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Chapter 6 The Deputy Procureur du Roi.

Chapter 6  The Deputy Procureur du Roi.

 

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 Dantes. 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 Conde; 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-Meran. 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 a 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-Meran, 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, Renee," 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 Vendome. 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 Renee, "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-Meran'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-Meran'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-Meran; "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-Meran, "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 Renee, 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 Renee, 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." Renee 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 Renee, "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, Renee, 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 Renee; "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 Renee, "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 Renee," 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 Conde; 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-Meran. 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 Renee, "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. Renee

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-Meran, with an air of deep interest.

 

"For a very serious matter, which bids fair to make work for

the executioner."

 

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Renee, 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 Dantes, 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 Dantes, 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 Dantes on board the Pharaon.'"

 

"But," said Renee, "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 Renee.

 

"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 Renee, 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 Renee, 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." Renee

shuddered.

 

"Never mind that foolish girl, Villefort," said the

marquise. "She will soon get over these things." So saying,

Madame de Saint-Meran extended her dry bony hand to

Villefort, who, while imprinting a son-in-law's respectful

salute on it, looked at Renee, 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 Renee.

 

"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 Renee.

 

"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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