The Count of Monte Cristo

Back Forward Menu

the provisions his jailer brought him--at first gayly, then with
deliberation, and at last with regret. Nothing but the recollection
of his oath gave him strength to proceed. Hunger made viands once
repugnant, now acceptable; he held the plate in his hand for an hour
at a time, and gazed thoughtfully at the morsel of bad meat, of tainted
fish, of black and mouldy bread. It was the last yearning for life
contending with the resolution of despair; then his dungeon seemed less
sombre, his prospects less desperate. He was still young--he was
only four or five and twenty--he had nearly fifty years to live. What
unforseen events might not open his prison door, and restore him to
liberty? Then he raised to his lips the repast that, like a voluntary
Tantalus, he refused himself; but he thought of his oath, and he
would not break it. He persisted until, at last, he had not sufficient
strength to rise and cast his supper out of the loophole. The next
morning he could not see or hear; the jailer feared he was dangerously
ill. Edmond hoped he was dying.