Reading Help The Count of Monte Cristo Ch.11-39
inspector could not contend against this accusation; he `
` simply wrote, -- "Nothing to be done." `
` `
` This visit had infused new vigor into Dantes; he had, till `
` then, forgotten the date; but now, with a fragment of `
` plaster, he wrote the date, 30th July, 1816, and made a mark `
` every day, in order not to lose his reckoning again. Days `
` and weeks passed away, then months -- Dantes still waited; `
` he at first expected to be freed in a fortnight. This `
` fortnight expired, he decided that the inspector would do `
` nothing until his return to Paris, and that he would not `
` reach there until his circuit was finished, he therefore `
` fixed three months; three months passed away, then six more. `
` Finally ten months and a half had gone by and no favorable `
` change had taken place, and Dantes began to fancy the `
` inspector's visit but a dream, an illusion of the brain. `
` `
` At the expiration of a year the governor was transferred; he `
` had obtained charge of the fortress at Ham. He took with him `
` several of his subordinates, and amongst them Dantes' `
` jailer. A new governor arrived; it would have been too `
` tedious to acquire the names of the prisoners; he learned `
` their numbers instead. This horrible place contained fifty `
` cells; their inhabitants were designated by the numbers of `
` their cell, and the unhappy young man was no longer called `
` Edmond Dantes -- he was now number 34. `
` `
` `
` `
` Chapter 15 `
` Number 34 and Number 27. `
` `
` Dantes 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. `
` `
` Dantes 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. Dantes `
` 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, Dantes' 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 abbe. `
` `
` 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 Dantes wished to conspire or attempt an escape, and `
` refused his request. Dantes 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, Dantes remained a prisoner. `
` `
` Then gloom settled heavily upon him. Dantes 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. Dantes 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. Dantes 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. `
` Dantes 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. `
` `
` Dantes 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 `
`
` simply wrote, -- "Nothing to be done." `
` `
` This visit had infused new vigor into Dantes; he had, till `
` then, forgotten the date; but now, with a fragment of `
` plaster, he wrote the date, 30th July, 1816, and made a mark `
` every day, in order not to lose his reckoning again. Days `
` and weeks passed away, then months -- Dantes still waited; `
` he at first expected to be freed in a fortnight. This `
` fortnight expired, he decided that the inspector would do `
` nothing until his return to Paris, and that he would not `
` reach there until his circuit was finished, he therefore `
` fixed three months; three months passed away, then six more. `
` Finally ten months and a half had gone by and no favorable `
` change had taken place, and Dantes began to fancy the `
` inspector's visit but a dream, an illusion of the brain. `
` `
` At the expiration of a year the governor was transferred; he `
` had obtained charge of the fortress at Ham. He took with him `
` several of his subordinates, and amongst them Dantes' `
` jailer. A new governor arrived; it would have been too `
` tedious to acquire the names of the prisoners; he learned `
` their numbers instead. This horrible place contained fifty `
` cells; their inhabitants were designated by the numbers of `
` their cell, and the unhappy young man was no longer called `
` Edmond Dantes -- he was now number 34. `
` `
` `
` `
` Chapter 15 `
` Number 34 and Number 27. `
` `
` Dantes 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. `
` `
` Dantes 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. Dantes `
` 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, Dantes' 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 abbe. `
` `
` 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 Dantes wished to conspire or attempt an escape, and `
` refused his request. Dantes 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, Dantes remained a prisoner. `
` `
` Then gloom settled heavily upon him. Dantes 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. Dantes 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. Dantes 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. `
` Dantes 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. `
` `
` Dantes 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 `
`