressed it. Faria smiled encouragingly on him, and the youngman retired to his task, in the spirit of obedience andrespect which he had sworn to show towards his aged friend.