The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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       14 In the Dungeons

      A YEAR AFTER the restoration of Louis XVIII, a visit was made by the inspector-general of prisons.

      Dantès heard from the recesses of his cell the noises made by the preparations for receiving him,—sounds that at the depth where he lay would have been inaudible to any but the ear of a prisoner, who could distinguish the plash of the drop of water that every hour fell from the roof of his dungeon. He guessed something uncommon was passing among the living; but he had so long ceased to have any intercourse with the world, that he looked upon himself as dead.

      The inspector visited the cells and dungeons, one after another, of several of the prisoners, whose good behaviour or stupidity recommended them to the clemency of the government; the inspector inquired how they were fed, and if they had anything to demand. The universal response was, that the fare was detestable, and that they required their freedom.

      The inspector asked if they had anything else to demand. They shook their heads! What could they desire beyond their liberty?

      The inspector turned smilingly to the governor.

      “I do not know what reason government can assign for these useless visits; when you see one prisoner you see all—always the same thing—ill-fed and innocent. Are there any others?”

      “Yes; the dangerous and mad prisoners are in the dungeons.”

      “Let us visit them,” said the inspector, with an air of fatigue. “I must fulfil my mission. Let us descend.”

      “Let us first send for two soldiers,” said the governor. “The prisoners sometimes, through mere uneasiness of life, and in order to be sentenced to death, commit acts of useless violence, and you might fall a victim.”

      “Take all needful precautions,” replied the inspector.

      Two soldiers were accordingly sent for, and the inspector descended a stair so foul, so humid, so dark, that the very sight affected the eye, the smell, and the respiration.

      “Oh,” cried the inspector, “who can live here?”

      “A most dangerous conspirator, a man we are ordered to keep the most strict watch over, as he is daring and resolute.”

      “He is alone?”

      “Certainly.”

      “How long has he been there?”

      “Nearly a year.”

      “Was he placed here when he first arrived?”

      “No, not until he attempted to kill the turnkey.”

      “To kill the turnkey!”

      “Yes, the very one who is lighting us. Is it not true, Antoine?” asked the governor.

      “True enough; he wanted to kill me!” replied the turnkey.

      “He must be mad,” said the inspector.

      “He is worse than that; he is a devil!” returned the turnkey.

      “Shall I complain of him?” demanded the inspector.

      “Oh, no; it is useless. Besides, he is almost mad now, and in another year he will be quite so.”

      “So much the better for him; he will suffer less,” said the inspector.

      He was, as this remark shows, a man full of philanthropy, and in every way fit for his office.

      “You are right, sir,” replied the governor; “and this remark proves that you have deeply considered the subject. Now we have in a dungeon about twenty feet distant, and to which you descend by another stair, an abbé, ancient leader of a party in Italy, who has been here since 1811, and in 1813 he went mad, and the change is astonishing. He used to weep, he now laughs; he grew thin, he now grows fat. You had better see him, for his madness is amusing.”

      “I will see them both,” returned the inspector; “I must conscientiously perform my duty.”

      This was the inspector’s first visit: he wished to display his authority.

      “Let us visit this one first,” added he.

      “Willingly,” replied the governor, and he signed to the turnkey to open the door. At the sound of the key turning in the lock, and the creaking of the hinges, Dantès, who was crouched in a corner of the dungeon, raised his head.

      At the sight of a stranger, lighted by two turnkeys, accompanied by two soldiers, and to whom the governor spoke bareheaded, Dantès, who guessed the truth, and that the moment to address himself to the superior authorities was come, sprang forward with clasped hands.

      The soldiers presented their bayonets, for they thought he was about to attack the inspector, and the latter recoiled two or three steps. Dantès saw he was represented as a dangerous prisoner. Then infusing all the humility he possessed into his eyes and voice, he addressed the inspector, and sought to inspire him with pity.

      The inspector listened attentively; then turning to the governor, observed, “He will become religious—he is already more gentle; he is afraid, and retreated before the bayonets—madmen are not afraid of anything; I made some curious observations on this at Charenton.” Then turning to the prisoner, “What do you demand?” said he.

      “What crime I have committed—to be tried; and if I am guilty, may be shot; if innocent, I may be set at liberty.”