Chapter 17: The Prosecutor’s Dilemma: I
The moment Villefort stepped out of the elegant reception room, his entire demeanor shifted. Gone was the charming party guest, now he wore the cold, calculating mask of a man who held people’s lives in his hands.
Despite his noble features and the commanding presence he’d perfected through countless hours of practice in front of mirrors, playing the role of stern judge didn’t come naturally to him.
The truth was, Gérard de Villefort had everything going for him. At only twenty-seven, he was already wealthy and held a prestigious position as deputy prosecutor. Soon, he’d marry a beautiful woman from a powerful political family, not out of passionate love, but the kind of sensible match that advanced careers. His fiancée would bring fifty thousand crowns as dowry, with the promise of inheriting half a million more when her father died.
Life was perfect. Which made what happened next all the more devastating.
At the courthouse entrance, a police commissioner waited for him, jolting Villefort back to reality. He straightened his expression into its practiced severity.
"I’ve read the report," Villefort said crisply. "You were right to arrest this man. Tell me what you’ve discovered about him and this conspiracy."
"We don’t know much about any conspiracy yet, sir. All the documents we found are sealed and waiting on your desk. The prisoner’s name is Edmond Dantès, he’s the first mate on a merchant ship called the Pharaon. They trade cotton with ports in Egypt and Turkey, owned by a company called Morrel & Son here in the city."
"Has he served in the military?"
"No sir, he’s very young."
"How young?"
"Nineteen, maybe twenty at most."
As they reached the corner of Council Street, a man who’d clearly been waiting approached them. Villefort recognized him immediately, Monsieur Morrel, the ship owner.
"Ah, Prosecutor Villefort!" Morrel called out urgently. "Thank God I found you. Your people have made a terrible mistake, they’ve arrested Edmond Dantès, the first mate of my ship!"
"I’m aware," Villefort replied coolly. "I’m on my way to question him now."
"Sir, you don’t know this young man like I do," Morrel pleaded, his voice filled with genuine concern. "He’s the most honest, trustworthy person I’ve ever met. There isn’t a better sailor in the entire merchant fleet. Please, I’m begging you to show him mercy."
The tension between the two men was immediate and obvious. Villefort came from old money and supported the current royal government, while Morrel was a working-class businessman with suspected sympathies for the recently defeated Napoleon. Villefort looked down at Morrel with barely concealed disdain.
"You should understand, Monsieur," Villefort said, his words dripping with implication, "that a man might be perfectly honest in his personal life and excellent at his job, yet still be a dangerous political criminal. Wouldn’t you agree?"
The prosecutor’s emphasis made it clear he might be talking about Morrel himself. The ship owner’s face reddened, his own political views weren’t exactly clean, and recent conversations with Dantès about meeting important government officials had left him nervous.
"I’m asking you to be fair and just, as you always are," Morrel replied carefully. "Please return him to us quickly."
That phrase, "return him to us", sounded almost revolutionary to Villefort’s ears.
"Ah," the prosecutor murmured thoughtfully, "is Dantès part of some underground political group? I recall he was arrested at a tavern with several others." Then, more formally, "Monsieur, I assure you I will perform my duties impartially. If he’s innocent, your appeal won’t be in vain. But if he’s guilty, especially in these dangerous times, letting him go free would set a terrible example. I must do my job."
Having reached his house adjacent to the courthouse, Villefort gave Morrel a cold farewell and entered, leaving the ship owner frozen in shock on the street.
The courthouse lobby buzzed with police officers and guards. In the center, carefully watched but appearing calm and even slightly amused, stood the prisoner. Villefort walked through quickly, stealing a glance at Dantès before disappearing into his office with a packet of documents.
"Bring him in," he ordered.
That brief look had told Villefort a lot about the man he was about to interrogate. He’d seen intelligence in the high forehead, courage in those dark eyes, and honesty in the easy smile. His first instinct said this young man was innocent, but Villefort had learned long ago not to trust first impressions. He forced down any feelings of sympathy, composed his features into a stern mask, and sat behind his desk like a judge pronouncing sentence.
Moments later, Dantès entered. He was pale but collected, greeting his interrogator with polite confidence and looking around for a chair as casually as if he were visiting a friend’s office. When their eyes met for the first time, Dantès encountered that particular look all magistrates perfected, one that seemed to read your every thought while revealing nothing of their own.
"Who are you and what do you do?" Villefort demanded, shuffling through a thick file of papers that had somehow grown to impressive proportions in just one hour, thanks to the efficient spy network that always surrounded any arrested person.
"My name is Edmond Dantès," the young man replied calmly. "I’m first mate on the Pharaon, owned by Morrel & Son."
"Age?"
"Nineteen."
"What were you doing when you were arrested?"
"I was at my wedding celebration, sir," Dantès answered, his voice trembling slightly. The contrast was heartbreaking, one moment he’d been the happiest man alive, surrounded by friends and about to marry the woman he loved, and now he sat in this grim office facing potential disaster.
"Your wedding?" Villefort repeated, feeling an unexpected chill.
"Yes, sir. I was about to marry a girl I’ve loved for three years."
The coincidence struck Villefort like a physical blow. The tremor in Dantès’s voice, the way he’d been torn from his moment of greatest happiness, it hit too close to home. Villefort was also about to be married, also at the peak of his contentment. Here he was, about to potentially destroy another man’s joy just as he was experiencing his own.