Chapter 13 The Hundred Days
|
|||||
M.
NOIRTIER was a true prophet, and things progressed rapidly, as he had
predicted. Every one knows the history of the famous return from Elba, a
return which was unprecedented in the past, and will probably remain
without a counterpart in the future. Louis
XVIII made but a faint attempt to parry this unexpected blow; the monarchy
he had scarcely reconstructed tottered on its precarious foundation, and
at a sign from the emperor the incongruous structure of ancient prejudices
and new ideas fell to the ground. Villefort, therefore, gained nothing
save the king's gratitude (which was rather likely to injure him at the
present time) and the cross of the Legion of Honor, which he had the
prudence not to wear, although M. de Blacas had duly forwarded the brevet.
Napoleon
would, doubtless, have deprived Villefort of his office had it not been
for Noirtier, who was all powerful at court, and thus the Girondin of '93
and the Senator of 1806 protected him who so lately had been his
protector. All Villefort's influence barely enabled him to stifle the
secret Dantииs had so nearly divulged. The
king's procureur alone was deprived of his office, being suspected of
royalism. However,
scarcely was the imperial power established--that is, scarcely had the
emperor re-entered the Tuileries and begun to issue orders from the closet
into which we have introduced our readers,--he found on the table there
Louis XVIII.'s half-filled snuff-box,--scarcely had this occurred when
Marseilles began, in spite of the authorities, to rekindle the flames of
civil war, always smouldering in the south, and it required but little to
excite the populace to acts of far greater violence than the shouts and
insults with which they assailed the royalists whenever they ventured
abroad. Owing
to this change, the worthy shipowner became at that moment--we will not
say all powerful, because Morrel was a prudent and rather a timid man, so
much so, that many of the most zealous partisans of Bonaparte accused him
of "moderation"--but sufficiently influential to make a demand
in favor of Dantииs.
Villefort
retained his place, but his marriage was put off until a more favorable
opportunity. If the emperor remained on the throne, Gижrard required a different
alliance to aid his career; if Louis XVIII returned, the influence of M.
de Saint-Mижran,
like his own, could be vastly increased, and the marriage be still more
suitable. The deputy-procureur was, therefore, the first magistrate of
Marseilles, when one morning his door opened, and M. Morrel was announced.
Any
one else would have hastened to receive him; but Villefort was a man of
ability, and he knew this would be a sign of weakness. He made Morrel wait
in the ante-chamber, although he had no one with him, for the simple
reason that the king's procureur always makes every one wait, and after
passing a quarter of an hour in reading the papers, he ordered M. Morrel
to be admitted. Morrel
expected Villefort would be dejected; he found him as he had found him six
weeks before, calm, firm, and full of that glacial politeness, that most
insurmountable barrier which separates the well-bred from the vulgar man. He
had entered Villefort's office expecting that the magistrate would tremble
at the sight of him; on the contrary, he felt a cold shudder all over him
when he saw Villefort sitting there with his elbow on his desk, and his
head leaning on his hand. He stopped at the door; Villefort gazed at him
as if he had some difficulty in recognizing him; then, after a brief
interval, during which the honest shipowner turned his hat in his hands,--
"M.
Morrel, I believe?" said Villefort. "Yes,
sir." "Come
nearer," said the magistrate, with a patronizing wave of the hand,
"and tell me to what circumstance I owe the honor of this
visit." "Do
you not guess, monsieur?" asked Morrel. "Not
in the least; but if I can serve you in any way I shall be
delighted." "Everything
depends on you." "Explain
yourself, pray." "Monsieur,"
said Morrel, recovering his assurance as he proceeded, "do you
recollect that a few days before the landing of his majesty the emperor, I
came to intercede for a young man, the mate of my ship, who was accused of
being concerned in correspondence with the Island of Elba? What was the
other day a crime is to-day a title to favor. You then served Louis XVIII.,
and you did not show any favor--it was your duty; to-day you serve
Napoleon, and you ought to protect him--it is equally your duty; I come,
therefore, to ask what has become of him?" Villefort
by a strong effort sought to control himself. "What is his
name?" said he. "Tell me his name." "Edmond
Dantииs."
Villefort
would probably have rather stood opposite the muzzle of a pistol at
five-and-twenty paces than have heard this name spoken; but he did not
blanch. "Dantииs," repeated he,
"Edmond Dantииs."
"Yes,
monsieur." Villefort opened a large register, then went to a table,
from the table turned to his registers, and then, turning to Morrel,-- "Are
you quite sure you are not mistaken, monsieur?" said he, in the most
natural tone in the world. Had
Morrel been a more quick-sighted man, or better versed in these matters,
he would have been surprised at the king's procureur answering him on such
a subject, instead of referring him to the governors of the prison or the
prefect of the department. But Morrel, disappointed in his expectations of
exciting fear, was conscious only of the other's condescension. Villefort
had calculated rightly. "No,"
said Morrel; "I am not mistaken. I have known him for ten years, the
last four of which he was in my service. Do not you recollect, I came
about six weeks ago to plead for clemency, as I come to-day to plead for
justice. You received me very coldly. Oh, the royalists were very severe
with the Bonapartists in those days." "Monsieur,"
returned Villefort, "I was then a royalist, because I believed the
Bourbons not only the heirs to the throne, but the chosen of the nation.
The miraculous return of Napoleon has conquered me, the legitimate monarch
is he who is loved by his people." "That's
right!" cried Morrel. "I like to hear you speak thus, and I
augur well for Edmond from it." "Wait
a moment," said Villefort, turning over the leaves of a register;
"I have it--a sailor, who was about to marry a young Catalan girl. I
recollect now; it was a very serious charge." "How
so?" "You
know that when he left here he was taken to the Palais de Justice." "Well?"
"I
made my report to the authorities at Paris, and a week after he was
carried off." "Carried
off!" said Morrel. "What can they have done with him?" "Oh,
he has been taken to Fenestrelles, to Pignerol, or to the
Sainte-Marguerite islands. Some fine morning he will return to take
command of your vessel." "Come
when he will, it shall be kept for him. But how is it he is not already
returned? It seems to me the first care of government should be to set at
liberty those who have suffered for their adherence to it." "Do
not be too hasty, M. Morrel," replied Villefort. "The order of
imprisonment came from high authority, and the order for his liberation
must proceed from the same source; and, as Napoleon has scarcely been
reinstated a fortnight, the letters have not yet been forwarded." "But,"
said Morrel, "is there no way of expediting all these formalities--of
releasing him from arrest?" "There
has been no arrest." "How?"
"It
is sometimes essential to government to cause a man's disappearance
without leaving any traces, so that no written forms or documents may
defeat their wishes." "It
might be so under the Bourbons, but at present"-- "It
has always been so, my dear Morrel, since the reign of Louis XIV. The
emperor is more strict in prison discipline than even Louis himself, and
the number of prisoners whose names are not on the register is
incalculable." Had Morrel even any suspicions, so much kindness would
have dispelled them. "Well,
M. de Villefort, how would you advise me to act?" asked he. "Petition
the minister." "Oh,
I know what that is; the minister receives two hundred petitions every
day, and does not read three." "That
is true; but he will read a petition countersigned and presented by
me." "And
will you undertake to deliver it?" "With
the greatest pleasure. Dantииs
was then guilty, and now he is innocent, and it is as much my duty to free
him as it was to condemn him." Villefort thus forestalled any danger
of an inquiry, which, however improbable it might be, if it did take place
would leave him defenceless. "But
how shall I address the minister?" "Sit
down there," said Villefort, giving up his place to Morrel, "and
write what I dictate." "Will
you be so good?" "Certainly.
But lose no time; we have lost too much already." "That
is true. Only think what the poor fellow may even now be suffering."
Villefort shuddered at the suggestion; but he had gone too far to draw
back. Dantииs
must be crushed to gratify Villefort's ambition. Villefort
dictated a petition, in which, from an excellent intention, no doubt, Dantииs' patriotic services were
exaggerated, and he was made out one of the most active agents of
Napoleon's return. It was evident that at the sight of this document the
minister would instantly release him. The petition finished, Villefort
read it aloud. "That
will do," said he; "leave the rest to me." "Will
the petition go soon?" "To-day."
"Countersigned
by you?" "The
best thing I can do will be to certify the truth of the contents of your
petition." And, sitting down, Villefort wrote the certificate at the
bottom. "What
more is to be done?" "I
will do whatever is necessary." This assurance delighted Morrel, who
took leave of Villefort, and hastened to announce to old Dantииs that he would soon see his son.
As
for Villefort, instead of sending to Paris, he carefully preserved the
petition that so fearfully compromised Dantииs, in the hopes of an event that seemed not
unlikely,--that is, a second restoration. Dantииs remained a prisoner, and heard not the noise of
the fall of Louis XVIII.'s throne, or the still more tragic destruction of
the empire. Twice
during the Hundred Days had Morrel renewed his demand, and twice had
Villefort soothed him with promises. At last there was Waterloo, and
Morrel came no more; he had done all that was in his power, and any fresh
attempt would only compromise himself uselessly. Louis
XVIII. remounted the throne; Villefort, to whom Marseilles had become
filled with remorseful memories, sought and obtained the situation of
king's procureur at Toulouse, and a fortnight afterwards he married
Mademoiselle de Saint-Mижran, whose father now stood
higher at court than ever. And
so Dantииs,
after the Hundred Days and after Waterloo, remained in his dungeon,
forgotten of earth and heaven. Danglars comprehended the full extent of
the wretched fate that overwhelmed Dantииs;
and, when Napoleon returned to France, he, after the manner of mediocre
minds, termed the coincidence, a decree of Providence. But when Napoleon
returned to Paris, Danglars' heart failed him, and he lived in constant
fear of Dantииs' return on a mission of
vengeance. He therefore informed M. Morrel of his wish to quit the sea,
and obtained a recommendation from him to a Spanish merchant, into whose
service he entered at the end of March, that is, ten or twelve days after
Napoleon's return. He then left for Madrid, and was no more heard of. Fernand
understood nothing except that Dantииs was absent. What had become of him he cared not to
inquire. Only, during the respite the absence of his rival afforded him,
he reflected, partly on the means of deceiving Mercижdииs
as to the cause of his absence, partly on plans of emigration and
abduction, as from time to time he sat sad and motionless on the summit of
Cape Pharo, at the spot from whence Marseilles and the Catalans are
visible, watching for the apparition of a young and handsome man, who was
for him also the messenger of vengeance. Fernand's mind was made up; he
would shoot Dantииs, and then kill himself. But
Fernand was mistaken; a man of his disposition never kills himself, for he
constantly hopes. During
this time the empire made its last conscription, and every man in France
capable of bearing arms rushed to obey the summons of the emperor. Fernand
departed with the rest, bearing with him the terrible thought that while
he was away, his rival would perhaps return and marry Mercижdииs. Had Fernand really meant to kill himself, he
would have done so when he parted from Mercижdииs.
His devotion, and the compassion he showed for her misfortunes, produced
the effect they always produce on noble minds--Mercижdииs
had always had a sincere regard for Fernand, and this was now strengthened
by gratitude. "My
brother," said she as she placed his knapsack on his shoulders,
"be careful of yourself, for if you are killed, I shall be alone in
the world." These words carried a ray of hope into Fernand's heart.
Should Dantииs
not return, Mercижdииs might one day be his. Mercижdииs was left alone face to face with the vast plain
that had never seemed so barren, and the sea that had never seemed so
vast. Bathed in tears she wandered about the Catalan village. Sometimes
she stood mute and motionless as a statue, looking towards Marseilles, at
other times gazing on the sea, and debating as to whether it were not
better to cast herself into the abyss of the ocean, and thus end her woes.
It was not want of courage that prevented her putting this resolution into
execution; but her religious feelings came to her aid and saved her.
Caderousse was, like Fernand, enrolled in the army, but, being married and
eight years older, he was merely sent to the frontier. Old Dantииs,
who was only sustained by hope, lost all hope at Napoleon's downfall. Five
months after he had been separated from his son, and almost at the hour of
his arrest, he breathed his last in Mercижdииs'
arms. M. Morrel paid the expenses of his funeral, and a few small debts
the poor old man had contracted. There
was more than benevolence in this action; there was courage; the south was
aflame, and to assist, even on his death-bed, the father of so dangerous a
Bonapartist as Dantииs,
was stigmatized as a crime. |
|||||
|
©2005 - 2010 XiuSha.Com . All Rights Reserved.