The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 13. The Hundred Days

  M. Noirtier was a true prophet, and things progressed rapidly, as he hadpredicted. Everyone knows the history of the famous return from Elba, areturn which was unprecedented in the past, and will probably remainwithout a counterpart in the future.

  Louis XVIII. made but a faint attempt to parry this unexpected blow; themonarchy he had scarcely reconstructed tottered on its precariousfoundation, and at a sign from the emperor the incongruous structure ofancient prejudices and new ideas fell to the ground. Villefort,therefore, gained nothing save the king’s gratitude (which was ratherlikely to injure him at the present time) and the cross of the Legion ofHonor, which he had the prudence not to wear, although M. de Blacas hadduly forwarded the brevet.

  Napoleon would, doubtless, have deprived Villefort of his office had itnot been for Noirtier, who was all powerful at court, and thus theGirondin of ’93 and the Senator of 1806 protected him who so lately hadbeen his protector. All Villefort’s influence barely enabled him tostifle the secret Dantès had so nearly divulged. The king’s procureuralone was deprived of his office, being suspected of royalism.

  However, scarcely was the imperial power established—that is, scarcelyhad the emperor re-entered the Tuileries and begun to issue orders fromthe closet into which we have introduced our readers,—he found on thetable there Louis XVIII.’s half-filled snuff-box,—scarcely had thisoccurred when Marseilles began, in spite of the authorities, to rekindlethe flames of civil war, always smouldering in the south, and itrequired but little to excite the populace to acts of far greaterviolence than the shouts and insults with which they assailed theroyalists whenever they ventured abroad.

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  Owing to this change, the worthy shipowner became at that moment—we willnot say all powerful, because Morrel was a prudent and rather a timidman, so much so, that many of the most zealous partisans of Bonaparteaccused him of “moderation”—but sufficiently influential to make ademand in favor of Dantès.

  Villefort retained his place, but his marriage was put off until a morefavorable opportunity. If the emperor remained on the throne, Gérardrequired a different alliance to aid his career; if Louis XVIII.returned, the influence of M. de Saint-Méran, like his own, could bevastly increased, and the marriage be still more suitable. The deputyprocureur was, therefore, the first magistrate of Marseilles, when onemorning his door opened, and M. Morrel was announced.

  Anyone else would have hastened to receive him; but Villefort was a manof ability, and he knew this would be a sign of weakness. He made Morrelwait in the antechamber, although he had no one with him, for the simplereason that the king’s procureur always makes everyone wait, and afterpassing a quarter of an hour in reading the papers, he ordered M. Morrelto be admitted.

  Morrel expected Villefort would be dejected; he found him as he hadfound him six weeks before, calm, firm, and full of that glacialpoliteness, that most insurmountable barrier which separates the well-bred from the vulgar man.

  He had entered Villefort’s office expecting that the magistrate wouldtremble at the sight of him; on the contrary, he felt a cold shudder allover 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; Villefortgazed at him as if he had some difficulty in recognizing him; then,after a brief interval, during which the honest shipowner turned his hatin 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 bedelighted.”

  “Everything depends on you.”

  “Explain yourself, pray.”

  “Monsieur,” said Morrel, recovering his assurance as he proceeded, “doyou recollect that a few days before the landing of his majesty theemperor, I came to intercede for a young man, the mate of my ship, whowas accused of being concerned in correspondence with the Island ofElba? What was the other day a crime is today a title to favor. You thenserved Louis XVIII., and you did not show any favor—it was your duty;today you serve Napoleon, and you ought to protect him—it is equallyyour duty; I come, therefore, to ask what has become of him?”

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  Villefort by a strong effort sought to control himself. “What is hisname?” said he. “Tell me his name.”

  “Edmond Dantès.”

  Villefort would probably have rather stood opposite the muzzle of apistol at five-and-twenty paces than have heard this name spoken; but hedid not blanch.

  “Dantès,” repeated he, “Edmond Dantès.”

  “Yes, monsieur.” Villefort opened a large register, then went to atable, from the table turned to his registers, and then, turning toMorrel,

  “Are you quite sure you are not mistaken, monsieur?” said he, in themost natural tone in the world.

  Had Morrel been a more quick-sighted man, or better versed in thesematters, he would have been surprised at the king’s procureur answeringhim on such a subject, instead of referring him to the governors of theprison or the prefect of the department. But Morrel, disappointed in hisexpectations of exciting fear, was conscious only of the other’scondescension. 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, Icame about six weeks ago to plead for clemency, as I come today to pleadfor justice. You received me very coldly. Oh, the royalists were verysevere with the Bonapartists in those days.”

  “Monsieur,” returned Villefort, “I was then a royalist, because Ibelieved the Bourbons not only the heirs to the throne, but the chosenof the nation. The miraculous return of Napoleon has conquered me, thelegitimate monarch is he who is loved by his people.”

  “That’s right!” cried Morrel. “I like to hear you speak thus, and Iaugur 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. Irecollect 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 wascarried 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-Marguérite islands. Some fine morning he will return to take command ofyour vessel.”

  “Come when he will, it shall be kept for him. But how is it he is notalready returned? It seems to me the first care of government should beto set at liberty those who have suffered for their adherence to it.”

  “Do not be too hasty, M. Morrel,” replied Villefort. “The order ofimprisonment came from high authority, and the order for his liberationmust proceed from the same source; and, as Napoleon has scarcely beenreinstated a fortnight, the letters have not yet been forwarded.”

  “But,” said Morrel, “is there no way of expediting all theseformalities—of releasing him from arrest?”

  “There has been no arrest.”

  “How?”

  “It is sometimes essential to government to cause a man’s disappearancewithout leaving any traces, so that no written forms or documents maydefeat 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 isincalculable.” Had Morrel even any suspicions, so much kindness wouldhave 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 petitionsevery day, and does not read three.”

  “That is true; but he will read a petition countersigned and presentedby me.”

  “And will you undertake to deliver it?”

  “With the greatest pleasure. Dantès was then guilty, and now he isinnocent, and it is as much my duty to free him as it was to condemnhim.” Villefort thus forestalled any danger of an inquiry, which,however improbable it might be, if it did take place would leave himdefenceless.

  “But how shall I address the minister?”

  “Sit down there,” said Villefort, giving up his place to Morrel, “andwrite 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 besuffering.”

  Villefort shuddered at the suggestion; but he had gone too far to drawback. Dantès must be crushed to gratify Villefort’s ambition.

  Villefort dictated a petition, in which, from an excellent intention, nodoubt, Dantès’ patriotic services were exaggerated, and he was made outone of the most active agents of Napoleon’s return. It was evident thatat 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?”

  “Today.”

  “Countersigned by you?”

  “The best thing I can do will be to certify the truth of the contents ofyour petition.” And, sitting down, Villefort wrote the certificate atthe bottom.

  “What more is to be done?”

  “I will do whatever is necessary.” This assurance delighted Morrel, whotook leave of Villefort, and hastened to announce to old Dantès that hewould soon see his son.

  As for Villefort, instead of sending to Paris, he carefully preservedthe petition that so fearfully compromised Dantès, in the hopes of anevent that seemed not unlikely,—that is, a second restoration. Dantèsremained a prisoner, and heard not the noise of the fall of LouisXVIII.’s throne, or the still more tragic destruction of the empire.

  Twice during the Hundred Days had Morrel renewed his demand, and twicehad Villefort soothed him with promises. At last there was Waterloo, andMorrel came no more; he had done all that was in his power, and anyfresh attempt would only compromise himself uselessly.

  Louis XVIII. remounted the throne; Villefort, to whom Marseilles hadbecome filled with remorseful memories, sought and obtained thesituation of king’s procureur at Toulouse, and a fortnight afterwards hemarried Mademoiselle de Saint-Méran, whose father now stood higher atcourt than ever.

  And so Dantès, after the Hundred Days and after Waterloo, remained inhis dungeon, forgotten of earth and heaven.

  Danglars comprehended the full extent of the wretched fate thatoverwhelmed Dantès; and, when Napoleon returned to France, he, after themanner of mediocre minds, termed the coincidence, a decree ofProvidence. But when Napoleon returned to Paris, Danglars’ heart failedhim, and he lived in constant fear of Dantès’ return on a mission ofvengeance. He therefore informed M. Morrel of his wish to quit the sea,and obtained a recommendation from him to a Spanish merchant, into whoseservice he entered at the end of March, that is, ten or twelve daysafter Napoleon’s return. He then left for Madrid, and was no more heardof.

  Fernand understood nothing except that Dantès was absent. What hadbecome of him he cared not to inquire. Only, during the respite theabsence of his rival afforded him, he reflected, partly on the means ofdeceiving Mercédès as to the cause of his absence, partly on plans ofemigration and abduction, as from time to time he sat sad and motionlesson the summit of Cape Pharo, at the spot from whence Marseilles and theCatalans are visible, watching for the apparition of a young andhandsome man, who was for him also the messenger of vengeance. Fernand’smind was made up; he would shoot Dantès, and then kill himself. ButFernand was mistaken; a man of his disposition never kills himself, forhe constantly hopes.

  During this time the empire made its last conscription, and every man inFrance capable of bearing arms rushed to obey the summons of theemperor. Fernand departed with the rest, bearing with him the terriblethought that while he was away, his rival would perhaps return and marryMercédès. Had Fernand really meant to kill himself, he would have doneso when he parted from Mercédès. His devotion, and the compassion heshowed for her misfortunes, produced the effect they always produce onnoble minds—Mercédès had always had a sincere regard for Fernand, andthis was now strengthened by gratitude.

  “My brother,” said she, as she placed his knapsack on his shoulders, “becareful of yourself, for if you are killed, I shall be alone in theworld.” These words carried a ray of hope into Fernand’s heart. ShouldDantès not return, Mercédès might one day be his.

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  Mercédès was left alone face to face with the vast plain that had neverseemed so barren, and the sea that had never seemed so vast. Bathed intears she wandered about the Catalan village. Sometimes she stood muteand motionless as a statue, looking towards Marseilles, at other timesgazing on the sea, and debating as to whether it were not better to castherself into the abyss of the ocean, and thus end her woes. It was notwant of courage that prevented her putting this resolution intoexecution; but her religious feelings came to her aid and saved her.

  Caderousse was, like Fernand, enrolled in the army, but, being marriedand eight years older, he was merely sent to the frontier. Old Dantès,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 thehour of his arrest, he breathed his last in Mercédès’ arms. M. Morrelpaid the expenses of his funeral, and a few small debts the poor old manhad contracted.

  There was more than benevolence in this action; there was courage; thesouth was aflame, and to assist, even on his death-bed, the father of sodangerous a Bonapartist as Dantès, was stigmatized as a crime.