"True," Faria replied, "we are prisoners. But sometimes I forget that, and there are moments when my mind takes me beyond these walls and I imagine myself free."
"But why are you here?" Dantès asked.
"Because in 1807 I dreamed of the same plan Napoleon tried in 1811. Like Machiavelli, I wanted to change the political face of Italy. Instead of letting it remain split up into dozens of small territories, each ruled by some weak or tyrannical leader, I tried to create one large, united, powerful empire.
And finally, because I thought I’d found my ideal leader in a crowned fool who pretended to support my ideas only to betray me. It was the same plan others had tried before, but it will never work now. They failed, and Napoleon couldn’t finish his work either. Italy seems doomed to misfortune." The old man bowed his head.
Dantès couldn’t understand risking your life for such things. He knew something about Napoleon since he’d seen and spoken with him, but he’d never heard of these other historical figures.
"Aren’t you," he asked, "the priest who everyone here at the Château d’If thinks is... unwell?"
"I didn’t want to put it that way," Dantès said, smiling.
"Well then," Faria replied with a bitter smile, "let me answer completely by admitting that yes, I am the poor mad prisoner of the Château d’If. For years they’ve let me entertain visitors with what they call my insanity. I’d probably be promoted to entertaining children too, if innocent beings like that could be found in a place devoted to suffering and despair ."
Dantès was quiet for a moment. Finally he said, "So you’ve given up all hope of escape?"
"I see that it’s utterly impossible, and I think it would be wrong to attempt something God clearly doesn’t approve of."
"Don’t lose hope! Isn’t it asking too much to expect success on your first try? Why not look for an opening in a different direction from the one that failed?"
"Ah, you have no idea what it cost me to achieve something that was so unexpectedly ruined, or you wouldn’t talk about starting over. First, it took me four years to make the tools I have. Then I spent two years scraping and digging through earth as hard as granite. What effort it took to move huge stones I once thought impossible to budge!
I spent entire days in these massive labors, considering myself well-rewarded if by nightfall I’d managed to scrape away just one square inch of cement that had hardened over the ages into something as tough as the stones themselves.
Then, to hide all the dirt and rubble I dug up, I had to break through a staircase and dump everything into the hollow part underneath. But now that space is so completely filled that I don’t think I could add even another handful of dust without being discovered. Consider also that I fully believed I had accomplished my goal, for which I had carefully preserved my strength to last exactly until the end of my project.
Now, just when I thought I would succeed, my hopes are completely crushed. No, I repeat, nothing will make me try again when it’s clearly against God’s will."
Dantès hung his head so the other man wouldn’t see how his joy at having a companion outweighed his sympathy for the failure of the priest’s plans.
Faria sank down on Edmond’s bed while Edmond remained standing. Escape had never occurred to him before. There are some things that seem so impossible that your mind doesn’t even consider them. To dig underground for fifty feet, to spend three years on work that, even if successful, would only get you to a cliff overlooking the sea, to throw yourself into the waves from fifty, sixty, maybe a hundred feet up, risking being smashed against the rocks if you were lucky enough to avoid being shot by the guards, and even if you survived all that, you’d still have to swim at least three miles to reach shore. These difficulties were so overwhelming that Dantès had never even dreamed of such a plan, accepting death instead.
But seeing an old man clinging to life with such desperate courage gave him a new perspective and inspired fresh determination. Someone older and weaker than him had attempted what he’d never had the resolve to try, and had failed only because of a calculation error. This same person had shown almost incredible patience and persistence in creating the tools needed for such an unprecedented attempt.
If someone else had done all this, why was it impossible for Dantès? Faria had dug fifty feet, Dantès would dig a hundred. Faria, at fifty years old, had devoted three years to the task. He, only half that age, would sacrifice six years. Faria, a priest and scholar, hadn’t hesitated to risk his life swimming three miles to one of the nearby islands. Should he, a tough sailor and experienced diver, shrink from the same challenge? Should someone who had often dove to the ocean floor just for fun, fetching up bright coral branches, hesitate to consider the same plan?
He could do it in an hour, and how many times had he stayed in the water twice as long just for pleasure! Right then Dantès decided to follow his energetic companion’s brave example and remember that what had been done once could be done again.
After thinking deeply for some time, the young man suddenly exclaimed, "I’ve found what you were looking for!"
Faria jumped. "Really?" he cried, raising his head with quick excitement. "Tell me what you’ve discovered!"
"The corridor you dug from your cell to here runs in the same direction as the outer walkway, right?"
"And it’s no more than fifteen feet away from it?" ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel·fiɾe·net
"Well, here’s what we need to do. We’ll break through the corridor by making a side passage about halfway along, like the top part of a cross. This time you’ll plan more accurately. We’ll get into that walkway you described, overcome the guard, and make our escape. All we need for success is courage, which you have, and strength, which I have plenty of. As for patience, you’ve proven yours. Now you’ll see me prove mine."