In one of the most luxurious mansions in the wealthy district of Marseilles, an engagent party was in full swing. Unlike the humble celebration happening across town where sailors and common folk gathered, this party hosted the cream of high society, forr judges, military officers, and mbers of old aristocratic families who had all suffered under the previous regi.
The guests were still seated around the elegant dining table, their voices growing louder and more passionate as expensive wine loosened their tongues. These people had endured years of political persecution, and now that their enemies had fallen from power, they weren’t shy about expressing their hatred.
They spoke with contempt about the forr Emperor, now exiled to a tiny island called Elba. The man who had once ruled half the world, commanding the loyalty of over a hundred million people across multiple nations, was now reduced to governing a population of barely six thousand souls on a speck of land in the diterranean.
An elderly man decorated with dals stood up and raised his glass. "To King Louis the Eighteenth!" he declared. This was the Marquis de Saint-Méran, the host of the evening.
The toast sent the room into raptures. Glasses clinked in the air, and the ladies pulled flowers from their evening gowns to scatter across the table in celebration. The atmosphere was almost intoxicating with their joy at their political coback.
"Ah," said the Marquise de Saint-Méran, a stern woman in her fifties whose noble bearing couldn’t quite hide the bitterness in her eyes, "those revolutionaries who stole our properties and bought them for pennies during the chaos, they’d have to admit, if they were here, that we were the truly loyal ones.
We followed our rightful king into exile and poverty, while they got rich by serving whoever was in power. They’d have to confess that our king was truly beloved, while their wretched usurper was, and always will be, a curse upon this nation. Don’t you agree, Villefort?"
The young man she addressed seed lost in thought. "I’m sorry, Mada. I’m afraid I wasn’t following the conversation."
"Marquise, marquise!" interrupted the old nobleman who had made the toast. "Leave the young people alone! On one’s engagent day, there are more pleasant topics than politics."
"Never mind, dearest mother," said a beautiful young woman with light brown hair and sparkling eyes that seed to hold all the warmth missing from her mother’s gaze. "It’s my fault for monopolizing Monsieur de Villefort’s attention. Here, now he’s all yours for as long as you like. Monsieur de Villefort, my mother wishes to speak with you."
"If the Marquise would be so kind as to repeat what I missed, I’d be delighted to respond," said Villefort with practiced charm.
"Never mind, Renée," the Marquise replied, and for a mont her harsh features softened as she looked at her daughter. Even in the most withered heart, there’s always one green spot, a mother’s love for her child. "I forgive you. What I was saying, Villefort, was that those who supported the usurper lacked our sincerity, enthusiasm, and devotion."
"Perhaps," the young prosecutor replied carefully, "but they had sothing that served just as well, fanaticism. Their leader was like a false prophet to them, worshipped by his followers not just as a commander, but as the embodint of their dreams of equality."
"Him!" cried the Marquise. "That man, a symbol of equality? For heaven’s sake, what would you call Robespierre then? Don’t give the Corsican credit that belongs to others, he’s stolen quite enough already."
Villefort smiled diplomatically. "I would place each man where he belongs, Mada. One ended on the scaffold, the other will be rembered on his column in Paris. The difference lies in their types of equality, one brought kings down to the people’s level through violence, the other tried to raise the people up to et the throne.
Both were dangerous revolutionaries, and we’re fortunate that both fell from power. That’s why, even though he’s finished forever, the forr Emperor still has his devoted followers, just like other fallen tyrants throughout history."
"Do you know, Villefort," the Marquise said with a sharp look, "you’re talking like a dangerous radical yourself? But I excuse it, it’s impossible to expect the son of a forr revolutionary to be completely free of his father’s influence."
Villefort’s face flushed deep red. "It’s true, Mada, that my father was involved in politics during the revolution, but he wasn’t one of those who voted for the king’s execution. He suffered just as you did during the Terror and nearly lost his head on the sa scaffold where your own father died."
"True," replied the Marquise without flinching at the painful mory. "But rember that our families were persecuted for completely opposite reasons. My family remained loyal to the royal cause throughout our exile, while your father quickly joined whatever governnt was in power. While Citizen Noirtier was a radical, Count Noirtier beca a senator under the new regi."
"Dear mother," Renée interrupted, "you know we agreed to put all these unpleasant mories behind us."
"Allow , Mada," Villefort said earnestly, "to add my own request to Mademoiselle de Saint-Méran’s. Please, let’s draw a veil over the past. What’s the point of rehashing old grievances? For my part, I’ve even abandoned my father’s na and completely reject his political principles. He was, and probably still is, a supporter of the forr regi, and goes by Noirtier.
I, on the other hand, am a devoted royalist and call myself de Villefort. Let whatever revolutionary poison remains die out with the old generation, and judge only as a new branch that has grown apart from its roots."
"Bravo, Villefort!" cried the Marquis. "Excellently said! Perhaps I can finally convince the Marquise to promise what I’ve been asking for years, a complete amnesty and forgetting of the past."
"With all my heart," replied the Marquise. "Let the past be forgotten forever. I promise you it gives no more pleasure to revive it than it does you. All I ask is that Villefort remains firm and unwavering in his political principles for the future. Rember, Villefort, that we’ve vouched for your loyalty to His Majesty, and it was on our recomndation that the king agreed to overlook your family’s past."
She extended her hand to him. "But keep in mind that should you encounter anyone guilty of plotting against the governnt, you’ll be all the more obligated to punish them severely, precisely because you co from a suspect family."
Reviews
All reviews (0)