Chapter 99 The Law
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WE
HAVE SEEN how quietly Mademoiselle Danglars and Mademoiselle d'Armilly
accomplished their transformation and flight; the fact being that every
one was too much occupied in his or her own affairs to think of theirs. We
will leave the banker contemplating the enormous magnitude of his debt
before the phantom of bankruptcy, and follow the baroness, who after being
momentarily crushed under the weight of the blow which had struck her, had
gone to seek her usual adviser, Lucien Debray. The baroness had looked
forward to this marriage as a means of ridding her of a guardianship
which, over a girl of Eugижnie's character, could not fail
to be rather a troublesome undertaking; for in the tacit relations which
maintain the bond of family union, the mother, to maintain her ascendancy
over her daughter, must never fail to be a model of wisdom and a type of
perfection. Now,
Madame Danglars feared Eugижnie's
sagacity and the influence of Mademoiselle d'Armilly; she had frequently
observed the contemptuous expression with which her daughter looked upon
Debray,--an expression which seemed to imply that she understood all her
mother's amorous and pecuniary relationships with the intimate secretary;
moreover, she saw that Eugижnie
detested Debray,--not only because he was a source of dissension and
scandal under the paternal roof, but because she had at once classed him
in that catalogue of bipeds whom Plato endeavors to withdraw from the
appellation of men, and whom Diogenes designated as animals upon two legs
without feathers. Unfortunately,
in this world of ours, each person views things through a certain medium,
and so is prevented from seeing in the same light as others, and Madame
Danglars, therefore, very much regretted that the marriage of Eugижnie had not taken place, not only
because the match was good, and likely to insure the happiness of her
child, but because it would also set her at liberty. She ran therefore to
Debray, who, after having like the rest of Paris witnessed the contract
scene and the scandal attending it, had retired in haste to his club,
where he was chatting with some friends upon the events which served as a
subject of conversation for three-fourths of that city known as the
capital of the world. At
the precise time when Madame Danglars, dressed in black and concealed in a
long veil, was ascending the stairs leading to Debray's
apartments,--notwithstanding the assurances of the conciииrge
that the young man was not at home,--Debray was occupied in repelling the
insinuations of a friend, who tried to persuade him that after the
terrible scene which had just taken place he ought, as a friend of the
family, to marry Mademoiselle Danglars and her two millions. Debray did
not defend himself very warmly, for the idea had sometimes crossed his
mind; still, when he recollected the independent, proud spirit of Eugижnie, he positively rejected it as utterly
impossible, though the same thought again continually recurred and found a
resting-place in his heart. Tea, play, and the conversation, which had
become interesting during the discussion of such serious affairs, lasted
till one o'clock in the morning. Meanwhile
Madame Danglars, veiled and uneasy, awaited the return of Debray in the
little green room, seated between two baskets of flowers, which she had
that morning sent, and which, it must be confessed, Debray had himself
arranged and watered with so much care that his absence was half excused
in the eyes of the poor woman. At
twenty minutes of twelve, Madame Danglars, tired of waiting, returned
home. Women of a certain grade are like prosperous grisettes in one
respect, they seldom return home after twelve o'clock. The baroness
returned to the hotel with as much caution as Eugижnie
used in leaving it; she ran lightly up-stairs, and with an aching heart
entered her apartment, contiguous, as we know, to that of Eugижnie. She was fearful of exciting
any remark, and believed firmly in her daughter's innocence and fidelity
to the paternal roof. She listened at Eugижnie's door, and hearing no sound tried to enter, but
the bolts were in place. Madame Danglars then concluded that the young
girl had been overcome with the terrible excitement of the evening, and
had gone to bed and to sleep. She called the maid and questioned her. "Mademoiselle
Eugижnie,"
said the maid, "retired to her apartment with Mademoiselle d'Armilly;
they then took tea together, after which they desired me to leave, saying
that they needed me no longer." Since then the maid had been below,
and like every one else she thought the young ladies were in their own
room; Madame Danglars, therefore, went to bed without a shadow of
suspicion, and began to muse over the recent events. In proportion as her
memory became clearer, the occurrences of the evening were revealed in
their true light; what she had taken for confusion was a tumult; what she
had regarded as something distressing, was in reality a disgrace. And then
the baroness remembered that she had felt no pity for poor Mercижdииs, who had been afflicted with as
severe a blow through her husband and son. "Eugижnie," she said to herself,
"is lost, and so are we. The affair, as it will be reported, will
cover us with shame; for in a society such as ours satire inflicts a
painful and incurable wound. How fortunate that Eugижnie is possessed of that strange character which has
so often made me tremble!" And her glance was turned towards heaven,
where a mysterious providence disposes all things, and out of a fault,
nay, even a vice, sometimes produces a blessing. And then her thoughts,
cleaving through space like a bird in the air, rested on Cavalcanti. This
Andrea was a wretch, a robber, an assassin, and yet his manners showed the
effects of a sort of education, if not a complete one; he had been
presented to the world with the appearance of an immense fortune,
supported by an honorable name. How could she extricate herself from this
labyrinth? To whom would she apply to help her out of this painful
situation? Debray, to whom she had run, with the first instinct of a woman
towards the man she loves, and who yet betrays her,--Debray could but give
her advice, she must apply to some one more powerful than he. The
baroness then thought of M. de Villefort. It was M. de Villefort who had
remorselessly brought misfortune into her family, as though they had been
strangers. But, no; on reflection, the procureur was not a merciless man;
and it was not the magistrate, slave to his duties, but the friend, the
loyal friend, who roughly but firmly cut into the very core of the
corruption; it was not the executioner, but the surgeon, who wished to
withdraw the honor of Danglars from ignominious association with the
disgraced young man they had presented to the world as their son-in-law.
And since Villefort, the friend of Danglars, had acted in this way, no one
could suppose that he had been previously acquainted with, or had lent
himself to, any of Andrea's intrigues. Villefort's conduct, therefore,
upon reflection, appeared to the baroness as if shaped for their mutual
advantage. But the inflexibility of the procureur should stop there; she
would see him the next day, and if she could not make him fail in his
duties as a magistrate, she would, at least, obtain all the indulgence he
could allow. She would invoke the past, recall old recollections; she
would supplicate him by the remembrance of guilty, yet happy days. M. de
Villefort would stifle the affair; he had only to turn his eyes on one
side, and allow Andrea to fly, and follow up the crime under that shadow
of guilt called contempt of court. And after this reasoning she slept
easily. At
nine o'clock next morning she arose, and without ringing for her maid or
giving the least sign of her activity, she dressed herself in the same
simple style as on the previous night; then running down-stairs, she left
the hotel. walked to the Rue de Provence, called a cab, and drove to M. de
Villefort's house. For the last month this wretched house had presented
the gloomy appearance of a lazaretto infected with the plague. Some of the
apartments were closed within and without; the shutters were only opened
to admit a minute's air, showing the scared face of a footman, and
immediately afterwards the window would be closed, like a gravestone
falling on a sepulchre, and the neighbors would say to each other in a low
voice, "Will there be another funeral to-day at the procureur's
house?" Madame Danglars involuntarily shuddered at the desolate
aspect of the mansion; descending from the cab, she approached the door
with trembling knees, and rang the bell. Three times did the bell ring
with a dull, heavy sound, seeming to participate, in the general sadness,
before the conciииrge
appeared and peeped through the door, which he opened just wide enough to
allow his words to be heard. He saw a lady, a fashionable, elegantly
dressed lady, and yet the door remained almost closed. "Do
you intend opening the door?" said the baroness. "First,
madame, who are you?" "Who
am I? You know me well enough." "We
no longer know any one, madame." "You
must be mad, my friend," said the baroness. "Where
do you come from?" "Oh,
this is too much!" "Madame,
these are my orders; excuse me. Your name?" "The
baroness Danglars; you have seen me twenty times." "Possibly,
madame. And now, what do you want?" "Oh,
how extraordinary! I shall complain to M. de Villefort of the impertinence
of his servants." "Madame,
this is precaution, not impertinence; no one enters here without an order
from M. d'Avrigny, or without speaking to the procureur." "Well,
I have business with the procureur." "Is
it pressing business?" "You
can imagine so, since I have not even brought my carriage out yet. But
enough of this--here is my card, take it to your master." "Madame
will await my return?" "Yes;
go." The conciииrge
closed the door, leaving Madame Danglars in the street. She had not long
to wait; directly afterwards the door was opened wide enough to admit her,
and when she had passed through, it was again shut. Without losing sight
of her for an instant, the conciииrge
took a whistle from his pocket as soon as they entered the court, and blew
it. The valet de chambre appeared on the door-steps. "You will excuse
this poor fellow, madame," he said, as he preceded the baroness,
"but his orders are precise, and M. de Villefort begged me to tell
you that he could not act otherwise." In
the court showing his merchandise, was a tradesman who had been admitted
with the same precautions. The baroness ascended the steps; she felt
herself strongly infected with the sadness which seemed to magnify her
own, and still guided by the valet de chambre, who never lost sight of her
for an instant, she was introduced to the magistrate's study. Preoccupied
as Madame Danglars had been with the object of her visit, the treatment
she had received from these underlings appeared to her so insulting, that
she began by complaining of it. But Villefort, raising his head, bowed
down by grief, looked up at her with so sad a smile that her complaints
died upon her lips. "Forgive my servants," he said, "for a
terror I cannot blame them for; from being suspected they have become
suspicious." Madame
Danglars had often heard of the terror to which the magistrate alluded,
but without the evidence of her own eyesight she could never have believed
that the sentiment had been carried so far. "You too, then, are
unhappy?" she said. "Yes, madame," replied the magistrate. "Then
you pity me!" "Sincerely,
madame." "And
you understand what brings me here?" "You
wish to speak to me about the circumstance which has just happened?" "Yes,
sir,--a fearful misfortune." "You
mean a mischance." "A
mischance?" repeated the baroness. "Alas,
madame," said the procureur with his imperturbable calmness of
manner, "I consider those alone misfortunes which are
irreparable." "And
do you suppose this will be forgotten?" "Everything
will be forgotten, madame," said Villefort. "Your daughter will
be married to-morrow, if not to-day--in a week, if not to-morrow; and I do
not think you can regret the intended husband of your daughter." Madame
Danglars gazed on Villefort, stupefied to find him so almost insultingly
calm. "Am I come to a friend?" she asked in a tone full of
mournful dignity. "You know that you are, madame," said
Villefort, whose pale cheeks became slightly flushed as he gave her the
assurance. And truly this assurance carried him back to different events
from those now occupying the baroness and him. "Well, then, be more
affectionate, my dear Villefort," said the baroness. "Speak to
me not as a magistrate, but as a friend; and when I am in bitter anguish
of spirit, do not tell me that I ought to be gay." Villefort bowed.
"When I hear misfortunes named, madame," he said, "I have
within the last few mouths contracted the bad habit of thinking of my own,
and then I cannot help drawing up an egotistical parallel in my mind. That
is the reason that by the side of my misfortunes yours appear to me mere
mischances; that is why my dreadful position makes yours appear enviable.
But this annoys you; let us change the subject. You were saying, madame"--
"I
came to ask you, my friend," said the baroness, "what will be
done with this impostor?" "Impostor,"
repeated Villefort; "certainly, madame, you appear to extenuate some
cases, and exaggerate others. Impostor, indeed!--M. Andrea Cavalcanti, or
rather M. Benedetto, is nothing more nor less than an assassin!" "Sir,
I do not deny the justice of your correction, but the more severely you
arm yourself against that unfortunate man, the more deeply will you strike
our family. Come, forget him for a moment, and instead of pursuing him let
him go." "You
are too late, madame; the orders are issued." "Well,
should he be arrested--do they think they will arrest him?" "I
hope so." "If
they should arrest him (I know that sometimes prisoners afford means of
escape), will you leave him in prison?"--The procureur shook his
head. "At least keep him there till my daughter be married." "Impossible,
madame; justice has its formalities." "What,
even for me?" said the baroness, half jesting, half in earnest.
"For all, even for myself among the rest," replied Villefort. "Ah,"
exclaimed the baroness, without expressing the ideas which the exclamation
betrayed. Villefort looked at her with that piercing glance which reads
the secrets of the heart. "Yes, I know what you mean," he said;
"you refer to the terrible rumors spread abroad in the world, that
the deaths which have kept me in mourning for the last three months, and
from which Valentine has only escaped by a miracle, have not happened by
natural means." "I
was not thinking of that," replied Madame Danglars quickly.
"Yes, you were thinking of it, and with justice. You could not help
thinking of it, and saying to yourself, 'you, who pursue crime so
vindictively, answer now, why are there unpunished crimes in your
dwelling?'" The baroness became pale. "You were saying this,
were you not?" "Well,
I own it." "I
will answer you." Villefort
drew his armchair nearer to Madame Danglars; then resting both hands upon
his desk he said in a voice more hollow than usual: "There are crimes
which remain unpunished because the criminals are unknown, and we might
strike the innocent instead of the guilty; but when the culprits are
discovered" (Villefort here extended his hand toward a large crucifix
placed opposite to his desk)--"when they are discovered, I swear to
you, by all I hold most sacred, that whoever they may be they shall die.
Now, after the oath I have just taken, and which I will keep, madame, dare
you ask for mercy for that wretch!" "But,
sir, are you sure he is as guilty as they say?" "Listen;
this is his description: 'Benedetto, condemned, at the age of sixteen, for
five years to the galleys for forgery.' He promised well, as you
see--first a runaway, then an assassin." "And
who is this wretch?" "Who
can tell?--a vagabond, a Corsican." "Has
no one owned him?" "No
one; his parents are unknown." "But
who was the man who brought him from Lucca?" "Another
rascal like himself, perhaps his accomplice." The baroness clasped
her hands. "Villefort," she exclaimed in her softest and most
captivating manner. "For
heaven's sake, madame," said Villefort, with a firmness of expression
not altogether free from harshness--"for heaven's sake, do not ask
pardon of me for a guilty wretch! What am I?--the law. Has the law any
eyes to witness your grief? Has the law ears to be melted by your sweet
voice? Has the law a memory for all those soft recollections you endeavor
to recall? No, madame; the law has commanded, and when it commands it
strikes. You will tell me that I am a living being, and not a code--a man,
and not a volume. Look at me, madame--look around me. Have mankind treated
me as a brother? Have they loved me? Have they spared me? Has any one
shown the mercy towards me that you now ask at my hands? No, madame, they
struck me, always struck me! "Woman,
siren that you are, do you persist in fixing on me that fascinating eye,
which reminds me that I ought to blush? Well, be it so; let me blush for
the faults you know, and perhaps--perhaps for even more than those! But
having sinned myself,--it may be more deeply than others,--I never rest
till I have torn the disguises from my fellow-creatures, and found out
their weaknesses. I have always found them; and more,--I repeat it with
joy, with triumph,--I have always found some proof of human perversity or
error. Every criminal I condemn seems to me living evidence that I am not
a hideous exception to the rest. Alas, alas, alas; all the world is
wicked; let us therefore strike at wickedness!" Villefort
pronounced these last words with a feverish rage, which gave a ferocious
eloquence to his words. "But"'
said Madame Danglars, resolving to make a last effort, "this young
man, though a murderer, is an orphan, abandoned by everybody." "So
much the worse, or rather, so much the better; it has been so ordained
that he may have none to weep his fate." "But
this is trampling on the weak, sir." "The
weakness of a murderer!" "His
dishonor reflects upon us." "Is
not death in my house?" "Oh,
sir," exclaimed the baroness, "you are without pity for others,
well, then, I tell you they will have no mercy on you!" "Be
it so!" said Villefort, raising his arms to heaven. "At
least, delay the trial till the next assizes; we shall then have six
months before us." "No,
madame," said Villefort; "instructions have been given, There
are yet five days left; five days are more than I require. Do you not
think that I also long for forgetfulness? While working night and day, I
sometimes lose all recollection of the past, and then I experience the
same sort of happiness I can imagine the dead feel; still, it is better
than suffering." "But,
sir, he has fled; let him escape--inaction is a pardonable offence." "I
tell you it is too late; early this morning the telegraph was employed,
and at this very minute"-- "Sir,"
said the valet de chambre, entering the room, "a dragoon has brought
this despatch from the minister of the interior." Villefort seized
the letter, and hastily broke the seal. Madame Danglars trembled with
fear; Villefort started with joy. "Arrested!" he exclaimed;
"he was taken at Compiииgne,
and all is over." Madame Danglars rose from her seat, pale and cold.
"Adieu, sir," she said. "Adieu, madame," replied the
king's attorney, as in an almost joyful manner he conducted her to the
door. Then, turning to his desk, he said, striking the letter with the
back of his right hand, "Come, I had a forgery, three robberies, and
two cases of arson, I only wanted a murder, and here it is. It will be a
splendid session!" |
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