Dantes passed through all the stages of torture natural toprisoners in suspense. He was sustained at first by thatpride of conscious innocence which is the sequence to hope;then he began to doubt his own innocence, which justified insome measure the governor's belief in his mental alienation;and then, relaxing his sentiment of pride, he addressed hissupplications, not to God, but to man. God is always thelast resource. Unfortunates, who ought to begin with God, donot have any hope in him till they have exhausted all othermeans of deliverance.

Dantes asked to be removed from his present dungeon intoanother; for a change, however disadvantageous, was still achange, and would afford him some amusement. He entreated tobe allowed to walk about, to have fresh air, books, andwriting materials. His requests were not granted, but hewent on asking all the same. He accustomed himself tospeaking to the new jailer, although the latter was, ifpossible, more taciturn than the old one; but still, tospeak to a man, even though mute, was something. Dantesspoke for the sake of hearing his own voice; he had tried tospeak when alone, but the sound of his voice terrified him.Often, before his captivity, Dantes, mind had revolted atthe 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, thechain, and the brand on the shoulder. The galley-slavesbreathed the fresh air of heaven, and saw each other. Theywere very happy. He besought the jailer one day to let himhave a companion, were it even the mad abbe.

The jailer, though rough and hardened by the constant sightof so much suffering, was yet a man. At the bottom of hisheart he had often had a feeling of pity for this unhappyyoung man who suffered so; and he laid the request of number34 before the governor; but the latter sapiently imaginedthat Dantes wished to conspire or attempt an escape, andrefused his request. Dantes had exhausted all humanresources, and he then turned to God.

All the pious ideas that had been so long forgotten,returned; he recollected the prayers his mother had taughthim, and discovered a new meaning in every word; for inprosperity prayers seem but a mere medley of words, untilmisfortune comes and the unhappy sufferer first understandsthe meaning of the sublime language in which he invokes thepity of heaven! He prayed, and prayed aloud, no longerterrified at the sound of his own voice, for he fell into asort of ecstasy. He laid every action of his life before theAlmighty, proposed tasks to accomplish, and at the end ofevery prayer introduced the entreaty oftener addressed toman than to God: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgivethem that trespass against us." Yet in spite of his earnestprayers, Dantes remained a prisoner.

Then gloom settled heavily upon him. Dantes was a man ofgreat simplicity of thought, and without education; he couldnot, therefore, in the solitude of his dungeon, traverse inmental vision the history of the ages, bring to life thenations that had perished, and rebuild the ancient cities sovast and stupendous in the light of the imagination, andthat pass before the eye glowing with celestial colors inMartin's Babylonian pictures. He could not do this, he whosepast life was so short, whose present so melancholy, and hisfuture so doubtful. Nineteen years of light to reflect uponin eternal darkness! No distraction could come to his aid;his energetic spirit, that would have exalted in thusrevisiting 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; heconsidered and reconsidered this idea, devoured it (so tospeak), as the implacable Ugolino devours the skull ofArchbishop Roger in the Inferno of Dante.

Rage supplanted religious fervor. Dantes uttered blasphemiesthat made his jailer recoil with horror, dashed himselffuriously against the walls of his prison, wreaked his angerupon everything, and chiefly upon himself, so that the leastthing, - a grain of sand, a straw, or a breath of air thatannoyed him, led to paroxysms of fury. Then the letter thatVillefort had showed to him recurred to his mind, and everyline gleamed forth in fiery letters on the wall like themene tekel upharsin of Belshazzar. He told himself that itwas the enmity of man, and not the vengeance of heaven, thathad thus plunged him into the deepest misery. He consignedhis unknown persecutors to the most horrible tortures hecould imagine, and found them all insufficient, becauseafter torture came death, and after death, if not repose, atleast the boon of unconsciousness.

By dint of constantly dwelling on the idea that tranquillitywas death, and if punishment were the end in view othertortures than death must be invented, he began to reflect onsuicide. Unhappy he, who, on the brink of misfortune, broodsover ideas like these!

Before him is a dead sea that stretches in azure calm beforethe eye; but he who unwarily ventures within its embracefinds himself struggling with a monster that would drag himdown to perdition. Once thus ensnared, unless the protectinghand of God snatch him thence, all is over, and hisstruggles but tend to hasten his destruction. This state ofmental anguish is, however, less terrible than thesufferings that precede or the punishment that possibly willfollow. There is a sort of consolation at the contemplationof the yawning abyss, at the bottom of which lie darknessand 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 toenter. Dantes reviewed his past life with composure, and,looking forward with terror to his future existence, chosethat middle line that seemed to afford him a refuge.

"Sometimes," said he, "in my voyages, when I was a man andcommanded other men, I have seen the heavens overcast, thesea rage and foam, the storm arise, and, like a monstrousbird, beating the two horizons with its wings. Then I feltthat my vessel was a vain refuge, that trembled and shookbefore the tempest. Soon the fury of the waves and the sightof the sharp rocks announced the approach of death, anddeath then terrified me, and I used all my skill andintelligence as a man and a sailor to struggle against thewrath of God. But I did so because I was happy, because Ihad not courted death, because to be cast upon a bed ofrocks and seaweed seemed terrible, because I was unwillingthat I, a creature made for the service of God, should servefor food to the gulls and ravens. But now it is different; Ihave lost all that bound me to life, death smiles andinvites me to repose; I die after my own manner, I dieexhausted and broken-spirited, as I fall asleep when I havepaced three thousand times round my cell."

No sooner had this idea taken possession of him than hebecame more composed, arranged his couch to the best of hispower, ate little and slept less, and found existence almostsupportable, because he felt that he could throw it off atpleasure, like a worn-out garment. Two methods ofself-destruction were at his disposal. He could hang himselfwith his handkerchief to the window bars, or refuse food anddie of starvation. But the first was repugnant to him.Dantes had always entertained the greatest horror ofpirates, who are hung up to the yard-arm; he would not dieby what seemed an infamous death. He resolved to adopt thesecond, and began that day to carry out his resolve. Nearlyfour years had passed away; at the end of the second he hadceased to mark the lapse of time.

Dantes said, "I wish to die," and had chosen the manner ofhis death, and fearful of changing his mind, he had taken anoath to die. "When my morning and evening meals arebrought," 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 thebarred aperture, the provisions his jailer brought him - atfirst gayly, then with deliberation, and at last withregret. Nothing but the recollection of his oath gave himstrength to proceed. Hunger made viands once repugnant, nowacceptable; he held the plate in his hand for an hour at atime, and gazed thoughtfully at the morsel of bad meat, oftainted fish, of black and mouldy bread. It was the lastyearning for life contending with the resolution of despair;then his dungeon seemed less sombre, his prospects lessdesperate. He was still young - he was only four or fiveand twenty - he had nearly fifty years to live. Whatunforseen events might not open his prison door, and restorehim to liberty? Then he raised to his lips the repast that,like a voluntary Tantalus, he refused himself; but hethought of his oath, and he would not break it. He persisteduntil, at last, he had not sufficient strength to rise andcast his supper out of the loophole. The next morning hecould not see or hear; the jailer feared he was dangerouslyill. Edmond hoped he was dying.

Thus the day passed away. Edmond felt a sort of stuporcreeping over him which brought with it a feeling almost ofcontent; the gnawing pain at his stomach had ceased; histhirst had abated; when he closed his eyes he saw myriads oflights dancing before them like the will-o'-the-wisps thatplay about the marshes. It was the twilight of thatmysterious country called Death!

Suddenly, about nine o'clock in the evening, Edmond heard ahollow sound in the wall against which he was lying.

So many loathsome animals inhabited the prison, that theirnoise did not, in general, awake him; but whether abstinencehad quickened his faculties, or whether the noise was reallylouder than usual, Edmond raised his head and listened. Itwas a continual scratching, as if made by a huge claw, apowerful tooth, or some iron instrument attacking thestones.

Although weakened, the young man's brain instantly respondedto the idea that haunts all prisoners - liberty! It seemedto him that heaven had at length taken pity on him, and hadsent this noise to warn him on the very brink of the abyss.Perhaps one of those beloved ones he had so often thought ofwas thinking of him, and striving to diminish the distancethat separated them.

No, no, doubtless he was deceived, and it was but one ofthose dreams that forerun death!

Edmond still heard the sound. It lasted nearly three hours;he then heard a noise of something falling, and all wassilent.

Some hours afterwards it began again, nearer and moredistinct. Edmond was intensely interested. Suddenly thejailer entered.

For a week since he had resolved to die, and during the fourdays that he had been carrying out his purpose, Edmond hadnot spoken to the attendant, had not answered him when heinquired what was the matter with him, and turned his faceto the wall when he looked too curiously at him; but now thejailer might hear the noise and put an end to it, and sodestroy a ray of something like hope that soothed his lastmoments.

The jailer brought him his breakfast. Dantes raised himselfup and began to talk about everything; about the bad qualityof the food, about the coldness of his dungeon, grumblingand complaining, in order to have an excuse for speakinglouder, and wearying the patience of his jailer, who out ofkindness of heart had brought broth and white bread for hisprisoner.

Fortunately, he fancied that Dantes was delirious; andplacing the food on the rickety table, he withdrew. Edmondlistened, and the sound became more and more distinct.

"There can be no doubt about it," thought he; "it is someprisoner who is striving to obtain his freedom. Oh, if Iwere only there to help him!" Suddenly another idea tookpossession of his mind, so used to misfortune, that it wasscarcely capable of hope - the idea that the noise was madeby workmen the governor had ordered to repair theneighboring dungeon.

It was easy to ascertain this; but how could he risk thequestion? It was easy to call his jailer's attention to thenoise, and watch his countenance as he listened; but mighthe not by this means destroy hopes far more important thanthe short-lived satisfaction of his own curiosity?Unfortunately, Edmond's brain was still so feeble that hecould not bend his thoughts to anything in particular.

He saw but one means of restoring lucidity and clearness tohis judgment. He turned his eyes towards the soup which thejailer had brought, rose, staggered towards it, raised thevessel to his lips, and drank off the contents with afeeling of indescribable pleasure. He had often heard thatshipwrecked persons had died through having eagerly devouredtoo much food. Edmond replaced on the table the bread he wasabout to devour, and returned to his couch - he did notwish to die. He soon felt that his ideas became againcollected - he could think, and strengthen his thoughts byreasoning. Then he said to himself, "I must put this to thetest, but without compromising anybody. If it is a workman,I need but knock against the wall, and he will cease towork, in order to find out who is knocking, and why he doesso; but as his occupation is sanctioned by the governor, hewill soon resume it. If, on the contrary, it is a prisoner,the noise I make will alarm him, he will cease, and notbegin again until he thinks every one is asleep."

Edmond rose again, but this time his legs did not tremble,and his sight was clear; he went to a corner of his dungeon,detached a stone, and with it knocked against the wall wherethe sound came. He struck thrice. At the first blow thesound ceased, as if by magic.

Edmond listened intently; an hour passed, two hours passed,and no sound was heard from the wall - all was silentthere.

Full of hope, Edmond swallowed a few mouthfuls of bread andwater, and, thanks to the vigor of his constitution, foundhimself well-nigh recovered.

The day passed away in utter silence - night came withoutrecurrence of the noise.

"It is a prisoner," said Edmond joyfully. The night passedin perfect silence. Edmond did not close his eyes.

In the morning the jailer brought him fresh provisions - hehad already devoured those of the previous day; he ate theselistening anxiously for the sound, walking round and roundhis cell, shaking the iron bars of the loophole, restoringvigor and agility to his limbs by exercise, and so preparinghimself for his future destiny. At intervals he listened tolearn if the noise had not begun again, and grew impatientat the prudence of the prisoner, who did not guess he hadbeen disturbed by a captive as anxious for liberty ashimself.

Three days passed - seventy-two long tedious hours which hecounted off by minutes!

At length one evening, as the jailer was visiting him forthe last time that night, Dantes, with his ear for thehundredth time at the wall, fancied he heard an almostimperceptible movement among the stones. He moved away,walked up and down his cell to collect his thoughts, andthen went back and listened.

The matter was no longer doubtful. Something was at work onthe other side of the wall; the prisoner had discovered thedanger, and had substituted a lever for a chisel.

Encouraged by this discovery, Edmond determined to assistthe indefatigable laborer. He began by moving his bed, andlooked around for anything with which he could pierce thewall, penetrate the moist cement, and displace a stone.

He saw nothing, he had no knife or sharp instrument, thewindow grating was of iron, but he had too often assuredhimself of its solidity. All his furniture consisted of abed, a chair, a table, a pail, and a jug. The bed had ironclamps, but they were screwed to the wood, and it would haverequired a screw-driver to take them off. The table andchair had nothing, the pail had once possessed a handle, butthat had been removed.

Dantes had but one resource, which was to break the jug, andwith one of the sharp fragments attack the wall. He let thejug fall on the floor, and it broke in pieces.

Dantes concealed two or three of the sharpest fragments inhis bed, leaving the rest on the floor. The breaking of hisjug was too natural an accident to excite suspicion. Edmondhad all the night to work in, but in the darkness he couldnot do much, and he soon felt that he was working againstsomething very hard; he pushed back his bed, and waited forday.

All night he heard the subterranean workman, who continuedto mine his way. Day came, the jailer entered. Dantes toldhim that the jug had fallen from his hands while he wasdrinking, and the jailer went grumblingly to fetch another,without giving himself the trouble to remove the fragmentsof the broken one. He returned speedily, advised theprisoner to be more careful, and departed.

Dantes heard joyfully the key grate in the lock; he listeneduntil the sound of steps died away, and then, hastilydisplacing his bed, saw by the faint light that penetratedinto his cell, that he had labored uselessly the previousevening in attacking the stone instead of removing theplaster that surrounded it.

The damp had rendered it friable, and Dantes was able tobreak it off - in small morsels, it is true, but at the endof half an hour he had scraped off a handful; amathematician might have calculated that in two years,supposing that the rock was not encountered, a passagetwenty feet long and two feet broad, might be formed.

The prisoner reproached himself with not having thusemployed the hours he had passed in vain hopes, prayer, anddespondency. During the six years that he had beenimprisoned, what might he not have accomplished?

In three days he had succeeded, with the utmost precaution,in removing the cement, and exposing the stone-work. Thewall was built of rough stones, among which, to givestrength to the structure, blocks of hewn stone were atintervals imbedded. It was one of these he had uncovered,and which he must remove from its socket.

Dantes strove to do this with his nails, but they were tooweak. The fragments of the jug broke, and after an hour ofuseless toil, he paused.

Was he to be thus stopped at the beginning, and was he towait inactive until his fellow workman had completed histask? Suddenly an idea occurred to him - he smiled, and theperspiration dried on his forehead.

The jailer always brought Dantes' soup in an iron saucepan;this saucepan contained soup for both prisoners, for Danteshad noticed that it was either quite full, or half empty,according as the turnkey gave it to him or to his companionfirst.

The handle of this saucepan was of iron; Dantes would havegiven ten years of his life in exchange for it.

The jailer was accustomed to pour the contents of thesaucepan into Dantes' plate, and Dantes, after eating hissoup with a wooden spoon, washed the plate, which thusserved for every day. Now when evening came Dantes put hisplate on the ground near the door; the jailer, as heentered, stepped on it and broke it.

This time he could not blame Dantes. He was wrong to leaveit there, but the jailer was wrong not to have looked beforehim.

The jailer, therefore, only grumbled. Then he looked aboutfor something to pour the soup into; Dantes' entire dinnerservice consisted of one plate - there was no alternative.

"Leave the saucepan," said Dantes; "you can take it awaywhen you bring me my breakfast." This advice was to thejailer's taste, as it spared him the necessity of makinganother trip. He left the saucepan.

Dantes was beside himself with joy. He rapidly devoured hisfood, and after waiting an hour, lest the jailer shouldchange his mind and return, he removed his bed, took thehandle of the saucepan, inserted the point between the hewnstone and rough stones of the wall, and employed it as alever. A slight oscillation showed Dantes that all wentwell. At the end of an hour the stone was extricated fromthe wall, leaving a cavity a foot and a half in diameter.

Dantes carefully collected the plaster, carried it into thecorner of his cell, and covered it with earth. Then, wishingto make the best use of his time while he had the means oflabor, he continued to work without ceasing. At the dawn ofday he replaced the stone, pushed his bed against the wall,and lay down. The breakfast consisted of a piece of bread;the jailer entered and placed the bread on the table.

"Well, don't you intend to bring me another plate?" saidDantes.

"No," replied the turnkey; "you destroy everything. Firstyou break your jug, then you make me break your plate; ifall the prisoners followed your example, the governmentwould be ruined. I shall leave you the saucepan, and pouryour soup into that. So for the future I hope you will notbe so destructive."

Dantes raised his eyes to heaven and clasped his handsbeneath the coverlet. He felt more gratitude for thepossession of this piece of iron than he had ever felt foranything. He had noticed, however, that the prisoner on theother side had ceased to labor; no matter, this was agreater reason for proceeding - if his neighbor would notcome to him, he would go to his neighbor. All day he toiledon untiringly, and by the evening he had succeeded inextracting ten handfuls of plaster and fragments of stone.When the hour for his jailer's visit arrived, Dantesstraightened the handle of the saucepan as well as he could,and placed it in its accustomed place. The turnkey pouredhis ration of soup into it, together with the fish - forthrice a week the prisoners were deprived of meat. Thiswould have been a method of reckoning time, had not Danteslong ceased to do so. Having poured out the soup, theturnkey retired. Dantes wished to ascertain whether hisneighbor had really ceased to work. He listened - all wassilent, as it had been for the last three days. Dantessighed; it was evident that his neighbor distrusted him.However, he toiled on all the night without beingdiscouraged; but after two or three hours he encountered anobstacle. The iron made no impression, but met with a smoothsurface; Dantes touched it, and found that it was a beam.This beam crossed, or rather blocked up, the hole Dantes hadmade; it was necessary, therefore, to dig above or under it.The unhappy young man had not thought of this. "O my God, myGod!" murmured he, "I have so earnestly prayed to you, thatI hoped my prayers had been heard. After having deprived meof my liberty, after having deprived me of death, afterhaving recalled me to existence, my God, have pity on me,and do not let me die in despair!"

"Who talks of God and despair at the same time?" said avoice that seemed to come from beneath the earth, and,deadened by the distance, sounded hollow and sepulchral inthe young man's ears. Edmond's hair stood on end, and herose to his knees.

"Ah," said he, "I hear a human voice." Edmond had not heardany one speak save his jailer for four or five years; and ajailer is no man to a prisoner - he is a living door, abarrier of flesh and blood adding strength to restraints ofoak and iron.

"In the name of heaven," cried Dantes, "speak again, thoughthe sound of your voice terrifies me. Who are you?"

"Who are you?" said the voice.

"An unhappy prisoner," replied Dantes, who made nohesitation in answering.

"Of what country?"

"A Frenchman."

"Your name?"

"Edmond Dantes."

"Your profession?"

"A sailor."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since the 28th of February, 1815."

"Your crime?"

"I am innocent."

"But of what are you accused?"

"Of having conspired to aid the emperor's return."

"What! For the emperor's return? - the emperor is no longeron the throne, then?"

"He abdicated at Fontainebleau in 1814, and was sent to theIsland of Elba. But how long have you been here that you areignorant of all this?"

"Since 1811."

Dantes shuddered; this man had been four years longer thanhimself in prison.

"Do not dig any more," said the voice; "only tell me howhigh up is your excavation?"

"On a level with the floor."

"How is it concealed?"

"Behind my bed."

"Has your bed been moved since you have been a prisoner?"

"No."

"What does your chamber open on?"

"A corridor."

"And the corridor?"

"On a court."

"Alas!" murmured the voice.

"Oh, what is the matter?" cried Dantes.

"I have made a mistake owing to an error in my plans. I tookthe wrong angle, and have come out fifteen feet from where Iintended. I took the wall you are mining for the outer wallof the fortress."

"But then you would be close to the sea?"

"That is what I hoped."

"And supposing you had succeeded?"

"I should have thrown myself into the sea, gained one of theislands near here - the Isle de Daume or the Isle deTiboulen - and then I should have been safe."

"Could you have swum so far?"

"Heaven would have given me strength; but now all is lost."

"All?"

"Yes; stop up your excavation carefully, do not work anymore, and wait until you hear from me."

"Tell me, at least, who you are?"

"I am - I am No. 27."

"You mistrust me, then," said Dantes. Edmond fancied heheard a bitter laugh resounding from the depths.

"Oh, I am a Christian," cried Dantes, guessing instinctivelythat this man meant to abandon him. "I swear to you by himwho died for us that naught shall induce me to breathe onesyllable to my jailers; but I conjure you do not abandon me.If you do, I swear to you, for I have got to the end of mystrength, that I will dash my brains out against the wall,and you will have my death to reproach yourself with."

"How old are you? Your voice is that of a young man."

"I do not know my age, for I have not counted the years Ihave been here. All I do know is, that I was just nineteenwhen I was arrested, the 28th of February, 1815."

"Not quite twenty-six!" murmured the voice; "at that age hecannot be a traitor."

"Oh, no, no," cried Dantes. "I swear to you again, ratherthan betray you, I would allow myself to be hacked inpieces!"

"You have done well to speak to me, and ask for myassistance, for I was about to form another plan, and leaveyou; but your age reassures me. I will not forget you.Wait."

"How long?"

"I must calculate our chances; I will give you the signal."

"But you will not leave me; you will come to me, or you willlet me come to you. We will escape, and if we cannot escapewe will talk; you of those whom you love, and I of thosewhom I love. You must love somebody?"

"No, I am alone in the world."

"Then you will love me. If you are young, I will be yourcomrade; if you are old, I will be your son. I have a fatherwho is seventy if he yet lives; I only love him and a younggirl called Mercedes. My father has not yet forgotten me, Iam sure, but God alone knows if she loves me still; I shalllove you as I loved my father."

"It is well," returned the voice; "to-morrow."

These few words were uttered with an accent that left nodoubt of his sincerity; Dantes rose, dispersed the fragmentswith the same precaution as before, and pushed his bed backagainst the wall. He then gave himself up to his happiness.He would no longer be alone. He was, perhaps, about toregain his liberty; at the worst, he would have a companion,and captivity that is shared is but half captivity. Plaintsmade in common are almost prayers, and prayers where two orthree are gathered together invoke the mercy of heaven.

All day Dantes walked up and down his cell. He sat downoccasionally on his bed, pressing his hand on his heart. Atthe slightest noise he bounded towards the door. Once ortwice the thought crossed his mind that he might beseparated from this unknown, whom he loved already; and thenhis mind was made up - when the jailer moved his bed andstooped to examine the opening, he would kill him with hiswater jug. He would be condemned to die, but he was about todie of grief and despair when this miraculous noise recalledhim to life.

The jailer came in the evening. Dantes was on his bed. Itseemed to him that thus he better guarded the unfinishedopening. Doubtless there was a strange expression in hiseyes, for the jailer said, "Come, are you going mad again?"

Dantes did not answer; he feared that the emotion of hisvoice would betray him. The jailer went away shaking hishead. Night came; Dantes hoped that his neighbor wouldprofit by the silence to address him, but he was mistaken.The next morning, however, just as he removed his bed fromthe wall, he heard three knocks; he threw himself on hisknees.

"Is it you?" said he; "I am here."

"Is your jailer gone?"

"Yes," said Dantes; "he will not return until the evening;so that we have twelve hours before us."

"I can work, then?" said the voice.

"Oh, yes, yes; this instant, I entreat you."

In a moment that part of the floor on which Dantes wasresting his two hands, as he knelt with his head in theopening, suddenly gave way; he drew back smartly, while amass of stones and earth disappeared in a hole that openedbeneath the aperture he himself had formed. Then from thebottom of this passage, the depth of which it was impossibleto measure, he saw appear, first the head, then theshoulders, and lastly the body of a man, who sprang lightlyinto his cell.