The Count of Monte Cristo
“Yes; but by careful search it might be recovered.”
“Really,” returned the count, “relate it to me, for it begins to
interest me.”
And the count, humming an air from _Lucia_, went to sit down on a
bench, while Bertuccio followed him, collecting his thoughts. Bertuccio
remained standing before him.
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Chapter 44. The Vendetta
At what point shall I begin my story, your excellency?” asked
Bertuccio.
“Where you please,” returned Monte Cristo, “since I know nothing at all
of it.”
“I thought the Abbé Busoni had told your excellency.”
“Some particulars, doubtless, but that is seven or eight years ago, and
I have forgotten them.”
“Then I can speak without fear of tiring your excellency.”
“Go on, M. Bertuccio; you will supply the want of the evening papers.”
“The story begins in 1815.”
“Ah,” said Monte Cristo, “1815 is not yesterday.”
“No, monsieur, and yet I recollect all things as clearly as if they had
happened but then. I had a brother, an elder brother, who was in the
service of the emperor; he had become lieutenant in a regiment composed
entirely of Corsicans. This brother was my only friend; we became
orphans—I at five, he at eighteen. He brought me up as if I had been
his son, and in 1814 he married. When the emperor returned from the
Island of Elba, my brother instantly joined the army, was slightly
wounded at Waterloo, and retired with the army beyond the Loire.”
“But that is the history of the Hundred Days, M. Bertuccio,” said the
count; “unless I am mistaken, it has been already written.”
“Excuse me, excellency, but these details are necessary, and you
promised to be patient.”
“Go on; I will keep my word.”
“One day we received a letter. I should tell you that we lived in the
little village of Rogliano, at the extremity of Cap Corse. This letter
was from my brother. He told us that the army was disbanded, and that
he should return by Châteauroux, Clermont-Ferrand, Le Puy, and Nîmes;
and, if I had any money, he prayed me to leave it for him at Nîmes,
with an innkeeper with whom I had dealings.”
“In the smuggling line?” said Monte Cristo.
“Eh, your excellency? Everyone must live.”
“Certainly; go on.”
“I loved my brother tenderly, as I told your excellency, and I resolved
not to send the money, but to take it to him myself. I possessed a
thousand francs. I left five hundred with Assunta, my sister-in-law,
and with the other five hundred I set off for Nîmes. It was easy to do
so, and as I had my boat and a lading to take in at sea, everything
favored my project. But, after we had taken in our cargo, the wind
became contrary, so that we were four or five days without being able
to enter the Rhône. At last, however, we succeeded, and worked up to
Arles. I left the boat between Bellegarde and Beaucaire, and took the
road to Nîmes.”
“We are getting to the story now?”
“Yes, your excellency; excuse me, but, as you will see, I only tell you
what is absolutely necessary. Just at this time the famous massacres
took place in the south of France. Three brigands, called Trestaillon,
Truphemy, and Graffan, publicly assassinated everybody whom they
suspected of Bonapartism. You have doubtless heard of these massacres,
your excellency?”
“Vaguely; I was far from France at that period. Go on.”
“As I entered Nîmes, I literally waded in blood; at every step you
encountered dead bodies and bands of murderers, who killed, plundered,
and burned. At the sight of this slaughter and devastation I became
terrified, not for myself—for I, a simple Corsican fisherman, had
nothing to fear; on the contrary, that time was most favorable for us
smugglers—but for my brother, a soldier of the empire, returning from
the army of the Loire, with his uniform and his epaulets, there was
everything to apprehend. I hastened to the innkeeper. My misgivings had
been but too true. My brother had arrived the previous evening at
Nîmes, and, at the very door of the house where he was about to demand
hospitality, he had been assassinated. I did all in my power to
discover the murderers, but no one durst tell me their names, so much
were they dreaded. I then thought of that French justice of which I had
heard so much, and which feared nothing, and I went to the king’s
attorney.”
“And this king’s attorney was named Villefort?” asked Monte Cristo
carelessly.
“Yes, your excellency; he came from Marseilles, where he had been
deputy procureur. His zeal had procured him advancement, and he was
said to be one of the first who had informed the government of the
departure from the Island of Elba.”
“Then,” said Monte Cristo “you went to him?”
“‘Monsieur,’ I said, ‘my brother was assassinated yesterday in the
streets of Nîmes, I know not by whom, but it is your duty to find out.
You are the representative of justice here, and it is for justice to
avenge those she has been unable to protect.’
“‘Who was your brother?’ asked he.
“‘A lieutenant in the Corsican battalion.’
“‘A soldier of the usurper, then?’
“‘A soldier of the French army.’
“‘Well,’ replied he, ‘he has smitten with the sword, and he has
perished by the sword.’
“‘You are mistaken, monsieur,’ I replied; ‘he has perished by the
poniard.’
“‘What do you want me to do?’ asked the magistrate.
“‘I have already told you—avenge him.’
“‘On whom?’
“‘On his murderers.’
“‘How should I know who they are?’
“‘Order them to be sought for.’
“‘Why, your brother has been involved in a quarrel, and killed in a
duel. All these old soldiers commit excesses which were tolerated in
the time of the emperor, but which are not suffered now, for the people
here do not like soldiers of such disorderly conduct.’
“‘Monsieur,’ I replied, ‘it is not for myself that I entreat your
interference—I should grieve for him or avenge him, but my poor brother
had a wife, and were anything to happen to me, the poor creature would
perish from want, for my brother’s pay alone kept her. Pray, try and
obtain a small government pension for her.’
“‘Every revolution has its catastrophes,’ returned M. de Villefort;
‘your brother has been the victim of this. It is a misfortune, and
government owes nothing to his family. If we are to judge by all the
vengeance that the followers of the usurper exercised on the partisans
of the king, when, in their turn, they were in power, your brother
would be today, in all probability, condemned to death. What has
happened is quite natural, and in conformity with the law of
reprisals.’
“‘What,’ cried I, ‘do you, a magistrate, speak thus to me?’
“‘All these Corsicans are mad, on my honor,’ replied M. de Villefort;
‘they fancy that their countryman is still emperor. You have mistaken
the time, you should have told me this two months ago, it is too late
now. Go now, at once, or I shall have you put out.’
“I looked at him an instant to see if there was anything to hope from
further entreaty. But he was a man of stone. I approached him, and said
in a low voice, ‘Well, since you know the Corsicans so well, you know
that they always keep their word. You think that it was a good deed to
kill my brother, who was a Bonapartist, because you are a royalist.
Well, I, who am a Bonapartist also, declare one thing to you, which is,
that I will kill you. From this moment I declare the vendetta against
you, so protect yourself as well as you can, for the next time we meet
your last hour has come.’ And before he had recovered from his
surprise, I opened the door and left the room.”
“Well, well,” said Monte Cristo, “such an innocent looking person as
you are to do those things, M. Bertuccio, and to a king’s attorney at
that! But did he know what was meant by the terrible word ‘vendetta’?”
“He knew so well, that from that moment he shut himself in his house,
and never went out unattended, seeking me high and low. Fortunately, I
was so well concealed that he could not find me. Then he became
alarmed, and dared not stay any longer at Nîmes, so he solicited a
change of residence, and, as he was in reality very influential, he was
nominated to Versailles. But, as you know, a Corsican who has sworn to
avenge himself cares not for distance, so his carriage, fast as it
went, was never above half a day’s journey before me, who followed him
on foot. The most important thing was, not to kill him only—for I had
an opportunity of doing so a hundred times—but to kill him without
being discovered—at least, without being arrested. I no longer belonged
to myself, for I had my sister-in-law to protect and provide for.
“For three months I watched M. de Villefort, for three months he took
not a step out-of-doors without my following him. At length I
discovered that he went mysteriously to Auteuil. I followed him
thither, and I saw him enter the house where we now are, only, instead
of entering by the great door that looks into the street, he came on
horseback, or in his carriage, left the one or the other at the little
inn, and entered by the gate you see there.”
Monte Cristo made a sign with his head to show that he could discern in
the darkness the door to which Bertuccio alluded.
“As I had nothing more to do at Versailles, I went to Auteuil, and
gained all the information I could. If I wished to surprise him, it was
evident this was the spot to lie in wait for him. The house belonged,
as the concierge informed your excellency, to M. de Saint-Méran,
Villefort’s father-in-law. M. de Saint-Méran lived at Marseilles, so
that this country house was useless to him, and it was reported to be
let to a young widow, known only by the name of ‘the Baroness.’
“One evening, as I was looking over the wall, I saw a young and
handsome woman who was walking alone in that garden, which was not
overlooked by any windows, and I guessed that she was awaiting M. de
Villefort. When she was sufficiently near for me to distinguish her
features, I saw she was from eighteen to nineteen, tall and very fair.
As she had a loose muslin dress on and as nothing concealed her figure,
I saw she would ere long become a mother. A few moments after, the
little door was opened and a man entered. The young woman hastened to
meet him. They threw themselves into each other’s arms, embraced
tenderly, and returned together to the house. The man was M. de
Villefort; I fully believed that when he went out in the night he would
be forced to traverse the whole of the garden alone.”
20291m
“And,” asked the count, “did you ever know the name of this woman?”
“No, excellency,” returned Bertuccio; “you will see that I had no time
to learn it.”
“Go on.”
“That evening,” continued Bertuccio, “I could have killed the
procureur, but as I was not sufficiently acquainted with the
neighborhood, I was fearful of not killing him on the spot, and that if
his cries were overheard I might be taken; so I put it off until the
next occasion, and in order that nothing should escape me, I took a
chamber looking into the street bordered by the wall of the garden.
Three days after, about seven o’clock in the evening, I saw a servant
on horseback leave the house at full gallop, and take the road to
Sèvres. I concluded that he was going to Versailles, and I was not
deceived. Three hours later, the man returned covered with dust, his
errand was performed, and two minutes after, another man on foot,
muffled in a mantle, opened the little door of the garden, which he
closed after him. I descended rapidly; although I had not seen
Villefort’s face, I recognized him by the beating of my heart. I
crossed the street, and stopped at a post placed at the angle of the
wall, and by means of which I had once before looked into the garden.
“This time I did not content myself with looking, but I took my knife
out of my pocket, felt that the point was sharp, and sprang over the