World Literature Classics Library: The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 79 The Villa of Auteuil

Monte Cristo saw that Beticio, descending the steps, made the sign of the sign of the sign of the cross in Corsican fashion, that is to say, crossing himself with his thumbs up, and when he got into the car and sat down, he He murmured a few more prayers.The earl's night trip was carefully planned, but the venerable steward regarded it as daunting, with a rare frown, as long as he didn't mean to be a joke, anyone who saw him would feel pity for him.But it seemed that the count was too delicate to spare Beticio this little ride. In twenty minutes they were at Auteuil, and the steward, growing more and more confused, crouched in the corner of the carriage as the carriage entered the village, looking with terrified eyes at every house on the road.

"Tell the coachman to stop at 28 Rue Lafonne," the count ordered, his eyes fixed on the butler ruthlessly.

Beticio's face was dripping with sweat, but he followed the Count's wishes, stuck his head out of the car window, and shouted to the coachman, "28 Rue La Fontaine."

Number 28 is at the end of the village.It was getting dark as they came, or rather, the sky was covered with charged clouds, adding a tragic drama to the premature darkness.At last the carriage stopped, and the attendant got out immediately and opened the door.

"Why!" said the Count, "won't you get out of the car, Monsieur Beticio? Do you just want to stay in the car? What the hell are you thinking about to-night?"

Beticio got out of the carriage in a hurry, and then stood with his shoulders close to the door. The count put his hand on his shoulders, and step by step slowly stepped off the carriage three steps and got out of the carriage. "Knock and go," said the count, "and tell them I am coming."

Beticio knocked on the door, it opened, and the porter came to the door. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"This is your new master, my friend," said the footman, and handed the porter the note from the notary.

"The house has been sold?" asked the porter. "Is this gentleman coming to live?"

"Yes, my friend," said the count, "I will endeavor to make you forget your old master."

"Oh, sir," said the porter, "he has nothing to worry me about, for we seldom see him, and he hasn't been here for five years. Yes, he did the right thing in selling the house, and he There is no need for this house at all.”

"What was the name of your former master?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Monsieur de Saint-Méran. Oh, I think he's sold cheap."

"The Marquis of Saint-Meran!" said Monte Cristo, "I don't think this name is unfamiliar, the Marquis of Saint-Meran..." He seemed to be thinking about something.

"He is an old gentleman," went on the porter, "truly devoted to the House of Bourbon. His only daughter is married to M. Villefort, the same M. Villefort who was prosecutor at Nîmes and later at Versailles."

Monte Cristo glanced at Beticio, who, afraid of falling, was leaning against the wall, and his bloodless face was whiter than the wall behind him.

"Isn't his daughter dead?" asked Monte Cristo, "I seem to have heard it."

"Yes, sir, it's been twenty-one years since his death, and we've only seen the poor Marquis once or twice since then."

"Thank you, thank you," said Monte Cristo, who saw from the despondent look on the steward's face that the string must not be pulled any longer, or it was in danger of snapping. "Thank you! Light me a lamp, my friend." .”

"Do you want me to accompany you, sir?"

"No, Beticio will illuminate it for me." Monte Cristo said, and took out two gold coins to give to the porter, but he heard the porter say a lot of blessings and praises.

"Ah, sir," said the porter, finding no candles either on the fireplace or on the side shelf, "I have no candles here."

"Get a carriage lamp, Beticio, and show me the house," said the count.

The butler obeyed without saying a word, but his hand that carried the lamp was trembling, and it was not difficult to see how expensive it was for him to do so one by one.They took a look downstairs first, the place was fairly spacious, and then went up to the second floor?

He flickered his eyes and looked around, as if he was looking for traces of the terrible past. His hands were tightly clenched into fists, as if trying to drive away the terrible memories.

"What's the matter?" the Count said again.

"No, no," cried Beticio, putting his hand on the corner of the building, "no, sir, I can't go any further, no!"

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Monte Cristo, speaking with such irresistible tone and so decisively.

"But, sir, you see very clearly," cried the steward, "that it is not for nothing that you want to buy a house in Paris and you buy it in Auteuil, and that you buy a house in Auteuil and you buy it The house at 28 rue Lafontaine! Ah! Why don't I explain all this to you there, sir! Then you won't compel me to come here. I always have a glimmer of hope, but I hope the count Monsieur's house is not this one, but there seems to be no other house in Auteuil except this murderous house."

"Oh, oh!" said Monte Cristo, stopping short, "what a disgraceful thing you just said! You are a Corsican, you wretch! You are always so superstitious and superstitious. Come on. Lantern, let's go to the garden, I think, you follow me, there is nothing to be afraid of!"

Beticio raised the lamp, and followed the count.As soon as the door was opened, the night sky was hazy, and the moon struggling in vain in the sea of ​​clouds occasionally illuminated the gloomy and dark waves, but then the waves became darker and finally disappeared in the vast abyss.The butler wanted to go to the left.

"Don't go that way, Monsieur," said Monte Cristo. "Why take that path, you see how beautiful the lawn is. Let's go straight on."

Beticio wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead and had no choice but to move forward, but he still turned to the left.Monte Cristo, on the contrary, gradually walked to the right, and stopped when he came to a clump of trees.The butler could no longer control himself. "Get out of the way, sir, that's where you're standing!"

"Where?"

"Exactly where he fell!"

"My dear Monsieur Beticio," said Monte Cristo, laughing, "don't be so distraught, I say you should take heart, this is not the name of the island of Corsica in Saltana. Or Corte Corsi The name of the place on Ka Island. This is not a Corsican jungle at all, this is an English-style garden, and I agree with it that it has been in disrepair, but it doesn’t make it useless.”

"Don't stand there, sir, please don't stand there, I beg you."

"I think you are crazy, Monsieur Beticio," said the count coldly. "If you are really going crazy, you should tell me, and I can send you to the asylum, so that no misfortune will be caused."

"Oh, my lord," said Beticio, shaking his head and clasping his hands in a way that the count would have laughed at, but luckily the count was at that moment absorbed in some noble and important matter, and all he was paying attention to was To see what the timid fellow had on his mind, "Oh, sir, misfortune has happened."

"Monsieur Beticio," said the count, "I can tell you that you are gesticulating, twisting your arms, and rolling your eyes like a demon possessed by you, and you cannot get rid of it yourself. I've noticed a long time ago that the ghost that attaches to people and refuses to leave is the secret. I know you are from Corsica, I know you are depressed, and you are always thinking about the past events of vendettas. In Italy I didn't care about you when I was a child, because it doesn't matter at all in Italy. But in France, assassination is generally abhorred. Here there are gendarmes to control and judges to convict. , and the guillotine to avenge the victim."

Beticio clasped his hands together, but no matter how he moved, the lamp was kept on, and the light illuminated his terrified face.Monte Cristo stared at him closely, with exactly the same scrutiny eyes as Andra when he was scrutinizing and serving his sentence in Rome.Then he said in a tone that made the poor housekeeper tremble again: "In 1829, after the elder Buzzoni returned from his trip to France, he asked you to come to me with his letter of recommendation, which listed your merits. , there is a discrepancy in what he said. Well, I will write to the elder right away, reminding him to be responsible for the person he sponsors, and I will know the details of the assassination. Only I want to warn you, Mr. Beticio, I Wherever a person lives, he follows the laws of that country, and I don't want to have any trouble with the French judiciary for your sake."

"Oh, please, sir, I have served you faithfully, have I not?" cried Beticio in despair, "I have been honest all my life, and have done many good things beyond my power."

"I didn't say you weren't like this," the count went on, "but why are you so flustered? This shows that there are ghosts. If people don't do bad things, their faces won't be pale, and their hands won't be hot..."

"But, Monsieur Count," Berticio stammered, "I confessed to Elder Buzzoni in Nîmes prison, and when he recommended me to you, he also said that I had done something I regretted. , Didn't you tell me this yourself?"

"Yes, but when he sponsored you, he said you would make an excellent housekeeper, so I suppose you stole, but nothing else."

"Ah, Monsieur the Count!" said Beticio with contempt.

"I also thought about it, you are from Corsica, so it's possible that your hands were itchy but you couldn't hold it back, so you peeled a piece of skin. Don't you call killing people skinning?"

"Oh, yes, sir, yes, my good lord, that's what it is," cried Beticio, falling on his knees before the count, "yes, it is vengeance, I can swear it is vengeance .”

"I know that, but what I don't understand is why exactly this house frightens you so much?"

"But, sir, isn't that obvious?" said Beticio, "it's in this house that I took my revenge!"

"What! In my house!"

"Oh, sir, the house was not yours at that time," replied Beticio foolishly.

"Whose is it? Monsieur de Saint-Meran, I think the concierge told us. What the hell do you have against the Marquis de Saint-Meran?"

"Oh, not revenge on him, sir, but someone else."

"Such a coincidence is too strange," said Monte Cristo, seeming to begin to think again. "An incident happened in this house in the past, which made you regret it, and you never thought that you happened to come to this house again. house."

"Monsieur," said the steward, "it's all fate, I believe it, first you just happened to buy a house in Auteuil, and you bought the house where I killed someone, and the stairs you came down to the garden happened to be. The stairs he went down, where you are standing now is the place where he was killed. Two steps further, just under the sycamore tree, is the pit where he buried his children. It is not a coincidence, no, it must It’s a coincidence, it’s too much like God’s will.”

"Well, Mr. Corsica, let's say it's God's will. I always guess what people think, and I have to give in to people who are insane. Well, think about it first. Think, and tell me how it all is."

"I have only told this once, to Elder Buzzoni. This kind of thing," continued Beticio, shaking his head, "only in confession."

"Well, my dear Betticio," said the count, "since you think I ought to send you to a priest, go and make your confession to a priest of Chartres, or of the Order of St. Bernard, Tell me your heart is cured. But I can't bear anyone who wants to be afraid of ghosts here, and I don't like my servants not to walk in my garden at night. And, I will tell you, I don't have much interest in such things as police visits, because, you have to understand this, Mr. Beticio, in Italy justice can only be sought when justice is silent, things are different in France, and only when justice speaks Time to get justice. Well, I thought you had a bit of Corsican backbone, a knack for smuggling, and a tough housekeeper, but now I can see that you still have a lot of hands. You are no longer mine , Mister Tibesio."

"Oh, my lord, my lord," cried the steward, who was terrified by the threat, "oh, if it's for that alone that it's up to me whether I can continue to serve you, I'll say anything. I'll To leave you, oh, to go to the guillotine by myself."

"That is another matter," said Monte Cristo, "but think about it, and if you are going to tell a lie, it is better not to tell it."

"No, sir, in order to save my soul, I swear to you, I will definitely tell you the whole story. In fact, Elder Buzzoni only knows part of my heart disease. But I beg you to leave this place first. A plane tree. Look, the moon is about to shine on that cloud. You stand there, wrapped in a cloak, and I can't see your figure clearly. You really look like M. de Villefort..."

"What?" cried Monte Cristo, "M. de Villefort..."

"Do you know him?"

"Nim's former prosecutor?"

"Yes."

"He married the daughter of the Marquis de Saint-Meran?"

"Yes."

"He is well-known in the judiciary as the most upright, stern, and regular judge?"

"Ah, sir," cried Beticio, "this man of irreproachable fame..."

"Um……"

"A despicable and shameless fellow."

"What!" said Monte Cristo, "impossible."

"He's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Is that so?" said Monte Cristo. "Have you any proof?"

"At least there used to be."

"But you lost the evidence, you fool."

"Yes, but if you look hard, you can still find it."

"Really?" said the count, "tell me about it, Monsieur Beticio, and now I'm beginning to be a little interested in it." So the count walked up to a chair, humming a little tune sung by Lucia. Sitting down, Beticio began to recall the past, followed the past, and stood in front of the count.

(End of this chapter)