In Chapter 15, Dantès reflects on his former life that he enjoyed before being stripped of his humanity and heartlessly imprisoned by Villefort's machinations against him. He uses a potent combination of personification, simile, and metaphor as he ruminates on his seafaring days as a young sailor:
‘Sometimes,’ he thought at such moments, ‘in my distant voyages, when I was still a man—and when that man, free and powerful, gave orders to others that they carried out—I used to see the sky open, the sea tremble and groan, a storm brewing in some part of the sky and thrashing the horizon with its wings like a giant eagle; then I would feel that my vessel was nothing but a useless refuge, itself shaking and shuddering, as light as a feather in the hand of a giant.'
In Dantès's memory, the sky becomes human through personification as it trembles and groans, the storm that brews within the sky transforms into an eagle through simile, and the boat becomes a feather in the hand of a giant through metaphor. In this former life, Dantès felt small—helpless, utterly beholden to the forces that brewed around him, incapable of self-determination. As he transforms into the Count, he will learn to bend the world to his will and become a force of nature in his own right.
In Chapter 82, the Count—as Abbe Busoni—lies in wait in his house for the burglary he has been informed will occur that evening. As the reader waits in suspense, Dumas stokes the tension with a bit of personification:
A quarter to twelve rang on the Invalides clock, the west wind carrying the dreary resonance of the three blows on its moist breath. As the last one faded, the count thought he could hear a faint noise from the dressing-room.
At a moment of extreme tension in the narrative, with the Count and the reader waiting to confront the burglar, even the wind is breathing heavily—the sound of the Invalides clock, carried on the breeze, arrives in a "moist breath." Dumas tends to give the weather this sort of human agency in The Count of Monte Cristo—from the sea to the sky, every aspect of this world of adventure and intrigue appears to have some stake in the action. As if to raise the suspense even further, the clock has struck three blows: a reference to the French theatrical tradition of knocking three times before a show begins, in order to call the audience to attention. With this sequence, Dumas invites the reader to forget that they are reading a story and fully immerse themselves in the action to come.