“Very well,” said the doctor after a moment’s silence. “I will wait.”
Villefort looked at him as though he still doubted his words.
“But remember this,” continued M. d’Avrigny solemnly and slowly. “If someone falls ill in your house, if you yourself are stricken, do not send for me—I shall not come. I will share this terrible secret with you, but I will not let shame and remorse eat into my conscience like a worm, just as misfortune and crime will undermine the foundations of your house.”
“Do you forsake me then, Doctor?”
“Yes, for I can follow you no further, and I will only stop at the foot of the scaffold. Another revelation will be made which will bring this terrible tragedy to a close. Good-bye!”
That evening all Villefort’s servants, who had assembled in the kitchen to discuss the matter, came in a body to M. de Villefort to give notice. No entreaties, no promises of higher wages could persuade them to stay. To everything they said: “We wish to go, because death is in your house.” And in spite of all persuasions, they left, expressing their regret at leaving such a good master and mistress, above all Mademoiselle Valentine, who was so good, so kind-hearted, so gentle.
On hearing what the servants said, Villefort looked at Valentine. She was weeping, and the sight of her tears filled him with a deep emotion. He looked at Mme de Villefort, too, and, strange to say, he seemed to see a fleeting but grim smile pass over her lips like a meteor passing ominously between two clouds in a stormy sky.
Chapter LIV
THE TRIAL
The paragraph which appeared in the papers regarding the part Morcerf had played in the surrender of Janina caused great excitement in the Chamber of Peers among the usually calm groups of that high assembly. That day almost every member had arrived before the usual hour to discuss with his compeers the sinister event that was to fix public attention on one of the best-known names in that illustrious body.
Some were reading the article in a subdued voice, others making comments or exchanging reminiscences which substantiated the charges still more. The Count of Morcerf was not popular with his colleagues. In order to maintain his position, he had, like all upstarts, adopted a very haughty manner. The aristocrat smiled at him, the man of talent disclaimed him, and the justly proud instinctively despised him.
The Count of Morcerf alone was ignorant of the news. He did not receive the newspaper containing the defamatory information and had spent the morning writing letters and trying a new horse. He arrived at the Chamber at his usual hour, and with proud step and haughty mien alighted from his carriage and passed along the corridors into the hall without remarking the hesitation of the doorkeepers, or the coldness of his colleagues. The sitting had been in progress about half an hour when he entered.
Everyone had the accusing paper before him, and it was evident that all were aching to start the debate, but, as is generally the case, no one wished to take upon himself the responsibility of opening the attack. At length, one of the peers, an open enemy of Morcerf’s, ascended the tribune with such solemnity that all felt that desired moment had arrived.
There was an awe-inspiring silence. Morcerf alone was ignorant of the cause of the deep attention given to an orator they were accustomed to hear with indifference. The Count paid little heed to the preamble in which the speaker announced that he was about to touch upon a subject so grave, so sacred, and at the same time of such vital importance to the Senate, that he demanded the undivided attention of all his colleagues. When Janina and Colonel Fernand were mentioned, the Count of Morcerf turned so horribly pale that a shudder went through the whole assembly and all eyes were turned toward him.
The article was read during this painful silence, and then the speaker declared his reluctance to open the subject, and the difficulty of his task, but it was the honour of M. de Morcerf and of the whole Chamber he proposed to defend by introducing a debate on these personal and ever-pressing questions. He concluded by demanding a speedy inquiry into the matter before the calumny had time to spread, so that M. de Morcerf might be reinstated in the position in public opinion he had so long held.
Morcerf was so completely overwhelmed by this enormous and unexpected attack that it was almost more than he could do to stammer a few words in reply, staring the while at his colleagues with wide-open eyes. This nervousness, which might have been due to the astonishment of innocence as much as to shame of guilt, evoked some sympathy in his favour. An inquiry was voted for, and the Count was asked what time he required to prepare his defence. On realizing that this terrible blow had still left him alive, Morcerf’s courage returned to him.
“My brother peers,” he replied, “it is not with time that one repulses an attack of this kind that has been made on me by some unknown enemies. I must answer this flash of lightning, which for a moment overpowered me, by a thunderbolt. Instead of defending myself in this way, would that I could shed my blood to prove to my colleagues that I am worthy to be their equal!”
These words made a favourable impression.
“I therefore request that the inquiry be instituted as soon as possible,” he continued, “and I undertake to furnish the Chamber with all the necessary evidence.”
“Is the Chamber of opinion that the inquiry should take place this very day?” asked the President.
“Yes!” was the unanimous reply.
A Committee of twelve members was appointed to examine the evidence supplied by Morcerf, and the first session was fixed for eight o’clock that evening in the committee room. This decision arrived at, Morcerf asked permission to retire; he had to collect the evidence he had long since prepared against such a storm, which his cunning and indomitable character had foreseen.
The evening arrived; all Paris was agog with expectation. Many believed that Morcerf had only to show himself to overthrow the charge; on the other hand some asserted he would not make an appearance. There were a few who said they had seen him leave for Brussels, and one or two even went to the police station to inquire whether it was true that he had taken out a passport.
Every one arrived punctually at eight o’clock. M. de Morcerf entered the hall at the last stroke of the clock. In his hand he carried some papers. He was carefully but simply dressed, and, according to the ancient military custom, wore his coat buttoned up to the chin. Outwardly he was calm, and, contrary to habit, walked with an unaffected gait.
His presence produced a most favourable effect, and the Committee was far from being ill-disposed toward him. Several of the members went forward to shake hands with him. One of the doorkeepers handed a letter to the President.
“You are now at liberty to speak,” said the President, unsealing his letter.
The Count commenced his defence in a most eloquent and skilful manner. He produced evidence to show that the Vizier of Janina had honoured him with entire confidence up to his last hour, the best proof being that he had entrusted him with a mission to the Sultan himself, the result of which meant life or death to him. He showed the ring with which Ali Pasha generally sealed his letters, and which he had given him as a token of authority so that upon his return he might gain access to him at any hour of the day or night. He said his mission had unfortunately failed, and, when he returned to defend his benefactor, he found him dead. So great was Ali Pasha’s confidence in him, however, that before he died he had entrusted his favourite wife and his daughter to his care.
In the meantime, the President carelessly glanced at the letter that had been given him, but the very first lines aroused his attention; he read the missive again and again, then, fixing his eyes on Morcerf, said:
“You say, Count, that the Vizier of Janina confided his wife and daughter to your care.”
“Yes, Monsieur le President,” replied Morcerf. “But in that, as in all else, misfortune dogged my steps. Upon my return, Vasiliki and her daughter Haydee had disappeared.”
“Do you know them?”
“Thanks to my intimacy with the Pasha and
his great confidence in me, I saw them more than twenty times.”
“Have you any idea what has become of them?”
“I have been told that they succumbed to their grief, and maybe to their privation. I was not rich, my life was in constant danger, and, much to my regret, I could not go in search of them.”
The President frowned almost imperceptibly as he said: “Messieurs, you have heard Monsieur de Morcerf’s defence. Now, Count, can you produce any witnesses to support the truth of what you say?”
“Alas, I cannot,” replied the Count. “All those who were at the Pasha’s Court and who knew me there, are either scattered or dead. I believe I am the only one of my compatriots who survived that terrible war. I have only Ali Tebelin’s letters, which I have laid before you, and the ring, the token of his goodwill. The most convincing evidence I can put forward is the complete absence of testimony against my honour, and the clean record of my military career.”
A murmur of approbation went through the assembly, and at this moment, M. Morcerf’s cause was gained; it only needed to be put to the vote when the President rose and said: “Messieurs, you and the Count will, I presume, not be averse to hearing a witness who claims to hold important evidence and has come forward of his own accord. He is doubtless come to prove the perfect innocence of our colleague. Here is the letter I have just received on the matter.” The President read as follows:
“MONSIEUR LE PRÉSIDENT,
“I can furnish the Committee of Inquiry appointed to examine the conduct in Epirus and Macedonia of a certain Lieutenant-General the Count of Morcerf with important facts.”
The President made a short pause. The Count of Morcerf turned deathly pale, and the tightly clenched papers that he held in his hand audibly crackled.
The President resumed:
“I was present at Ali Pasha’s death and know what became of Vasiliki and Haydee. I hold myself at the disposal of the Committee, and even claim the honour of being heard. I shall be waiting in the corridor when this note is handed to you.”
“Who is this witness, or rather enemy?” said the Count, in a very changed voice.
“We shall learn in a moment, monsieur. Is the committee agreed to hear this witness?”
“Yes, yes,” was the unanimous reply.
The President called the doorkeeper, and inquired of him whether anyone was waiting in the corridors.
“A woman, accompanied by her attendant,” said the doorkeeper.
The members looked at each other in amazement.
“Let this woman enter,” said the President.
All eyes were turned toward the door, and five minutes later the doorkeeper reappeared. Behind him came a woman enveloped in a large veil which completely covered her, but the form outlined, and the perfume which exhaled from her, denoted that she was a young and elegant woman. The President requested her to lay aside her veil, and it was seen that she was dressed in Grecian attire and was a remarkably beautiful woman.
M. de Morcerf looked at her in amazement mingled with terror, for this woman held his life in her hands. To the rest of the assembly, however, it was a turn of events so strange and interesting that Morcerf’s welfare became but a secondary consideration.
The President offered the young woman a seat, but she made a sign that she would rather stand. The Count, on the other hand, had sunk into his chair, for his legs refused to support him.
“Madame,” began the President. “You state in your letter to the Committee that you have important information on the Janina affair, and that you were an eyewitness of the events. Permit me to remark that you must have been very young then.”
“I was four years old, but as the events so peculiarly concerned me not a detail has escaped my memory.”
“How did these events so concern you? Who are you that this tragedy should have made so deep an impression on you?”
“My name is Haydee,” replied the young woman. “I am the daughter of Ali Tebelin, Pasha of Janina, and of Vasiliki, his much-beloved wife.”
The modest and at the same time proud blush that suffused the young woman’s cheeks, the fire in her eye and the majestic way in which she revealed her identity, made an indescribable impression on the assembly. The Count, on the other hand, could not have been more abashed if a thunderbolt had fallen and opened a chasm at his feet.
“Madame,” resumed the President, making a respectful bow, “permit me a simple question. Can you prove the authenticity of what you say?”
“I can, monsieur,” said Haydee, taking a perfumed satin bag from under her veil. “Here is my birth certificate, drawn up by my father and signed by his principal officers, also my certificate of baptism, my father having allowed me to be brought up in my mother’s religion. This latter bears the seal of the Grand Primate of Macedonia and Epirus. Lastly, and this is perhaps the most important, I have the document pertaining to the sale of my person and that of my mother to an Armenian merchant, named El Kobbir, effected by the French officer who, in his infamous treaty with the Porte, had reserved for his share of the booty the wife and daughter of his benefactor. These he sold for the sum of four hundred thousand francs.”
A ghastly pallor spread over the Count’s cheeks and his eyes became bloodshot when he heard these terrible imputations, which were received by the assembly in grim silence.
Haydee, still calm, but more dangerous in her very calmness than another would have been in anger, handed to the President the record of her sale, drawn up in the Arab tongue.
As it was thought likely that a testimony might be forthcoming in the Arabic, Romaic, or Turkish language, the interpreter of the Chamber had been advised that his presence might be needed, and he was now summoned. One of the peers, to whom the Arabic tongue was familiar, followed closely the original text as the translator read:
“I, El Kobbir, slave merchant and purveyor to the harem of His Highness, acknowledge having received for transmission to the Sublime Sultan from the Count of Monte Cristo an emerald valued at eight hundred thousand francs as purchase money for a young Christian slave, aged eleven years, of the name of Haydee, a recognized daughter of the late Ali Tebelin, Pasha of Janina, and of Vasiliki, his favourite, she having been sold to me seven years ago together with her mother, who died on her arrival at Constantinople, by a French Colonel in the service of the Vizier Ali Tebelin of the name of Fernand Mondego.
“The aforesaid purchase was made on behalf of His Highness, whose mandate I had, for the sum of four hundred thousand francs.
“Given at Constantinople with the authorization of His Highness in the year twelve-forty-seven of the Hegira.
“Signed: EL KOBBIR
“In order to give this document due credence and authority, it will be vested with the imperial seal, which the vendor consents to have affixed.”
Besides the merchant’s signature was the seal of the Sublime Sultan.
A dreadful silence followed. The Count was speechless; his eyes instinctively sought Haydee, and he fixed her with a frenzied stare.
“Is it permitted, madame, to interrogate the Count of Monte Cristo, who, I believe, is staying in Paris just now?” asked the President.
“The Count of Monte Cristo, my second father, has been in Normandy for the past three days, monsieur.”
“Then who advised you to take this step, for which this Committee is indebted to you, and which was the natural proceeding in view of your birth and misfortunes?”
“This step was urged upon me by my grief and respect. May God forgive me! Though I am a Christian, my one thought has always been to avenge my illustrious father’s death. Therefore as soon as I set foot in France and learned that the traitor lived in Paris, I have ever watched for this opportunity. I live a retired life in my noble protector’s house; I wish it so because I like retirement and silence, so that I may live in the thoughts and memories of the past. The Count of Monte Cristo surrounds me with every paternal care, and in the silence of my apartments I receive each day all n
ewspapers and periodicals. From them I glean all information concerning what is going on in the world; from them I learned what transpired in the Chamber this morning and what was to take place this evening.”
“Then the Count of Monte Cristo knows nothing of this action on your part?” asked the President.
“He is in absolute ignorance of it, monsieur, and my only fear is that he may disapprove of what I have done. Nevertheless, this is a glorious day for me,” continued the young woman, raising her eager eyes heavenward, “the day when I at last have the opportunity of avenging my father.”
During all this time the Count had not uttered a single word; his colleagues looked at him, no doubt commiserating with him on this calamity which had been wrought on him by a woman. The ever-increasing lines and wrinkles on his face betrayed his misery.
“Monsieur de Morcerf, do you recognize this lady as the daughter of Ali Tebelin, Pasha of Janina?”
“No,” said Morcerf, making an effort to rise. “This is nothing but a plot woven against me by my enemies.”
Haydee was looking at the door as though she expected someone, and at these words she turned round sharply, and seeing the Count standing there, uttered a fearful cry.
“You do not recognize me!” she cried. “Fortunately I recognize you! You are Fernand Mondego, the French officer who instructed my father’s troops. It was you who surrendered the castle of Janina! It was you who, having been sent to Constantinople by my father to treat directly with the Sultan for the life or death of your benefactor, brought back a falsified firman granting full pardon! It was you who obtained with this same firman the Pasha’s ring which would secure for you the obedience of Selim, the guardian of the fire! It was you who stabbed Selim! It was you who sold my mother and myself to El Kobbir! Murderer! Murderer! Your master’s blood is still on your brow! Look at him, all of you!”