Chapter 12. Father and Son
M. Noirtier—for it was, indeed, he who entered—looked after the servantuntil the door was closed, and then, fearing, no doubt, that he might beoverheard in the antechamber, he opened the door again, nor was theprecaution useless, as appeared from the rapid retreat of Germain, whoproved that he was not exempt from the sin which ruined our firstparents. M. Noirtier then took the trouble to close and bolt theantechamber door, then that of the bedchamber, and then extended hishand to Villefort, who had followed all his motions with surprise whichhe could not conceal.
“Well, now, my dear Gérard,” said he to the young man, with a verysignificant look, “do you know, you seem as if you were not very glad tosee me?”
“My dear father,” said Villefort, “I am, on the contrary, delighted; butI so little expected your visit, that it has somewhat overcome me.”
“But, my dear fellow,” replied M. Noirtier, seating himself, “I mightsay the same thing to you, when you announce to me your wedding for the28th of February, and on the 3rd of March you turn up here in Paris.”
“And if I have come, my dear father,” said Gérard, drawing closer to M.Noirtier, “do not complain, for it is for you that I came, and myjourney will be your salvation.”
“Ah, indeed!” said M. Noirtier, stretching himself out at his ease inthe chair. “Really, pray tell me all about it, for it must beinteresting.”
“Father, you have heard speak of a certain Bonapartist club in the RueSaint-Jacques?”
“No. 53; yes, I am vice-president.”
“Father, your coolness makes me shudder.”
“Why, my dear boy, when a man has been proscribed by the mountaineers,has escaped from Paris in a hay-cart, been hunted over the plains ofBordeaux by Robespierre’s bloodhounds, he becomes accustomed to mostthings. But go on, what about the club in the Rue Saint-Jacques?”
“Why, they induced General Quesnel to go there, and General Quesnel, whoquitted his own house at nine o’clock in the evening, was found the nextday in the Seine.”
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“And who told you this fine story?”
“The king himself.”
“Well, then, in return for your story,” continued Noirtier, “I will tellyou another.”
“My dear father, I think I already know what you are about to tell me.”
“Ah, you have heard of the landing of the emperor?”
“Not so loud, father, I entreat of you—for your own sake as well asmine. Yes, I heard this news, and knew it even before you could; forthree days ago I posted from Marseilles to Paris with all possiblespeed, half-desperate at the enforced delay.”
“Three days ago? You are crazy. Why, three days ago the emperor had notlanded.”
“No matter, I was aware of his intention.”
“How did you know about it?”
“By a letter addressed to you from the Island of Elba.”
“To me?”
“To you; and which I discovered in the pocket-book of the messenger. Hadthat letter fallen into the hands of another, you, my dear father, wouldprobably ere this have been shot.” Villefort’s father laughed.
“Come, come,” said he, “will the Restoration adopt imperial methods sopromptly? Shot, my dear boy? What an idea! Where is the letter you speakof? I know you too well to suppose you would allow such a thing to passyou.”
“I burnt it, for fear that even a fragment should remain; for thatletter must have led to your condemnation.”
“And the destruction of your future prospects,” replied Noirtier; “yes,I can easily comprehend that. But I have nothing to fear while I haveyou to protect me.”
“I do better than that, sir—I save you.”
“You do? Why, really, the thing becomes more and more dramatic—explainyourself.”
“I must refer again to the club in the Rue Saint-Jacques.”
“It appears that this club is rather a bore to the police. Why didn’tthey search more vigilantly? they would have found——”
“They have not found; but they are on the track.”
“Yes, that the usual phrase; I am quite familiar with it. When thepolice is at fault, it declares that it is on the track; and thegovernment patiently awaits the day when it comes to say, with asneaking air, that the track is lost.”
“Yes, but they have found a corpse; the general has been killed, and inall countries they call that a murder.”
“A murder do you call it? why, there is nothing to prove that thegeneral was murdered. People are found every day in the Seine, havingthrown themselves in, or having been drowned from not knowing how toswim.”
“Father, you know very well that the general was not a man to drownhimself in despair, and people do not bathe in the Seine in the month ofJanuary. No, no, do not be deceived; this was murder in every sense ofthe word.”
“And who thus designated it?”
“The king himself.”
“The king! I thought he was philosopher enough to allow that there wasno murder in politics. In politics, my dear fellow, you know, as well asI do, there are no men, but ideas—no feelings, but interests; inpolitics we do not kill a man, we only remove an obstacle, that is all.Would you like to know how matters have progressed? Well, I will tellyou. It was thought reliance might be placed in General Quesnel; he wasrecommended to us from the Island of Elba; one of us went to him, andinvited him to the Rue Saint-Jacques, where he would find some friends.He came there, and the plan was unfolded to him for leaving Elba, theprojected landing, etc. When he had heard and comprehended all to thefullest extent, he replied that he was a royalist. Then all looked ateach other,—he was made to take an oath, and did so, but with such anill grace that it was really tempting Providence to swear thus, and yet,in spite of that, the general was allowed to depart free—perfectly free.Yet he did not return home. What could that mean? why, my dear fellow,that on leaving us he lost his way, that’s all. A murder? really,Villefort, you surprise me. You, a deputy procureur, to found anaccusation on such bad premises! Did I ever say to you, when you werefulfilling your character as a royalist, and cut off the head of one ofmy party, ‘My son, you have committed a murder?’ No, I said, ‘Very well,sir, you have gained the victory; tomorrow, perchance, it will be ourturn.’”
“But, father, take care; when our turn comes, our revenge will besweeping.”
“I do not understand you.”
“You rely on the usurper’s return?”
“We do.”
“You are mistaken; he will not advance two leagues into the interior ofFrance without being followed, tracked, and caught like a wild beast.”
“My dear fellow, the emperor is at this moment on the way to Grenoble;on the 10th or 12th he will be at Lyons, and on the 20th or 25th atParis.”
“The people will rise.”
“Yes, to go and meet him.”
“He has but a handful of men with him, and armies will be despatchedagainst him.”
“Yes, to escort him into the capital. Really, my dear Gérard, you arebut a child; you think yourself well informed because the telegraph hastold you, three days after the landing, ‘The usurper has landed atCannes with several men. He is pursued.’ But where is he? what is hedoing? You do not know at all, and in this way they will chase him toParis, without drawing a trigger.”
“Grenoble and Lyons are faithful cities, and will oppose to him animpassable barrier.”
“Grenoble will open her gates to him with enthusiasm—all Lyons willhasten to welcome him. Believe me, we are as well informed as you, andour police are as good as your own. Would you like a proof of it? well,you wished to conceal your journey from me, and yet I knew of yourarrival half an hour after you had passed the barrier. You gave yourdirection to no one but your postilion, yet I have your address, and inproof I am here the very instant you are going to sit at table. Ring,then, if you please, for a second knife, fork, and plate, and we willdine together.”
“Indeed!” replied Villefort, lo
oking at his father with astonishment,“you really do seem very well informed.”
“Eh? the thing is simple enough. You who are in power have only themeans that money produces—we who are in expectation, have those whichdevotion prompts.”
“Devotion!” said Villefort, with a sneer.
“Yes, devotion; for that is, I believe, the phrase for hopefulambition.”
And Villefort’s father extended his hand to the bell-rope, to summon theservant whom his son had not called. Villefort caught his arm.
“Wait, my dear father,” said the young man, “one word more.”
“Say on.”
“However stupid the royalist police may be, they do know one terriblething.”
“What is that?”
“The description of the man who, on the morning of the day when GeneralQuesnel disappeared, presented himself at his house.”
“Oh, the admirable police have found that out, have they? And what maybe that description?”
“Dark complexion; hair, eyebrows, and whiskers black; blue frock-coat,buttoned up to the chin; rosette of an officer of the Legion of Honor inhis button-hole; a hat with wide brim, and a cane.”
“Ah, ha, that’s it, is it?” said Noirtier; “and why, then, have they notlaid hands on him?”
“Because yesterday, or the day before, they lost sight of him at thecorner of the Rue Coq-Héron.”
“Didn’t I say that your police were good for nothing?”
“Yes; but they may catch him yet.”
“True,” said Noirtier, looking carelessly around him, “true, if thisperson were not on his guard, as he is;” and he added with a smile, “Hewill consequently make a few changes in his personal appearance.” Atthese words he rose, and put off his frock-coat and cravat, went towardsa table on which lay his son’s toilet articles, lathered his face, tooka razor, and, with a firm hand, cut off the compromising whiskers.Villefort watched him with alarm not devoid of admiration.
His whiskers cut off, Noirtier gave another turn to his hair; took,instead of his black cravat, a colored neckerchief which lay at the topof an open portmanteau; put on, in lieu of his blue and high-buttonedfrock-coat, a coat of Villefort’s of dark brown, and cut away in front;tried on before the glass a narrow-brimmed hat of his son’s, whichappeared to fit him perfectly, and, leaving his cane in the corner wherehe had deposited it, he took up a small bamboo switch, cut the air withit once or twice, and walked about with that easy swagger which was oneof his principal characteristics.
“Well,” he said, turning towards his wondering son, when this disguisewas completed, “well, do you think your police will recognize me now.”
“No, father,” stammered Villefort; “at least, I hope not.”
“And now, my dear boy,” continued Noirtier, “I rely on your prudence toremove all the things which I leave in your care.”
“Oh, rely on me,” said Villefort.
“Yes, yes; and now I believe you are right, and that you have reallysaved my life; be assured I will return the favor hereafter.”
Villefort shook his head.
“You are not convinced yet?”
“I hope at least, that you may be mistaken.”
“Shall you see the king again?”
“Perhaps.”
“Would you pass in his eyes for a prophet?”
“Prophets of evil are not in favor at the court, father.”
“True, but some day they do them justice; and supposing a secondrestoration, you would then pass for a great man.”
“Well, what should I say to the king?”
“Say this to him: ‘Sire, you are deceived as to the feeling in France,as to the opinions of the towns, and the prejudices of the army; he whomin Paris you call the Corsican ogre, who at Nevers is styled theusurper, is already saluted as Bonaparte at Lyons, and emperor atGrenoble. You think he is tracked, pursued, captured; he is advancing asrapidly as his own eagles. The soldiers you believe to be dying withhunger, worn out with fatigue, ready to desert, gather like atoms ofsnow about the rolling ball as it hastens onward. Sire, go, leave Franceto its real master, to him who acquired it, not by purchase, but byright of conquest; go, sire, not that you incur any risk, for youradversary is powerful enough to show you mercy, but because it would behumiliating for a grandson of Saint Louis to owe his life to the man ofArcola, Marengo, Austerlitz.’ Tell him this, Gérard; or, rather, tellhim nothing. Keep your journey a secret; do not boast of what you havecome to Paris to do, or have done; return with all speed; enterMarseilles at night, and your house by the back-door, and there remain,quiet, submissive, secret, and, above all, inoffensive; for this time, Iswear to you, we shall act like powerful men who know their enemies. Go,my son—go, my dear Gérard, and by your obedience to my paternal orders,or, if you prefer it, friendly counsels, we will keep you in your place.This will be,” added Noirtier, with a smile, “one means by which you maya second time save me, if the political balance should some day takeanother turn, and cast you aloft while hurling me down. Adieu, my dearGérard, and at your next journey alight at my door.”
Noirtier left the room when he had finished, with the same calmness thathad characterized him during the whole of this remarkable and tryingconversation. Villefort, pale and agitated, ran to the window, put asidethe curtain, and saw him pass, cool and collected, by two or three ill-looking men at the corner of the street, who were there, perhaps, toarrest a man with black whiskers, and a blue frock-coat, and hat withbroad brim.
Villefort stood watching, breathless, until his father had disappearedat the Rue Bussy. Then he turned to the various articles he had leftbehind him, put the black cravat and blue frock-coat at the bottom ofthe portmanteau, threw the hat into a dark closet, broke the cane intosmall bits and flung it in the fire, put on his travelling-cap, andcalling his valet, checked with a look the thousand questions he wasready to ask, paid his bill, sprang into his carriage, which was ready,learned at Lyons that Bonaparte had entered Grenoble, and in the midstof the tumult which prevailed along the road, at length reachedMarseilles, a prey to all the hopes and fears which enter into the heartof man with ambition and its first successes.
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 13