Chapter 108. The Judge
Villefort locked himself in his study, working day and night on Benedetto’s indictment, determined to make the trial a sensation and repair his reputation. The day before, in the garden, he saw Noirtier staring at Madame de Villefort and Edward, reminding him of his promise to punish the poisoner. The next morning, after drinking chocolate his wife had sent, he confronted her, bolting the door, demanding the poison she had used on the Saint-Mérans, Barrois, and Valentine. She denied it, then begged, claiming she had done it for Edward. Villefort told her she would kill Edward too; she could take her own poison or be arrested, disgraced, executed, and lose her son. He left, double-locking the door, warning he would have her arrested if she were still alive when he returned from the trial.
Chapter 109. The Assizes
The courtroom was packed for the trial of the fake Prince Andrea Cavalcanti, Benedetto, accused of murdering Caderousse. Debray, Château-Renaud, and Beauchamp joked about the scandal. Villefort sat in the prosecutor’s chair, his composure masking hidden agony. Benedetto refused to answer in order, said he was twenty-one, born 27 September 1817 in Auteuil, and described his “profession” as forger, thief, and assassin. The courtroom erupted. He then announced his father was Villefort himself, the king’s attorney.
Chaos followed. Benedetto told his story: Villefort had buried him alive as a baby, a man seeking revenge had dug him up, a Corsican woman had raised him, and he had turned to crime because of his father’s sin. Overwhelmed, Villefort stood, admitted his guilt, declared he was under his successor’s authority, and staggered out. The court adjourned in shock. Benedetto was led away smirking.
Chapter 110. The Indictment
In the weeks before the trial, Villefort had secluded himself, working feverishly on the indictment, convinced of Benedetto’s guilt, determined to make the trial a showcase of his skill and to repair his reputation after the mysterious deaths in his house. He painted Benedetto as a notorious criminal, a fake prince, and a murderer deserving the harshest punishment, certain the evidence was airtight, unaware that the man he was prosecuting was his own illegitimate son, the baby he had buried alive twenty years before, who had returned to destroy him. He avoided all questions, told his staff he would only speak to the president, and used the work to escape his grief and his own guilt. The public was fascinated by the Cavalcanti scandal and the Villefort deaths, expecting a sensational conviction. Villefort believed the trial would vindicate him and be the first step in rebuilding his life, never suspecting it would become his own public destruction.
Chapter 111. Expiation
Villefort staggered from the courtroom through a whispering crowd. Realizing he had condemned his wife by his confession, he raced home, burst into her room, and found her dead on the floor with a crystal bottle in her hand. Edward was also dead, with a note reading: “You know that I was a good mother, since it was for my son’s sake I became criminal. A good mother cannot depart without her son.” Villefort’s mind broke. He ran to the garden with a spade, raving he would find his son, but Monte Cristo, seeing him, realized his vengeance had destroyed innocents and that he was not the instrument of divine justice he had believed. Monte Cristo found Morrel wandering like a ghost and told him they were leaving Paris the next day. They departed accompanied only by Baptistin; Haydée had gone ahead to Italy, and Bertuccio stayed with Noirtier.
Chapter 112. The Departure
The recent events dominated Parisian conversation. Emmanuel and his wife chatted in their small Rue Meslay apartment, astonished by the three successive, sudden, unexpected catastrophes of Morcerf, Danglars, and Villefort. Maximilian, visiting, listened, plunged in his usual apathy. Julie compared the ruined families to victims of an evil fairy from Perrault’s stories who appears uninvited to punish neglect; Emmanuel lamented their suffering, while Julie delicately avoided naming Valentine. Emmanuel argued the Supreme Being must have seen no merit in the men to spare them punishment, but Julie countered that her father once nearly committed suicide and would not have deserved his misery. As they spoke, the doorbell rang, and Monte Cristo appeared. The young people cried out in joy; Maximilian lifted his head then let it fall. Monte Cristo said he had come for Maximilian, reminding him of their agreement to leave the next day. Morrel said he was ready, had only come to say goodbye. Julie asked their destination; Monte Cristo said Marseilles first, then Rome, taking Maximilian with him. Julie begged him to restore her brother’s happiness; Morrel turned away. Monte Cristo assured her Maximilian would return happy, Morrel glowered. Monte Cristo said they must leave; Julie begged for more time, but he said his carriage waited, he must be in Rome in five days, and Maximilian had a passport and packed clothes. Morrel bid farewell to Emmanuel and Julie, who were distraught at his cold, sudden departure. Monte Cristo told them not to forget him, as they might never see him again, protested he was just a man, not an angel, then kissed Julie’s hand, shook Emmanuel’s, and left with Morrel. Outside, Ali confirmed Noirtier had accepted the letter Monte Cristo sent; Monte Cristo said they would go. The carriage sped away, Morrel silent in his corner. Half an hour later, they stopped at the top of Villejuif hill; Monte Cristo stepped out, looked over Paris, and addressed the city: less than six months had passed since he arrived, God had led him there, he confided his mission only to the one who could read his heart, he left without pride or hatred but with regrets, his power never served personal gain, he had dug evil from Paris’ heart, his work was done. He got back in the carriage, which sped off. Ten leagues passed in silence, Morrel dreaming, Monte Cristo watching him. Monte Cristo asked if Morrel regretted following him; Morrel said leaving Paris was like losing Valentine a second time. Monte Cristo said the dead live on in our hearts, he carried his own lost loved ones as guides, told Morrel his grief had darkened his soul. They traveled rapidly to Châlons, where Monte Cristo’s steamboat waited; they boarded immediately, the boat skimming the water like a bird. As they left Paris behind, Monte Cristo grew serene, like an exile returning home. They arrived in Marseilles the next morning, stopped on the Canebière. A ship sailed for Algiers, passengers weeping as they left loved ones; Morrel was unmoved, remembering his father waiting there when the Pharaon entered port years before, Monte Cristo was there. They saw Albert de Morcerf, now a lieutenant, waving his hat from the departing ship, while Mercédès wept on the quay. Monte Cristo told Morrel to wait at his father’s grave while he paid a pious visit.
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