Edmond is Put Behind Bars

Chapter 4

The captain led Edmond across a courtyard and into an unheated building. Its windows were small and barred. As the captain passed, the soldiers stood at attention. After walking down two flights of stairs, Edmond was motioned into a bare room, with a table and a cot as its only furnishings. After the captain had shut the door, Edmond heard a bolt being drawn. He was a prisoner in a cell. But Ed­mond was not worried by his situation, for the assistant Prosecutor himself had declared him innocent. Edmond sat down on the cot to wait.
As the hours passed, Edmond consulted his watch more and more anxiously. He was especially concerned that his father and Mercedes would be worrying about him. He kept reminding himself of the kindness and understanding that Villefort had shown.
Finally, six hours later, the bolt was drawn. Four armed soldiers summoned him out. Edmond stepped eagerly into the corridor, but was not led back to Villefort’s office as he expected. Instead, he was led upstairs and into the dark street where a carriage waited. Certain that there must be another mistake, Edmond hesitated to climb in. But the soldiers gave him a shove, and he climbed in quickly. Two soldiers placed themselves on either side of him, and the carriage set off.
Soon Edmond began to smell the sea, and he knew they were nearing the docks. In another moment, the carriage stopped. Edmond was hustled out and pushed towards a waiting rowboat, manned by four men. A soldier waiting on the dock appeared to be in charge. He listened to the instructions whispered by the two soldiers and nodded.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Edmond, now very alarmed. He was sure he had been mistaken for another prisoner. “I am Edmond Dantes,” said he.
“We know,” said the man in charge of the boat, “Get in.” He put a hand on Edmond’s shoulder and forced him to jump down into the boat. He followed Edmond in, then gave the command to shove off.
The only point of light Edmond could see on the water was the lighthouse. But the rowers did not strain their eyes to see in the dark. They pulled steadily and confidently as if the course they rowed was a familiar one.
After his long confinement in the small cell, Edmond was grateful to smell the fresh sea air. But why should he be in a rowboat in the middle of the night, he did not know where he was going?
“Where are you taking me?” he demanded angrily, “Does Monsieur Villefort know what you are doing?”
These questions annoyed the man in charge, for he frowned. “Don’t pretend,” he answered, “You come from Marseilles, don’t you? Everybody knows that pile of rocks.” He gestured towards a dark fortress that they were approaching. It was the only structure on the small, rocky island just outside the harbour.
Edmond looked where he pointed, then turned back with a gasp. “Not the Chateau d’If! Why is that is a prison he exclaimed?”
At this last statement the man laughed and observed, “And you, my friend, are a prisoner.”
“But I am innocent of any crime,” protested Edmond wildly, “I have not even had a trial. Monsieur Villefort released me.”
The boat scraped against stone steps. One sailor jumped out and tied the boat to a ring cemented to a massive stone wall. With a nod, the man in charge indicated that Edmond was to proceed up the steps. He did so in a daze. At the top of the steps, the man in charge kicked at a heavy door. After a wait of some minutes, the door swung open to receive their party. Another door, guarded by two soldiers, barred their way. After a whispered consultation with the boatman, one soldier took Edmond by the elbow and led him through the second door­way.
Thus, on the 28th of February, 1815, Ed­mond Dantes entered the Chateau d’If, a prison.
Edmond was hurried down steep stone steps into a cell. Dampness and evil odours surrounded him. By the light of the jailor’s lantern he saw that the cell contained a chair, a table, a pail, and a cot with straw and a blanket thrown on top. While one jailor brought in some bread and a jug of water, another stood guard. But it was not necessary, for Edmond was so bewildered by what was happening to him that he was too weak to move and too dazed to even breathe. When the jailors left and he heard the iron door clang shut, he sank to the floor where he had been standing.
The next morning, Edmond’s jailor found him still hunched over on the stone floor. He had not eaten or drunk or slept. When the jailor poked him, the spell of confusion broke at last, and Edmond wept wildly.
When the jailor had gone, Edmond screamed at his closed door, demanding to know what crime he had committed. After a time, he sank into a despairing heap and stared at the floor again.
When his jailor returned and saw that he had not eaten, he spoke encouragingly to him. The jailor was paid according to the number of prisoners he had to care for. If Edmond should die of starvation, the jailor’s salary would be reduced. “You must keep up your strength,” he told Edmond, “Perhaps in a year or two they will let you appeal your sentence. Others have been permitted to do so,” the Jailor said.
“A year or two!” Edmond was shocked, “I must speak to Monsieur Villefort now. Listen, please. I will pay you to take a message to him. And another one to a young girl called Mer­cedes in Marseilles.”
The jailor laughed loudly. “I would be fired if I were caught carrying messages for prisoners,” he explained, “You could not pay me enough to make me endanger my job. There is one prisoner here, a mad priest, who frequently offers me a million Francs to help him.”
Now Edmond stood up, showing himself to be a strong young man. He said in a quiet but positive manner, “If you do not help me, one time when you enter this cell, I will be behind the door. I will seize you and choke the life out of you.”

At this, the jailor ran from the cell. He returned a few minutes later with six soldiers, all armed with guns. The soldiers forced Edmond from the cell and thrust him into a dungeon at the end of a dark corridor. There, Edmond closed his eyes and wondered if he was going mad.
The days and nights passed slowly for Edmond. His jailors hardly spoke to him, and they never used his name. He was known simply as ‘Number 34,’ for that was the number of his dungeon. Starved for conversation, Edmond begged his jailor for a few words. But the man merely shook his head “no,” put down the day’s meal and did not even glance at Edmond. Edmond talked out loud to himself constantly. Once, he had pitied galley-slaves, but now he saw that they had some happiness. At least, they breathed the sea air, and they had one another for com­panionship. Edmond had nothing.
A year passed this way, and Edmond stopped trying to keep track of the date. He begged his jailors to let him go for a walk, to give him books, anything to pass the time. But his pleas were refused. Then, he began to think about religion and pleaded with his jailor to permit him to see the prisoner they called “the mad priest.” ‘He is still a man of the church,’ thought Edmond, ‘and he will guide me in my prayers for release’. But this visit was never permitted.
Another year passed, and Edmond grew furious with his lot in life. He stopped praying and began to curse everyone who might have acted to imprison him. But he was so uneducated and so inexperienced in wordly matters that he could not imagine who would have wanted to harm him. Being young, he did not have many memories, so his boredom with his own thoughts became more intense.
As the years passed, four…six…eight…ten, Edmond feared he was going mad. Sometime in his twelfth year, Edmond came to a decision. “I wish to die,” he said aloud, “I swear that I shall never eat or drink again.”
When his dinner was brought that evening, Edmond threw it out of the small, barred window into the sea. He was intent on keeping his jailor from knowing what was happening, for he feared the prison authorities might order him fed by force.
For a whole week, he threw out his food and drink, but the lack of water quickly sickened him. As Edmond grew weaker and weaker, it was all he could do to totter to the window and empty out his dish and mug. His jailor saw his weakness and thought he must be wasting away from some terrible illness.
Finally one evening, Edmond felt sure his end was near. He was almost happy as he drifted into a kind of twilight of half-sleeping and half-waking. Silently, he blessed his father and Mercedes. His breathing grew more and more shallow. In another hour, the suffering and the life of ‘Number 34’ would be over.

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