Chapter XVIII
THE ISLE OF MONTE CRISTO
At seven o’clock the next evening all was ready, at ten minutes past seven they rounded the lighthouse just as the beacon was kindled. The sea was calm with a fresh wind blowing from the south-east; they sailed under a sky of azure where God was also lighting up his lanterns, each one of which is a world.
The vessel skimmed merrily over the water under full sail: there was not a rag of cloth that was not bellied in the wind.
The Isle of Monte Cristo loomed large on the horizon.
Toward five o’clock they saw a complete view of the island. They could see the smallest objects, thanks to the clearness of atmosphere peculiar to the light that is shed by the rays of the sun at sunset. Edmond gazed and gazed on this mass of rocks, which was tinged with all the colours of twilight, from bright pink to deep blue; at times his face would become a deep red, and a blue mist passed before his eyes. Never did a gamester, whose whole fortune was staked on one throw of the dice, experience the anguish that Dantès felt.
Night came. They landed at ten o’clock. The Jeune Amélie was first at the rendezvous. Notwithstanding his usual self-restraint, Dantès could control himself no longer: he jumped on to the shore and, like Brutus, he would have kissed the earth if he had dared. It was already dark night, but at eleven o’clock the moon rose over the ocean, silvering every little ripple, and, as she ascended, began to play on the mass of rocks casting white cascades of light on this second Pelion.ao
Dantès’ every thought was concentrated on finding Spada’s grotto. It was useless to search for it during the night, so he put off all investigations until the next day. Besides, a signal hoisted half a league out at sea, to which the Jeune Amélie immediately answered with a similar signal, indicated that it was time to set to work.
The late-comer, reassured by the signal that all was well, soon came in sight, silent and pale as a phantom, and cast anchor within a cable’s length of the shore. Then the work of unloading began. While working, Dantès continually reflected upon the shout of joy which one word of his would draw from the throats of all these men if he were to express aloud the thought that was incessantly in his mind. But far from revealing his precious secret, he feared he had already said too much, and that he had, by his comings and goings and his repeated questions, minute observations, and continual preoccupation, aroused suspicion.
This was not the case, however, and when he took a gun and some powder and shot the next day, and manifested a desire to go and shoot some of the numerous wild kids they could see jumping from rock to rock, they attributed his proposed excursion to nothing more than a love of sport or a desire for solitude.
Thus Dantès who, three months previously, had desired nothing more than liberty, was now no longer satisfied with that alone and aspired after riches. He started forth. Lost to view between two walls of rock, he followed a path hollowed out by continuous torrents and which, in all probability, no human foot had ever trodden before. He approached the spot where he supposed the grottos to be situated. Following the coast and examining the most minute objects with serious attention, he thought he noticed on several rocks incisions that had been made by man.
Time which casts its mantle of moss on all things material, and its mantle of oblivion on all things mortal, seemed to have respected these marks, which were made with a certain regularity, no doubt to indicate some trail; now and then, however, they disappeared beneath tufts of myrtle which grew in large clusters laden with flowers, and beneath parasitical lichen. Then Edmond was obliged to raise the branches or remove the moss to find the marks which were to lead him to this labyrinth. The marks had filled him with new hope. Surely it must have been the Cardinal who had traced them, so that in the event of a catastrophe, which even he had not foreseen would be so complete, they would serve as a guide to his nephew. This isolated spot was a most appropriate place for burying a treasure. But had these unfaithful signs not already attracted the attention of other eyes than those for which they were meant? Or had the isle of gloomy marvels faithfully kept its precious secret?
About sixty yards from the harbour, it seemed to Dantès, who was still hidden from his companions by the inequalities of the ground, that the incisions ceased. There was no grotto! A large round rock, perched on a solid base, seemed the only goal to which they led. He thought that, instead of having arrived at the end, he was perhaps only at the beginning, so he turned round and retraced his steps.
In the meantime his companions were preparing breakfast and when it was ready they fired a shot as a signal. Edmond at once came running toward them. Just as they were all watching him jumping like a chamois from rock to rock, his foot gave way under him. They saw him stagger at the edge of a rock and disappear. They all rushed toward him with one bound, for, in spite of his superiority, they all loved him. They found him lying bleeding and half conscious. They forced some rum down his throat, and this remedy, which had been so beneficial to him before, had the same good effect on him now. Edmond opened his eyes, complained of a sharp pain in his knee, a feeling of heaviness in his head, and unbearable pain in his back. They wanted to carry him to the beach, but, directly they touched him, he declared, with groans, that he had not the strength. The old skipper urged Dantès to rise, for he was obliged to leave in the morning to deposit his cargo on the frontiers of Piedmont and France, between Nice and Fréjus. Edmond made a superhuman effort to comply with his wishes, but, turning very white, he fell back each time with a moan.
“He has broken his back,” the skipper said in a low voice. “No matter, we will not forsake him. Let us carry him on board.”
But Dantès declared that he would sooner die where he was than bear the agonizing pain that the slightest movement caused him.
“Very well,” said the skipper, “come what may, it shall not be said that we have deserted such a good shipmate as you. We will not leave till this evening.”
This proposal was a cause of great astonishment to the sailors though no one opposed it. Dantès, however, would not allow such a serious violation of the rules of discipline on his behalf. “No,” he said, “I have been clumsy and it is only right that I should pay the penalty. Leave me a supply of biscuit, a gun, some powder and shot for killing some kids or maybe to use in my own defence, also a pickaxe so that I can make myself some sort of shelter in case you should be delayed in returning to fetch me.”
“But you will die of hunger,” replied the skipper. “We cannot leave you like this, and on the other hand we cannot stay.”
“Leave me! Go!” Dantès cried out.
Nothing could shake Dantès’ determination to remain and to remain alone. The smugglers gave him all he had asked for and left him. He dragged himself cautiously to the top of a rock which afforded him full view of the sea, whence he watched the tartan making ready to sail; he saw her weigh anchor and, balancing herself as gracefully as a gull ere it takes wing, put out to sea.
At the end of an hour she had completely disappeared from his view, and rising, more agile and light of limb than the kids jumping about these rugged rocks among myrtle-and mastic-trees, Dantès took his gun in one hand, the pickaxe in the other, and ran toward the rock on which the incisions terminated.
“Now,” he exclaimed, thinking of the story of the Arabian fisherman which Faria had related to him. “Now, open, Sesame!”
Chapter XIX
THE TREASURE CAVE
The sun had run about a third of his course, sending his warm and invigorating rays full on the rocks which seemed almost insensible to their warmth. The monotonous and continuous chirp of thousands of grasshoppers invisible in the heath could be heard; the leaves of the myrtles and olive-trees waved and shook in the wind, sending forth an almost metallic sound. With every step Edmond took on the warm granite he sent scurrying away numerous lizards bright as emeralds. In the distance wild goats were to be seen jumping from crag to crag. In a word, the island was inhabited and very much alive. Yet Dantès
felt quite alone under God’s blue sky. He felt an indescribable sensation akin to fear; a distrust of daylight which, even in the desert, gives us the feeling that inquisitive eyes are following us. The feeling was so strong in him that no sooner had he commenced his task than he stopped, laid down his pickaxe, picked up his gun and, climbing to the top of the highest rock, gazed all around him. But he could see neither man nor ship; nothing but the blue sky overhead and the azure sea below. Reassured, he descended rapidly, but at the same time cautiously, fearing an accident similar to the one he had so cleverly simulated.
As we have already said, Dantès traced the marks on the rocks back the other way, and found that they led to a kind of small creek hidden away like the bath of a nymph of ancient days; the creek was wide enough at its mouth and deep enough in the centre to allow a small ship to enter and lie concealed there. Then, as he followed the clue that had been so skilfully handled by Faria to guide him through the labyrinth of probabilities, he came to the conclusion that Cardinal Spada, in order to avoid being seen, must first have landed in this little creek, where he hid his small bark, followed the path indicated by the incisions, and finally buried his treasure at the extreme end.
This supposition had brought Dantès to the circular rock. There was only one thing that perplexed him and upset his whole theory. How could this rock, at least several tons in weight, have been hoisted on to its base without the employment of considerable force?
Suddenly an idea occurred to Dantès. Instead of having been lifted, thought he, it has been lowered. And he jumped on to the rock to find its original resting place. He soon perceived that a slope had been formed; the rock had slid along until it stopped in its present position, another medium-sized rock serving as a wedge. Stones and pebbles had been carefully placed to conceal every sign of an orifice. This piece of masonry had been covered with earth, grass, and moss which had taken seed there, myrtle- and mastic-bushes had taken root, and the old rock appeared fixed to the ground.
Dantès raised the earth carefully, and detected, or thought he did, the whole of this ingenious artifice. But, he reflected, the rock was too firmly wedged and too heavy for any one man to move, were he Hercules himself. What means could he employ? He looked around for something, and his eye suddenly lighted upon the powder-horn his friends had left him. He smiled: this infernal invention would serve his purpose.
By means of his pickaxe, Dantès then cut an opening between the upper and the lower rocks and filled it with powder. Then he shredded his handkerchief, rubbed it in the powder, and thus had a match. Directly he had set a light to it, he withdrew.
The explosion was instantaneous. The upper rock was lifted from its base by the terrific force, while the lower one was blown to pieces. Thousands of trembling insects scuttled away and a long snake, the guardian of this mysterious cave, crawled away on its blue belly and disappeared.
Dantès returned to the spot. The upper rock was hanging with scarcely any support over the cliff. The intrepid treasure-hunter walked round it, chose the loosest spot and inserting his lever into one of the crevices, like Sisyphus, he strained every muscle in his attack on the huge mass.
The rock, already shaken by the explosion, tottered; Dantès redoubled his efforts. He looked like one of the Titans uprooting the mountains in their war against the father of the gods. At last the rock yielded and rolled headlong into the sea. It had uncovered a circular place revealing an iron ring set in the middle of a square-shaped flagstone. Dantès uttered a cry of joy and astonishment. Never had a first attempt been crowned with such splendid success. He would fain have continued his task, but his legs trembled so uncontrollably, his heart beat so violently, and his eyes became so dim, that he was compelled to pause awhile. He did not wait long, however. Passing his lever through the ring, he lifted with all his might; the flagstone yielded and revealed a kind of staircase which went deeper and deeper into an increasingly dark grotto.
Dantès descended, murmuring the supreme word of human philosophy: ‘Perhaps.’ But, instead of the darkness and the thick and mephitic air he had expected to find, he saw a soft and bluish light. The air and light filtered not only through the aperture just made but also through some cracks in the rocks which were invisible from without, while from the inside Dantès could see the blue of the sky.
After having been for a few seconds in the cave, the atmosphere of which was warm rather than damp, fragrant rather than fetid, Dantès’ eyes, accustomed as they were to the dark, could penetrate into its furthermost corners; it was of granite, the facets of which sparkled like diamonds.
“Alas!” said Dantès with a smile, “these are no doubt the only treasures the Cardinal has left!”
Suddenly he thought of the words of the will which he knew by heart: “In the farthest corner of the second cave.” He had only gained admittance to the first cave and must now find the entrance to the second one, which must naturally penetrate farther into the interior of the island. He examined the stones and sounded the wall where he supposed the opening would be—no doubt disguised for precaution’s sake. The pickaxe resounded for an instant with a thick echo which caused the perspiration to stand in great beads on Dantès’ forehead; but at length it appeared to the persevering miner that one portion of the granite wall gave forth a hollower and deeper sound. He scanned this part eagerly and recognized with a perception that probably no one but a prisoner possesses, that there must be an opening there. He struck it again with more vigour. This time he noticed something peculiar. As he struck the wall, a sort of stucco fell to the ground laying bare soft white stone. The opening in the rock had been closed with stones of a different kind; these had been covered with stucco, and on this the colour and sparkle of the granite had been imitated.
Dantès struck into the wall with the sharp end of his pick, which penetrated about an inch. Here then was the spot where he must dig.
As yet he had had no food, but this was not the moment to eat. He swallowed a mouthful of rum and again attacked his work somewhat strengthened. He took up his pickaxe, and after several strokes with it he perceived that the stones were not cemented, but simply placed one on top of the other and covered with stucco. He pushed the point of his pick into one of the interstices, pressed on the handle, and to his joy one of the stones fell at his feet. The opening thus made was large enough to admit him, and so he was able to pass from the first grotto into the second. It was lower, darker and more uncanny than the first: the air, which only entered by the aperture he had just made, had that fetid smell Dantès had expected to find in the first. He gave the exterior air time to replace this foul air and then he entered.
To the left of the aperture there was a dark and gloomy corner. As we have already mentioned, however, there was no darkness for the eyes of Dantès. He looked round the second grotto; like the first one it was empty! The treasure, if it existed, was buried in the dark corner yonder. Dantès’ hour of anguish had arrived. To dig through two feet of earth was all that remained to him between supreme joy and bottomless despair. He approached the corner and, as though seized by a sudden resolution, set to work on the soil with all his might. At the fifth or sixth stroke it sounded as though the pickaxe had encountered some iron substance. Never did funeral knell or alarm bell produce such an effect on its hearer. Had Dantès found nothing, he could not have become more deadly pale. He plunged his pick into the earth a little to one side of this spot and encountered resistance but not the same sound.
“It is a wooden chest bound with iron,” he said.
In a very short time he had cleared a space about three feet long and two wide, and, by the light of the torch he had improvised, he recognized an oak chest bound with wrought iron. In the middle of the lid on a silver plate which the earth had left untarnished, were engraved the arms of the Spada family, namely, a sword on an oval shield like that of the Italians, and surmounted by a cardinal’s hat. Dantès easily recognized them. Faria had drawn them for him time and again. There could now be no
doubt that the treasure was there; no one would have taken such precautions for an empty chest.
Edmond laid bare the chest in very little time and saw appearing bit by bit the centre lock placed between two padlocks and the handles at each end, all carved as things were carved at that period when art lent beauty to the basest of metals.
Dantès took the chest by the handles and tried to lift it, but that was quite impossible. He tried to open it: it was locked. He inserted the sharp end of his pickaxe between the chest and the lid and burst it open. The chest was uncovered!
The chest was divided into three compartments. In the first shone bright red gold crown pieces. In the second unpolished ingots arranged in order, their only attraction being their weight and value. In the third compartment, which was but half full, Dantès took up whole handfuls of diamonds, pearls, and rubies, which as they fell through his fingers in a sparkling cascade gave forth the sound of hail beating against the windowpanes.
After he had touched, fingered, buried his trembling hands in the gold and precious stones, Edmond rose and rushed through the caves like a man seized with a frenzy. He leapt on to a rock whence he could behold the sea. He was alone, quite alone with these incalculable, unheard-of, fabulous riches which all belonged to him! Was he awake or was it all a dream? Could he possibly be face to face with reality? He wanted to see his gold, yet he felt he had not the strength to look at it. For a moment he pressed his head in his hands as though to prevent his senses from leaving him; then he rushed wildly about the island, terrifying the wild goats and scaring the seagulls with his shouts and gesticulations. Finally he returned, still with doubt in his mind, rushed from the first grotto into the second, and found himself in presence of his mine of gold and diamonds.
Count of Monte Cristo (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 16