In Chapter 30, The Count of Monte Cristo takes an important turn: Dantès, calling himself Sinbad the Sailor, has just rewarded Morrel and the rest of the crew of the Pharaon—the ship that he should have captained—for helping him. Now, he determines to seek revenge on those who have done him wrong. His announcement of this shift in intentions is rife with hyperbole:
‘And now,’ said the stranger, ‘farewell, goodness, humanity, gratitude … Farewell all those feelings that nourish and illuminate the heart! I have taken the place of Providence to reward the good; now let the avenging God make way for me to punish the wrongdoer!’
In rewarding "the good," Dantès announces, he has acted as Providence itself: he has become an embodiment of divine benevolence. Next, he will become an embodiment of divine retribution, as 'the avenging God' leads him to 'punish the wrongdoer.' This is grandiose language, and evidence of Dantès's inflated sense of purpose and duty as he sets out to right the wrongs of his life. In a novel that explores the relationship between justice, revenge, and divine will, this is also evidence that Dantès—at least at this early stage of his adventure—firmly believes he acts in God's favor and even as an extension of God's own will.
In Chapter 58, Dumas invites the reader into a conversation with Noirtier, the old Monsieur de Villefort himself—an apparently ancient man who has lost the power of speech and movement but nonetheless retains his presence of mind. Dumas introduces Noirtier with a slew of literary devices, including hyperbole, metaphor, simile, and the imagery of light and darkness:
Motionless as a corpse, he greeted his children with bright, intelligent eyes .... Sight and hearing were the only two senses which, like two sparks, still lit up this human matter, already three-quarters remoulded for the tomb. Moreover, only one of these two senses could reveal to the outside world the inner life which animated this statue, and the look which disclosed that inner life was like one of those distant lights which shine at night, to tell a traveller in the desert that another being watches in the silence and the darkness.
Though Noirtier cannot move, Dumas conveys his "inner light" in a wash of visual imagery: his "bright" eyes, like "sparks," light Noirtier up from within. Dumas then uses hyperbole to convey just how close to the grave Noirtier appears to be—"three-quarters" on the way, to be exact, his body well en-route to some sort of self-mummification turning him from human being to metaphorical "statue."
In Chapter 68, Albert discusses his mother, Mercédès, with the Count. As Albert gushes about his fondness for his mother, he makes an allusion to Shakespeare's plays:
You know how I feel about my mother, Count: she is an angel, still beautiful, still witty, finer than ever. I have just come back from Le Tréport. Now, for any other son, just imagine: travelling with his mother would be an act of kindness or an unavoidable burden. Yet I have just spent four days with mine in Le Tréport and I can tell you they were more satisfying, more relaxing and more poetical than if I had been with Queen Mab or Titania.
In Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio describes Queen Mab in passing as a prankster fairy who visits people in their sleep. In Midsummer Night's Dream, meanwhile, Titania is the queen of the fairies who Puck curses to fall in love with a donkey-headed man named Nick Bottom. While Dumas makes frequent allusions to Shakespeare and other works of literature in The Count of Monte Cristo as a means to grant greater weight to his own narrative and invite a reader's greater engagement with his story, the invocations of these fairy characters has potentially greater significance: in the Count's absence, Mercédès has married Mondego despite remaining in love with Dantès—an inversion of Titania's story, in which she falls in love with Nick Bottom despite being married to Oberon. Albert's comparisons of his mother and these two fairy queens invokes the lengthy literary tradition of romantic conflict of which The Count of Monte Cristo is a part.
In Chapter 89, Mercédès finally declares the Count to be Edmond Dantès, her betrothed from all those years ago. In a flourish of hyperbole, the Count can finally reveal the extent of his quest for revenge:
What would you say if you knew the extent of the sacrifice I am making for you? Suppose that the Lord God, after creating the world, after fertilizing the void, had stopped one-third of the way through His creation to spare an angel the tears that our crimes would one day bring to His immortal eyes. Suppose that [...] God had extinguished the sun and with His foot dashed the world into eternal night [...]
In answer to Mercédès, who wonders why he must seek revenge from Albert as well, the Count lets slip the full extent of his grandiose ambitions: he sees himself like God, with his quest for revenge akin to God's plan to create the world itself. For the Count to stop short of his plan for Albert's sake would be like God stopping one-third of the way through Creation for the sake of one angel. This is the most explicit parallel between the Count and God in the Count of Monte Cristo, despite other hints throughout the novel that the Count sees his mission in these divine terms. The role of God's will in the Count's redemption process and the role of revenge in the attempt to seek justice are major themes in The Count of Monte Cristo, and this passage leaves no doubt that, at least in this moment, the Count sees himself on a divinely-ordained path to justice that relies exclusively on ruthless revenge.
In Chapter 111, Villefort arrives home to find a horrifying scene—his wife has killed their son and herself. Rising to the dramatic grandeur of the moment, Dumas caches his description of this scene in a network of allusion and hyperbole in order to make it as affecting as possible:
A moment before, he had been sustained by fury, that huge resource for a strong man; and by despair, the supreme virtue of grief, which drove the Titans to climb the heavens and Ajax to brandish his fist at the gods.
Villefort bent his head under the weight of sorrows, rose up on his knees, shook his hair, which was damp with sweat and standing on end with horror, and this man, who had never had pity on anyone, went to seek out the old man, his father, just so that in his weakness he might have someone to whom to tell his misfortune and someone with whom to weep.
Dumas begins with an invocation of two stories from classical mythology. The first reference is to the legendary ascent of the Titans, Ancient Greek gods who ascended into the heavens themselves in order to overthrow Uranus and rule the universe. The second reference is to the infamous rebuke of the gods made by Ajax the Lesser, who "brandished his fist" at the gods rather than appeal to them for help after a shipwreck and was killed for this transgression by Poseidon.
Dumas's appeal to ancient divine conflict is a means to hyperbolically convey Villefort's grief—his despair is extreme to the point of rivaling those of the gods and heroes of old. So extreme, in fact, as to have a physical impact on Villefort—the "weight of sorrows" bends his head down as he rises to leave the scene.
Dumas frequently alludes to classical literature and myth in The Count of Monte Cristo, and such references serve to intensify the spectacle of his narrative and appeal to the reader's awareness of the thousands of years of art and literature that have depicted these stories again and again. At the very least, for a culturally aware contemporary reader, these allusions would invoke the vivid scenes of classical conflict and horror painted by artists in the 19th century contemporary to Dumas himself—and thereby provide a visual accompaniment to his narrative.