If the Count of Monte Cristo had spent more time navigating the treacherous social waters of Paris, he would have understood just how significant this visit really was. Monsieur de Villefort was a man who always landed on his feet. No matter which political faction held power, no matter which royal family sat on the throne, he remained untouchable. People called him talented, mostly because he’d never made a career-ending mistake. Many hated him, some supported him, but nobody actually liked him. Still, he held one of the highest positions in the legal system, standing tall like the legendary judges of old. His home, revitalized by his young second wife and his eighteen-year-old daughter from his first marriage, was one of those perfectly maintained Parisian salons where old traditions ruled and strict social etiquette was sacred. Everything about Villefort screamed icy formality, rigid adherence to government policies, contempt for progressive ideas, and a deep hatred of anything idealistic. This was the man, both in public and private. But Villefort wasn’t just a magistrate, he was practically a politician. His connections to the previous regime, which he always spoke of with calculated respect, earned him respect from the current government too. He knew too many secrets, held too much leverage. People didn’t just consider his opinions, sometimes they actually asked for them. Perhaps things would have been different if anyone could have gotten rid of him. But like a medieval lord in his fortress, Villefort was untouchable in his position as the king’s attorney. He wielded this power with masterful skill and wouldn’t give it up for anything less than a position in parliament, where he could oppose the government instead of staying neutral. Villefort rarely made social visits himself. His wife handled that for him, and society accepted this arrangement. After all, the demanding work of a magistrate provided the perfect excuse for what was really calculated arrogance, a deliberate display of superiority. It followed the principle: Act like you’re important, and the world will believe you are. In today’s world, that philosophy worked far better than the ancient Greek wisdom of "know thyself." These days, it was more useful to know others. To his allies, Villefort was a powerful protector. To his enemies, a silent but ruthless opponent. To everyone else, he might as well have been a statue representing the law itself. He had an arrogant bearing and eyes that were either impenetrably cold or invasively sharp. Four successive political revolutions had only strengthened his position and fortune. Villefort had earned a reputation as the least intrusive and least tedious man in France. He threw one ball per year and only appeared for fifteen minutes. Forty-five minutes less than even the king showed his face at royal balls. He never went to theaters, concerts, or any public entertainment. On rare occasions, he played cards, but only with partners of the highest caliber: ambassadors, archbishops, princes, presidents, or elderly duchesses. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝓷𝓮𝓽 This was the man whose carriage had just stopped in front of the Count of Monte Cristo’s door. The butler announced Villefort just as the Count was leaning over a large table, tracing a route on a map from St. Petersburg to China. The prosecutor entered with the same grave, measured steps he would use entering a courtroom. He was the same man, or rather, the evolved version of the man, who had once served as assistant prosecutor in Marseilles. Nature had kept him on his predetermined path. Where he’d once been slender, he was now gaunt. Once pale, now sallow. His sunken eyes were hollow, and his gold-rimmed spectacles seemed permanently fused to his face. He dressed entirely in black except for his white cravat, and his funeral appearance was only softened by the thin red ribbon of honor in his buttonhole, looking like a delicate brushstroke of blood. Though the Count maintained his composure, he studied the magistrate with barely contained curiosity as he returned the greeting. Villefort, distrustful by nature and deeply skeptical of social prodigies, was more inclined to view "the noble stranger", as Monte Cristo was already being called, as either an adventurer seeking new opportunities or an escaped criminal rather than as some prince of the church or sultan from the Arabian Nights. "Sir," Villefort said in that squeaky, theatrical tone that magistrates adopted during speeches and couldn’t seem to drop even in casual conversation, "the remarkable service you rendered yesterday to my wife and son has made it my duty to thank you personally. I have come, therefore, to express my overwhelming gratitude." As he spoke, the magistrate’s severe expression lost none of its usual arrogance. He spoke with the voice of a chief prosecutor, with that rigid inflexibility of neck and shoulders that made his admirers claim he was the living embodiment of the law itself. "Monsieur," the Count replied with a chilling tone, "I am very happy to have saved a son for his mother, for they say maternal love is the most sacred of all feelings. The good fortune that came my way might have allowed you to skip this duty, which, while conferring a great honor upon me, I’m aware is unusual. I know that Monsieur de Villefort doesn’t typically bestow such favors. However valuable this gesture is, it doesn’t equal the satisfaction I already feel in my own conscience." Villefort was stunned by this unexpected response. He reacted like a soldier feeling a blow strike him despite his armor, and a curl of his disdainful lip indicated that he’d mentally noted the Count of Monte Cristo was not a well-bred gentleman. He glanced around, looking for something to redirect the conversation toward, and his eyes landed on the map Monte Cristo had been studying when he entered. "You seem to be engaged in geographical studies, sir? A rich subject for you, who, as I’ve heard, have seen as many countries as are drawn on this map." "Yes, sir," the Count replied. "I’ve tried to study the human race as a whole in the same way you study individuals every day, as a scientific subject. I’ve found it much easier to understand the whole picture first, then examine the details, rather than trying to build up from fragments. It’s a mathematical principle: proceed from the known to the unknown, not the other way around. But please, sit down, sir." Monte Cristo gestured to a chair, which the prosecutor had to move forward himself while the Count simply settled back into his own seat, the one he’d been kneeling on when Villefort arrived. This left the Count half-turned toward his visitor, his back to the window, his elbow resting on the geographical chart that now served as their conversation topic. "Ah, you philosophize," Villefort said after a moment’s silence, during which, like a wrestler facing a powerful opponent, he caught his breath. "Well, sir, really, if I had nothing else to do like you, I’d seek more amusing pursuits." "Why, truly, sir," Monte Cristo replied, "man is an ugly creature when studied too closely. But you said you think I have nothing to do. Now, let me ask you, sir, do you have anything to do? Do you believe what you do actually deserves to be called something Villefort’s astonishment doubled at this second forceful strike from his strange opponent. It had been a long time since anyone had challenged the magistrate with such a bold paradox, or rather, truthfully, it was the first time anyone ever had. The prosecutor struggled to respond. "Sir," he said, "you are a stranger, and I believe you mentioned that you’ve spent part of your life in Eastern countries, so you’re unaware that human justice in France, while expeditious in barbarous countries, takes a more prudent and carefully studied course here." "Oh yes, I know, the slow foot of the ancients. I know all about it, for I’ve made the justice systems of all countries my special study. I’ve compared legal procedures of all nations with natural justice, and I must say, sir, the law of primitive peoples, the law of retaliation, is what I’ve most frequently found to align with God’s law." "If that law were adopted, sir," the prosecutor said, "it would greatly simplify our legal codes, and magistrates would not, as you just observed, have much to do." "Perhaps it will come to that eventually," Monte Cristo observed. "You know that human progress moves from the complex to the simple, and simplicity is always perfection." "In the meantime," the magistrate continued, "our codes remain in full force, with all their contradictory laws derived from various historical sources. The knowledge of all this, you’ll agree, requires extensive study, tedious years of learning, and once learned, a powerful mind to retain it all." "I agree entirely, sir. But everything you know about French law, I know not only about that system but about the laws of all nations. English, Turkish, Japanese, Hindu laws are as familiar to me as French law. So I was right when I said that relatively, and you know everything is relative, sir, relatively speaking, compared to what I’ve accomplished, you have very little to do. But compared to all I’ve learned, you still have much to learn." "But what possible reason would you have to learn all this?" Villefort asked in astonishment. Monte Cristo smiled. "Really, sir, I see that despite your reputation as a superior man, you view everything from the material and common perspective of society, beginning with man and ending with man. That is to say, the most restricted, narrow view possible for human understanding." "Please, sir, explain yourself," Villefort said, increasingly baffled. "I really don’t understand you perfectly." "I’m saying, sir, that when you focus only on how society is organized, you see only the machinery and lose sight of the sublime creator who makes it all work. You don’t recognize anyone except officials whose appointments were signed by some minister or king. The people God has placed above those officials, ministers, and kings, by giving them a mission to fulfill rather than just a position to fill, those people escape your narrow field of observation. This is how human weakness fails through its limited organs. Tobias mistook the angel who restored his sight for an ordinary young man. Nations mistook Attila, who was destined to destroy them, for just another conqueror. Both had to reveal their true missions to be recognized. One had to say, ’I am the angel of the Lord,’ and the other, ’I am the hammer of God,’ for their divine essence to be revealed." "Then," Villefort said, increasingly amazed and beginning to think he was speaking with either a mystic or a madman, "you consider yourself one of these extraordinary beings you’ve mentioned?" "And why not?" Monte Cristo said coldly.