The Count of Monte Cristo

Rebuilt Sea Gallery Blocks Escape

As if fate resolved to deprive the prisoners of their last hope, a new misfortune strikes: the sea-side gallery, long in ruins, has been completely rebuilt, and the hole Dantès had partly filled in is now blocked with massive stones. Had it not been for Faria’s earlier precaution in warning Edmond, the discovery of their escape attempt would have led to their certain separation. A new, stronger, and inexorable barrier now cuts off the realization of their hopes.

Dantès Values Faria Over Material Treasure

Dantès tells Faria with sorrowful resignation that God has removed any merit from his devotion, since he could no longer break his promise to stay if he wished. Declaring the treasure no more his than Faria’s, Dantès affirms that his real treasure is not what awaits him beneath Monte Cristo’s sombre rocks, but Faria’s presence, the five or six hours they spend together daily, and the knowledge Faria has awakened in him—languages, sciences, principles that have enriched his mind and soul. This, he insists, is better than tons of gold or cases of diamonds, and is a fortune no sovereign, not even Cæsar Borgia, could take from him.

Faria’s Escape and Treasure Instructions

Though not exactly happy, the days pass quickly for the two unfortunates. Faria, who had long kept silent about the treasure, now speaks of it constantly. As he prophesied, he remains paralyzed in the right arm and left leg and has abandoned hope of enjoying the treasure himself, but he schemes ceaselessly about Dantès’ escape and the pleasure his protégé will have. For fear the letter could be lost or stolen, Faria compels Dantès to memorize it from first to last word, then destroys the second portion. Faria spends whole hours instructing Dantès on what to do once free: reach Monte Cristo under some innocent pretext, search the appointed spot—the farthest angle in the second opening—and recover the treasure.

Faria’s Fatal Seizure and Parting Words

While the hours pass tolerably, Faria regains his mental clarity even as his body remains paralyzed. He teaches Dantès the sublime duty of a prisoner who learns to make something from nothing, keeping himself busy so as not to feel himself growing old, while Dantès works to keep the nearly extinct past at bay. Beneath this superficial calm, however, many repressed desires and stifled sighs lie hidden in both hearts. One night Edmond wakes suddenly, hearing a plaintive voice calling his name from Faria’s dungeon. Rushing through the secret passage, he finds the old man pale but erect, clinging to his bedstead, his features writhing with the horrible symptoms of a seizure. Faria, in a resigned tone, explains that Dantès must not call for help, for their communication would be discovered and Dantès would be lost. The dungeon will soon be occupied by another prisoner who may be young, strong, and better able to help Dantès escape; Faria was only a hindrance, a half-dead body tied to him as a drag. Dantès insists he will save Faria as he did before and retrieves the phial, still a third full of the red liquor. Faria warns that he feels the chills of death approaching, his teeth chattering, his bones seeming to dislocate; in five minutes the malady will reach its height, and in a quarter of an hour there will be nothing left of him but a corpse. He instructs Dantès to give him twelve drops this time, and if he does not recover, to pour the rest down his throat. After blessing Dantès as a priceless gift and wishing him all the happiness and prosperity he deserves, Faria is struck by a violent convulsion. His eyes become injected with blood as if a torrent had rushed from his chest to his head. With his final effort, he cries out, “Monte Cristo, forget not Monte Cristo!” and falls back on the bed, a rigid, distorted corpse with twisted limbs, swollen eyelids, and lips flecked with bloody foam.