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, 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 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 descended until they were lost in the obscurity of a
subterraneous grotto. Any one else would have rushed on with a cry of
joy. Dantes turned pale, hesitated, and reflected. "Come," said he to
himself, "be a man. I am accustomed to adversity. I must not be cast
down by the discovery that I have been deceived. What, then, would be
the use of all I have suffered? The heart breaks when, after having been
elated by flattering hopes, it sees all its illusions destroyed. Faria
has dreamed this; the Cardinal Spada buried no treasure here; perhaps he
never came here, or if he did, Caesar Borgia, the intrepid adventurer,
the stealthy and indefatigable plunderer, has followed him, discovered
his traces, pursued them as I have done, raised the stone, and
descending before me, has left me nothing." He remained motionless and
pensive, his eyes fixed on the gloomy aperture that was open at his
feet.
"Now that I expect nothing, now that I no longer entertain the slightest
hopes, the end of this adventure becomes simply a matter of curiosity."
And he remained again motionless and thoughtful.
"Yes, yes; this is an adventure worthy a place in the varied career of
that royal bandit. This fabulous event formed but a link in a long chain
of marvels. Yes, Borgia has been here, a torch in one hand, a sword in
the other, and within twenty paces, at the foot of this rock, perhaps
two guards kept watch on land and sea, while their master descended, as
I am about to descend, dispelling the darkness before his awe-inspiring
progress."
"But what was the fate of the guards who thus possessed his secret?"
asked Dantes of himself.
"The fate," replied he, smiling, "of those who buried Alaric."
"Yet, had he come," thought Dantes, "he would have found the treasure,
and Borgia, he who compared Italy to an artichoke, which he could devour
leaf by leaf, knew too well the value of time to waste it in replacing
this rock. I will go down."
Then he descended, a smile on his lips, and murmuring that last word of
human philosophy, "Perhaps!" But instead of the darkness, and the thick
and mephitic atmosphere he had expected to find, Dantes saw a dim and
bluish light, which, as well as the air, entered, not merely by the
aperture he had just formed, but by the interstices and crevices of
the rock which were visible from without, and through which he could
distinguish the blue sky and the waving branches of the evergreen oaks,
and the tendrils of the creepers that grew from the rocks. After having
stood a few minutes in the cavern, the atmosphere of which was rather
warm than damp, Dantes' eye, habituated as it was to darkness, could
pierce even to the remotest angles of the cavern, which was of granite
that sparkled like diamonds. "Alas," said Edmond, smiling, "these are
the treasures the cardinal has left; and the good abbe, seeing in a
dream these glittering walls, has indulged in fallacious hopes."
But he called to mind the words of the will, which he knew by heart. "In
the farthest angle of the second opening," said the cardinal's will. He
had only found the first grotto; he had now to seek the second.
Dantes continued his search. He reflected that this second grotto must
penetrate deeper into the island; he examined the stones, and sounded
one part of the wall where he fancied the opening existed, masked for
precaution's sake. The pickaxe struck for a moment with a dull sound
that drew out of Dantes' forehead large drops of perspiration. At last
it seemed to him that one part of the wall gave forth a more hollow and
deeper echo; he eagerly advanced, and with the quickness of perception
that no one but a prisoner possesses, saw that there, in all
probability, the opening must be.
However, he, like Caesar Borgia, knew the value of time; and, in
order to avoid fruitless toil, he sounded all the other walls with his
pickaxe, struck the earth with the butt of his gun, and finding nothing
that appeared suspicious, returned to that part of the wall whence
issued the consoling sound he had before heard. He again struck it, and
with greater force. Then a singular thing occurred. As he struck the
wall, pieces of stucco similar to that used in the ground work of
arabesques broke off, and fell to the ground in flakes, exposing a large
white stone. The aperture of the rock had been closed with stones, then
this stucco had been applied, and painted to imitate granite. Dantes
struck with the sharp end of his pickaxe, which entered someway between
the interstices. It was there he must dig. But by some strange play of
emotion, in proportion as the proofs that Faria, had not been
deceived became stronger, so did his heart give way, and a feeling of
discouragement stole over him. This last proof, instead of giving him
fresh strength, deprived him of it; the pickaxe descended, or rather
fell; he placed it on the ground, passed his hand over his brow, and
remounted the stairs, alleging to himself, as an excuse, a desire to
be assured that no one was watching him, but in reality because he felt
that he was about to faint. The island was deserted, and the sun seemed
to cover it with its fiery glance; afar off, a few small fishing boats
studded the bosom of the blue ocean.
Dantes had tasted nothing, but he thought not of hunger at such a
moment; he hastily swallowed a few drops of rum, and again entered the
cavern. The pickaxe that had seemed so heavy, was now like a feather in
his grasp; he seized it, and attacked the wall. After several blows he
perceived that the stones were not cemented, but had been merely placed
one upon the other, and covered with stucco; he inserted the point of
his pickaxe, and using the handle as a lever, with joy soon saw the
stone turn as if on hinges, and fall at his feet. He had nothing more
to do now, but with the iron tooth of the pickaxe to draw the stones
towards him one by one. The aperture was already sufficiently large for
him to enter, but by waiting, he could still cling to hope, and retard
the certainty of deception. At last, after renewed hesitation, Dantes
entered the second grotto. The second grotto was lower and more gloomy
than the first; the air that could only enter by the newly formed
opening had the mephitic smell Dantes was surprised not to find in the
outer cavern. He waited in order to allow pure air to displace the foul
atmosphere, and then went on. At the left of the opening was a dark and
deep angle. But to Dantes' eye there was no darkness. He glanced around
this second grotto; it was, like the first, empty.
The treasure, if it existed, was buried in this corner. The time had
at length arrived; two feet of earth removed, and Dantes' fate would
be decided. He advanced towards the angle, and summoning all his
resolution, attacked the ground with the pickaxe. At the fifth or sixth
blow the pickaxe struck against an iron substance. Never did funeral
knell, never did alarm-bell, produce a greater effect on the hearer.
Had Dantes found nothing he could not have become more ghastly pale.
He again struck his pickaxe into the earth, and encountered the same
resistance, but not the same sound. "It is a casket of wood bound with
iron," thought he. At this moment a shadow passed rapidly before the
opening; Dantes seized his gun, sprang through the opening, and mounted
the stair. A wild goat had passed before the mouth of the cave, and was
feeding at a little distance. This would have been a favorable occasion
to secure his dinner; but Dantes feared lest the report of his gun
should attract attention.
He thought a moment, cut a branch of a resinous tree, lighted it at the
fire at which the smugglers had prepared their breakfast, and descended
with this torch. He wished to see everything. He approached the hole he
had dug, and now, with the aid of the torch, saw that his pickaxe had in
reality struck against iron and wood. He planted his torch in the ground
and resumed his labor. In an instant a space three feet long by two feet
broad was cleared, and Dantes could see an oaken coffer, bound with cut
steel; in the middle of the lid he saw engraved on a silver plate, which
was still untarnished, the arms of the Spada family--viz., a sword,
pale, on an oval shield, like all the Italian armorial bearings, and
surmounted by a cardinal's hat; Dantes easily recognized them, Faria had
so often drawn them for him. There was no longer any doubt: the treasure
was there--no one would have been at such pains to conceal an empty
casket. In an instant he had cleared every obstacle away, and he saw
successively the lock, placed between two padlocks, and the two handles
at each end, all carved as things were carved at that epoch, when art
rendered the commonest metals precious. Dantes seized the handles, and
strove to lift the coffer; it was impossible. He sought to open it; lock
and padlock were fastened; these faithful guardians seemed unwilling
to surrender their trust. Dantes inserted the sharp end of the pickaxe
between the coffer and the lid, and pressing with all his force on the
handle, burst open the fastenings. The hinges yielded in their turn and
fell, still holding in their grasp fragments of the wood, and the chest
was open.
Edmond was seized with vertigo; he cocked his gun and laid it beside
him. He then closed his eyes as children do in order that they may see
in the resplendent night of their own imagination more stars than are
visible in the firmament; then he re-opened them, and stood motionless
with amazement. Three compartments divided the coffer. In the first,
blazed piles of golden coin; in the second, were ranged bars of
unpolished gold, which possessed nothing attractive save their value;
in the third, Edmond grasped handfuls of diamonds, pearls, and rubies,
which, as they fell on one another, sounded like hail against glass.
After having touched, felt, examined these treasures, Edmond rushed
through the caverns like a man seized with frenzy; he leaped on a rock,
from whence he could behold the sea. He was alone--alone with these
countless, these unheard-of treasures! was he awake, or was it but a
dream?
He would fain have gazed upon his gold, and yet he had not strength
enough; for an instant he leaned his head in his hands as if to prevent
his senses from leaving him, and then rushed madly about the rocks of
Monte Cristo, terrifying the wild goats and scaring the sea-fowls with
his wild cries and gestures; then he returned, and, still unable to
believe the evidence of his senses, rushed into the grotto, and found
himself before this mine of gold and jewels. This time he fell on
his knees, and, clasping his hands convulsively, uttered a prayer
intelligible to God alone. He soon became calmer and more happy, for
only now did he begin to realize his felicity. He then set himself to
work to count his fortune. There were a thousand ingots of gold, each
weighing from two to three pounds; then he piled up twenty-five thousand
crowns, each worth about eighty francs of our money, and bearing the
effigies of Alexander VI. and his predecessors; and he saw that the
complement was not half empty. And he measured ten double handfuls of
pearls, diamonds, and other gems, many of which, mounted by the most
famous workmen, were valuable beyond their intrinsic worth. Dantes
saw the light gradually disappear, and fearing to be surprised in the
cavern, left it, his gun in his hand. A piece of biscuit and a small
quantity of rum formed his supper, and he snatched a few hours' sleep,
lying over the mouth of the cave.
It was a night of joy and terror, such as this man of stupendous
emotions had already experienced twice or thrice in his lifetime.
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