A/N: Most of these characters are mine. Mercédès, Albert, Louis's mother,
and the servants are figments of Alexandre Dumas's imagination. The rest
of them are figments of my imagination.
Two Weeks in Marseilles
Chapter One - Questions.
Louis Dantès chatted with the young men near him. He didn't get a chance to visit his friends as much as he would have liked because of his father's propensity for avoiding Paris society. He was going to enjoy it while he could. As usual they were embroiled in a political debate, this time about past politics.
"Napoleon must have done something right. Look at how successful he was." Gaston said to his right.
"Or wasn't. He eventually lost what he had gained," replied Henri to his left.
"The fact the he gained it in the first place says something. And after he lost it, he was still able to gain it again." Guy said from the right of Gaston.
"And lost it again even quicker than he had the first time," Henri replied.
"And he still had followers. He had to have done something to get them to follow him and stick with him while he was on Elba." Gaston said.
"Gaston, you sound like you would have supported Napoleon had you been alive when he was around." Henri said. Henri's grandfather had been a staunch supporter of King Louis in the time of Napoleon, and his grandson had doubtless picked up his views.
"I have nothing against the king. I can't complain about the job he's doing. I'm merely pointing out that Napoleon must have had his merits," Gaston defended himself.
"Louis, what do you think?" Guy asked.
"Truthfully I don't know much about it. My father refused to discuss Napoleon with either my mother or me. Everything we know about that we learned from books, which were all contradictory. In a case like that it's hard to form an opinion of it."
"Maybe he was against Napoleon. So much that he doesn't like talking about it." Henri's family was the type who liked to believe that anyone who actually followed Napoleon must have been ignorant of the way things worked.
"I don't know why he won't talk about it, but I don't think that has anything to do with it."
"If he didn't like Napoleon wouldn't he talk about it and make his opinion known?" Gaston's comments often led to disagreements.
"His opinion doesn't matter anymore. There's no chance of Napoleon coming back." Louis felt the need to defend his father.
"Does he need to make his opinion known? Hasn't he done it already?" Henri was as cryptic as always.
"What do you mean?" Louis asked.
"You have the name of the king who triumphed over him." Once again Henri's opinions were made clear.
Louis smiled a little smile, the kind his father used so often. "No, I have the name of my grandfather."
Just then a servant entered. "Monsieur Dantès, there is a message for you."
Louis dismissed himself and left the room, where he saw Bertuccio, one of his father's servants, waiting for him. "Monsieur, I have some bad news. Your father just passed away."
"Does my mother know?" He did not know if his mother had spent the day at home.
"She was there when it happened. She doesn't want to do anything until you get home."
"Thank you Bertuccio. Wait a moment and I shall be ready to leave." Bertuccio nodded and went to wait outside with the carriage.
Louis reentered the room where his friends were. "I'm sorry that I have to leave you, but I just received word that my father passed away and I'm needed at home. I'll be in Paris for at least the next couple of days." He took his cloak and hat and went out to the waiting carriage.
The house in Paris was one of two houses that his father kept. He had another one in Rome. His father liked to move between the two of them and rarely made appearances in public. Louis had heard a bit of gossip about his father. He realized that he and his mother were the ones that knew his father best, but there were still many questions that he could not answer about his father. His conversation with his friends had started him thinking. He had known his father all his life, naturally. But he hadn't known much about his father. His father didn't do much, and when he did, he didn't give an explanation for it. He suspected his mother didn't know much more about his father than he did. The one thing he knew about his father for sure was that he was a secret. His father was an enigma, one that he wanted to figure out. But now that his father had died, figuring out anything about him seemed unlikely.
The carriage stopped in front of the house and Louis got out to find his mother inside. He found her in his father's sitting room, where his father had been and still was sitting in his chair. His father had always been a light sleeper, waking easily at the slightest sound. Not anymore. Now his father had entered a sleep he would never wake from. The look on his face was different too. Whereas in life he had always had an unreadable look on his face, where it was impossible to tell his emotions, he now had a look of peace, like he had resolved whatever inner conflict he had had. And Louis thought he knew the reason why.
He finished reading the letter his father had left on his table for them to find with even more questions than he had had before. It alluded to some great secret in his past, one he wouldn't tell them during his life but would now help them find out in death. What was his secret, and who were these people? He wordlessly handed the letter to his mother and looked through the rest of his father's things. There was not much there that his mother had not already looked through, and there was nothing that would answer any of Louis's many questions. Then, as he was looking through a book that his father had loved, a slip of paper fell out. He picked it up. It contained three lines, written in his father's hand. Mercédès Herrara, read the first line. Allées de Meilhan, the second. And finally, Marseilles. He guessed it was recent. His father had put it in that book hoping someone would find it. He was telling them how to find out his secret. He wanted them to know.
He turned to see his mother's reaction to his father's letter. She seemed as perplexed by it as he was. "There's so much to know.he never wanted us to know, but if he didn't want that why did he write this?"
"He wants us to find out, and I think I know where to start. I'm going to go to Marseilles and see what I can find out."
* * * * * * * * One week later Louis's father had been buried and Louis had finished his preparations for the trip to Marseilles. His mother had assured him she would be fine without him and he had packed his father's letter with his things. He thought that if he found this Mercédès and this Albert they might want to see the letter. He left Bertuccio with his mother and took Ali, the mute Nubian, as his driver. Early in the morning he left for Marseilles. As the carriage wheels clattered over the roads the questions ran through his mind. Who were these that his father had mentioned had their adulthood stolen? What had happened to them? What had they done to his father? He had alluded to some things, but what did it all mean? What had his father done to them? Who was Mercédès? Who was Albert? Most importantly, who was his father?
Two Weeks in Marseilles
Chapter One - Questions.
Louis Dantès chatted with the young men near him. He didn't get a chance to visit his friends as much as he would have liked because of his father's propensity for avoiding Paris society. He was going to enjoy it while he could. As usual they were embroiled in a political debate, this time about past politics.
"Napoleon must have done something right. Look at how successful he was." Gaston said to his right.
"Or wasn't. He eventually lost what he had gained," replied Henri to his left.
"The fact the he gained it in the first place says something. And after he lost it, he was still able to gain it again." Guy said from the right of Gaston.
"And lost it again even quicker than he had the first time," Henri replied.
"And he still had followers. He had to have done something to get them to follow him and stick with him while he was on Elba." Gaston said.
"Gaston, you sound like you would have supported Napoleon had you been alive when he was around." Henri said. Henri's grandfather had been a staunch supporter of King Louis in the time of Napoleon, and his grandson had doubtless picked up his views.
"I have nothing against the king. I can't complain about the job he's doing. I'm merely pointing out that Napoleon must have had his merits," Gaston defended himself.
"Louis, what do you think?" Guy asked.
"Truthfully I don't know much about it. My father refused to discuss Napoleon with either my mother or me. Everything we know about that we learned from books, which were all contradictory. In a case like that it's hard to form an opinion of it."
"Maybe he was against Napoleon. So much that he doesn't like talking about it." Henri's family was the type who liked to believe that anyone who actually followed Napoleon must have been ignorant of the way things worked.
"I don't know why he won't talk about it, but I don't think that has anything to do with it."
"If he didn't like Napoleon wouldn't he talk about it and make his opinion known?" Gaston's comments often led to disagreements.
"His opinion doesn't matter anymore. There's no chance of Napoleon coming back." Louis felt the need to defend his father.
"Does he need to make his opinion known? Hasn't he done it already?" Henri was as cryptic as always.
"What do you mean?" Louis asked.
"You have the name of the king who triumphed over him." Once again Henri's opinions were made clear.
Louis smiled a little smile, the kind his father used so often. "No, I have the name of my grandfather."
Just then a servant entered. "Monsieur Dantès, there is a message for you."
Louis dismissed himself and left the room, where he saw Bertuccio, one of his father's servants, waiting for him. "Monsieur, I have some bad news. Your father just passed away."
"Does my mother know?" He did not know if his mother had spent the day at home.
"She was there when it happened. She doesn't want to do anything until you get home."
"Thank you Bertuccio. Wait a moment and I shall be ready to leave." Bertuccio nodded and went to wait outside with the carriage.
Louis reentered the room where his friends were. "I'm sorry that I have to leave you, but I just received word that my father passed away and I'm needed at home. I'll be in Paris for at least the next couple of days." He took his cloak and hat and went out to the waiting carriage.
The house in Paris was one of two houses that his father kept. He had another one in Rome. His father liked to move between the two of them and rarely made appearances in public. Louis had heard a bit of gossip about his father. He realized that he and his mother were the ones that knew his father best, but there were still many questions that he could not answer about his father. His conversation with his friends had started him thinking. He had known his father all his life, naturally. But he hadn't known much about his father. His father didn't do much, and when he did, he didn't give an explanation for it. He suspected his mother didn't know much more about his father than he did. The one thing he knew about his father for sure was that he was a secret. His father was an enigma, one that he wanted to figure out. But now that his father had died, figuring out anything about him seemed unlikely.
The carriage stopped in front of the house and Louis got out to find his mother inside. He found her in his father's sitting room, where his father had been and still was sitting in his chair. His father had always been a light sleeper, waking easily at the slightest sound. Not anymore. Now his father had entered a sleep he would never wake from. The look on his face was different too. Whereas in life he had always had an unreadable look on his face, where it was impossible to tell his emotions, he now had a look of peace, like he had resolved whatever inner conflict he had had. And Louis thought he knew the reason why.
He finished reading the letter his father had left on his table for them to find with even more questions than he had had before. It alluded to some great secret in his past, one he wouldn't tell them during his life but would now help them find out in death. What was his secret, and who were these people? He wordlessly handed the letter to his mother and looked through the rest of his father's things. There was not much there that his mother had not already looked through, and there was nothing that would answer any of Louis's many questions. Then, as he was looking through a book that his father had loved, a slip of paper fell out. He picked it up. It contained three lines, written in his father's hand. Mercédès Herrara, read the first line. Allées de Meilhan, the second. And finally, Marseilles. He guessed it was recent. His father had put it in that book hoping someone would find it. He was telling them how to find out his secret. He wanted them to know.
He turned to see his mother's reaction to his father's letter. She seemed as perplexed by it as he was. "There's so much to know.he never wanted us to know, but if he didn't want that why did he write this?"
"He wants us to find out, and I think I know where to start. I'm going to go to Marseilles and see what I can find out."
* * * * * * * * One week later Louis's father had been buried and Louis had finished his preparations for the trip to Marseilles. His mother had assured him she would be fine without him and he had packed his father's letter with his things. He thought that if he found this Mercédès and this Albert they might want to see the letter. He left Bertuccio with his mother and took Ali, the mute Nubian, as his driver. Early in the morning he left for Marseilles. As the carriage wheels clattered over the roads the questions ran through his mind. Who were these that his father had mentioned had their adulthood stolen? What had happened to them? What had they done to his father? He had alluded to some things, but what did it all mean? What had his father done to them? Who was Mercédès? Who was Albert? Most importantly, who was his father?