Fourteen

THE GRAVES OF THE CHATEAU D’IF

On the bed Dantes saw, in the dim light, a long bag, made of yellow cloth. Within it lay the body of his friend, Faria. This was the grave-cloth which, as the keeper had said, cost so little.

Dantes and his old friend were separated. He could no longer see those eyes which had remained open as if to look even beyond death; he could no longer touch that hand which had made so many wonderful things out of nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed as these sad thoughts passed through his mind.

Alone! He was alone again. Silence had returned to him, and a life of nothingness. He would no longer see, no longer hear the voice of the one person who made him love life. Would it not be better, like Faria, to pass through that last gate of learning, to find the answer to life's last question? "What lies beyond?"

This thought of killing himself had been driven away by the meeting with Faria; but now, as he sat in the same room with the dead, it came back to him again.

"If I could die," he said, "I should go where he goes, and I should surely find him again. But how to die?—It is very easy," he continued. "I will remain here, and I will kill the first man who opens that door. And I shall be hanged."

As great storms reach a height, and then die away suddenly, so is it with sadness. The mind of Dantes drew back from the thought of so fearful an end, and he was filled again with a wild desire to live and to be free.

"Die! Oh, no," he cried, "not die now after having lived and suffered so long and so much. That would indeed be giving way to the forces that have battled against me and have not conquered me so long. No, I desire to live, to fight to the end, to win back the happiness which has been taken from me."

As he said this he stopped, his eyes fixed, as one to whom a great thought has come, a thought so wonderful, so surprising that his mind cannot at first take it in. He rose. He put his hand to his head. He walked two or three times round the room.

"Who sent me that strange thought? Was it God himself? Or ... —Since none but the dead pass freely from this prison, let me take the place of the dead!”

He did not give himself more time to think over this plan: he would not allow his thoughts to be drawn away from it. It must be done at once. He opened the bag with the knife which Faria had made. He took the body from it, and carried it along the underground way to his own room. He laid it on his bed and drew the bed-clothes about its head just as he drew them himself when he was lying there. He laid one kiss upon the cold face; then turned the head towards the wall, so that the keeper, when he brought the evening meal, might believe that he was asleep, as he often was.

He returned to the other room. He took from the hiding-place one of the needles which Faria had made. He took off his clothes and hid them; then he got inside the bag, and placed himself in just the same way as the dead body had been laid, and joined up the mouth of the bag from within.

The sound of his heart might have been heard, if by any sad chance a keeper had entered just then.

Dantes might have waited until the evening visit was over, but he was afraid that the Governor might change his orders, and tell his men to take away the body earlier; and then his last hope would have been destroyed.

Now his plan was settled whatever happened, and he hoped to carry it through. During the time when he was being carried, the men might discover that they were carrying a living, instead of a dead body. If that happened, he meant, with a sudden cut of the knife, to open the bag from top to bottom, and escape before they had time to get over their surprise. If they tried to catch him he would use the knife.

When they laid him in the grave, he would allow himself to be covered with earth. Then, as it was night, he would have worked his way through the soft soil almost as soon as they had turned their backs. He only hoped that the weight of the earth would not be too heavy for him.

If he was wrong in this, and the earth proved too heavy, he would die; and then—so much the better—all would be finished.

Dantes had eaten nothing since the evening before, but he had not thought of hunger; nor did he think of it now. His condition was too dangerous to allow him to have any thought but one.

The first danger was that the keeper, bringing his evening meal at seven, might notice the change which he had made. But, happily, Dantes had often—twenty times at least—received the man in bed; and then the man had put the food on the table and gone away without saying a word.

This time the keeper might not be as silent as usual: he might speak to Dantes, and, seeing that he received no answer, go to the bed, and thus discover all.

When seven came, such fear came over Dantes that he knew not how to bear it. He put his hand on his heart as if to make it quiet. He passed his hand across his face to dry from it the cold drops. Then he thought that he was going to die. Yet the hours passed on, and all was quiet in the prison; and Dantes felt that he had escaped his first danger. All seemed to be going well.

At last, at about the hour which the Governor had fixed, footsteps were heard outside. Edmond felt that the great time had come. He must be brave now, braver than ever in his life before. They stopped at the door. He could hear two men. He heard them put down some wooden thing on which they were going to carry the body.

The door opened, and a dim light reached Dantes' eyes through the cloth which covered him. He saw two shadows draw near to his bed; another man with the lamp was remaining at the door. One man came to each end of the bed, and they took hold of the ends of the bag.

"He is heavy for an old and thin man," said one, as he raised the head.

"They say that every year adds something to the weight of the bones," said the other, lifting the feet.

"Have you tied it on?" asked the first speaker.

"What would be the use of carrying so much more weight," was the reply. "I can do that when we get there."

"Yes, you are right," answered the other.

"'Tied it on'—tied what on?" thought Dantes.

They put the supposed dead body on the carrier. Then the party moved up the steps, the man with the lamp going in front.

Suddenly Dantes felt the cold and fresh night air. The men went forward some twenty yards, then stopped, and put the body down.

One of them went away. Dantes heard the sound of his shoes on the stone.

"Where am I?" he asked himself.

"Really he is a heavy load!" said the other man, sitting down on the edge of the carrier.

For a minute Dantes thought of making his escape now; but happily he did not try to do so.

"Give me some light, you," said the other fellow, "or I shall not find what I am looking for."

The man with the lamp did as he was asked.

"What can he be looking for?" thought Edmond. "Is it something to make the grave with? But surely that must be ready?"

"Here it is. I've found it."

The man came towards Edmond. He heard some heavy object laid down beside him. Then something was tied round his feet.

"Is that tied strongly enough?" asked the man who was looking on.

"Yes, that won't come off, I can tell you," was the answer.

"Move on then."

Dantes felt himself lifted up again, and they moved some yards forward. They stopped to open a door; then forward again. The noise of the waves beating against the rocks came clearly to Dantes' ears.

"Bad weather," said one of the men; "not a nice night for going the last journey."

"Why, yes; old Faria won't be able to keep dry!" said the other; and both laughed loudly.

Dantes could not understand this; but his hair stood on end.

"Well, here we are at last," said one of them.

"A little farther, a little farther," said the other. "You know very well that the last one was stopped on the way—fell on the rocks—and the Governor told us next day that we were careless fellows."

They went up five or six more steps. Then Dantes felt them take him by the head and by the feet.

"One!" said the men. "Two! Three—and away!"

Then Dantes felt himself thrown into the air, and he was falling, falling. His blood ran cold. He was being drawn quickly down by some heavy weight, yet it seemed to him as if the time was a hundred years. At last, with a fearful noise he entered the cold water. As he did so, he gave a cry, which was stopped at once by the water as it closed over him.

Dantes had been thrown into the sea, and was drawn down towards the bottom by a great stone tied to his feet.

The sea was the grave of Chateau d’If.