Chapter 109 The Assizes
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THE
BENEDETTO affair, as it was called at the Palais, and by people in
general, had produced a tremendous sensation. Frequenting the Cafиж de Paris, the Boulevard de Gand,
and the Bois de Boulogne, during his brief career of splendor, the false
Cavalcanti had formed a host of acquaintances. The papers had related his
various adventures, both as the man of fashion and the galley-slave; and
as every one who had been personally acquainted with Prince Andrea
Cavalcanti experienced a lively curiosity in his fate, they all determined
to spare no trouble in endeavoring to witness the trial of M. Benedetto
for the murder of his comrade in chains. In the eyes of many, Benedetto
appeared, if not a victim to, at least an instance of, the fallibility of
the law. M. Cavalcanti, his father, had been seen in Paris, and it was
expected that he would re-appear to claim the illustrious outcast. Many,
also, who were not aware of the circumstances attending his withdrawal
from Paris, were struck with the worthy appearance, the gentlemanly
bearing, and the knowledge of the world displayed by the old patrician,
who certainly played the nobleman very well, so long as he said nothing,
and made no arithmetical calculations. As for the accused himself, many
remembered him as being so amiable, so handsome, and so liberal, that they
chose to think him the victim of some conspiracy, since in this world
large fortunes frequently excite the malevolence and jealousy of some
unknown enemy. Every one, therefore, ran to the court; some to witness the
sight, others to comment upon it. From seven o'clock in the morning a
crowd was stationed at the iron gates, and an hour before the trial
commenced the hall was full of the privileged. Before the entrance of the
magistrates, and indeed frequently afterwards, a court of justice, on days
when some especial trial is to take place, resembles a drawing-room where
many persons recognize each other and converse if they can do so without
losing their seats; or, if they are separated by too great a number of
lawyers, communicate by signs. It
was one of the magnificent autumn days which make amends for a short
summer; the clouds which M. de Villefort had perceived at sunrise had all
disappeared as if by magic, and one of the softest and most brilliant days
of September shone forth in all its splendor. Beauchamp,
one of the kings of the press, and therefore claiming the right of a
throne everywhere, was eying everybody through his monocle. He perceived
Chateau-Renaud and Debray, who had just gained the good graces of a
sergeant-at-arms, and who had persuaded the latter to let them stand
before, instead of behind him, as they ought to have done. The worthy
sergeant had recognized the minister's secretary and the millionnaire,
and, by way of paying extra attention to his noble neighbors, promised to
keep their places while they paid a visit to Beauchamp. "Well,"
said Beauchamp, "we shall see our friend!" "Yes,
indeed!" replied Debray. "That worthy prince. Deuce take those
Italian princes!" "A
man, too, who could boast of Dante for a genealogist, and could reckon
back to the Divine Comedy." "A
nobility of the rope!" said Chateau-Renaud phlegmatically. "He
will be condemned, will he not?" asked Debray of Beauchamp. "My
dear fellow, I think we should ask you that question; you know such news
much better than we do. Did you see the president at the minister's last
night?" "Yes."
"What
did he say?" "Something
which will surprise you." "Oh,
make haste and tell me, then; it is a long time since that has
happened." "Well,
he told me that Benedetto, who is considered a serpent of subtlety and a
giant of cunning, is really but a very commonplace, silly rascal, and
altogether unworthy of the experiments that will be made on his
phrenological organs after his death." "Bah,"
said Beauchamp, "he played the prince very well." "Yes,
for you who detest those unhappy princes, Beauchamp, and are always
delighted to find fault with them; but not for me, who discover a
gentleman by instinct, and who scent out an aristocratic family like a
very bloodhound of heraldry." "Then
you never believed in the principality?" "Yes.--in
the principality, but not in the prince." "Not
so bad," said Beauchamp; "still, I assure you, he passed very
well with many people; I saw him at the ministers' houses." "Ah,
yes," said Chateau-Renaud. "The idea of thinking ministers
understand anything about princes!" "There
is something in what you have just said," said Beauchamp, laughing. "But,"
said Debray to Beauchamp, "if I spoke to the president, you must have
been with the procureur." "It
was an impossibility; for the last week M. de Villefort has secluded
himself. It is natural enough; this strange chain of domestic afflictions,
followed by the no less strange death of his daughter"-- "Strange?
What do you mean, Beauchamp?" "Oh,
yes; do you pretend that all this has been unobserved at the
minister's?" said Beauchamp, placing his eye-glass in his eye, where
he tried to make it remain. "My
dear sir," said Chateau-Renaud, "allow me to tell you that you
do not understand that manoeuvre with the eye-glass half so well as Debray.
Give him a lesson, Debray." "Stay,"
said Beauchamp, "surely I am not deceived." "What
is it?" "It
is she!" "Whom
do you mean?" "They
said she had left." "Mademoiselle
Eugижnie?"
said Chateau-Renaud; "has she returned?" "No,
but her mother." "Madame
Danglars? Nonsense! Impossible!" said Chateau-Renaud; "only ten
days after the flight of her daughter, and three days from the bankruptcy
of her husband?" Debray
colored slightly, and followed with his eyes the direction of Beauchamp's
glance. "Come," he said, "it is only a veiled lady, some
foreign princess, perhaps the mother of Cavalcanti. But you were just
speaking on a very interesting topic, Beauchamp." "I?"
"Yes;
you were telling us about the extraordinary death of Valentine." "Ah,
yes, so I was. But how is it that Madame de Villefort is not here?" "Poor,
dear woman," said Debray, "she is no doubt occupied in
distilling balm for the hospitals, or in making cosmetics for herself or
friends. Do you know she spends two or three thousand crowns a year in
this amusement? But I wonder she is not here. I should have been pleased
to see her, for I like her very much." "And
I hate her," said Chateau-Renaud. "Why?"
"I
do not know. Why do we love? Why do we hate? I detest her, from
antipathy." "Or,
rather, by instinct." "Perhaps
so. But to return to what you were saying, Beauchamp." "Well,
do you know why they die so multitudinously at M. de Villefort's?" "'Multitudinously'
is good," said Chateau-Renaud. "My
good fellow, you'll find the word in Saint-Simon." "But
the thing itself is at M. de Villefort's; but let's get back to the
subject." "Talking
of that," said Debray, "Madame was making inquiries about that
house, which for the last three months has been hung with black." "Who
is Madame?" asked Chateau-Renaud. "The
minister's wife, pardieu!" "Oh,
your pardon! I never visit ministers; I leave that to the princes." "Really,
You were only before sparkling, but now you are brilliant; take compassion
on us, or, like Jupiter, you will wither us up." "I
will not speak again," said Chateau-Renaud; "pray have
compassion upon me, and do not take up every word I say." "Come,
let us endeavor to get to the end of our story, Beauchamp; I told you that
yesterday Madame made inquiries of me upon the subject; enlighten me, and
I will then communicate my information to her." "Well,
gentlemen, the reason people die so multitudinously (I like the word) at
M. de Villefort's is that there is an assassin in the house!" The two
young men shuddered, for the same idea had more than once occurred to
them. "And who is the assassin;" they asked together. "Young
Edward!" A burst of laughter from the auditors did not in the least
disconcert the speaker, who continued,--"Yes, gentlemen; Edward, the
infant phenomenon, who is quite an adept in the art of killing." "You
are jesting." "Not
at all. I yesterday engaged a servant, who had just left M. de Villefort--I
intend sending him away to-morrow, for he eats so enormously, to make up
for the fast imposed upon him by his terror in that house. Well, now
listen." "We
are listening." "It
appears the dear child has obtained possession of a bottle containing some
drug, which he every now and then uses against those who have displeased
him. First, M. and Madame de Saint-Mижran
incurred his displeasure, so he poured out three drops of his
elixir--three drops were sufficient; then followed Barrois, the old
servant of M. Noirtier, who sometimes rebuffed this little wretch--he
therefore received the same quantity of the elixir; the same happened to
Valentine, of whom he was jealous; he gave her the same dose as the
others, and all was over for her as well as the rest." "Why,
what nonsense are you telling us?" said Chateau-Renaud. "Yes,
it is an extraordinary story," said Beauchamp; "is it not?"
"It
is absurd," said Debray. "Ah,"
said Beauchamp, "you doubt me? Well, you can ask my servant, or
rather him who will no longer be my servant to-morrow, it was the talk of
the house." "And
this elixir, where is it? what is it?" "The
child conceals it." "But
where did he find it?" "In
his mother's laboratory." "Does
his mother then, keep poisons in her laboratory?" "How
can I tell? You are questioning me like a king's attorney. I only repeat
what I have been told, and like my informant I can do no more. The poor
devil would eat nothing, from fear." "It
is incredible!" "No,
my dear fellow, it is not at all incredible. You saw the child pass
through the Rue Richelieu last year, who amused himself with killing his
brothers and sisters by sticking pins in their ears while they slept. The
generation who follow us are very precocious." "Come,
Beauchamp," said Chateau-Renaud, "I will bet anything you do not
believe a word of all you have been telling us." "I
do not see the Count of Monte Cristo here." "He
is worn out," said Debray; "besides, he could not well appear in
public, since he has been the dupe of the Cavalcanti, who, it appears,
presented themselves to him with false letters of credit, and cheated him
out of 100,000 francs upon the hypothesis of this principality." "By
the way, M. de Chateau-Renaud," asked Beauchamp, "how is Morrel?"
"Ma
foi! I have called three times without once seeing him. Still, his sister
did not seem uneasy, and told me that though she had not seen him for two
or three days, she was sure he was well." "Ah,
now I think of it, the Count of Monte Cristo cannot appear in the
hall," said Beauchamp. "Why
not?" "Because
he is an actor in the drama." "Has
he assassinated any one, then?" "No, on the contrary, they
wished to assassinate him. You know that it was in leaving his house that
M. de Caderousse was murdered by his friend Benedetto. You know that the
famous waistcoat was found in his house, containing the letter which
stopped the signature of the marriage-contract. Do you see the waistcoat?
There it is, all blood-stained, on the desk, as a testimony of the
crime." "Ah,
very good." "Hush,
gentlemen, here is the court; let us go back to our places." A
noise was heard in the hall; the sergeant called his two patrons with an
energetic "hem!" and the door-keeper appearing, called out with
that shrill voice peculiar to his order, ever since the days of
Beaumarchais, "The court, gentlemen!"
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