Chapter 6 The Deputy Procureur du Roi
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IN
ONE of the aristocratic mansions built by Puget in the Rue du Grand Cours
opposite the Medusa fountain, a second marriage feast was being
celebrated, almost at the same hour with the nuptial repast given by Dant¨¨s. In this case, however,
although the occasion of the entertainment was similar, the company was
strikingly dissimilar. Instead of a rude mixture of sailors, soldiers, and
those belonging to the humblest grade of life, the present assembly was
composed of the very flower of Marseilles society,--magistrates who had
resigned their office during the usurper's reign; officers who had
deserted from the imperial army and joined forces with Cond¨¦; and younger members of
families, brought up to hate and execrate the man whom five years of exile
would convert into a martyr, and fifteen of restoration elevate to the
rank of a god. The
guests were still at table, and the heated and energetic conversation that
prevailed betrayed the violent and vindictive passions that then agitated
each dweller of the South, where unhappily, for five centuries religious
strife had long given increased bitterness to the violence of party
feeling. The
emperor, now king of the petty Island of Elba, after having held sovereign
sway over one-half of the world, counting as his subjects a small
population of five or six thousand souls,--after having been accustomed to
hear the "Vive Napoleons" of a hundred and twenty millions of
human beings, uttered in ten different languages,--was looked upon here as
a ruined man, separated forever from any fresh connection with France or
claim to her throne. The
magistrates freely discussed their political views; the military part of
the company talked unreservedly of Moscow and Leipsic, while the women
commented on the divorce of Josephine. It was not over the downfall of the
man, but over the defeat of the Napoleonic idea, that they rejoiced, and
in this they foresaw for themselves the bright and cheering prospect of a
revivified political existence. An
old man, decorated with the cross of Saint Louis, now rose and proposed
the health of King Louis XVIII. It was the Marquis de Saint-M¨¦ran. This toast, recalling at
once the patient exile of Hartwell and the peace-loving King of France,
excited universal enthusiasm; glasses were elevated in the air ¨¤ l'Anglais, and the ladies,
snatching their bouquets from their fair bosoms, strewed the table with
their floral treasures. In a word, an almost poetical fervor prevailed. "Ah,"
said the Marquise de Saint-M¨¦ran,
a woman with a stern, forbidding eye, though still noble and distinguished
in appearance, despite her fifty years--"ah, these revolutionists,
who have driven us from those very possessions they afterwards purchased
for a mere trifle during the Reign of Terror, would be compelled to own,
were they here, that all true devotion was on our side, since we were
content to follow the fortunes of a falling monarch, while they, on the
contrary, made their fortune by worshipping the rising sun; yes, yes, they
could not help admitting that the king, for whom we sacrificed rank,
wealth, and station was truly our 'Louis the well-beloved,' while their
wretched usurper his been, and ever will be, to them their evil genius,
their 'Napoleon the accursed.' Am I not right, Villefort?" "I
beg your pardon, madame. I really must pray you to excuse me, but--in
truth--I was not attending to the conversation." "Marquise,
marquise!" interposed the old nobleman who had proposed the toast,
"let the young people alone; let me tell you, on one's wedding day
there are more agreeable subjects of conversation than dry politics."
"Never
mind, dearest mother," said a young and lovely girl, with a profusion
of light brown hair, and eyes that seemed to float in liquid crystal,
"'tis all my fault for seizing upon M. de Villefort, so as to prevent
his listening to what you said. But there--now take him--he is your own
for as long as you like. M. Villefort, I beg to remind you my mother
speaks to you." "If
the marquise will deign to repeat the words I but imperfectly caught, I
shall be delighted to answer," said M. de Villefort. "Never
mind, Ren¨¦e,"
replied the marquise, with a look of tenderness that seemed out of keeping
with her harsh dry features; but, however all other feelings may be
withered in a woman's nature, there is always one bright smiling spot in
the desert of her heart, and that is the shrine of maternal love. "I
forgive you. What I was saying, Villefort, was, that the Bonapartists had
not our sincerity, enthusiasm, or devotion." "They
had, however, what supplied the place of those fine qualities,"
replied the young man, "and that was fanaticism. Napoleon is the
Mahomet of the West, and is worshipped by his commonplace but ambitions
followers, not only as a leader and lawgiver, but also as the
personification of equality." "He!"
cried the marquise: "Napoleon the type of equality! For mercy's sake,
then, what would you call Robespierre? Come, come, do not strip the latter
of his just rights to bestow them on the Corsican, who, to my mind, has
usurped quite enough." "Nay,
madame; I would place each of these heroes on his right pedestal--that of
Robespierre on his scaffold in the Place Louis Quinze; that of Napoleon on
the column of the Place Vend?me. The only difference consists in the
opposite character of the equality advocated by these two men; one is the
equality that elevates, the other is the equality that degrades; one
brings a king within reach of the guillotine, the other elevates the
people to a level with the throne. Observe," said Villefort, smiling,
"I do not mean to deny that both these men were revolutionary
scoundrels, and that the 9th Thermidor and the 4th of April, in the year
1814, were lucky days for France, worthy of being gratefully remembered by
every friend to monarchy and civil order; and that explains how it comes
to pass that, fallen, as I trust he is forever, Napoleon has still
retained a train of parasitical satellites. Still, marquise, it has been
so with other usurpers--Cromwell, for instance, who was not half so bad as
Napoleon, had his partisans and advocates." "Do
you know, Villefort, that you are talking in a most dreadfully
revolutionary strain? But I excuse it, it is impossible to expect the son
of a Girondin to be free from a small spice of the old leaven." A
deep crimson suffused the countenance of Villefort. "'Tis
true, madame," answered he, "that my father was a Girondin, but
he was not among the number of those who voted for the king's death; he
was an equal sufferer with yourself during the Reign of Terror, and had
well-nigh lost his head on the same scaffold on which your father
perished." "True,"
replied the marquise, without wincing in the slightest degree at the
tragic remembrance thus called up; "but bear in mind, if you please,
that our respective parents underwent persecution and proscription from
diametrically opposite principles; in proof of which I may remark, that
while my family remained among the stanchest adherents of the exiled
princes, your father lost no time in joining the new government; and that
while the Citizen Noirtier was a Girondin, the Count Noirtier became a
senator." "Dear
mother," interposed Ren¨¦e,
"you know very well it was agreed that all these disagreeable
reminiscences should forever be laid aside." "Suffer
me, also, madame," replied Villefort, "to add my earnest request
to Mademoiselle de Saint-M¨¦ran's,
that you will kindly allow the veil of oblivion to cover and conceal the
past. What avails recrimination over matters wholly past recall? For my
own part, I have laid aside even the name of my father, and altogether
disown his political principles. He was--nay, probably may still be--a
Bonapartist, and is called Noirtier; I, on the contrary, am a stanch
royalist, and style myself de Villefort. Let what may remain of
revolutionary sap exhaust itself and die away with the old trunk, and
condescend only to regard the young shoot which has started up at a
distance from the parent tree, without having the power, any more than the
wish, to separate entirely from the stock from which it sprung." "Bravo,
Villefort!" cried the marquis; "excellently well said! Come,
now, I have hopes of obtaining what I have been for years endeavoring to
persuade the marquise to promise; namely, a perfect amnesty and
forgetfulness of the past." "With
all my heart," replied the marquise; "let the past be forever
forgotten. I promise you it affords me as little pleasure to revive it as
it does you. All I ask is, that Villefort will be firm and inflexible for
the future in his political principles. Remember, also, Villefort, that we
have pledged ourselves to his majesty for your fealty and strict loyalty,
and that at our recommendation the king consented to forget the past, as I
do" (and here she extended to him her hand)--"as I now do at
your entreaty. But bear in mind, that should there fall in your way any
one guilty of conspiring against the government, you will be so much the
more bound to visit the offence with rigorous punishment, as it is known
you belong to a suspected family." "Alas,
madame," returned Villefort, "my profession, as well as the
times in which we live, compels me to be severe. I have already
successfully conducted several public prosecutions, and brought the
offenders to merited punishment. But we have not done with the thing
yet." "Do
you, indeed, think so?" inquired the marquise. "I
am, at least, fearful of it. Napoleon, in the Island of Elba, is too near
France, and his proximity keeps up the hopes of his partisans. Marseilles
is filled with half-pay officers, who are daily, under one frivolous
pretext or other, getting up quarrels with the royalists; from hence arise
continual and fatal duels among the higher classes of persons, and
assassinations in the lower." "You
have heard, perhaps," said the Comte de Salvieux, one of M. de Saint-M¨¦ran's oldest friends, and
chamberlain to the Comte d'Artois, "that the Holy Alliance purpose
removing him from thence?" "Yes;
they were talking about it when we left Paris," said M. de Saint-M¨¦ran; "and where is it
decided to transfer him?" "To
Saint Helena." "For
heaven's sake, where is that?" asked the marquise. "An
island situated on the other side of the equator, at least two thousand
leagues from here," replied the count. "So
much the better. As Villefort observes, it is a great act of folly to have
left such a man between Corsica, where he was born, and Naples, of which
his brother-in-law is king, and face to face with Italy, the sovereignty
of which he coveted for his son." "Unfortunately,"
said Villefort, "there are the treaties of 1814, and we cannot molest
Napoleon without breaking those compacts." "Oh,
well, we shall find some way out of it," responded M. de Salvieux.
"There wasn't any trouble over treaties when it was a question of
shooting the poor Duc d'Enghien." "Well,"
said the marquise, "it seems probable that, by the aid of the Holy
Alliance, we shall be rid of Napoleon; and we must trust to the vigilance
of M. de Villefort to purify Marseilles of his partisans. Tbe king is
either a king or no king; if he be acknowledged as sovereign of France, he
should be upheld in peace and tranquillity; and this can best be effected
by employing the most inflexible agents to put down every attempt at
conspiracy--'tis the best and surest means of preventing mischief." "Unfortunately,
madame," answered Villefort, "the strong arm of the law is not
called upon to interfere until the evil has taken place." "Then
all he has got to do is to endeavor to repair it." "Nay,
madame, the law is frequently powerless to effect this; all it can do is
to avenge the wrong done." "Oh,
M. de Villefort," cried a beautiful young creature, daughter to the
Comte de Salvieux, and the cherished friend of Mademoiselle de Saint-M¨¦ran, "do try and get up some
famous trial while we are at Marseilles. I never was in a law-court; I am
told it is so very amusing!" "Amusing,
certainly," replied the young man, "inasmuch as, instead of
shedding tears as at the fictitious tale of woe produced at a theatre, you
behold in a law-court a case of real and genuine distress--a drama of
life. The prisoner whom you there see pale, agitated, and alarmed, instead
of--as is the case when a curtain falls on a tragedy--going home to sup
peacefully with his family, and then retiring to rest, that he may
recommence his mimic woes on the morrow,--is removed from your sight
merely to be reconducted to his prison and delivered up to the
executioner. I leave you to judge how far your nerves are calculated to
bear you through such a scene. Of this, however, be assured, that should
any favorable opportunity present itself, I will not fail to offer you the
choice of being present." "For
shame, M. de Villefort!" said Ren¨¦e, becoming quite pale; "don't you see how you
are frightening us?--and yet you laugh." "What
would you have? 'Tis like a duel. I have already recorded sentence of
death, five or six times, against the movers of political conspiracies,
and who can say how many daggers may be ready sharpened, and only waiting
a favorable opportunity to be buried in my heart?" "Gracious
heavens, M. de Villefort," said Ren¨¦e, becoming more and more terrified; "you
surely are not in earnest." "Indeed
I am," replied the young magistrate with a smile; "and in the
interesting trial that young lady is anxious to witness, the case would
only be still more aggravated. Suppose, for instance, the prisoner, as is
more than probable, to have served under Napoleon--well, can you expect
for an instant, that one accustomed, at the word of his commander, to rush
fearlessly on the very bayonets of his foe, will scruple more to drive a
stiletto into the heart of one he knows to be his personal enemy, than to
slaughter his fellow-creatures, merely because bidden to do so by one he
is bound to obey? Besides, one requires the excitement of being hateful in
the eyes of the accused, in order to lash one's self into a state of
sufficient vehemence and power. I would not choose to see the man against
whom I pleaded smile, as though in mockery of my words. No; my pride is to
see the accused pale, agitated, and as though beaten out of all composure
by the fire of my eloquence." Ren¨¦e
uttered a smothered exclamation. "Bravo!"
cried one of the guests; "that is what I call talking to some
purpose." "Just
the person we require at a time like the present," said a second. "What
a splendid business that last case of yours was, my dear Villefort!"
remarked a third; "I mean the trial of the man for murdering his
father. Upon my word, you killed him ere the executioner had laid his hand
upon him." "Oh,
as for parricides, and such dreadful people as that," interposed Ren¨¦e, "it matters very little
what is done to them; but as regards poor unfortunate creatures whose only
crime consists in having mixed themselves up in political
intrigues"-- "Why,
that is the very worst offence they could possibly commit; for, don't you
see, Ren¨¦e,
the king is the father of his people, and he who shall plot or contrive
aught against the life and safety of the parent of thirty-two millions of
souls, is a parricide upon a fearfully great scale?" "I
don't know anything about that," replied Ren¨¦e; "but, M. de Villefort, you have promised
me--have you not?--always to show mercy to those I plead for." "Make
yourself quite easy on that point," answered Villefort, with one of
his sweetest smiles; "you and I will always consult upon our
verdicts." "My
love," said the marquise, "attend to your doves, your lap-dogs,
and embroidery, but do not meddle with what you do not understand.
Nowadays the military profession is in abeyance and the magisterial robe
is the badge of honor. There is a wise Latin proverb that is very much in
point." "Cedant
arma togae," said Villefort with a bow. "I
cannot speak Latin," responded the marquise. "Well,"
said Ren¨¦e,
"I cannot help regretting you had not chosen some other profession
than your own--a physician, for instance. Do you know I always felt a
shudder at the idea of even a destroying angel?" "Dear,
good Ren¨¦e,"
whispered Villefort, as he gazed with unutterable tenderness on the lovely
speaker. "Let
us hope, my child," cried the marquis, "that M. de Villefort may
prove the moral and political physician of this province; if so, he will
have achieved a noble work." "And
one which will go far to efface the recollection of his father's
conduct," added the incorrigible marquise. "Madame,"
replied Villefort, with a mournful smile, "I have already had the
honor to observe that my father has--at least, I hope so--abjured his past
errors, and that he is, at the present moment, a firm and zealous friend
to religion and order--a better royalist, possibly, than his son; for he
has to atone for past dereliction, while I have no other impulse than
warm, decided preference and conviction." Having made this
well-turned speech, Villefort looked carefully around to mark the effect
of his oratory, much as he would have done had he been addressing the
bench in open court. "Do
you know, my dear Villefort," cried the Comte de Salvieux, "that
is exactly what I myself said the other day at the Tuileries, when
questioned by his majesty's principal chamberlain touching the singularity
of an alliance between the son of a Girondin and the daughter of an
officer of the Duc de Cond¨¦; and I assure you he seemed
fully to comprehend that this mode of reconciling political differences
was based upon sound and excellent principles. Then the king, who, without
our suspecting it, had overheard our conversation, interrupted us by
saying, 'Villefort'--observe that the king did not pronounce the word
Noirtier, but, on the contrary, placed considerable emphasis on that of
Villefort--'Villefort,' said his majesty, 'is a young man of great
judgment and discretion, who will be sure to make a figure in his
profession; I like him much, and it gave me great pleasure to hear that he
was about to become the son-in-law of the Marquis and Marquise de Saint-M¨¦ran.
I should myself have recommended the match, had not the noble marquis
anticipated my wishes by requesting my consent to it.'" "Is
it possible the king could have condescended so far as to express himself
so favorably of me?" asked the enraptured Villefort. "I
give you his very words; and if the marquis chooses to be candid, he will
confess that they perfectly agree with what his majesty said to him, when
he went six months ago to consult him upon the subject of your espousing
his daughter." "That
is true," answered the marquis. "How
much do I owe this gracious prince! What is there I would not do to evince
my earnest gratitude!" "That
is right," cried the marquise. "I love to see you thus. Now,
then, were a conspirator to fall into your hands, he would be most
welcome." "For
my part, dear mother." interposed Ren¨¦e, "I trust your wishes will not prosper, and
that Providence will only permit petty offenders, poor debtors, and
miserable cheats to fall into M. de Villefort's hands,--then I shall be
contented." "Just
the same as though you prayed that a physician might only be called upon
to prescribe for headaches, measles, and the stings of wasps, or any other
slight affection of the epidermis. If you wish to see me the king's
attorney, you must desire for me some of those violent and dangerous
diseases from the cure of which so much honor redounds to the
physician." At
this moment, and as though the utterance of Villefort's wish had sufficed
to effect its accomplishment, a servant entered the room, and whispered a
few words in his ear. Villefort immediately rose from table and quitted
the room upon the plea of urgent business; he soon, however, returned, his
whole face beaming with delight. Ren¨¦e
regarded him with fond affection; and certainly his handsome features, lit
up as they then were with more than usual fire and animation, seemed
formed to excite the innocent admiration with which she gazed on her
graceful and intelligent lover. "You
were wishing just now," said Villefort, addressing her, "that I
were a doctor instead of a lawyer. Well, I at least resemble the disciples
of Esculapius in one thing--that of not being able to call a day my own,
not even that of my betrothal." "And
wherefore were you called away just now?" asked Mademoiselle de
Saint-M¨¦ran, with an air of deep
interest. "For
a very serious matter, which bids fair to make work for the
executioner." "How
dreadful!" exclaimed Ren¨¦e,
turning pale. "Is
it possible?" burst simultaneously from all who were near enough to
the magistrate to hear his words. "Why,
if my information prove correct, a sort of Bonaparte conspiracy has just
been discovered." "Can
I believe my ears?" cried the marquise. "I
will read you the letter containing the accusation, at least," said
Villefort:-- "'The
king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and the religions
institutions of his country, that one named Edmond Dant¨¨s, mate of the ship Pharaon, this
day arrived from Smyrna, after having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo,
has been the bearer of a letter from Murat to the usurper, and again taken
charge of another letter from the usurper to the Bonapartist club in
Paris. Ample corroboration of this statement may be obtained by arresting
the above-mentioned Edmond Dant¨¨s,
who either carries the letter for Paris about with him, or has it at his
father's abode. Should it not be found in the possession of father or son,
then it will assuredly be discovered in the cabin belonging to the said
Dant¨¨s on board the Pharaon.'" "But,"
said Ren¨¦e,
"this letter, which, after all, is but an anonymous scrawl, is not
even addressed to you, but to the king's attorney." "True;
but that gentleman being absent, his secretary, by his orders, opened his
letters; thinking this one of importance, he sent for me, but not finding
me, took upon himself to give the necessary orders for arresting the
accused party." "Then
the guilty person is absolutely in custody?" said the marquise. "Nay,
dear mother, say the accused person. You know we cannot yet pronounce him
guilty." "He
is in safe custody," answered Villefort; "and rely upon it, if
the letter is found, he will not be likely to be trusted abroad again,
unless he goes forth under the especial protection of the headsman." "And
where is the unfortunate being?" asked Ren¨¦e. "He
is at my house." "Come,
come, my friend," interrupted the marquise, "do not neglect your
duty to linger with us. You are the king's servant, and must go wherever
that service calls you." "O
Villefort!" cried Ren¨¦e,
clasping her hands, and looking towards her lover with piteous
earnestness, "be merciful on this the day of our betrothal." The
young man passed round to the side of the table where the fair pleader
sat, and leaning over her chair said tenderly,-- "To
give you pleasure, my sweet Ren¨¦e,
I promise to show all the lenity in my power; but if the charges brought
against this Bonapartist hero prove correct, why, then, you really must
give me leave to order his head to be cut off." Ren¨¦e shuddered. "Never
mind that foolish girl, Villefort," said the marquise. "She will
soon get over these things." So saying, Madame de Saint-M¨¦ran extended her dry bony hand to
Villefort, who, while imprinting a son-in-law's respectful salute on it,
looked at Ren¨¦e,
as much as to say, "I must try and fancy 'tis your dear hand I kiss,
as it should have been." "These
are mournful auspices to accompany a betrothal," sighed poor Ren¨¦e. "Upon
my word, child!" exclaimed the angry marquise, "your folly
exceeds all bounds. I should be glad to know what connection there can
possibly be between your sickly sentimentality and the affairs of the
state!" "O
mother!" murmured Ren¨¦e.
"Nay,
madame, I pray you pardon this little traitor. I promise you that to make
up for her want of loyalty, I will be most inflexibly severe;" then
casting an expressive glance at his betrothed, which seemed to say,
"Fear not, for your dear sake my justice shall be tempered with
mercy," and receiving a sweet and approving smile in return,
Villefort quitted the room. |
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