Reading Help The Count of Monte Cristo Ch.40-74
knowledge would have had pity on seeing the steward's `
` extraordinary repugnance for the count's projected drive `
` without the walls; but the Count was too curious to let `
` Bertuccio off from this little journey. In twenty minutes `
` they were at Auteuil; the steward's emotion had continued to `
` augment as they entered the village. Bertuccio, crouched in `
` the corner of the carriage, began to examine with a feverish `
` anxiety every house they passed. "Tell them to stop at Rue `
` de la Fontaine, No. 28," said the count, fixing his eyes on `
` the steward, to whom he gave this order. Bertuccio's `
` forehead was covered with perspiration; however, he obeyed, `
` and, leaning out of the window, he cried to the coachman, -- `
` "Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28." No. 28 was situated at the `
` extremity of the village; during the drive night had set in, `
` and darkness gave the surroundings the artificial appearance `
` of a scene on the stage. The carriage stopped, the footman `
` sprang off the box, and opened the door. "Well," said the `
` count, "you do not get out, M. Bertuccio -- you are going to `
` stay in the carriage, then? What are you thinking of this `
` evening?" Bertuccio sprang out, and offered his shoulder to `
` the count, who, this time, leaned upon it as he descended `
` the three steps of the carriage. "Knock," said the count, `
` "and announce me." Bertuccio knocked, the door opened, and `
` the concierge appeared. "What is it?" asked he. `
` `
` "It is your new master, my good fellow," said the footman. `
` And he held out to the concierge the notary's order. `
` `
` "The house is sold, then?" demanded the concierge; "and this `
` gentleman is coming to live here?" `
` `
` "Yes, my friend," returned the count; "and I will endeavor `
` to give you no cause to regret your old master." `
` `
` "Oh, monsieur," said the concierge, "I shall not have much `
` cause to regret him, for he came here but seldom; it is five `
` years since he was here last, and he did well to sell the `
` house, for it did not bring him in anything at all." `
` `
` "What was the name of your old master?" said Monte Cristo. `
` `
` "The Marquis of Saint-Meran. Ah, I am sure he has not sold `
` the house for what he gave for it." `
` `
` "The Marquis of Saint-Meran!" returned the count. "The name `
` is not unknown to me; the Marquis of Saint-Meran!" and he `
` appeared to meditate. `
` `
` "An old gentleman," continued the concierge, "a stanch `
` follower of the Bourbons; he had an only daughter, who `
` married M. de Villefort, who had been the king's attorney at `
` Nimes, and afterwards at Versailles." Monte Cristo glanced `
` at Bertuccio, who became whiter than the wall against which `
` he leaned to prevent himself from falling. "And is not this `
` daughter dead?" demanded Monte Cristo; "I fancy I have heard `
` so." `
` `
` "Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we `
` have not seen the poor marquis three times." `
` `
` "Thanks, thanks," said Monte Cristo, judging from the `
` steward's utter prostration that he could not stretch the `
` cord further without danger of breaking it. "Give me a `
` light." `
` `
` "Shall I accompany you, monsieur?" `
` `
` "No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light." And `
` Monte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold `
` pieces, which produced a torrent of thanks and blessings `
` from the concierge. "Ah, monsieur," said he, after having `
` vainly searched on the mantle-piece and the shelves, "I have `
` not got any candles." `
` `
` "Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio," said the count, `
` "and show me the apartments." The steward obeyed in silence, `
` but it was easy to see, from the manner in which the hand `
` that held the light trembled, how much it cost him to obey. `
` They went over a tolerably large ground-floor; a second `
` floor consisted of a salon, a bathroom, and two bedrooms; `
` near one of the bedrooms they came to a winding staircase `
` that led down to the garden. `
` `
` "Ah, here is a private staircase," said the count; "that is `
` convenient. Light me, M. Bertuccio, and go first; we will `
` see where it leads to." `
` `
` "Monsieur," replied Bertuccio, "it leads to the garden." `
` `
` "And, pray, how do you know that?" `
` `
` "It ought to do so, at least." `
` `
` "Well, let us be sure of that." Bertuccio sighed, and went `
` on first; the stairs did, indeed, lead to the garden. At the `
` outer door the steward paused. "Go on, Monsieur Bertuccio," `
` said the count. But he who was addressed stood there, `
` stupefied, bewildered, stunned; his haggard eyes glanced `
` around, as if in search of the traces of some terrible `
` event, and with his clinched hands he seemed striving to `
` shut out horrible recollections. "Well," insisted the Count. `
` "No, no," cried Bertuccio, setting down the lantern at the `
` angle of the interior wall. "No, monsieur, it is impossible; `
` I can go no farther." `
` `
` "What does this mean?" demanded the irresistible voice of `
` Monte Cristo. `
` `
` "Why, you must see, your excellency," cried the steward, `
` "that this is not natural; that, having a house to purchase, `
` you purchase it exactly at Auteuil, and that, purchasing it `
` at Auteuil, this house should be No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine. `
` Oh, why did I not tell you all? I am sure you would not have `
` forced me to come. I hoped your house would have been some `
` other one than this; as if there was not another house at `
` Auteuil than that of the assassination!" `
` `
` "What, what!" cried Monte Cristo, stopping suddenly, "what `
` words do you utter? Devil of a man, Corsican that you are -- `
` always mysteries or superstitions. Come, take the lantern, `
` and let us visit the garden; you are not afraid of ghosts `
` with me, I hope?" Bertuccio raised the lantern, and obeyed. `
` The door, as it opened, disclosed a gloomy sky, in which the `
` moon strove vainly to struggle through a sea of clouds that `
` covered her with billows of vapor which she illumined for an `
` instant, only to sink into obscurity. The steward wished to `
` turn to the left. "No, no, monsieur," said Monte Cristo. `
` "What is the use of following the alleys? Here is a `
` beautiful lawn; let us go on straight forwards." `
` `
` Bertuccio wiped the perspiration from his brow, but obeyed; `
` however, he continued to take the left hand. Monte Cristo, `
` on the contrary, took the right hand; arrived near a clump `
` of trees, he stopped. The steward could not restrain `
` himself. "Move, monsieur -- move away, I entreat you; you `
` are exactly in the spot!" `
` `
` "What spot?" `
` `
` "Where he fell." `
` `
` "My dear Monsieur Bertuccio," said Monte Cristo, laughing, `
` "control yourself; we are not at Sartena or at Corte. This `
` is not a Corsican arbor, but an English garden; badly kept, `
` I own, but still you must not calumniate it for that." `
` `
` "Monsieur, I implore you do not stay there!" `
` `
` "I think you are going mad, Bertuccio," said the count `
` coldly. "If that is the case, I warn you, I shall have you `
` put in a lunatic asylum." `
` `
` "Alas, excellency," returned Bertuccio, joining his hands, `
` and shaking his head in a manner that would have excited the `
` count's laughter, had not thoughts of a superior interest `
` occupied him, and rendered him attentive to the least `
` revelation of this timorous conscience. "Alas, excellency, `
` the evil has arrived!" `
` `
` "M. Bertuccio," said the count, "I am very glad to tell you, `
` that while you gesticulate, you wring your hands and roll `
` your eyes like a man possessed by a devil who will not leave `
` him; and I have always observed, that the devil most `
` obstinate to be expelled is a secret. I knew you were a `
` Corsican. I knew you were gloomy, and always brooding over `
` some old history of the vendetta; and I overlooked that in `
` Italy, because in Italy those things are thought nothing of. `
` But in France they are considered in very bad taste; there `
` are gendarmes who occupy themselves with such affairs, `
` judges who condemn, and scaffolds which avenge." Bertuccio `
` clasped his hands, and as, in all these evolutions, he did `
` not let fall the lantern, the light showed his pale and `
` altered countenance. Monte Cristo examined him with the same `
` look that, at Rome, he had bent upon the execution of `
` Andrea, and then, in a tone that made a shudder pass through `
` the veins of the poor steward, -- "The Abbe Busoni, then `
` told me an untruth," said he, "when, after his journey in `
` France, in 1829, he sent you to me, with a letter of `
` recommendation, in which he enumerated all your valuable `
` qualities. Well, I shall write to the abbe; I shall hold him `
` responsible for his protege's misconduct, and I shall soon `
` know all about this assassination. Only I warn you, that `
` when I reside in a country, I conform to all its code, and I `
` have no wish to put myself within the compass of the French `
` laws for your sake." `
` `
` "Oh, do not do that, excellency; I have always served you `
` faithfully," cried Bertuccio, in despair. "I have always `
` been an honest man, and, as far as lay in my power, I have `
` done good." `
` `
` "I do not deny it," returned the count; "but why are you `
` thus agitated. It is a bad sign; a quiet conscience does not `
` occasion such paleness in the cheeks, and such fever in the `
` hands of a man." `
` `
` "But, your excellency," replied Bertuccio hesitatingly, "did `
` not the Abbe Busoni, who heard my confession in the prison `
` at Nimes, tell you that I had a heavy burden upon my `
` conscience?" `
` `
`
` extraordinary repugnance for the count's projected drive `
` without the walls; but the Count was too curious to let `
` Bertuccio off from this little journey. In twenty minutes `
` they were at Auteuil; the steward's emotion had continued to `
` augment as they entered the village. Bertuccio, crouched in `
` the corner of the carriage, began to examine with a feverish `
` anxiety every house they passed. "Tell them to stop at Rue `
` de la Fontaine, No. 28," said the count, fixing his eyes on `
` the steward, to whom he gave this order. Bertuccio's `
` forehead was covered with perspiration; however, he obeyed, `
` and, leaning out of the window, he cried to the coachman, -- `
` "Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28." No. 28 was situated at the `
` extremity of the village; during the drive night had set in, `
` and darkness gave the surroundings the artificial appearance `
` of a scene on the stage. The carriage stopped, the footman `
` sprang off the box, and opened the door. "Well," said the `
` count, "you do not get out, M. Bertuccio -- you are going to `
` stay in the carriage, then? What are you thinking of this `
` evening?" Bertuccio sprang out, and offered his shoulder to `
` the count, who, this time, leaned upon it as he descended `
` the three steps of the carriage. "Knock," said the count, `
` "and announce me." Bertuccio knocked, the door opened, and `
` the concierge appeared. "What is it?" asked he. `
` `
` "It is your new master, my good fellow," said the footman. `
` And he held out to the concierge the notary's order. `
` `
` "The house is sold, then?" demanded the concierge; "and this `
` gentleman is coming to live here?" `
` `
` "Yes, my friend," returned the count; "and I will endeavor `
` to give you no cause to regret your old master." `
` `
` "Oh, monsieur," said the concierge, "I shall not have much `
` cause to regret him, for he came here but seldom; it is five `
` years since he was here last, and he did well to sell the `
` house, for it did not bring him in anything at all." `
` `
` "What was the name of your old master?" said Monte Cristo. `
` `
` "The Marquis of Saint-Meran. Ah, I am sure he has not sold `
` the house for what he gave for it." `
` `
` "The Marquis of Saint-Meran!" returned the count. "The name `
` is not unknown to me; the Marquis of Saint-Meran!" and he `
` appeared to meditate. `
` `
` "An old gentleman," continued the concierge, "a stanch `
` follower of the Bourbons; he had an only daughter, who `
` married M. de Villefort, who had been the king's attorney at `
` Nimes, and afterwards at Versailles." Monte Cristo glanced `
` at Bertuccio, who became whiter than the wall against which `
` he leaned to prevent himself from falling. "And is not this `
` daughter dead?" demanded Monte Cristo; "I fancy I have heard `
` so." `
` `
` "Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we `
` have not seen the poor marquis three times." `
` `
` "Thanks, thanks," said Monte Cristo, judging from the `
` steward's utter prostration that he could not stretch the `
` cord further without danger of breaking it. "Give me a `
` light." `
` `
` "Shall I accompany you, monsieur?" `
` `
` "No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light." And `
` Monte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold `
` pieces, which produced a torrent of thanks and blessings `
` from the concierge. "Ah, monsieur," said he, after having `
` vainly searched on the mantle-piece and the shelves, "I have `
` not got any candles." `
` `
` "Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio," said the count, `
` "and show me the apartments." The steward obeyed in silence, `
` but it was easy to see, from the manner in which the hand `
` that held the light trembled, how much it cost him to obey. `
` They went over a tolerably large ground-floor; a second `
` floor consisted of a salon, a bathroom, and two bedrooms; `
` near one of the bedrooms they came to a winding staircase `
` that led down to the garden. `
` `
` "Ah, here is a private staircase," said the count; "that is `
` convenient. Light me, M. Bertuccio, and go first; we will `
` see where it leads to." `
` `
` "Monsieur," replied Bertuccio, "it leads to the garden." `
` `
` "And, pray, how do you know that?" `
` `
` "It ought to do so, at least." `
` `
` "Well, let us be sure of that." Bertuccio sighed, and went `
` on first; the stairs did, indeed, lead to the garden. At the `
` outer door the steward paused. "Go on, Monsieur Bertuccio," `
` said the count. But he who was addressed stood there, `
` stupefied, bewildered, stunned; his haggard eyes glanced `
` around, as if in search of the traces of some terrible `
` event, and with his clinched hands he seemed striving to `
` shut out horrible recollections. "Well," insisted the Count. `
` "No, no," cried Bertuccio, setting down the lantern at the `
` angle of the interior wall. "No, monsieur, it is impossible; `
` I can go no farther." `
` `
` "What does this mean?" demanded the irresistible voice of `
` Monte Cristo. `
` `
` "Why, you must see, your excellency," cried the steward, `
` "that this is not natural; that, having a house to purchase, `
` you purchase it exactly at Auteuil, and that, purchasing it `
` at Auteuil, this house should be No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine. `
` Oh, why did I not tell you all? I am sure you would not have `
` forced me to come. I hoped your house would have been some `
` other one than this; as if there was not another house at `
` Auteuil than that of the assassination!" `
` `
` "What, what!" cried Monte Cristo, stopping suddenly, "what `
` words do you utter? Devil of a man, Corsican that you are -- `
` always mysteries or superstitions. Come, take the lantern, `
` and let us visit the garden; you are not afraid of ghosts `
` with me, I hope?" Bertuccio raised the lantern, and obeyed. `
` The door, as it opened, disclosed a gloomy sky, in which the `
` moon strove vainly to struggle through a sea of clouds that `
` covered her with billows of vapor which she illumined for an `
` instant, only to sink into obscurity. The steward wished to `
` turn to the left. "No, no, monsieur," said Monte Cristo. `
` "What is the use of following the alleys? Here is a `
` beautiful lawn; let us go on straight forwards." `
` `
` Bertuccio wiped the perspiration from his brow, but obeyed; `
` however, he continued to take the left hand. Monte Cristo, `
` on the contrary, took the right hand; arrived near a clump `
` of trees, he stopped. The steward could not restrain `
` himself. "Move, monsieur -- move away, I entreat you; you `
` are exactly in the spot!" `
` `
` "What spot?" `
` `
` "Where he fell." `
` `
` "My dear Monsieur Bertuccio," said Monte Cristo, laughing, `
` "control yourself; we are not at Sartena or at Corte. This `
` is not a Corsican arbor, but an English garden; badly kept, `
` I own, but still you must not calumniate it for that." `
` `
` "Monsieur, I implore you do not stay there!" `
` `
` "I think you are going mad, Bertuccio," said the count `
` coldly. "If that is the case, I warn you, I shall have you `
` put in a lunatic asylum." `
` `
` "Alas, excellency," returned Bertuccio, joining his hands, `
` and shaking his head in a manner that would have excited the `
` count's laughter, had not thoughts of a superior interest `
` occupied him, and rendered him attentive to the least `
` revelation of this timorous conscience. "Alas, excellency, `
` the evil has arrived!" `
` `
` "M. Bertuccio," said the count, "I am very glad to tell you, `
` that while you gesticulate, you wring your hands and roll `
` your eyes like a man possessed by a devil who will not leave `
` him; and I have always observed, that the devil most `
` obstinate to be expelled is a secret. I knew you were a `
` Corsican. I knew you were gloomy, and always brooding over `
` some old history of the vendetta; and I overlooked that in `
` Italy, because in Italy those things are thought nothing of. `
` But in France they are considered in very bad taste; there `
` are gendarmes who occupy themselves with such affairs, `
` judges who condemn, and scaffolds which avenge." Bertuccio `
` clasped his hands, and as, in all these evolutions, he did `
` not let fall the lantern, the light showed his pale and `
` altered countenance. Monte Cristo examined him with the same `
` look that, at Rome, he had bent upon the execution of `
` Andrea, and then, in a tone that made a shudder pass through `
` the veins of the poor steward, -- "The Abbe Busoni, then `
` told me an untruth," said he, "when, after his journey in `
` France, in 1829, he sent you to me, with a letter of `
` recommendation, in which he enumerated all your valuable `
` qualities. Well, I shall write to the abbe; I shall hold him `
` responsible for his protege's misconduct, and I shall soon `
` know all about this assassination. Only I warn you, that `
` when I reside in a country, I conform to all its code, and I `
` have no wish to put myself within the compass of the French `
` laws for your sake." `
` `
` "Oh, do not do that, excellency; I have always served you `
` faithfully," cried Bertuccio, in despair. "I have always `
` been an honest man, and, as far as lay in my power, I have `
` done good." `
` `
` "I do not deny it," returned the count; "but why are you `
` thus agitated. It is a bad sign; a quiet conscience does not `
` occasion such paleness in the cheeks, and such fever in the `
` hands of a man." `
` `
` "But, your excellency," replied Bertuccio hesitatingly, "did `
` not the Abbe Busoni, who heard my confession in the prison `
` at Nimes, tell you that I had a heavy burden upon my `
` conscience?" `
` `
`