# The Count of Monte-Cristo/Volume 1/Chapter 8

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CHAPTER VIII
THE CHÂTEAU D'IF
HE commissary of police, as he traversed the antechamber, made a sign to two gendarmes, who placed themselves one on Dantès' right and the other on his left. A door that communicated with the Palais de Justice was opened, and they traversed a long range of gloomy corridors, whose appearance might have made even the boldest shudder. The Palais de Justice communicated with the prison, — a somber edifice, that from its gaping windows looks on the clock-tower of the Accoules rising before it. After numberless windings, Dantès saw an iron door and wicket. The commissary knocked thrice, every blow seeming to Dantès as if struck on his heart. The door opened, the two gendarmes gently pushed him forward, and the door closed with a loud sound behind him. The air he inhaled was no longer pure, but thick and mephitic, — he was in prison.
He was conducted to a tolerably neat chamber, but grated and barred, and its appearance, therefore, did not greatly alarm him; besides, the words of Villefort, who seemed to interest himself so much, resounded still in his ears like a promise of hope. It was four o'clock when Dantès was placed in this chamber. It was, as we have said, the 1st of March, and the prisoner was soon buried in darkness. The obscurity augmented the acuteness of his hearing: at the slightest sound he rose and hastened to the door, convinced they were about to liberate him; but the sound died away, and Dantès sank again into his seat. At last, about ten o'clock, and just as Dantès began to despair, sounds were again heard and seemed to approach his chamber; steps echoed in the corridor and stopped at his door, a key turned in the lock, the bolts creaked, the massy oaken door flew open, and a flood of light from two torches pervaded the apartment.
By the torchlight Dantès saw the glittering sabers and carbines of ​four gendarmes. He had advanced at first, but stopped at sight of this fresh accession of force.
"Are you come to fetch me?" asked he.
"Yes," replied a gendarme.
"By the orders of the deputy of the king's procureur?"
"I believe so."
"Well," said Dantès, "I am ready to follow you."
The conviction that they came from M. de Villefort relieved all Dantès' apprehensions; he advanced calmly, and placed himself in the center of the escort. A carriage waited at the street door, the coach man was on the box, and an exempt seated behind him.
"Is this carriage for me?" said Dantès.
"It is for you," replied a gendarme.
Dantès was about to speak, but feeling himself urged forward, and having neither the power nor the intention to resist, he mounted the steps, and was in an instant seated inside between two gendarmes; the two others took their places opposite, and the carriage rolled heavily over the stones.
The prisoner glanced at the windows — they were grated; he had changed his prison for another that was conveying him he knew not whither. Through the close-barred grating, however, Dantès saw they were passing through the Rue Caisserie, and by the Quay Saint-Laurent and the Rue Taramis, to the quay. Soon he saw, through the grating of the coach and the railing of the edifice, the gleam of the lights of La Consigne.
The carriage stopped, the exempt descended, approached the guard house, a dozen soldiers came out and formed themselves in order; Dantès saw the reflection of their muskets by the light of the lamps on the quay.
"Can all this military force be summoned on my account?" thought he.
The exempt opened the door, which was locked, and, without speaking a word, answered Dantès' question; for he saw between the ranks of the soldiers a passage formed from the carriage to the port. The two gendarmes who were opposite to him descended first, then he was ordered to alight, and the gendarmes on each side of him followed his example. They advanced toward a boat, which a custom-house officer held near the quay by a chain.
The soldiers looked at Dantès with an air of stupid curiosity. In an instant he was placed in the stern-sheets of the boat, between the gendarmes, whilst the exempt stationed himself at the bow; a shove sent the boat adrift, and four sturdy oarsmen impelled it rapidly toward the Pilon. At a shout from the boat, the chain that closes the ​mouth of the port was lowered, and in a second they were outside the harbor.
The prisoner's first feeling was joy at again breathing the pure air — for air is freedom, and he eagerly inhaled the fresh breeze that brings
on its wings all the unknown scents of the night and the sea. But he soon sighed, for he passed before La Réserve, where he had that morning been so happy, and now through the open windows came the laughter and revelry of a ball. Dantès folded his hands, raised his eyes to heaven, and prayed fervently.
​The boat continued her voyage. They had passed the Tête de More, were now in front of the light-house, and about to double the battery. This manoeuvre was incomprehensible to Dantès.
"Whither are you taking me?" asked he.
"You will soon know."
"But, still———"
"We are forbidden to give you any explanation." Dantès was half a soldier and knew that nothing would be more absurd than to question subordinates, who were forbidden to reply, and remained silent.
The most vague and wild thoughts passed through his mind. The boat they were in could not make a long voyage; there was no vessel at anchor outside the harbor; he thought perhaps they were going to leave him on some distant point and tell him he was free. He was not bound, nor had they made any attempt to handcuff him; this seemed a good augury. Besides, had not the deputy, who had been so kind to him, told him that, provided he did not pronounce the dreaded name of Noirtier, he had nothing to apprehend? Had not Villefort in his presence destroyed the fatal letter, the only proof against him? He waited silently, striving to pierce through the obscurity of the night with his sailor's eye, accustomed to darkness and distance.
They had left the Ile Ratonneau, where the light-house stood, on the right, and were now opposite the Point des Catalans. His eyesight redoubled its vigor, and it seemed to the prisoner that he could distinguish a female form on the beach, for it was there Mercédès dwelt. How was it that a presentiment did not warn Mercédès her lover was near her?
One light alone was visible; and Dantès recognized it as coming from the chamber of Mercédès. She was the only being awake in the little colony. A loud cry could be heard by her. He did not utter it. A false shame restrained him. What would his guards think if they heard him shout like a madman?
He remained silent, his eyes fixed upon the light; the boat went on, but the prisoner only thought of Mercédès. A rising ground hid the light. Dantès turned and perceived that they had got out to sea. Whilst he had been absorbed in thought, they had hoisted the sail, and the bark was borne onward by the wind.
In spite of his repugnance to address the guards, Dantès turned to the nearest gendarme, and, taking his hand,
"Comrade," said he, "I adjure you, as a Christian and a soldier, to tell me where we are going. I am Captain Dantès, a loyal Frenchman, though accused of I know not what treason; tell me where you are conducting me, and I promise you, on my honor, I will submit to my fate."
​The gendarme scratched his ear and looked irresolutely at his companion, who returned for answer a sign that said, "I see no great harm in telling him now," and the gendarme replied:
"You are a native of Marseilles, and a sailor, and yet you do not know where you are going?"
"On my honor, I have no idea."
"And you cannot guess?"
"I cannot."
"That is impossible."
"I swear to you it is true. Tell me, I entreat."
"But my orders."
"Your orders do not forbid your telling me what I must know in ten minutes, in half an hour, or an hour. You will merely spare me ages of uncertainty. I ask you as if you were my friend. You see I cannot escape, even if I intended."
"Unless you are blind, or have never been outside the harbor, you must know."
"I do not."
"Look round you then."
Dantès rose and looked forward, when he saw rise within a hundred yards of him the black and frowning rock on which stands the Château d'If.
This strange mass, this prison around which such deep terror reigns, this fortress that for three hundred years has filled Marseilles with its gloomy traditions, appearing thus suddenly to Dantès, who was not thinking about it, seemed to him what the scaffold seems to the condemned prisoner.
"The Château d'If?" cried he, "what are we going there for?"
The gendarme smiled.
"I am not going there to be imprisoned," said Dantes; "it is only used for political prisoners. I have committed no crime. Are there any magistrates or judges at the Château d'If?"
"There are only," said the gendarme, "a governor, a garrison, turnkeys, and good thick walls. Come, come, do not look so astonished, or you will make me think you are laughing at me in return for my good nature."
Dantès pressed the gendarme's hand as though he would crush it.
"You think, then," said he, "that I am conducted to the château to be imprisoned there?"
"It is probable; but there is no occasion to squeeze so hard."
"Without any further formality?"
"All the formalities have been gone through."
​"In spite of M. de Villefort's promises?"
"I do not know what M. de Villefort promised you," said the gendarme, "but I know we are taking you to the Château d'If. But what are you doing? — Help! comrades, help!"
By a rapid movement, which the gendarme's practiced eye had perceived, Dantès sprang forward to precipitate himself into the sea; but four vigorous arms seized him as his feet quitted the flooring of the boat. He fell back, foaming with rage.
"Good!" said the gendarme, placing his knee on his chest; "this is the way you keep your word as a sailor! Believe soft-spoken gentlemen again! Hark ye, my friend, I have disobeyed my first order, but I will not disobey the second; and if you move, I lodge a bullet in your brain."
And he leveled his carbine at Dantès, who felt the muzzle touch his head.
For a moment the idea of struggling crossed his mind, and of thus ending the unexpected evil that had overtaken him. But just because it was unexpected, he believed it would not last long, and he bethought him of Villefort's promise; and, besides, death in a boat from the hand of a gendarme seemed too repulsive. He remained motionless, but gnashing his teeth with fury.
At this moment a violent shock made the bark tremble. One of the sailors leaped on the rock which the bow had just touched, a cord creaked as it ran through a pulley, and Dantès guessed they were at the end of the voyage and mooring the boat.
His guardians, taking hold of his arms and collar, forced him to rise and land, and dragged him toward the steps that lead to the gate of the fortress, whilst the exempt followed, armed with a carbine and bayonet.
Dantès made no resistance; he was dazed and tottering like a drunken man; he saw soldiers who stationed themselves on the sides; he felt himself forced up fresh stairs; he perceived he passed through a door, and the door closed behind him; but all this as mechanically as through a mist, nothing distinctly. He did not even see the sea, that terror of prisoners who regard its expanse with the awful feeling that they cannot cross it.
They halted for a minute, during which he strove to collect his thoughts. He looked around: he was in a square court surrounded by four high walls; he heard the measured tread of sentinels, and as they passed before the light reflected on the walls from two or three lamps in the interior of the fortress, he saw the barrels of their muskets shine.
They waited upward of ten minutes. Certain 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, its wick floating in stinking fat, illumined the apartment faintly, and showed Dantès the features of his conductor, an under-jailer, ill-clothed, and of sullen appearance.
"Here is your chamber for to-night," said he. "It is late, and Monsieur le Gouverneur is asleep. To-morrow perhaps, when he awakes and has examined the orders concerning you, he may change you. In the mean time there are 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 jailer placed his bread, or where the water was, before he had glanced toward the corner where the straw was, the jailer disappeared, taking with him the lamp, whose dull rays showed him the dripping walls of his prison.
Dantès was alone in darkness and in silence, mute as the vault above him, and cold as the shadows that fell on his burning forehead. With the first dawn of day the jailer returned, with orders to leave Dantès where he was. He found the prisoner in the same position, as if fixed there by an iron hand, his eyes swollen with weeping. He had passed the night standing, and without sleep. The jailer advanced; Dantes appeared not to perceive him. He touched him on the shoulder; Edmond started.
"Have you not slept?" said the jailer.
"I do not know," replied Dantes.
The jailer stared.
"Are you hungry?" continued he.
"I do not know."
"Do you wish for anything?"
"I wish to see the governor."
The jailer shrugged his shoulders and left the chamber.
Dantes followed him with his eyes, and stretched forth his hands toward the open door; but the door closed. All his emotion then burst forth, tears streamed from his swollen lids in rivulets; he cast himself on the ground, praying, recalling all his past life, and asking himself what crime he had committed that he, still so young, was thus punished.
​The day passed thus; he scarcely tasted food; at times he sat rapt in thought, at times he 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 diving, for which he was famous, have disappeared beneath the water, eluded his keepers, have gained the shore, concealed himself until the arrival of a Genoese or Spanish vessel, and escaped to Spain or Italy, where Mercédès 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 then have been free and happy with Mercédès and his father, for his father must come too, 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 jailer made his appearance.
"Well," said the jailer, "are you more reasonable to-day?"
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 jailer saw by his tone he would be happy to die; and as every prisoner is worth sixpence a day to his jailer, the man, after reflecting on the loss his death would cause him, replied in a more subdued tone:
"What you ask is impossible. Do not ask it again. The governor never comes to a prisoner's cell; but if you are very well behaved, you will be allowed to walk about, and some day you will meet the governor. You can ask him, and if he chooses to reply, that is his affair."
"But," asked Dantes, "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 jailer, "do not always brood over what is impossible, or you will be mad in a fortnight."
"You think so?"
"Yes; they all begin in this way. We have an instance here: it was by always offering a million of francs to the governor for his liberty that the abbé who was in this chamber before you became mad."
​"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 a letter — no, not even a letter; just 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 to tell the governor that I wish to speak with him; 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 jailer, 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 jailer, "you shall see the governor at once."
"That is right," returned Dantes, dropping the stool and sitting on it as if he were in reality mad.
The jailer 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 story 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 opened, and he entered, murmuring, "He is right; the madman with the madmen!" The door closed, and Dantès advanced with outstretched hands until he touched the wall; he then sat down in the corner until his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The jailer was right; Dantès wanted but little of being utterly mad.