The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (15 page)

‘ “My dear Dantès,” he said, “swear on your honour to do what I ask of you. This is a matter of the highest importance.”

‘I swore to do as he asked.

‘ “Very well. As second-in-command, responsibility for the vessel will fall on you after my death, so I wish you to take command, set course for Elba, disembark at Porto Ferrajo, ask for the marshal and give him this letter. It may be that you will be given another letter and be told to carry out some mission. That mission, which I should have accomplished, Dantès, you will perform in my stead and the honour will be yours.”

‘ “I shall do it, Captain; but it may be more difficult than you think for me to see the marshal.”

‘ “Here is a ring,” the captain said. “Make sure that he gets it and all barriers will be removed.”

‘On this, he gave me a ring. It was none too soon: two hours later, he lapsed into a delirium and, on the next day, he died.’

‘Then what did you do?’

‘What I had to do, Monsieur, and what anyone would have done in my place. In all events, a dying man’s wishes are sacred, but to a sailor the wishes of a superior officer are orders which must be carried out. So I set sail for Elba, arriving there the next day, when I confined everyone to the ship and disembarked alone. As I had foreseen, there was some difficulty in gaining an audience with the marshal, but I sent him the ring which was to serve as a token for me, and all doors were opened. He received me, questioned me on the circumstances of poor Leclère’s last hours and, as the captain had predicted, gave me a letter which he told me to take, in person, to Paris. I promised to do so, since these were my captain’s final wishes. I made land and quickly settled everything that had to be done on board; then I went to see my fiancée, whom I found more lovely and more loving than ever. Thanks to Monsieur Morrel, we were able to circumvent all the formalities of the Church and at last, as I told you, Monsieur, I was celebrating my betrothal. I was
to be married in an hour and expected to leave for Paris tomorrow, when I was arrested, on the basis of this denunciation that you seem to despise as much as I do.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Villefort muttered. ‘I am convinced by your story and, if you are guilty, it is only of imprudence. Even that is excused by your captain’s order. Let me have the letter that was entrusted to you on Elba, give me your word that you will appear at the first summons and you can rejoin your friends.’

‘So I am free to go!’ Dantès exclaimed.

‘Yes, provided you give me the letter.’

‘It must be in front of you, Monsieur, because it was taken with my other papers, some of which I recognize in that bundle.’

‘Wait,’ the lawyer told Dantès, who was picking up his hat and gloves. ‘To whom was it addressed?’

‘To Monsieur Noirtier, Rue Coq-Héron, in Paris.’

If a bolt of lightning had struck Villefort, it could not have done so with greater suddenness or surprise. He fell back into the chair from which he had half-risen to reach over to the bundle of papers that had been taken from Dantès; and, hastily going through them, drew out the fatal letter, on which he cast a look of unspeakable terror.

‘Monsieur Noirtier, Rue Coq-Héron, number 13,’ he muttered, the colour draining from his face.

‘Yes, Monsieur,’ Dantès replied in astonishment. ‘Do you know him?’

‘No!’ Villefort answered emphatically. ‘A faithful servant of the king does not know conspirators.’

‘Is this a matter of conspiracy, then?’ Dantès asked, starting to feel even greater anxiety than before, having just thought he would be free. ‘In any event, Monsieur, as I told you, I had no idea what was in the dispatch that I carried.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Villefort said grimly, ‘but you did know the name of the person to whom it was addressed!’

‘In order for me to give it to him myself, Monsieur, I had to know his name.’

‘And you have not shown this letter to anyone?’ Villefort asked, reading and growing paler as he read.

‘To no one, Monsieur, on my honour!’

‘Nobody knows that you were the bearer of a letter from Elba addressed to Monsieur Noirtier?’

‘Nobody, Monsieur, except the person who gave it to me.’

‘That is one too many, even so,’ Villefort muttered, his brow clouding as he read towards the end. His pale lips, trembling hands and burning eyes excited the most painful anxiety in Dantès’ mind.

After reading, Villefort put his head in his hands and stayed like it for an instant, overcome.

‘Heavens, Monsieur, what is it?’ Dantès asked fearfully.

Villefort did not reply but remained like that for a short time, then he looked up, with pale and troubled features, and read the letter once more.

‘You say that you have no idea what is in this letter?’ he asked.

‘I repeat, on my honour, Monsieur,’ said Dantès, ‘that I do not know. But for goodness’ sake, what is wrong with you? You must be feeling unwell. Would you like me to ring, would you like me to call someone?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Villefort, rising abruptly. ‘Don’t move or say a word. I am the one who gives orders here, not you.’

‘Monsieur,’ Dantès said, hurt, ‘I wanted to help you, that’s all.’

‘I don’t need any help. I felt dizzy for a moment, nothing more. Look to yourself, not to me. Answer me.’

Dantès was expecting this request to be followed by further questioning, but none came. Villefort slumped into his chair, passed an icy hand across a brow dripping with sweat, and began, for the third time, to read the letter.

‘Oh, if he does know what is in this letter,’ he thought, ‘and if he should ever learn that Noirtier is Villefort’s father, I am lost – lost utterly!’

From time to time he glanced at Edmond, as if his look might pierce the invisible barrier that holds secrets in the heart so that they do not pass the lips.

‘Ah! Let there be no further doubt!’ he exclaimed suddenly.

‘But, in heaven’s name, Monsieur!’ the unfortunate young man cried. ‘If your doubts are on my score, if you suspect me, then question me, I am ready to answer you.’

Villefort made a violent effort to control himself and said, in a voice that he tried to keep firm: ‘Monsieur, your interrogation has brought up the most serious charges against you, so I am no longer able, as I had first hoped, to set you free immediately. Before I can take that step, I must consult the examining magistrates. Meanwhile, you have seen how I have treated you.’

‘Oh, yes, Monsieur,’ Dantès exclaimed, ‘and I thank you, because you have been more of a friend to me than a judge.’

‘Well, I must keep you prisoner a little while longer, but for as short a time as I can. The main charge against you is the existence of this letter, and you see…’

Villefort went over to the fireplace, threw the letter into the fire and waited until it was reduced to ashes.

‘… and you see, I have destroyed it.’

‘Monsieur!’ Dantès exclaimed. ‘You are more than justice, you are goodness itself!’

‘But listen to me,’ Villefort continued. ‘After seeing me do that, you realize that you can trust me, don’t you?’

‘Order me, Monsieur, and I shall obey you.’

‘No,’ Villefort said, coming across to the young man. ‘No, I shall not give you any orders, you understand: I shall give you some advice.’

‘Do so, and I shall follow it as though it were an order.’

‘I am going to keep you until evening, here, at the Palais de Justice. Someone else may come and question you: tell him everything you told me, but don’t say a word about the letter.’

‘I promise not to, Monsieur.’

It seemed as though it was Villefort who was begging and the prisoner who was reassuring his judge.

‘You understand,’ he went on, looking towards the ashes which still retained the shape of the paper. ‘Now that the letter has been destroyed, only you and I know that it ever existed. You will never see it again, so deny it if anyone mentions it to you; deny it boldly and you will be saved.’

‘Have no fear, Monsieur, I shall deny it,’ Dantès said.

‘Good, good!’ Villefort exclaimed, reaching for a bell-pull. Then he stopped as he was about to ring and said: ‘Was that the only letter that you had?’

‘The only one.’

‘Swear to me.’

Dantès held out his hand. ‘I swear.’

Villefort rang and the police commissioner came in. Villefort went up to the officer and whispered a few words in his ear. The commissioner answered with a nod.

‘Follow this gentleman,’ Villefort told Dantès.

Dantès bowed, gave Villefort a last look of gratitude and went
out. No sooner had the door shut behind him than the strength drained out of Villefort’s body and he fell, almost unconscious, into a chair. Then, after a moment, he muttered: ‘Oh, my Lord! On what slender threads do life and fortune hang… ! If the crown prosecutor had been in Marseille or if the examining magistrate had been called in my place, I should have been lost: that paper, that accursed piece of paper would have plunged me into the abyss. Father! Will you always be an obstacle to my happiness in this world, and shall I always have to contend with your past!’

Then, suddenly, it seemed as though a light had unexpectedly passed through his mind and lit up his face. A smile rose to his still clenched lips, while his distraught look became a stare and his mind appeared to concentrate on a single idea.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘This letter, which should have destroyed me, might perhaps make my fortune. Come, Villefort, to work!’

After making sure that the prisoner was no longer in the antechamber, the deputy prosecutor also went out and began to make his way briskly towards his fiancée’s house.

Crossing the antechamber, the commissioner of police gestured to two gendarmes, who took up their positions on either side of Dantès. A door leading from the chambers of the crown prosecutor to the law courts was opened, and they went along one of those long dark corridors that inspire a shudder in all who enter them, even when they have no cause to fear.

Just as Villefort’s chambers gave access to the Palais de Justice, so the Palais de Justice gave access to the prison, a sombre pile overlooked by the bell-tower of Les Accoules, which rises opposite and examines it with curiosity from every gaping aperture.

After several twists and turns in the corridor down which they went, Dantès saw a door with an iron wicket open before him. The police commissioner knocked on it with a little hammer, and the three blows sounded to Dantès as though they had been struck against his heart. The door opened and the two gendarmes gently
pushed their prisoner forward, for he still hung back. Dantès crossed the awful threshold and the door closed noisily behind him. He now breathed a different atmosphere, where the air was heavy and sulphurous: he was in prison.

He was taken to a cell that was quite clean, despite the bars and locks; the appearance of his surroundings consequently did not arouse too much fear in him. In any case, the deputy prosecutor’s words, spoken in tones that seemed to Dantès to express such concern, still echoed in his ears like a sweet promise of hope.

It was already four o’clock when Dantès was led into his cell. As we have already mentioned, it was March the first, so the prisoner would soon be in darkness. His hearing became more acute as his sight dimmed and, at the slightest sound which reached him, convinced that they were coming to set him free, he leapt up and took a step towards the door; but the noise soon faded as it vanished in another direction, and Dantès slumped back on to his stool.

Finally, at around ten o’clock in the evening, just as he was starting to lose hope, he heard a new sound that, this time, really did seem to be coming towards his cell. And, indeed, there were steps in the corridor that halted in front of his door. A key turned in the lock, the bolts creaked and the huge mass of oak moved open, suddenly filling the room with the dazzling light of two torches, in which Dantès could see the shining sabres and muskets of four gendarmes.

He had taken two steps forward, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of this increased force.

‘Have you come for me?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ one of the gendarmes replied.

‘On behalf of Monsieur the deputy crown prosecutor?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Very well,’ Dantès replied. ‘I am ready to go with you.’

Certain that it was M. de Villefort who had sent for him, the unfortunate young man had no apprehension and went out calmly, with easy steps, to station himself between the soldiers who formed his escort.

A carriage was waiting at the street door, the driver was on his seat and there was a police officer sitting beside him.

‘Has this carriage come for me?’ Dantès asked.

‘It’s for you,’ one of the gendarmes replied. ‘Get in.’

Dantès wanted to say something, but the door opened and he felt a shove. He had neither the opportunity to resist nor any intention of doing so. At once he found himself seated inside the carriage between two gendarmes, while the two others took their place on the bench at the front and the heavy vehicle began to move forward with a sinister rumble.

The prisoner looked at the windows, which were barred: he had merely exchanged one prison for another, with the difference that this one was moving and taking him to some unknown destination. However, through the bars which were so closely set that a hand could barely pass between them, Dantès could observe that they were proceeding down the Rue Caisserie, then the Rue Saint-Laurent and the Rue Taramis, heading towards the port.