The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
They halted for a minute, during which he strove to collect his thoughts; he looked around; he was in a court surrounded by high walls; he heard the measured tread of sentinels, and as they passed before the light he saw the barrels of their muskets shine.
They waited upwards of ten minutes. Captain Dantès could not escape, the gendarmes released him; they seemed awaiting orders. The orders arrived.
“Where is the prisoner?” said a voice.
“Here,” replied the gendarmes.
“Let him follow me; I am going to conduct him to his room.”
“Go!” said the gendarmes, pushing Dantès.
The prisoner followed his conductor, who led him into a room almost under ground, whose bare and reeking walls seemed as though impregnated with tears; a lamp placed on a stool illumined the apartment faintly, and showed Dantès the features of his conductor; an under-gaoler, ill-clothed, and of sullen appearance.
“Here is your chamber for tonight,” said he. “It is late, and Monsieur le Gouverneur is asleep; tomorrow, perhaps, he may change you. In the meantime there is bread, water, and fresh straw, and that is all a prisoner can wish for. Good night!”
And before Dantès could open his mouth,—before he had noticed where the gaoler placed his bread or the water,—before he had glanced towards the corner where the straw was, the gaoler disappeared, taking with him the lamp.
Dantès was alone in darkness and in silence: cold as the shadows that he felt breathe on his burning forehead.
With the first dawn of day the gaoler returned, with orders to leave Dantès where he was. He found the prisoner in the same position, as if fixed there,—his eyes swollen with weeping.
He had passed the night standing and without sleep.
The gaoler advanced; Dantès appeared not to perceive him.
He touched him on the shoulder: Edmond started.
“Have you not slept?” said the gaoler.
“I do not know,” replied Dantès.
The gaoler stared.
“Are you hungry?” continued he.
“I do not know.”
“Do you wish for anything?”
“I wish to see the governor.”
The gaoler shrugged his shoulders and left the chamber.
Dantès followed him with his eyes, and stretched forth his hands towards the open door; but the door closed.
All his emotion then burst forth; he cast himself on the ground, weeping bitterly, and asking himself what crime he had committed that he was thus punished.
The day passed thus; he scarcely tasted food, but walked round and round the cell like a wild beast in its cage.
One thought in particular tormented him, namely, that during his journey hither he had sat so still, whereas he might, a dozen times, have plunged into the sea, and, thanks to his powers of swimming, for which he was famous, have gained the shore, concealed himself until the arrival of a Genoese or Spanish vessel; escaped to Spain or Italy, where Mercédès and his father could have joined him. He had no fears as to how he should live; good seamen are welcome everywhere; he spoke Italian like a Tuscan, and Spanish like a Castilian; he would have then been happy, whereas he was now confined in the Château d’If, ignorant of the future destiny of his father and Mercédès; and all this because he had trusted to Villefort’s promise. The thought was maddening, and Dantès threw himself furiously down on his straw.
The next morning the gaoler made his appearance.
“Well,” said the gaoler, “are you more reasonable today?”
Dantès made no reply.
“Come, take courage, do you want anything in my power to do for you?”
“I wish to see the governor.”
“I have already told you it was impossible.”
“Why so?”
“Because it is not allowed by the rules.”
“What is allowed, then?”
“Better fare, if you pay for it, books, and leave to walk about.”
“I do not want books, I am satisfied with my food, and I do not care to walk about; but I wish to see the governor.”
“If you worry me by repeating the same thing I will not bring you any more to eat.”
“Well, then,” said Edmond, “if you do not, I shall die of famine, that is all.”
The gaoler saw by his tone he would be happy to die; and, as every prisoner is worth sixpence a day to his gaoler, he replied in a more subdued tone:
“What you ask is impossible; but if you are very well behaved you will be allowed to walk about, and some day you will meet the governor; and if he chooses to reply, that is his affair.”
“But,” asked Dantès, “how long shall I have to wait?”
“Ah! a month—six months—a year.”
“It is too long a time. I wish to see him at once.”
“Ah!” said the gaoler, “do not always brood over what is impossible, or you will be mad in a fortnight.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, we have an instance here; it was by always offering a million of francs to the governor for his liberty that an abbé became mad, who was in this chamber before you.”
“How long has he left it?”
“Two years.”
“Was he liberated then?”
“No; he was put in a dungeon.”
“Listen!” said Dantès. “I am not an abbé, I am not mad; perhaps I shall be; but at present, unfortunately, I am not. I will make you another offer.”
“What is that?”
“I do not offer you a million, because I have it not; but I will give you a hundred crowns if the first time you go to Marseilles you will seek out a young girl, named Mercédès, at the Catalans, and give her two lines from me.”
“If I took them, and were detected, I should lose my place, which is worth two thousand francs a year; so that I should be a great fool to run such a risk for three hundred.”
“Well,” said Dantès, “mark this, if you refuse, at least, to tell Mercédès I am here, I will some day hide myself behind the door, and when you enter, I will dash out your brains with this stool.”
“Threats!” cried the gaoler, retreating, and putting himself on the defensive; “you are certainly going mad. The abbé began like you; and in three days you will want a strait-waistcoat; but, fortunately, there are dungeons here.”
Dantès whirled the stool round his head.
“Oh!” said the gaoler, “you shall see the governor at once.”
“That is right,” returned Dantès, dropping the stool, and sitting on it as if he were in reality mad.
The gaoler went out, and returned in an instant with a corporal and four soldiers.
“By the governor’s orders,” said he, “conduct the prisoner to the storey beneath.”
“To the dungeon, then,” said the corporal.
“Yes, we must put the madman with the madmen.”
The soldiers seized Dantès, who followed passively.
He descended fifteen steps, and the door of a dungeon was