Chapter 15 Number 34 and Number 27
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DANTจจS PASSED through all the stages
of torture natural to prisoners in suspense. He was sustained at first by
that pride of conscious innocence which is the sequence to hope; then he
began to doubt his own innocence, which justified in some measure the
governor's belief in his mental alienation; and then, relaxing his
sentiment of pride, he addressed his supplications, not to God, but to
man. God is always the last resource. Unfortunates, who ought to begin
with God, do not have any hope in him till they have exhausted all other
means of deliverance. Dantจจs asked to be removed from his
present dungeon into another; for a change, however disadvantageous, was
still a change, and would afford him some amusement. He entreated to be
allowed to walk about, to have fresh air, books, and writing materials.
His requests were not granted, but he went on asking all the same. He
accustomed himself to speaking to the new jailer, although the latter was,
if possible, more taciturn than the old one; but still, to speak to a man,
even though mute, was something. Dantจจs
spoke for the sake of hearing his own voice; he had tried to speak when
alone, but the sound of his voice terrified him. Often, before his
captivity, Dantจจs, mind had revolted at the idea
of assemblages of prisoners, made up of thieves, vagabonds, and murderers.
He now wished to be amongst them, in order to see some other face besides
that of his jailer; he sighed for the galleys, with the infamous costume,
the chain, and the brand on the shoulder. The galley-slaves breathed the
fresh air of heaven, and saw each other. They were very happy. He besought
the jailer one day to let him have a companion, were it even the mad abbจฆ. The
jailer, though rough and hardened by the constant sight of so much
suffering, was yet a man. At the bottom of his heart he had often had a
feeling of pity for this unhappy young man who suffered so; and he laid
the request of number 34 before the governor; but the latter sapiently
imagined that Dantจจs wished to conspire or attempt
an escape, and refused his request. Dantจจs had exhausted all human resources, and he then
turned to God. All
the pious ideas that had been so long forgotten, returned; he recollected
the prayers his mother had taught him, and discovered a new meaning in
every word; for in prosperity prayers seem but a mere medley of words,
until misfortune comes and the unhappy sufferer first understands the
meaning of the sublime language in which he invokes the pity of heaven! He
prayed, and prayed aloud, no longer terrified at the sound of his own
voice, for he fell into a sort of ecstasy. He laid every action of his
life before the Almighty, proposed tasks to accomplish, and at the end of
every prayer introduced the entreaty oftener addressed to man than to God:
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against
us." Yet in spite of his earnest prayers, Dantจจs remained a prisoner. Then
gloom settled heavily upon him. Dantจจs was a man of great simplicity of thought, and
without education; he could not, therefore, in the solitude of his
dungeon, traverse in mental vision the history of the ages, bring to life
the nations that had perished, and rebuild the ancient cities so vast and
stupendous in the light of the imagination, and that pass before the eye
glowing with celestial colors in Martin's Babylonian pictures. He could
not do this, he whose past life was so short, whose present so melancholy,
and his future so doubtful. Nineteen years of light to reflect upon in
eternal darkness! No distraction could come to his aid; his energetic
spirit, that would have exalted in thus revisiting the past, was
imprisoned like an eagle in a cage. He clung to one idea--that of his
happiness, destroyed, without apparent cause, by an unheard-of fatality;
he considered and reconsidered this idea, devoured it (so to speak), as
the implacable Ugolino devours the skull of Archbishop Roger in the
Inferno of Dante. Rage
supplanted religious fervor. Dantจจs uttered blasphemies that made his jailer recoil
with horror, dashed himself furiously against the walls of his prison,
wreaked his anger upon everything, and chiefly upon himself, so that the
least thing,--a grain of sand, a straw, or a breath of air that annoyed
him, led to paroxysms of fury. Then the letter that Villefort had showed
to him recurred to his mind, and every line gleamed forth in fiery letters
on the wall like the Mene Tekel Upharsin of Belshazzar. He told himself
that it was the enmity of man, and not the vengeance of heaven, that had
thus plunged him into the deepest misery. He consigned his unknown
persecutors to the most horrible tortures he could imagine, and found them
all insufficient, because after torture came death, and after death, if
not repose, at least the boon of unconsciousness. By
dint of constantly dwelling on the idea that tranquillity was death, and
if punishment were the end in view other tortures than death must be
invented, he began to reflect on suicide. Unhappy he, who, on the brink of
misfortune, broods over ideas like these! Before
him is a dead sea that stretches in azure calm before the eye; but he who
unwarily ventures within its embrace finds himself struggling with a
monster that would drag him down to perdition. Once thus ensnared, unless
the protecting hand of God snatch him thence, all is over, and his
struggles but tend to hasten his destruction. This state of mental anguish
is, however, less terrible than the sufferings that precede or the
punishment that possibly will follow. There is a sort of consolation at
the contemplation of the yawning abyss, at the bottom of which lie
darkness and obscurity. Edmond
found some solace in these ideas. All his sorrows, all his sufferings,
with their train of gloomy spectres, fled from his cell when the angel of
death seemed about to enter. Dantจจs
reviewed his past life with composure, and, looking forward with terror to
his future existence, chose that middle line that seemed to afford him a
refuge. "Sometimes,"
said he, "in my voyages, when I was a man and commanded other men, I
have seen the heavens overcast, the sea rage and foam, the storm arise,
and, like a monstrous bird, beating the two horizons with its wings. Then
I felt that my vessel was a vain refuge, that trembled and shook before
the tempest. Soon the fury of the waves and the sight of the sharp rocks
announced the approach of death, and death then terrified me, and I used
all my skill and intelligence as a man and a sailor to struggle against
the wrath of God. But I did so because I was happy, because I had not
courted death, because to be cast upon a bed of rocks and seaweed seemed
terrible, because I was unwilling that I, a creature made for the service
of God, should serve for food to the gulls and ravens. But now it is
different; I have lost all that bound me to life, death smiles and invites
me to repose; I die after my own manner, I die exhausted and
broken-spirited, as I fall asleep when I have paced three thousand times
round my cell." No
sooner had this idea taken possession of him than he became more composed,
arranged his couch to the best of his power, ate little and slept less,
and found existence almost supportable, because he felt that he could
throw it off at pleasure, like a worn-out garment. Two methods of
self-destruction were at his disposal. He could hang himself with his
handkerchief to the window bars, or refuse food and die of starvation. But
the first was repugnant to him. Dantจจs had always entertained the
greatest horror of pirates, who are hung up to the yard-arm; he would not
die by what seemed an infamous death. He resolved to adopt the second, and
began that day to carry out his resolve. Nearly four years had passed
away; at the end of the second he had ceased to mark the lapse of time. Dantจจs said, "I wish to
die," and had chosen the manner of his death, and fearful of changing
his mind, he had taken an oath to die. "When my morning and evening
meals are brought," thought he, "I will cast them out of the
window, and they will think that I have eaten them." He
kept his word; twice a day he cast out, through the barred aperture, the
provisions his jailer brought him--at first gayly, then with deliberation,
and at last with regret. Nothing but the recollection of his oath gave him
strength to proceed. Hunger made viands once repugnant, now acceptable; he
held the plate in his hand for an hour at a time, and gazed thoughtfully
at the morsel of bad meat, of tainted fish, of black and mouldy bread. It
was the last yearning for life contending with the resolution of despair;
then his dungeon seemed less sombre, his prospects less desperate. He was
still young--he was only four or five and twenty--he had nearly fifty
years to live. What unforseen events might not open his prison door, and
restore him to liberty? Then he raised to his lips the repast that, like a
voluntary Tantalus, he refused himself; but he thought of his oath, and he
would not break it. He persisted until, at last, he had not sufficient
strength to rise and cast his supper out of the loophole. The next morning
he could not see or hear; the jailer feared he was dangerously ill. Edmond
hoped he was dying. Thus
the day passed away. Edmond felt a sort of stupor creeping over him which
brought with it a feeling almost of content; the gnawing pain at his
stomach had ceased; his thirst had abated; when he closed his eyes he saw
myriads of lights dancing before them like the will-o'-the-wisps that play
about the marshes. It was the twilight of that mysterious country called
Death! Suddenly,
about nine o'clock in the evening, Edmond heard a hollow sound in the wall
against which he was lying. So
many loathsome animals inhabited the prison, that their noise did not, in
general, awake him; but whether abstinence had quickened his faculties, or
whether the noise was really louder than usual, Edmond raised his head and
listened. It was a continual scratching, as if made by a huge claw, a
powerful tooth, or some iron instrument attacking the stones. Although
weakened, the young man's brain instantly responded to the idea that
haunts all prisoners--liberty! It seemed to him that heaven had at length
taken pity on him, and had sent this noise to warn him on the very brink
of the abyss. Perhaps one of those beloved ones he had so often thought of
was thinking of him, and striving to diminish the distance that separated
them. No,
no, doubtless he was deceived, and it was but one of those dreams that
forerun death! Edmond
still heard the sound. It lasted nearly three hours; he then heard a noise
of something falling, and all was silent. Some
hours afterwards it began again, nearer and more distinct. Edmond was
intensely interested. Suddenly the jailer entered. For
a week since he had resolved to die, and during the four days that he had
been carrying out his purpose, Edmond had not spoken to the attendant, had
not answered him when he inquired what was the matter with him, and turned
his face to the wall when he looked too curiously at him; but now the
jailer might hear the noise and put an end to it, and so destroy a ray of
something like hope that soothed his last moments. The
jailer brought him his breakfast. Dantจจs raised himself up and began to talk about
everything; about the bad quality of the food, about the coldness of his
dungeon, grumbling and complaining, in order to have an excuse for
speaking louder, and wearying the patience of his jailer, who out of
kindness of heart had brought broth and white bread for his prisoner. Fortunately,
he fancied that Dantจจs
was delirious; and placing the food on the rickety table, he withdrew.
Edmond listened, and the sound became more and more distinct. "There
can be no doubt about it," thought he; "it is some prisoner who
is striving to obtain his freedom. Oh, if I were only there to help
him!" Suddenly another idea took possession of his mind, so used to
misfortune, that it was scarcely capable of hope--the idea that the noise
was made by workmen the governor had ordered to repair the neighboring
dungeon. It
was easy to ascertain this; but how could he risk the question? It was
easy to call his jailer's attention to the noise, and watch his
countenance as he listened; but might he not by this means destroy hopes
far more important than the short-lived satisfaction of his own curiosity?
Unfortunately, Edmond's brain was still so feeble that he could not bend
his thoughts to anything in particular. He
saw but one means of restoring lucidity and clearness to his judgment. He
turned his eyes towards the soup which the jailer had brought, rose,
staggered towards it, raised the vessel to his lips, and drank off the
contents with a feeling of indescribable pleasure. He had often heard that
shipwrecked persons had died through having eagerly devoured too much
food. Edmond replaced on the table the bread he was about to devour, and
returned to his couch--he did not wish to die. He soon felt that his ideas
became again collected--he could think, and strengthen his thoughts by
reasoning. Then he said to himself, "I must put this to the test, but
without compromising anybody. If it is a workman, I need but knock against
the wall, and he will cease to work, in order to find out who is knocking,
and why he does so; but as his occupation is sanctioned by the governor,
he will soon resume it. If, on the contrary, it is a prisoner, the noise I
make will alarm him, he will cease, and not begin again until he thinks
every one is asleep." Edmond
rose again, but this time his legs did not tremble, and his sight was
clear; he went to a corner of his dungeon, detached a stone, and with it
knocked against the wall where the sound came. He struck thrice. At the
first blow the sound ceased, as if by magic. Edmond
listened intently; an hour passed, two hours passed, and no sound was
heard from the wall--all was silent there. Full
of hope, Edmond swallowed a few mouthfuls of bread and water, and, thanks
to the vigor of his constitution, found himself well-nigh recovered. The
day passed away in utter silence--night came without recurrence of the
noise. "It
is a prisoner," said Edmond joyfully. The night passed in perfect
silence. Edmond did not close his eyes. In
the morning the jailer brought him fresh provisions--he had already
devoured those of the previous day; he ate these listening anxiously for
the sound, walking round and round his cell, shaking the iron bars of the
loophole, restoring vigor and agility to his limbs by exercise, and so
preparing himself for his future destiny. At intervals he listened to
learn if the noise had not begun again, and grew impatient at the prudence
of the prisoner, who did not guess he had been disturbed by a captive as
anxious for liberty as himself. Three
days passed--seventy-two long tedious hours which he counted off by
minutes! At
length one evening, as the jailer was visiting him for the last time that
night, Dantจจs,
with his ear for the hundredth time at the wall, fancied he heard an
almost imperceptible movement among the stones. He moved away, walked up
and down his cell to collect his thoughts, and then went back and
listened. The
matter was no longer doubtful. Something was at work on the other side of
the wall; the prisoner had discovered the danger, and had substituted a
lever for a chisel. Encouraged
by this discovery, Edmond determined to assist the indefatigable laborer.
He began by moving his bed, and looked around for anything with which he
could pierce the wall, penetrate the moist cement, and displace a stone. He
saw nothing, he had no knife or sharp instrument, the window grating was
of iron, but he had too often assured himself of its solidity. All his
furniture consisted of a bed, a chair, a table, a pail, and a jug. The bed
had iron clamps, but they were screwed to the wood, and it would have
required a screw-driver to take them off. The table and chair had nothing,
the pail had once possessed a handle, but that had been removed. Dantจจs had but one resource, which was
to break the jug, and with one of the sharp fragments attack the wall. He
let the jug fall on the floor, and it broke in pieces. Dantจจs concealed two or three of the
sharpest fragments in his bed, leaving the rest on the floor. The breaking
of his jug was too natural an accident to excite suspicion. Edmond had all
the night to work in, but in the darkness he could not do much, and he
soon felt that he was working against something very hard; he pushed back
his bed, and waited for day. All
night he heard the subterranean workman, who continued to mine his way.
Day came, the jailer entered. Dantจจs
told him that the jug had fallen from his hands while he was drinking, and
the jailer went grumblingly to fetch another, without giving himself the
trouble to remove the fragments of the broken one. He returned speedily,
advised the prisoner to be more careful, and departed. Dantจจs heard joyfully the key grate in
the lock; he listened until the sound of steps died away, and then,
hastily displacing his bed, saw by the faint light that penetrated into
his cell, that he had labored uselessly the previous evening in attacking
the stone instead of removing the plaster that surrounded it. The
damp had rendered it friable, and Dantจจs was able to break it off--in small morsels, it is
true, but at the end of half an hour he had scraped off a handful; a
mathematician might have calculated that in two years, supposing that the
rock was not encountered, a passage twenty feet long and two feet broad,
might be formed. The
prisoner reproached himself with not having thus employed the hours he had
passed in vain hopes, prayer, and despondency. During the six years that
he had been imprisoned, what might he not have accomplished? In
three days he had succeeded, with the utmost precaution, in removing the
cement, and exposing the stone-work. The wall was built of rough stones,
among which, to give strength to the structure, blocks of hewn stone were
at intervals imbedded. It was one of these he had uncovered, and which he
must remove from its socket. Dantจจs strove to do this with his
nails, but they were too weak. The fragments of the jug broke, and after
an hour of useless toil, he paused. Was
he to be thus stopped at the beginning, and was he to wait inactive until
his fellow workman had completed his task? Suddenly an idea occurred to
him--he smiled, and the perspiration dried on his forehead. The
jailer always brought Dantจจs'
soup in an iron saucepan; this saucepan contained soup for both prisoners,
for Dantจจs
had noticed that it was either quite full, or half empty, according as the
turnkey gave it to him or to his companion first. The
handle of this saucepan was of iron; Dantจจs would have given ten years of his life in exchange
for it. The
jailer was accustomed to pour the contents of the saucepan into Dantจจs' plate, and Dantจจs, after eating his soup with a
wooden spoon, washed the plate, which thus served for every day. Now when
evening came Dantจจs
put his plate on the ground near the door; the jailer, as he entered,
stepped on it and broke it. This
time he could not blame Dantจจs.
He was wrong to leave it there, but the jailer was wrong not to have
looked before him. The
jailer, therefore, only grumbled. Then he looked about for something to
pour the soup into; Dantจจs'
entire dinner service consisted of one plate--there was no alternative. "Leave
the saucepan," said Dantจจs;
"you can take it away when you bring me my breakfast." This
advice was to the jailer's taste, as it spared him the necessity of making
another trip. He left the saucepan. Dantจจs was beside himself with joy. He
rapidly devoured his food, and after waiting an hour, lest the jailer
should change his mind and return, he removed his bed, took the handle of
the saucepan, inserted the point between the hewn stone and rough stones
of the wall, and employed it as a lever. A slight oscillation showed Dantจจs that all went well. At the end
of an hour the stone was extricated from the wall, leaving a cavity a foot
and a half in diameter. Dantจจs carefully collected the
plaster, carried it into the corner of his cell, and covered it with
earth. Then, wishing to make the best use of his time while he had the
means of labor, he continued to work without ceasing. At the dawn of day
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?" said Dantจจs. "No,"
replied the turnkey; "you destroy everything. First you break your
jug, then you make me break your plate; if all the prisoners followed your
example, the government would be ruined. I shall leave you the saucepan,
and pour your soup into that. So for the future I hope you will not be so
destructive." Dantจจs raised his eyes to heaven and
clasped his hands beneath the coverlet. He felt more gratitude for the
possession of this piece of iron than he had ever felt for anything. He
had noticed, however, that the prisoner on the other side had ceased to
labor; no matter, this was a greater reason for proceeding--if his
neighbor would not come to him, he would go to his neighbor. All day he
toiled on untiringly, and by the evening he had succeeded in extracting
ten handfuls of plaster and fragments of stone. When the hour for his
jailer's visit arrived, Dantจจs straightened the handle of the
saucepan as well as he could, and placed it in its accustomed place. The
turnkey poured his ration of soup into it, together with the fish--for
thrice a week the prisoners were deprived of meat. This would have been a
method of reckoning time, had not Dantจจs
long ceased to do so. Having poured out the soup, the turnkey retired.
Dantจจs wished to ascertain whether his
neighbor had really ceased to work. He listened--all was silent, as it had
been for the last three days. Dantจจs sighed; it was evident that his neighbor
distrusted him. However, he toiled on all the night without being
discouraged; but after two or three hours he encountered an obstacle. The
iron made no impression, but met with a smooth surface; Dantจจs touched it, and found that it was a beam. This
beam crossed, or rather blocked up, the hole Dantจจs had made; it was necessary, therefore, to dig
above or under it. The unhappy young man had not thought of this. "O
my God, my God!" murmured he, "I have so earnestly prayed to
you, that I hoped my prayers had been heard. After having deprived me of
my liberty, after having deprived me of death, after having 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 a voice that seemed
to come from beneath the earth, and, deadened by the distance, sounded
hollow and sepulchral in the young man's ears. Edmond's hair stood on end,
and he rose to his knees. "Ah,"
said he, "I hear a human voice." Edmond had not heard any one
speak save his jailer for four or five years; and a jailer is no man to a
prisoner--he is a living door, a barrier of flesh and blood adding
strength to restraints of oak and iron. "In
the name of heaven," cried Dantจจs, "speak again, though the sound of your voice
terrifies me. Who are you?" "Who
are you?" said the voice. "An
unhappy prisoner," replied Dantจจs, who made no hesitation in answering. "Of
what country?" "A
Frenchman." "Your
name?" "Edmond
Dantจจs."
"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 longer on the throne,
then?" "He
abdicated at Fontainebleau in 1814, and was sent to the Island of Elba.
But how long have you been here that you are ignorant of all this?" "Since
1811." Dantจจs shuddered; this man had been
four years longer than himself in prison. "Do
not dig any more," said the voice; "only tell me how high 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 Dantจจs. "I
have made a mistake owing to an error in my plans. I took the wrong angle,
and have come out fifteen feet from where I intended. I took the wall you
are mining for the outer wall of 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 the islands near
here--the Isle de Daume or the Isle de Tiboulen--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 any more, 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 Dantจจs. Edmond fancied he heard a bitter laugh resounding
from the depths. "Oh,
I am a Christian," cried Dantจจs, guessing instinctively that this man meant to
abandon him. "I swear to you by him who died for us that naught shall
induce me to breathe one syllable 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 my
strength, 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 I have been here. All
I do know is, that I was just nineteen when I was arrested, the 28th of
February, 1815." "Not
quite twenty-six!" murmured the voice; "at that age he cannot be
a traitor." "Oh,
no, no," cried Dantจจs.
"I swear to you again, rather than betray you, I would allow myself
to be hacked in pieces!" "You
have done well to speak to me, and ask for my assistance, for I was about
to form another plan, and leave you; 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 will let me come to
you. We will escape, and if we cannot escape we will talk; you of those
whom you love, and I of those whom 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 your comrade; if you are
old, I will be your son. I have a father who is seventy if he yet lives; I
only love him and a young girl called Mercจฆdจจs.
My father has not yet forgotten me, I am sure, but God alone knows if she
loves me still; I shall love you as I loved my father." "It
is well," returned the voice; "to-morrow." These
few words were uttered with an accent that left no doubt of his sincerity;
Dantจจs rose, dispersed the fragments
with the same precaution as before, and pushed his bed back against the
wall. He then gave himself up to his happiness. He would no longer be
alone. He was, perhaps, about to regain his liberty; at the worst, he
would have a companion, and captivity that is shared is but half
captivity. Plaints made in common are almost prayers, and prayers where
two or three are gathered together invoke the mercy of heaven. All
day Dantจจs
walked up and down his cell. He sat down occasionally on his bed, pressing
his hand on his heart. At the slightest noise he bounded towards the door.
Once or twice the thought crossed his mind that he might be separated from
this unknown, whom he loved already; and then his mind was made up--when
the jailer moved his bed and stooped to examine the opening, he would kill
him with his water jug. He would be condemned to die, but he was about to
die of grief and despair when this miraculous noise recalled him to life. The
jailer came in the evening. Dantจจs was on his bed. It seemed to him that thus he
better guarded the unfinished opening. Doubtless there was a strange
expression in his eyes, for the jailer said, "Come, are you going mad
again?" Dantจจs did not answer; he feared that
the emotion of his voice would betray him. The jailer went away shaking
his head. Night came; Dantจจs
hoped that his neighbor would profit by the silence to address him, but he
was mistaken. The next morning, however, just as he removed his bed from
the wall, he heard three knocks; he threw himself on his knees. "Is
it you?" said he; "I am here." "Is
your jailer gone?" "Yes,"
said Dantจจs;
"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 Dantจจs was resting his two hands, as he knelt with his
head in the opening, suddenly gave way; he drew back smartly, while a mass
of stones and earth disappeared in a hole that opened beneath the aperture
he himself had formed. Then from the bottom of this passage, the depth of
which it was impossible to measure, he saw appear, first the head, then
the shoulders, and lastly the body of a man, who sprang lightly into his
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