Edmond Dantès
"Debray is right," replied the journalist, somewhat gravely. "Madame de
Morcerf was, indeed, a noble and dignified woman--accomplished, lovely,
dignified, amiable--"
"Stop!--stop!--in the name of all that's forbearing, be considerate of
my weak nerves! You, too, Beauchamp. Well, she must have been a paragon
to make the conquest of two of the most inveterate bachelors in all
Paris! But where is this marvel of excellence--pardon me, Beauchamp,"
perceiving that the journalist looked yet more grave, and seemed in no
mood for bantering or being bantered--"where is Madame de Morcerf at the
present time?"
"At Marseilles, I have heard."
"And is married again?"
"No. She is yet a widow."
"And is a recluse, like Morrel's beautiful wife?"
"So says report. They dwell together."
"How romantic! The young wife, whose hero-husband is winning glory amid
the perils of war and pestilence, pours her griefs, joys and
anticipations into the bosom of the young mother, who appreciates and
reciprocates all, because she has a son exposed to the same perils--and
both beautiful as the morning! A charming picture! Two immortals in
epaulets and sashes in the background are only wanted instead of one.
But I must to the Chambers. M. Dantes is expected to speak in the
tribune this morning upon his measure for the workmen."
"Do you know, Count, who this M. Dantes really is?" asked Debray.
"There's a question for a Ministerial Secretary to ask a member while a
journalist sits by! I only know of M. Dantes that he is the most
eloquent man I ever listened to. I don't mean that he's the greatest
man, or the profoundest statesman, or the wisest politician, or the
sagest political economist; but I do mean that, for natural powers of
persuasion and denunciation--for natural oratory--I have never known his
rival. If Plato's maxim, 'that oratory must be estimated by its
effects,' is at all correct, then is M. Dantes the greatest orator in
France, for the effect of his oratory is miraculous. There is a sort of
magic in his clear, sonorous, powerful, yet most exquisitely modulated
voice, and the wave of his arm is like that of a necromancer's wand."
"You are enthusiastic, Count," observed Beauchamp, "but very just. M.
Dantes is, indeed, a remarkable man, and possessed of remarkable
endowments, both of mind and body. His personal advantages are
wonderful. Such a figure and grace as his are alone worth more than all
the powers of other distinguished speakers for popular effect. 'The eyes
of the multitude are more eloquent than their ears,' as the English
Shakespeare says."
"I never saw such eyes and such a face," remarked Debray, "but once in
my life. Do you remember the Count of Monte-Cristo, Messieurs?"
"We shall not soon forget him," was the reply. "But this man differs
greatly from the Count in most respects, though certainly not unlike him
in others."
"True," replied the Secretary; "in manners, habits, costume and a
thousand other things there is a marked difference. Besides, the Count
was said to be incalculably rich, while the Deputy has every appearance
of being in very moderate circumstances. But he leads a life so retired
that he is known only in the Chambers and in his public character. I
allude to the Deputy's person, when I speak of resemblance to that
wonderful Count, who set all Paris in a fever, and, more wonderful
still, kept it so for a whole season. There is I know not what in his
air and manners that often recalls to me that extraordinary man. There
are the same large and powerful eyes, the same brilliant teeth for which
the women envied the Count so much, the same graceful and dignified
figure, the same peculiar voice, the same good taste in dress, and,
above all, the same colorless, pallid face, as if, to borrow the idea of
the Countess of G----, he had risen from the dead, or was a visitant
from another world, or a vampire of this. Her celebrated friend, Lord
B----, she used to say, was the only man she ever knew with such a
complexion."
"But, if I recollect rightly," said Beauchamp, "the Count of
Monte-Cristo was somewhat noted for his profusion of black hair and
beard. The Deputy Dantes is so utterly out of the mode, and out of good
taste, too, as to wear no beard, and his hair is short. His face is as
smooth as a woman's, and he always wears a white cravat like a cure."
"But he is, nevertheless, one of the handsomest men in Paris," added the
Count--"at least the women say so. You might add, the Deputy has many
gray hairs among his black ones, and many furrows on his white brow,
while Monte-Cristo had neither. Besides, M. Dantes has a handsome
daughter and a son who resembles him greatly, both well grown, while the
Count was childless."
"Well, well, be his person and family what they may," said the
Secretary, rising, "I wish to God the Ministry could secure his talents.
I tell you, Messieurs, that man's influence over the destinies of France
is to be almost omnipotent. His powerful mind has grasped the great
problem of the age--remuneration for labor. The next revolution in
France will hinge upon that--mark the prediction--and this man and his
coadjutors, among whom Beauchamp here is one, are doing all they can to
hasten the crisis. The whole soul of this remarkable man seems devoted
to the elevation of the masses--the laboring classes--the people--and to
the amelioration of their condition. His efforts and those of all like
him cannot ultimately succeed. But they will have a temporary triumph,
and the streets of Paris will run with blood! These men are rousing
terrible agencies. They are evoking the fiends of hunger and misery,
which will neither obey them nor lie down at their bidding."
"And the magicians who have summoned these foul fiends will prove their
earliest victims!" said Chateau-Renaud, in some excitement.
"Messieurs, listen a moment!" cried Beauchamp, rising. "Pardon me, but
this discussion must cease, at least here. It can lead to no good
result. As the conductor of a reform journal, I entirely differ with you
both. But let not political differences interfere with our personal
friendship. Come, come, old friends, let us forsake this place, redolent
with politics, having a very atmosphere of discussion, and repair to the
Chambers, taking Very's on our way."
"Agreed!" cried the Deputy and the Secretary, and the three left the
journalist's sanctum arm in arm.
CHAPTER V.
EDMOND DANTES, DEPUTY FROM MARSEILLES.
Beauchamp, Lucien Debray and Chateau-Renaud were not the only persons
puzzled with regard to the enigmatical M. Dantes; all Paris was more or
less bothered about him; his entire career prior to his appearance at
the capital as the Deputy from Marseilles seemed shrouded in
impenetrable mystery, and this was the more galling to the curious
Parisians as his wonderful oratorical powers and his intense
republicanism rendered him the cynosure of all eyes and made him the
sensation of the hour. The Government had instituted investigations
concerning him, but without result; even in Marseilles his antecedents
were unknown; he had come there from the east utterly unheralded,
attended only by a black servant, and bringing with him his son and
daughter, but almost immediately he had plunged into politics, winning
his way to the front with startling rapidity. From the first he had
ardently espoused the cause of the working people, and such was his
personal magnetism that he had made hosts of admirers, and had been
chosen Deputy with hardly a dissenting voice. Some of the inhabitants of
Marseilles, indeed, remembered a youthful sailor named Edmond Dantes,
but they asserted that he had been dead many years, and that the Deputy
was unlike him in every particular.
As the young men passed the Theatre Francais, on their way to the
Chamber of Deputies, after a glass of sherry and a biscuit at Very's,
their attention was attracted by a crowd gathered around an immense
poster spread upon the bill-board. There seemed no little excitement
among the throng, a large proportion of whom appeared to be artisans and
laborers, and loud expressions of admiration, accompanied by animated
gestures, were heard. Nor were there wanting also words of deep
denunciation and of significant threatening.
"Down! down with the tyrants! Bread or blood! Wages for work! Food for
the laborer!" and other cries of equally fearful significance were
audible.
"Do you hear that, Beauchamp?" said Debray, quietly.
"Undoubtedly," was the equally quiet reply.
"Those laborers have deserted the daily toil which would give them the
bread they so fiercely demand, in order to discuss their imaginary
misery, and denounce those who are richer than themselves."
"But what brings them to the theatre at this hour?" asked
Chateau-Renaud.
"The new play," suggested Beauchamp.
"Ah! the new play. 'The Laborer of Lyons,' is it not?"
"Yes," said Debray, "and one of the most dangerous productions of the
hour."
"It is evidently from the pen of one unaccustomed to dramatic
composition, yet familiar with stage effect," added the journalist. "And
yet, without the least claptrap, with but little melodramatic power,
against strong opposition and bitter prejudices, and without claqueurs,
its own native force and the popularity of the principles it supports
have carried it triumphantly through the ordeal of two representations.
It will, doubtless, have a long run, and its influence will be
incalculable in the cause it advocates--the cause of human liberty and
human right."
"No doubt it will exert a most baneful influence," bitterly rejoined
Debray. "Without containing a syllable to which the Ministry can object,
at least sufficiently to warrant its suppression, it yet abounds with
principles, sentiments and theories of the most incendiary description,
well calculated to rouse the disaffection of the laboring classes to
frenzy. Its inevitable effect will be to give them a false and
exaggerated idea of their wrongs and their rights, and to stimulate them
to revolution. Oh! these men have much to answer for. They are drawing
down an avalanche."
"They are the champions of human liberty," said Beauchamp, warmly, "and
will be blessed by posterity, if not by the men of the present
generation."
"Truce to politics, Messieurs!" cried the Deputy, observing that his
friends were becoming excited. "I had heard of this play and its
powerful character. Who's the author, Beauchamp?"
"The production is attributed to M. Dantes, the Deputy from Marseilles,
with what truth I know not; but he is fully capable of composing such a
drama. To-morrow night, it is supposed, the author, whoever he may be,
will be compelled by the people to appear and claim the laurels ready to
be showered on him in such profusion. But it is nearly three o'clock,"
continued Beauchamp, "and M. Dantes is expected to speak in the early
part of the sitting."
"To the Chamber, then," said the others, and the trio mingled with the
crowd hurrying in the same direction.
"What a glorious thing is popularity!" exclaimed the Count.
"What a glorious thing to be the champion of the people!" rejoined
Beauchamp.
"And how glorious is that champion's glorious career!" cried the
Secretary. "Let the hydra alone. Like the antique god of mythology, it
eats up its own children as soon as they get large enough to be eaten.
It is a fickle beast, and the idol of to-day it crushes to-morrow."
The hall of the Chamber of Deputies was crowded when the three friends
entered. Although the hour for the President to take the chair had not
yet arrived, the benches were full, and the galleries, public and
private, were overflowing. Strong agitation was visible among the
Ministerial benches of the extreme left. The Premier himself was