Paris, always curious and fascinated by the spectacle of a funeral, watched in solemn silence the passing of this magnificent procession which bore to their last resting-place two names of that old aristocracy who more than any others were celebrated for their traditional spirit, reliability in their dealings and obstinate devotion to principle.
Beauchamp, Albert and Château-Renaud were in the same funerary carriage, discussing this almost sudden death.
‘I saw Madame de Saint-Méran only last year in Marseille,’ said Château-Renaud, ‘on my way back from Algeria. She was a woman fated to live to a hundred, thanks to her excellent health, sound mind and undiminished energy. How old was she?’
‘Sixty-six,’ Albert replied, ‘at least, so Franz assures me. It was not old age that killed her, though, but grief at the death of the marquis. It appears that she was completely shattered by his death and never really recovered her wits.’
‘Even so, what did she die of?’ asked Beauchamp.
‘A stroke, apparently, or an apoplexy. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?’
‘More or less.’
‘Apoplexy?’ said Beauchamp. ‘Now that’s hard to believe. I too saw Madame de Saint-Méran a couple of times: she was petite, slightly built and much more of a nervous than a sanguine temperament. It’s very rare for grief to produce apoplexy in a person of Madame de Saint-Méran’s constitution.’
‘In any event,’ said Albert, ‘whatever the illness or the doctor who killed her, this means that Monsieur de Villefort – or rather, Mademoiselle Valentine – or, again, rather, our friend Franz – can enjoy a splendid inheritance: an income of eighty thousand livres, isn’t it?’
‘What’s more, it will be almost doubled when that old Jacobin, Noirtier, dies.’
‘Now there’s a tenacious old bird,’ said Beauchamp. ‘Tenacem propositi virum.2 I do believe he has wagered with death that he will bury all his heirs, and, by heaven, he’ll do it. He really is the old Conventionnel3 of ‘93, who told Napoleon in 1814: “You are going down because this empire of yours is a young shoot exhausted by its own growth. Take the republic as your guide, let’s go back to the battlefield with a good constitution and I promise you five hundred thousand soldiers, another Marengo and a second Austerlitz.4 Ideas never die, Sire, and, though they may slumber for a time, they wake up stronger than when they fell asleep.” ’
‘It appears that for him men are like ideas,’ said Albert. ‘There’s only one thing bothering me, which is how Franz d’Epinay will get on with a grandfather-in-law who cannot do without Franz’s wife. By the way, where is Franz?’
‘In the front carriage with Monsieur de Villefort, who already considers him one of the family.’
More or less similar conversations were taking place in each of the carriages in the funeral procession. People were amazed at these two deaths, so sudden and so close together, but no one suspected the terrible secret which M. d’Avrigny had revealed to M. de Villefort in their midnight walk.
After a drive of about an hour they reached the cemetery gates. The weather was calm but overcast, and so quite appropriate for the dismal ceremony that they had come to perform. Among the groups going towards the family vault Château-Renaud recognized Morrel, who had come alone and in a cab. He was walking by himself, very pale and silent, along the little path lined with yews.
‘You – here!’ Château-Renaud said, slipping his arm into the captain’s. ‘Do you know Monsieur de Villefort, then? And in that case, how is it that I have never seen you in his house?’
‘It’s not that I know Monsieur de Villefort, but that I knew Madame de Saint-Méran,’ said Morrel.
At that moment Albert joined them with Franz.
‘Here’s not a good place to make introductions,’ said Albert. ‘But who cares? We’re not superstitious, are we? Monsieur Morrel, let me introduce Monsieur Franz d’Epinay, a splendid travelling companion with whom I toured Italy. My dear Franz: Monsieur Maximilien Morrel, an excellent friend whom I have acquired in your absence and whose name you will hear coming up in the conversation every time I want to speak of heart, spirit and pleasant companionship.’
Morrel hesitated for a moment. He wondered if it was not disgraceful hypocrisy to address an almost friendly greeting to a man whose interests he was secretly undermining; but he recalled his oath and the solemnity of the occasion and made an effort to let nothing appear on his face. He contained himself and bowed.
‘Mademoiselle de Villefort appears to be very sad,’ Debray said to Franz.
‘Yes,’ said Franz. ‘So much indeed that her sadness is inexplicable. This morning she was so overcome that I could hardly recognize her.’
These apparently simple words broke Morrel’s heart. Had this man seen Valentine, had he spoken to her? The ardent young officer needed all his strength to resist the desire to break his vow. Instead he took Château-Renaud’s arm and led him quickly towards the vault, in front of which the undertakers had just put down the two coffins.
‘Fine dwelling,’ said Beauchamp, glancing at the mausoleum. ‘Summer palace, winter palace. You’ll live there yourself in the end, my dear d’Epinay, as you’re soon going to be one of the family. As for me, philosopher that I am, I should like a little country house, a cottage far away under the trees, with less hewn stone on my poor corpse. When I die, I shall say to those about my deathbed what Voltaire wrote to Pirron: eo rus;5 and that will be it. Dammit, Franz, cheer up! Your wife’s an heiress.’
‘I must say, Beauchamp,’ said Franz, ‘you are impossible. Politics have accustomed you to laugh at everything, and men who administer affairs usually don’t believe in anything. But, I must ask you, Beauchamp, when you have the honour to find yourself in the company of ordinary men and the good fortune to be out of politics for a moment, please try to pick up the heart that you leave behind at the cloakroom of the Lower and Upper House.’
‘By God!’ said Beauchamp. ‘What is life except a pause in the antechamber of death?’
‘Beauchamp’s getting on my nerves,’ Albert said, dropping behind four paces with Franz and leaving Beauchamp to continue his philosophical discussion with Debray.
The Villefort family vault consisted of a square of white stones, rising to a height of about twenty feet. An inner wall divided the families of Saint-Méran and Villefort into two compartments, each with its own entrance. Inside, there were none of those base drawers, one above the other, as in other tombs, which allow the dead to be packed in economically with an inscription like a label on each one. All that one could see at first through the bronze door was an austere, dark antechamber, separated from the tomb itself by a wall. It was in the middle of this wall that the two doors we mentioned were set, giving entrance to the Villefort and Saint-Méran family sepulchres.
Here, sorrow could have free rein without the silent contemplation or tearful prayers of the visitor to the tomb being disturbed by the songs, shouts or gallivanting of those merry passers-by who make a visit to the Père-Lachaise into a picnic or a lovers’ meeting.
The two coffins were taken into the right-hand vault, which was that of the Saint-Méran family. They were placed on trestles that had been prepared in advance to receive these mortal remains. Only Villefort, Franz and a few close relatives entered the sanctuary.
Since the religious ceremony had been carried out at the door, and there were no speeches to be made, the mourners dispersed immediately, Château-Renaud, Albert and Morrel going off in one direction, Debray and Beauchamp in another. Franz remained at the gate of the cemetery with M. de Villefort. Morrel stopped on the first excuse and saw the two of them leaving in one of the funerary carriages; he found this tête-à-tête ominous. Then he returned to Paris and, though he was in the same carriage as Château-Renaud and Albert, did not hear a word of what the two young men said.
In fact, as Franz had been about to take his leave of M. de Villefort, the latter had asked: ‘Tell me, Baron, when shall I see you again?’
‘
When you wish, Monsieur,’ Franz replied.
‘As soon as possible.’
‘I am at your disposal. Do you wish us to return together?’
‘If it does not inconvenience you.’
‘Not at all.’
This was why the future father-in-law and future son-in-law got into the same carriage and Morrel, seeing them go by, was rightly disturbed. So Villefort and Franz returned to the Faubourg Saint-Honoré together.
The crown prosecutor, without going to see anyone or speaking to his wife and daughter, showed the young man into his study and, motioning him to a chair, said, ‘Monsieur d’Epinay, I must remind you… and this is not such an inappropriate moment as it seems, because obedience to the dead is the first offering that one should place on their tombs… I must remind you of the wish that Madame de Saint-Méran expressed two days ago on her deathbed, namely that Valentine’s marriage should not be delayed. You know that the affairs of the deceased are entirely in order and that her will bequeaths to Valentine the entire fortune of the Saint-Mérans. The notary showed me yesterday the documents that will allow us to draw up a definitive contract of marriage. You can see him and ask him on my behalf to show you these papers. His name is Monsieur Deschamps, Place Beauveau, Faubourg Saint-Honoré.’
‘Monsieur,’ d’Epinay replied, ‘this may not be the moment for Mademoiselle Valentine, plunged as she is in grief and mourning, to think about getting married. In fact, I would be afraid that…’
M. de Villefort interrupted him. ‘Valentine,’ he said, ‘will have no more urgent desire than to fulfil her grandmother’s last wishes. I guarantee there will be no objection from that side.’
‘In that case, Monsieur,’ Franz replied, ‘as there will be none from mine, you can go ahead at your own convenience. I have given my word and I shall keep it not only with pleasure but also with happiness.’
‘Then nothing is stopping us. The contract was to have been signed three days ago, so we shall find it completely drawn up. We can sign it this very day.’
‘But what about the period of mourning?’ asked Franz.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Villefort. ‘You will not find that in this house convention is disregarded. Mademoiselle de Villefort can retire for the appropriate three months into her estate at Saint-Méran – I say, her estate, because from now on it belongs to her. There, in a week if you wish, quietly and with a minimum of ceremony, we can conduct the civil wedding. It was Madame de Saint-Méran’s desire that her granddaughter should be married on the estate. Once the marriage has been concluded, Monsieur, you can return to Paris, and your wife will spend the period of mourning with her stepmother.’
‘As you wish, Monsieur,’ said Franz.
‘Well, then,’ Villefort continued, ‘please be good enough to wait for half an hour. Valentine will come down to the drawing-room. I shall send for Monsieur Deschamps, we can read and sign the contract on the spot and, this evening, Madame de Villefort will take Valentine down to her estate, where we shall go and join them in a week’s time.’
‘Monsieur,’ said Franz, ‘I have only one thing to ask you.’
‘What is that?’
‘I should like Albert de Morcerf and Raoul de Château-Renaud to be present at the signature of the contract. As you know, they are my witnesses.’
‘Half an hour will be enough to inform them. Would you like to go for them yourself? Or would you prefer me to have them sent for?’
‘I would rather go myself, Monsieur.’
‘So, I shall expect you in half an hour, Baron, and in half an hour Valentine will be ready.’
Franz bowed and left the room.
Hardly had the street-door closed behind him than Villefort sent one of the servants to ask Valentine to come down to the drawing-room in half an hour, because they were expecting the notary and M. d’Epinay’s witnesses. This unexpected news produced a great commotion in the house. Mme de Villefort refused to believe it and Valentine was struck down as if by a bolt of lightning. She looked frantically around her as if searching for someone whom she could beg for help.
She tried to go down to find her grandfather, but on the stairs she met M. de Villefort, who took her arm and led her into the drawing-room. In the antechamber she passed Barrois and gave the old servant a look of desperation.
A moment after Valentine, Mme de Villefort entered the drawing-room with little Edouard. It was clear that the woman had been affected by the family misfortunes: she was pale and seemed desperately tired. She sat down and took Edouard on her knees, occasionally hugging this child convulsively to her breast. He seemed to have become the centre of her entire life.
Soon they heard the sound of two carriages entering the courtyard. One belonged to the notary, the other to Franz and his friends. In a moment they were all gathered in the drawing-room.
Valentine was so pale that one could see the blue veins from her temples standing out around her eyes and running the length of her cheeks. Franz too was overcome with powerful feelings. As for Château-Renaud and Albert, they looked at one another with astonishment: the ceremony that had just finished did not seem to them to have been sadder than the one that was about to begin.
Mme de Villefort was in shadow, behind a velvet curtain and, since she was constantly bent over her son, it was hard to tell what was going on in her mind. M. de Villefort, as always, was impassive.
The notary set out the papers with a lawyer’s habitual precision, sat down on his chair, raised his glasses and then turned to Franz. ‘Are you Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, Baron d’Epinay?’ he asked, perfectly aware of the answer.
‘I am,’ Franz replied.
The notary bowed. ‘I must inform you, Monsieur,’ he said, ‘as I am requested to do by Monsieur de Villefort, that your intended marriage with Mademoiselle de Villefort has altered the terms of Monsieur Noirtier’s will towards his granddaughter and that he is withdrawing entirely the fortune that he intended to bequeath to her. Let me at once add,’ the notary continued, ‘that the testator has the right to alienate only a portion of his wealth and that, since he has withdrawn all of it, the will can successfully be contested, whereupon it will be declared null and void.’
‘Yes,’ Villefort said, ‘though I must warn Monsieur d’Epinay in advance that my father’s will is not to be contested in my lifetime, since my position does not allow me to suffer even the hint of a scandal.’
‘Monsieur,’ said Franz, ‘I regret that it has been found necessary to raise such a question in front of Mademoiselle Valentine. I have never tried to discover the amount of her fortune which, even reduced, will be much larger than mine. What my family sought in my marriage to Monsieur de Villefort’s family was rank; what I am seeking is happiness.’
Valentine made a barely perceptible sign of thanks, while two silent tears ran down her cheeks.
‘In any event, Monsieur,’ Villefort said to his future son-in-law, ‘apart from the loss of this portion of your expectations, there is nothing in this unexpected will which is to your discredit; it may be explained by Monsieur Noirtier’s weakness of mind. What displeases my father is not that Mademoiselle de Villefort is marrying you, but that she is marrying at all. Her marriage to any other man would have caused him equal displeasure. Old age is selfish, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle de Villefort was a devoted companion to Monsieur Noirtier in a way that the Baroness d’Epinay can no longer be. My father’s unfortunate state means that people seldom discuss serious matters with him, the feebleness of his wits not allowing him to follow such conversations. I am quite convinced that at the moment, while he is aware that his granddaughter is getting married, Monsieur Noirtier has even forgotten the name of the man who is to become his grandson.’
Hardly had M. de Villefort spoken these words, to which Franz replied with a bow, than the door of the room opened and Barrois appeared.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, in a voice that was strangely firm for a servant speaking to his masters on such a solemn occasion. ‘Gentlemen
, Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort wishes to speak immediately with Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, Baron d’Epinay.’ Like the notary, and so that no one could be mistaken, he gave the fiancé his full title.
Villefort started, Mme de Villefort let her son slip down from her knees and Valentine got up, as pale and silent as a statue. Albert and Château-Renaud exchanged a second glance which was even more astonished than the first.
The notary looked at Villefort.
‘Impossible,’ said the crown prosecutor. ‘In any event, Monsieur d’Epinay cannot leave the drawing-room at this moment.’
‘It is precisely at this moment that my master, Monsieur Noirtier, wishes to speak of important matters with Monsieur Franz d’Epinay,’ said Barrois, with equal firmness.
‘Is grandpa Noirtier talking now?’ Edouard asked, with his usual impertinence. But Mme de Villefort did not even laugh at this quip, so much was everyone preoccupied and so solemn did the occasion seem.
‘Tell Monsieur Noirtier that it is impossible to do as he asks,’ Villefort went on.
‘Then Monsieur Noirtier would like to inform these gentlemen that he will have himself brought in person to the drawing-room,’ said Barrois.
The astonishment reached its height. A sort of smile crept over Mme de Villefort’s face. Valentine, as if involuntarily, looked towards the ceiling in gratitude to heaven.
‘Valentine,’ Villefort said, ‘please be so good as to go and find out what this new whim of your grandfather’s is.’
She hurried towards the door, but then M. de Villefort thought better of it and said: ‘Wait, I shall come with you.’
‘Excuse me, Monsieur,’ said Franz, in his turn. ‘It seems to me that, since I am the one whom Monsieur Noirtier is asking to see, it is above all up to me to do as he wishes. In any case, I shall be happy to pay my respects, since I have not yet had the opportunity to request the favour of doing so.’
‘Oh, come, come!’ said Villefort, clearly uneasy. ‘Don’t put yourself out.’
The Count of Monte Cristo (Penguin Classics eBook) Page 102