Chapter 72 Madame de Saint-Mижran
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A
GLOOMY SCENE had indeed just passed at the house of M. de Villefort. After
the ladies had departed for the ball, whither all the entreaties of Madame
de Villefort had failed in persuading him to accompany them, the procureur
had shut himself up in his study, according to his custom. with a heap of
papers calculated to alarm any one else, but which generally scarcely
satisfied his inordinate desires. But this time the papers were a mere
matter of form. Villefort had secluded himself, not to study, but to
reflect; and with the door locked and orders given that he should not be
disturbed excepting for important business, he sat down in his arm-chair
and began to ponder over the events, the remembrance of which had during
the last eight days filled his mind with so many gloomy thoughts and
bitter recollections. Then, instead of plunging into the mass of documents
piled before him, he opened the drawer of his desk. touched a spring, and
drew out a parcel of cherished memoranda, amongst which he had carefully
arranged, in characters only known to himself, the names of all those who,
either in his political career, in money matters, at the bar, or in his
mysterious love affairs, had become his enemies. Their
number was formidable, now that he had begun to fear, and yet these names,
powerful though they were, had often caused him to smile with the same
kind of satisfaction experienced by a traveller who from the summit of a
mountain beholds at his feet the craggy eminences, the almost impassable
paths, and the fearful chasms, through which he has so perilously climbed.
When he had run over all these names in his memory, again read and studied
them, commenting meanwhile upon his lists, he shook his head. "No,"
he murmured, "none of my enemies would have waited so patiently and
laboriously for so long a space of time, that they might now come and
crush me with this secret. Sometimes, as Hamlet says-- 'Foul
deeds will rise, Tho, all the earth o'erwhelm them to men's eyes;' but,
like a phosphoric light, they rise but to mislead. The story has been told
by the Corsican to some priest, who in his turn has repeated it. M. de
Monte Cristo may have heard it, and to enlighten himself--but why should
he wish to enlighten himself upon the subject?" asked Villefort,
after a moment's reflection, "what interest can this M. de Monte
Cristo or M. Zaccone,--son of a shipowner of Malta, discoverer of a mine
in Thessaly, now visiting Paris for the first time,--what interest, I say,
can he take in discovering a gloomy, mysterious, and useless fact like
this? However, among all the incoherent details given to me by the Abbиж
Busoni and by Lord Wilmore, by that friend and that enemy, one thing
appears certain and clear in my opinion--that in no period, in no case, in
no circumstance, could there have been any contact between him and
me." But
Villefort uttered words which even he himself did not believe. He dreaded
not so much the revelation, for he could reply to or deny its truth;--he
cared little for that mene, tekel, upharsin, which appeared suddenly in
letters of blood upon the wall;--but what he was really anxious for was to
discover whose hand had traced them. While he was endeavoring to calm his
fears,--and instead of dwelling upon the political future that had so
often been the subject of his ambitious dreams, was imagining a future
limited to the enjoyments of home, in fear of awakening the enemy that had
so long slept,--the noise of a carriage sounded in the yard, then he heard
the steps of an aged person ascending the stairs, followed by tears and
lamentations, such as servants always give vent to when they wish to
appear interested in their master's grief. He drew back the bolt of his
door, and almost directly an old lady entered, unannounced, carrying her
shawl on her arm, and her bonnet in her hand. The white hair was thrown
back from her yellow forehead, and her eyes, already sunken by the furrows
of age, now almost disappeared beneath the eyelids swollen with grief.
"Oh, sir," she said; "oh, sir, what a misfortune! I shall
die of it; oh, yes, I shall certainly die of it!" And
then, falling upon the chair nearest the door, she burst into a paroxysm
of sobs. The servants, standing in the doorway, not daring to approach
nearer, were looking at Noirtier's old servant, who had heard the noise
from his master's room, and run there also, remaining behind the others.
Villefort rose, and ran towards his mother-in-law, for it was she. "Why,
what can have happened?" he exclaimed, "what has thus disturbed
you? Is M. de Saint-Mижran
with you?" "M.
de Saint-Mижran
is dead," answered the old marchioness, without preface and without
expression; she appeared to be stupefied. Villefort drew back, and
clasping his hands together, exclaimed--"Dead!--so suddenly?" "A
week ago," continued Madame de Saint-Mижran, "we went out together in the carriage
after dinner. M. de Saint-Mижran
had been unwell for some days; still, the idea of seeing our dear
Valentine again inspired him with courage, and notwithstanding his illness
he would leave. At six leagues from Marseilles, after having eaten some of
the lozenges he is accustomed to take, he fell into such a deep sleep,
that it appeared to me unnatural; still I hesitated to wake him, although
I fancied that his face was flushed, and that the veins of his temples
throbbed more violently than usual. However, as it became dark, and I
could no longer see, I fell asleep; I was soon aroused by a piercing
shriek, as from a person suffering in his dreams, and he suddenly threw
his head back violently. I called the valet, I stopped the postilion, I
spoke to M. de Saint-Mижran, I applied my smelling-salts; but all was over,
and I arrived at Aix by the side of a corpse." Villefort stood with
his mouth half open, quite stupefied. "Of
course you sent for a doctor?" "Immediately;
but, as I have told you, it was too late." "Yes;
but then he could tell of what complaint the poor marquis had died." "Oh,
yes, sir, he told me; it appears to have been an apoplectic stroke." "And
what did you do then?" "M.
de Saint-Mижran
had always expressed a desire, in case his death happened during his
absence from Paris, that his body might be brought to the family vault. I
had him put into a leaden coffin, and I am preceding him by a few
days." "Oh,
my poor mother," said Villefort, "to have such duties to perform
at your age after such a blow!" "God
has supported me through all; and then, my dear marquis, he would
certainly have done everything for me that I performed for him. It is true
that since I left him, I seem to have lost my senses. I cannot cry; at my
age they say that we have no more tears,--still I think that when one is
in trouble one should have the power of weeping. Where is Valentine. sir?
It is on her account I am here; I wish to see Valentine." Villefort
thought it would be terrible to reply that Valentine was at a ball; so he
only said that she had gone out with her step-mother, and that she should
be fetched. "This instant, sir--this instant, I beseech you!"
said the old lady. Villefort placed the arm of Madame de Saint-Mижran
within his own, and conducted her to his apartment. "Rest yourself,
mother," he said. The
marchioness raised her head at this word, and beholding the man who so
forcibly reminded her of her deeply-regretted child, who still lived for
her in Valentine, she felt touched at the name of mother, and bursting
into tears, she fell on her knees before an arm-chair, where she buried
her venerable head. Villefort left her to the care of the women, while old
Barrois ran, half-scared, to his master; for nothing frightens old people
so much as when death relaxes its vigilance over them for a moment in
order to strike some other old person. Then, while Madame de Saint-Mижran
remained on her knees, praying fervently, Villefort sent for a cab, and
went himself to fetch his wife and daughter from Madame de Morcerf's. He
was so pale when he appeared at the door of the ball-room, that Valentine
ran to him, saying-- "Oh,
father, some misfortune has happened!" "Your
grandmamma has just arrived, Valentine," said M. de Villefort. "And
grandpapa?" inquired the young girl, trembling with apprehension. M.
de Villefort only replied by offering his arm to his daughter. It was just
in time, for Valentine's head swam, and she staggered; Madame de Villefort
instantly hastened to her assistance, and aided her husband in dragging
her to the carriage, saying--"What a singular event! Who could have
thought it? Ah, yes, it is indeed strange!" And the wretched family
departed, leaving a cloud of sadness hanging over the rest of the evening.
At the foot of the stairs, Valentine found Barrois awaiting her. "M.
Noirtier wishes to see you to-night, he said, in an undertone. "Tell
him I will come when I leave my dear grandmamma," she replied,
feeling, with true delicacy, that the person to whom she could be of the
most service just then was Madame de Saint-Mижran.
Valentine found her grandmother in bed; silent caresses, heartwrung sobs,
broken sighs, burning tears, were all that passed in this sad interview,
while Madame de Villefort, leaning on her husband's arm, maintained all
outward forms of respect, at least towards the poor widow. She soon
whispered to her husband, "I think it would be better for me to
retire, with your permission, for the sight of me appears still to afflict
your mother-in-law." Madame de Saint-Mижran
heard her. "Yes, yes," she said softly to Valentine, "let
her leave; but do you stay." Madame de Villefort left, and Valentine
remained alone beside the bed, for the procureur, overcome with
astonishment at the unexpected death, had followed his wife. Meanwhile,
Barrois had returned for the first time to old Noirtier, who having heard
the noise in the house, had, as we have said, sent his old servant to
inquire the cause; on his return, his quick intelligent eye interrogated
the messenger. "Alas, sir," exclaimed Barrois, "a great
misfortune has happened. Madame de Saint-Mижran has arrived, and her husband
is dead!" M.
de Saint-Mижran
and Noirtier had never been on strict terms of friendship; still, the
death of one old man always considerably affects another. Noirtier let his
head fall upon his chest, apparently overwhelmed and thoughtful; then he
closed one eye, in token of inquiry. "Mademoiselle Valentine?"
Noirtier nodded his head. "She is at the ball, as you know, since she
came to say good-by to you in full dress." Noirtier again closed his
left eye. "Do you wish to see her?" Noirtier again made an
affirmative sign. "Well, they have gone to fetch her, no doubt, from
Madame de Morcerf's; I will await her return, and beg her to come up here.
Is that what you wish for?" "Yes,"
replied the invalid. Barrois,
therefore, as we have seen, watched for Valentine, and informed her of her
grandfather's wish. Consequently, Valentine came up to Noirtier, on
leaving Madame de Saint-Mижran,
who in the midst of her grief had at last yielded to fatigue and fallen
into a feverish sleep. Within reach of her hand they placed a small table
upon which stood a bottle of orangeade, her usual beverage, and a glass.
Then, as we have said, the young girl left the bedside to see M. Noirtier.
Valentine kissed the old man, who looked at her with such tenderness that
her eyes again filled with tears, whose sources he thought must be
exhausted. The old gentleman continued to dwell upon her with the same
expression. "Yes, yes," said Valentine, "you mean that I
have yet a kind grandfather left, do you not." The old man intimated
that such was his meaning. "Ah, yes, happily I have," replied
Valentine. "Without that, what would become of me?" It
was one o'clock in the morning. Barrois, who wished to go to bed himself,
observed that after such sad events every one stood in need of rest.
Noirtier would not say that the only rest he needed was to see his child,
but wished her good-night, for grief and fatigue had made her appear quite
ill. The next morning she found her grandmother in bed; the fever had not
abated, on the contrary her eyes glistened and she appeared to be
suffering from violent nervous irritability. "Oh, dear grandmamma,
are you worse?" exclaimed Valentine, perceiving all these signs of
agitation. "No,
my child, no," said Madame de Saint-Mижran; "but I was impatiently waiting for your
arrival, that I might send for your father." "My
father?" inquired Valentine, uneasily. "Yes,
I wish to speak to him." Valentine durst not oppose her grandmother's
wish, the cause of which she did not know, and an instant afterwards
Villefort entered. "Sir," said Madame de Saint-Mижran, without using any circumlocution, and as if
fearing she had no time to lose, "you wrote to me concerning the
marriage of this child?" "Yes,
madame," replied Villefort, "it is not only projected but
arranged." "Your
intended son-in-law is named M. Franz d'Epinay?" "Yes,
madame." "Is
he not the son of General d'Epinay who was on our side, and who was
assassinated some days before the usurper returned from the Island of
Elba?" "The
same." "Does
he not dislike the idea of marrying the granddaughter of a Jacobin?" "Our
civil dissensions are now happily extinguished, mother," said
Villefort; "M. d'Epinay was quite a child when his father died, he
knows very little of M. Noirtier, and will meet him, if not with pleasure,
at least with indifference." "Is
it a suitable match?" "In
every respect." "And
the young man?" "Is
regarded with universal esteem." "You
approve of him?" "He
is one of the most well-bred young men I know." During the whole of
this conversation Valentine had remained silent. "Well, sir,"
said Madame de Saint-Mижran,
after a few minutes' reflection, "I must hasten the marriage, for I
have but a short time to live." "You,
madame?" "You, dear mamma?" exclaimed M. de Villefort and
Valentine at the same time. "I
know what I am saying," continued the marchioness; "I must hurry
you, so that, as she has no mother, she may at least have a grandmother to
bless her marriage. I am all that is left to her belonging to my poor Renижe, whom you have so soon
forgotten, sir." "Ah,
madame," said Villefort, "you forget that I was obliged to give
a mother to my child." "A
stepmother is never a mother, sir. But this is not to the purpose,--our
business concerns Valentine, let us leave the dead in peace." All
this was said with such exceeding rapidity, that there was something in
the conversation that seemed like the beginning of delirium. "It
shall be as you wish, madame," said Villefort; "more especially
since your wishes coincide with mine, and as soon as M. d'Epinay arrives
in Paris"-- "My
dear grandmother," interrupted Valentine, "consider decorum--the
recent death. You would not have me marry under such sad auspices?" "My
child," exclaimed the old lady sharply, "let us hear none of the
conventional objections that deter weak minds from preparing for the
future. I also was married at the death-bed of my mother, and certainly I
have not been less happy on that account." "Still
that idea of death, madame," said Villefort. "Still?--Always!
I tell you I am going to die--do you understand? Well, before dying, I
wish to see my son-in-law. I wish to tell him to make my child happy; I
wish to read in his eyes whether he intends to obey me;--in fact, I will
know him--I will!" continued the old lady, with a fearful expression,
"that I may rise from the depths of my grave to find him, if he
should not fulfil his duty!" "Madame,"
said Villefort, "you must lay aside these exalted ideas, which almost
assume the appearance of madness. The dead, once buried in their graves,
rise no more." "And
I tell you, sir, that you are mistaken. This night I have had a fearful
sleep. It seemed as though my soul were already hovering over my body, my
eyes, which I tried to open, closed against my will, and what will appear
impossible above all to you, sir, I saw, with my eyes shut, in the spot
where you are now standing, issuing from that corner where there is a door
leading into Madame Villefort's dressing-room--I saw, I tell you, silently
enter, a white figure." Valentine screamed. "It was the fever
that disturbed you, madame," said Villefort. "Doubt,
if you please, but I am sure of what I say. I saw a white figure, and as
if to prevent my discrediting the testimony of only one of my senses, I
heard my glass removed--the same which is there now on the table." "Oh,
dear mother, it was a dream." "So
little was it a dream, that I stretched my hand towards the bell; but when
I did so, the shade disappeared; my maid then entered with a light." "But
she saw no one?" "Phantoms
are visible to those only who ought to see them. It was the soul of my
husband!--Well, if my husband's soul can come to me, why should not my
soul reappear to guard my granddaughter? the tie is even more direct, it
seems to me." "Oh,
madame," said Villefort, deeply affected, in spite of himself,
"do not yield to those gloomy thoughts; you will long live with us,
happy, loved, and honored, and we will make you forget"-- "Never,
never, never," said the marchioness. "when does M. d'Epinay
return?" "We
expect him every moment." "It
is well. As soon as he arrives inform me. We must be expeditious. And then
I also wish to see a notary, that I may be assured that all our property
returns to Valentine." "Ah,
grandmamma," murmured Valentine, pressing her lips on the burning
brow, "do you wish to kill me? Oh, how feverish you are; we must not
send for a notary, but for a doctor." "A
doctor?" said she, shrugging her shoulders, "I am not ill; I am
thirsty--that is all." "What
are you drinking, dear grandmamma?" "The
same as usual, my dear, my glass is there on the table--give it to me,
Valentine." Valentine poured the orangeade into a glass and gave it
to her grandmother with a certain degree of dread, for it was the same
glass she fancied that had been touched by the spectre. The marchioness
drained the glass at a single draught, and then turned on her pillow,
repeating,--"The notary, the notary!" M.
de Villefort left the room, and Valentine seated herself at the bedside of
her grandmother. The poor child appeared herself to require the doctor she
had recommended to her aged relative. A bright spot burned in either
cheek, her respiration was short and difficult, and her pulse beat with
feverish excitement. She was thinking of the despair of Maximilian, when
he should be informed that Madame de Saint-Mижran,
instead of being an ally, was unconsciously acting as his enemy. More than
once she thought of revealing all to her grandmother, and she would not
have hesitated a moment, if Maximilian Morrel had been named Albert de
Morcerf or Raoul de Chateau-Renaud; but Morrel was of plebeian extraction,
and Valentine knew how the haughty Marquise de Saint-Mижran despised all who were not noble. Her secret had
each time been repressed when she was about to reveal it, by the sad
conviction that it would be useless to do so; for, were it once discovered
by her father and mother, all would be lost. Two hours passed thus; Madame
de Saint-Mижran was in a feverish sleep, and
the notary had arrived. Though his coming was announced in a very low
tone, Madame de Saint-Mижran
arose from her pillow. "The notary!" she exclaimed, "let
him come in." The
notary, who was at the door, immediately entered. "Go,
Valentine," said Madame de Saint-Mижran,
"and leave me with this gentleman." "But,
grandmamma"-- "Leave
me--go!" The young girl kissed her grandmother, and left with her
handkerchief to her eyes; at the door she found the valet de chambre, who
told her that the doctor was waiting in the dining-room. Valentine
instantly ran down. The doctor was a friend of the family, and at the same
time one of the cleverest men of the day, and very fond of Valentine,
whose birth he had witnessed. He had himself a daughter about her age, but
whose life was one continued source of anxiety and fear to him from her
mother having been consumptive. "Oh,"
said Valentine, "we have been waiting for you with such impatience,
dear M. d'Avrigny. But, first of all, how are Madeleine and
Antoinette?" Madeleine was the daughter of M. d'Avrigny, and
Antoinette his niece. M. d'Avrigny smiled sadly. "Antoinette is very
well," he said, "and Madeleine tolerably so. But you sent for
me, my dear child. It is not your father or Madame de Villefort who is
ill. As for you, although we doctors cannot divest our patients of nerves,
I fancy you have no further need of me than to recommend you not to allow
your imagination to take too wide a field." Valentine colored. M.
d'Avrigny carried the science of divination almost to a miraculous extent,
for he was one of the physicians who always work upon the body through the
mind. "No," she replied, "it is for my poor grandmother.
You know the calamity that has happened to us, do you not?" "I
know nothing." said M. d'Avrigny. "Alas,"
said Valentine, restraining her tears, "my grandfather is dead."
"M.
de Saint-Mижran?"
"Yes."
"Suddenly?"
"From
an apoplectic stroke." "An
apoplectic stroke?" repeated the doctor. "Yes,
and my poor grandmother fancies that her husband, whom she never left, has
called her, and that she must go and join him. Oh, M. d'Avrigny, I beseech
you, do something for her!" "Where
is she?" "In
her room with the notary." "And
M. Noirtier?" "Just
as he was, his mind perfectly clear, but the same incapability of moving
or speaking." "And
the same love for you--eh, my dear child?" "Yes,"
said Valentine, "he was very fond of me." "Who
does not love you?" Valentine smiled sadly. "What are your
grandmother's symptoms?" "An
extreme nervous excitement and a strangely agitated sleep; she fancied
this morning in her sleep that her soul was hovering above her body, which
she at the same time watched. It must have been delirium; she fancies,
too, that she saw a phantom enter her chamber and even heard the noise it
made on touching her glass." "It
is singular," said the doctor; "I was not aware that Madame de
Saint-Mижran
was subject to such hallucinations." "It
is the first time I ever saw her in this condition," said Valentine;
"and this morning she frightened me so that I thought her mad; and my
father, who you know is a strong-minded man, himself appeared deeply
impressed." "We
will go and see," said the doctor; "what you tell me seems very
strange." The notary here descended, and Valentine was informed that
her grandmother was alone. "Go upstairs," she said to the
doctor. "And
you?" "Oh,
I dare not--she forbade my sending for you; and, as you say, I am myself
agitated, feverish and out of sorts. I will go and take a turn in the
garden to recover myself." The doctor pressed Valentine's hand, and
while he visited her grandmother, she descended the steps. We need not say
which portion of the garden was her favorite walk. After remaining for a
short time in the parterre surrounding the house, and gathering a rose to
place in her waist or hair, she turned into the dark avenue which led to
the bench; then from the bench she went to the gate. As usual, Valentine
strolled for a short time among her flowers, but without gathering them.
The mourning in her heart forbade her assuming this simple ornament,
though she had not yet had time to put on the outward semblance of woe.
She then turned towards the avenue. As she advanced she fancied she heard
a voice speaking her name. She stopped astonished, then the voice reached
her ear more distinctly, and she recognized it to be that of Maximilian. |
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