incited him to join in the general combat, in which all the masks
around him were engaged. He rose in his turn, and seizing handfuls
of confetti and sweetmeats, with which the carriage was filled,
cast them with all the force and skill he was master of.
The strife had fairly begun, and the recollection of what they
had seen half an hour before was gradually effaced from the young
men's minds, so much were they occupied by the gay and glittering
procession they now beheld. As for the Count of Monte Cristo, he
had never for an instant shown any appearance of having been moved.
Imagine the large and splendid Corso, bordered from one end to the
other with lofty palaces, with their balconies hung with carpets,
and their windows with flags. At these balconies are three hundred
thousand spectators — Romans, Italians, strangers from all parts of
the world, the united aristocracy of birth, wealth, and genius.
Lovely women, yielding to the influence of the scene, bend over
their balconies, or lean from their windows, and shower down
confetti, which are returned by bouquets; the air seems darkened
with the falling confetti and flying flowers. In the streets the
lively crowd is dressed in the most fantastic costumes — gigantic
cabbages walk gravely about, buffaloes' heads below from men's
shoulders, dogs walk on their hind legs; in the midst of all this a
mask is lifted, and, as in Callot's Temptation of St. Anthony, a
lovely face is exhibited, which we would fain follow, but from
which we are separated by troops of fiends. This will give a faint
idea of the Carnival at Rome. At the second turn the Count stopped
the carriage, and requested permission to withdraw, leaving the
vehicle at their disposal. Franz looked up — they were opposite the
Rospoli Palace. At the centre window, the one hung with white
damask with a red cross, was a blue domino, beneath which Franz's
imagination easily pictured the beautiful Greek of the Argentina.
"Gentlemen," said the count, springing out, "when you are tired of"Gentlemen," said the count, springing out, "when you are tired of
being actors, and wish to become spectators of this scene, you know
you have places at my windows. In the meantime, dispose of my
coachman, my carriage, and my servants." We have forgotten to
mention, that the count's coachman was attired in a bear-skin,
exactly resembling Odry's in "The Bear and the Pasha;" and the two
footmen behind were dressed up as green monkeys, with spring masks,
with which they made grimaces at every one who passed. Franz
thanked the count for his attention. As for Albert, he was busily
occupied throwing bouquets at a carriage full of Roman peasants
that was passing near him. Unfortunately for him, the line of
carriages moved on again, and while he descended the Piazza del
Popolo, the other ascended towards the Palazzo di Venezia. "Ah, my
dear fellow," said he to Franz; "you did not see?"
"What?"
"There, — that calash filled with Roman peasants."
"No."
"Well, I am convinced they are all charming women."
"How unfortunate that you were masked, Albert," said Franz;
"here was an opportunity of making up for past
disappointments."
"Oh," replied he, half laughing, half serious; "I hope the
Carnival will not pass without some amends in one shape or the
other."
But, in spite of Albert's hope, the day passed unmarked by any
incident, excepting two or three encounters with the carriage full
of Roman peasants. At one of these encounters, accidentally or
purposely, Albert's mask fell off. He instantly rose and cast the
remainder of the bouquets into the carriage. Doubtless one of the
charming females Albert had detected beneath their coquettish
disguise was touched by his gallantry; for, as the carriage of the
two friends passed her, she threw a bunch of violets. Albert seized
it, and as Franz had no reason to suppose it was meant for him, he
suffered Albert to retain it. Albert placed it in his button-hole,
and the carriage went triumphantly on.
"Well," said Franz to him; "there is the beginning of an
adventure.""Well," said Franz to him; "there is the beginning of an
adventure."
"Laugh if you please — I really think so. So I will not abandon
this bouquet."
"Pardieu," returned Franz, laughing, "in token of your
ingratitude." The jest, however, soon appeared to become earnest;
for when Albert and Franz again encountered the carriage with the
contadini, the one who had thrown the violets to Albert, clapped
her hands when she beheld them in his button-hole. "Bravo, bravo,"
said Franz; "things go wonderfully. Shall I leave you? Perhaps you
would prefer being alone?"
"No," replied he; "I will not be caught like a fool at a first
disclosure by a rendezvous under the clock, as they say at the
opera-balls. If the fair peasant wishes to carry matters any
further, we shall find her, or rather, she will find us to-morrow;
then she will give me some sign or other, and I shall know what I
have to do."
"On my word," said Franz, "you are wise as Nestor and prudent as
Ulysses, and your fair Circe must be very skilful or very powerful
if she succeed in changing you into a beast of any kind." Albert
was right; the fair unknown had resolved, doubtless, to carry the
intrigue no farther; for although the young men made several more
turns, they did not again see the calash, which had turned up one
of the neighboring streets. Then they returned to the Rospoli
Palace; but the count and the blue domino had also disappeared; the
two windows, hung with yellow damask, were still occupied by the
persons whom the count had invited. At this moment the same bell
that had proclaimed the beginning of the mascherata sounded the
retreat. The file on the Corso broke the line, and in a second all
the carriages had disappeared. Franz and Albert were opposite the
Via delle Maratte; the coachman, without saying a word, drove up
it, passed along the Piazza di Spagni and the Rospoli Palace and
stopped at the door of the hotel. Signor Pastrini came to the door
to receive his guests. Franz hastened to inquire after the count,


to receive his guests. Franz hastened to inquire after the count,
and to express regret that he had not returned in sufficient time;
but Pastrini reassured him by saying that the Count of Monte Cristo
had ordered a second carriage for himself, and that it had gone at
four o'clock to fetch him from the Rospoli Palace. The count had,
moreover, charged him to offer the two friends the key of his box
at the Argentina. Franz questioned Albert as to his intentions; but
Albert had great projects to put into execution before going to the
theatre; and instead of making any answer, he inquired if Signor
Pastrini could procure him a tailor. "A tailor," said the host;
"and for what?"
"To make us between now and to-morrow two Roman peasant
costumes," returned Albert. The host shook his head. "To make you
two costumes between now and to-morrow? I ask your excellencies'
pardon, but this is quite a French demand; for the next week you
will not find a single tailor who would consent to sew six buttons
on a waistcoat if you paid him a crown a piece for each
button."
"Then I must give up the idea?"
"No; we have them ready-made. Leave all to me; and to-morrow,
when you awake, you shall find a collection of costumes with which
you will be satisfied."
"My dear Albert," said Franz, "leave all to our host; he has
already proved himself full of resources; let us dine quietly, and
afterwards go and see `The Algerian Captive.'"
"Agreed," returned Albert; "but remember, Signor Pastrini, that
both my friend and myself attach the greatest importance to having
to-morrow the costumes we have asked for." The host again assured
them they might rely on him, and that their wishes should be
attended to; upon which Franz and Albert mounted to their
apartments, and proceeded to disencumber themselves of their
costumes. Albert, as he took off his dress, carefully preserved the
bunch of violets; it was his token reserved for the morrow. The two
friends sat down to table; but they could not refrain fromfriends sat down to table; but they could not refrain from
remarking the difference between the Count of Monte Cristo's table
and that of Signor Pastrini. Truth compelled Franz, in spite of the
dislike he seemed to have taken to the count, to confess that the
advantage was not on Pastrini's side. During dessert, the servant
inquired at what time they wished for the carriage. Albert and
Franz looked at each other, fearing really to abuse the count's
kindness. The servant understood them. "His excellency the Count of
Monte Cristo had," he said, "given positive orders that the
carriage was to remain at their lordships' orders all day, and they
could therefore dispose of it without fear of indiscretion."
They resolved to profit by the count's courtesy, and ordered the
horses to be harnessed, while they substituted evening dress for
that which they had on, and which was somewhat the worse for the
numerous combats they had sustained. This precaution taken, they
went to the theatre, and installed themselves in the count's box.
During the first act, the Countess G—— entered. Her first look was
at the box where she had seen the count the previous evening, so
that she perceived Franz and Albert in the place of the very person
concerning whom she had expressed so strange an opinion to Franz.
Her opera-glass was so fixedly directed towards them, that Franz
saw it would be cruel not to satisfy her curiosity; and, availing
himself of one of the privileges of the spectators of the Italian
theatres, who use their boxes to hold receptions, the two friends
went to pay their respects to the countess. Scarcely had they
entered, when she motioned to Franz to assume the seat of honor.
Albert, in his turn, sat behind.
"Well," said she, hardly giving Franz time to sit down, "it
seems you have nothing better to do than to make the acquaintance
of this new Lord Ruthven, and you are already the best friends in
the world."
"Without being so far advanced as that, my dear countess,"the world."
"Without being so far advanced as that, my dear countess,"
returned Franz, "I cannot deny that we have abused his good nature
all day."
"All day?"
"Yes; this morning we breakfasted with him; we rode in his
carriage all day, and now we have taken possession of his box."
"You know him, then?"
"Yes, and no."
"How so?"
"It is a long story."
'Tell it to me."
"It would frighten you too much."
"So much the more reason."
"At least wait until the story has a conclusion."
"Very well; I prefer complete histories; but tell me how you
made his acquaintance? Did any one introduce you to him?"
"No; it was he who introduced himself to us."
"When?"
"Last night, after we left you."
"Through what medium?"
"The very prosaic one of our landlord."
"He is staying, then, at the Hotel de Londres with you?"
"Not only in the same hotel, but on the same floor."
"What is his name — for, of course, you know?"
"The Count of Monte Cristo."
"That is not a family name?"
"No, it is the name of the island he has purchased."
"And he is a count?"
"A Tuscan count."
"Well, we must put up with that," said the countess, who was
herself from one of the oldest Venetian families. "What sort of a
man is he?"
"Ask the Vicomte de Morcerf."
"You hear, M. de Morcerf, I am referred to you," said the
countess.
"We should be very hard to please, madam," returned Albert, "did
we not think him delightful. A friend of ten years' standing could
not have done more for us, or with a more perfect courtesy."
"Come," observed the countess, smiling, "I see my vampire is
only some millionaire, who has taken the appearance of Lara in
order to avoid being confounded with M. de Rothschild; and you have
seen her?"
"Her?"
"The beautiful Greek of yesterday."
"No; we heard, I think, the sound of her guzla, but she remained
perfectly invisible."
"When you say invisible," interrupted Albert, "it is only to
keep up the mystery; for whom do you take the blue domino at the
window with the white curtains?"
"Where was this window with white hangings?" asked the
countess.


window with the white curtains?"
"Where was this window with white hangings?" asked the
countess.
"At the Rospoli Palace."
"The count had three windows at the Rospoli Palace?"
"Yes. Did you pass through the Corso?"
"Yes."
"Well, did you notice two windows hung with yellow damask, and
one with white damask with a red cross? Those were the count's
windows."
"Why, he must be a nabob. Do you know what those three windows
were worth?"
"Two or three hundred Roman crowns?"
"Two or three thousand."
"The deuce."
"Does his island produce him such a revenue?"
"It does not bring him a baiocco."
"Then why did he purchase it?"
"For a whim."
"He is an original, then?"
"In reality," observed Albert, "he seemed to me somewhat
eccentric; were he at Paris, and a frequenter of the theatres, I
should say he was a poor devil literally mad. This morning he made
two or three exits worthy of Didier or Anthony." At this moment a
fresh visitor entered, and, according to custom, Franz gave up his
seat to him. This circumstance had, moreover, the effect of
changing the conversation; an hour afterwards the two friends
returned to their hotel. Signor Pastrini had already set about
procuring their disguises for the morrow; and he assured them that
they would be perfectly satisfied. The next morning, at nine
o'clock, he entered Franz's room, followed by a tailor, who had
eight or ten Roman peasant costumes on his arm; they selected two
exactly alike, and charged the tailor to sew on each of their hats
about twenty yards of ribbon, and to procure them two of the long
silk sashes of different colors with which the lower orders
decorate themselves on fete-days. Albert was impatient to see how
he looked in his new dress — a jacket and breeches of blue velvet,
silk stockings with clocks, shoes with buckles, and a silk
waistcoat. This picturesque attire set him off to great advantage;
and when he had bound the scarf around his waist, and when his hat,
placed coquettishly on one side, let fall on his shoulder a streamplaced coquettishly on one side, let fall on his shoulder a stream
of ribbons, Franz was forced to confess that costume has much to do
with the physical superiority we accord to certain nations. The
Turks used to be so picturesque with their long and flowing robes,
but are they not now hideous with their blue frocks buttoned up to
the chin, and their red caps, which make them look like a bottle of
wine with a red seal? Franz complimented Albert, who looked at
himself in the glass with an unequivocal smile of satisfaction.
They were thus engaged when the Count of Monte Cristo entered.
"Gentlemen," said he, "although a companion is agreeable,
perfect freedom is sometimes still more agreeable. I come to say
that to-day, and for the remainder of the Carnival, I leave the
carriage entirely at your disposal. The host will tell you I have
three or four more, so that you will not inconvenience me in any
way. Make use of it, I pray you, for your pleasure or your
business."
The young men wished to decline, but they could find no good
reason for refusing an offer which was so agreeable to them. The
Count of Monte Cristo remained a quarter of an hour with them,
conversing on all subjects with the greatest ease. He was, as we
have already said, perfectly well acquainted with the literature of
all countries. A glance at the walls of his salon proved to Franz
and Albert that he was a connoisseur of pictures. A few words he
let fall showed them that he was no stranger to the sciences, and
he seemed much occupied with chemistry. The two friends did not
venture to return the count the breakfast he had given them; it
would have been too absurd to offer him in exchange for his
excellent table the very inferior one of Signor Pastrini. They told
him so frankly, and he received their excuses with the air of a man
who appreciated their delicacy. Albert was charmed with the count's
manners, and he was only prevented from recognizing him for a
perfect gentleman by reason of his varied knowledge. The permissionperfect gentleman by reason of his varied knowledge. The permission
to do what he liked with the carriage pleased him above all, for
the fair peasants had appeared in a most elegant carriage the
preceding evening, and Albert was not sorry to be upon an equal
footing with them. At half-past one they descended, the coachman
and footman had put on their livery over their disguises, which
gave them a more ridiculous appearance than ever, and which gained
them the applause of Franz and Albert. Albert had fastened the
faded bunch of violets to his button-hole. At the first sound of
the bell they hastened into the Corso by the Via Vittoria. At the
second turn, a bunch of fresh violets, thrown from a carriage
filled with harlequins, indicated to Albert that, like himself and
his friend, the peasants had changed their costume, also; and
whether it was the result of chance, or whether a similar feeling
had possessed them both, while he had changed his costume they had
assumed his.
Albert placed the fresh bouquet in his button-hole, but he kept
the faded one in his hand; and when he again met the calash, he
raised it to his lips, an action which seemed greatly to amuse not
only the fair lady who had thrown it, but her joyous companions
also. The day was as gay as the preceding one, perhaps even more
animated and noisy; the count appeared for an instant at his
window. but when they again passed he had disappeared. It is almost
needless to say that the flirtation between Albert and the fair
peasant continued all day. In the evening, on his return, Franz
found a letter from the embassy, informing him that he would have
the honor of being received by his holiness the next day. At each
previous visit he had made to Rome, he had solicited and obtained
the same favor; and incited as much by a religious feeling as by
gratitude, he was unwilling to quit the capital of the Christian
world without laying his respectful homage at the feet of one of
St. Peter's successors who has set the rare example of all the


St. Peter's successors who has set the rare example of all the
virtues. He did not then think of the Carnival, for in spite of his
condescension and touching kindness, one cannot incline one's self
without awe before the venerable and noble old man called Gregory
XVI. On his return from the Vatican, Franz carefully avoided the
Corso; he brought away with him a treasure of pious thoughts, to
which the mad gayety of the maskers would have been profanation. At
ten minutes past five Albert entered overjoyed. The harlequin had
reassumed her peasant's costume, and as she passed she raised her
mask. She was charming. Franz congratulated Albert, who received
his congratulations with the air of a man conscious that they are
merited. He had recognized by certain unmistakable signs, that his
fair incognita belonged to the aristocracy. He had made up his mind
to write to her the next day. Franz remarked, while he gave these
details, that Albert seemed to have something to ask of him, but
that he was unwilling to ask it. He insisted upon it, declaring
beforehand that he was willing to make any sacrifice the other
wished. Albert let himself be pressed just as long as friendship
required, and then avowed to Franz that he would do him a great
favor by allowing him to occupy the carriage alone the next day.
Albert attributed to Franz's absence the extreme kindness of the
fair peasant in raising her mask. Franz was not sufficiently
egotistical to stop Albert in the middle of an adventure that
promised to prove so agreeable to his curiosity and so flattering
to his vanity. He felt assured that the perfect indiscretion of his
friend would duly inform him of all that happened; and as, during
three years that he had travelled all over Italy, a similar piece
of good fortune had never fallen to his share, Franz was by no
means sorry to learn how to act on such an occasion. He therefore
promised Albert that he would content himself the morrow with
witnessing the Carnival from the windows of the Rospoli Palace.witnessing the Carnival from the windows of the Rospoli Palace.
The next morning he saw Albert pass and repass, holding an
enormous bouquet, which he doubtless meant to make the bearer of
his amorous epistle. This belief was changed into certainty when
Franz saw the bouquet (conspicuous by a circle of white camellias)
in the hand of a charming harlequin dressed in rose-colored satin.
The evening was no longer joy, but delirium. Albert nothing doubted
but that the fair unknown would reply in the same manner. Franz
anticipated his wishes by saying that the noise fatigued him, and
that he should pass the next day in writing and looking over his
journal. Albert was not deceived, for the next evening Franz saw
him enter triumphantly shaking a folded paper which he held by one
corner. "Well," said he, "was I mistaken?"
"She has answered you!" cried Franz.
"Read." This word was pronounced in a manner impossible to
describe. Franz took the letter, and read: —
Tuesday evening, at seven o'clock, descend from your carriage
opposite the Via dei Pontefici, and follow the Roman peasant who
snatches your torch from you. When you arrive at the first step of
the church of San Giacomo, be sure to fasten a knot of rose-colored
ribbons to the shoulder of your harlequin costume, in order that
you may be recognized. Until then you will not see me.
Constancy and Discretion.
"Well," asked he, when Franz had finished, "what do you think of
that?"
"I think that the adventure is assuming a very agreeable
appearance."
"I think so, also," replied Albert; "and I very much fear you
will go alone to the Duke of Bracciano's ball." Franz and Albert
had received that morning an invitation from the celebrated Roman
banker. "Take care, Albert," said Franz. "All the nobility of Rome
will be present, and if your fair incognita belong to the higher
class of society, she must go there."
"Whether she goes there or not, my opinion is still the same,"
returned Albert. "You have read the letter?"
"Yes."returned Albert. "You have read the letter?"
"Yes."
"You know how imperfectly the women of the mezzo cito are
educated in Italy?" (This is the name of the lower class.)
"Yes."
"Well, read the letter again. Look at the writing, and find if
you can, any blemish in the language or orthography." (The writing
was, in reality, charming, and the orthography irreproachable.)
"You are born to good fortune," said Franz, as he returned the
letter.
"Laugh as much as you will," replied Albert, "I am in love."
"You alarm me," cried Franz. "I see that I shall not only go
alone to the Duke of Bracciano's, but also return to Florence
alone."
"If my unknown be as amiable as she is beautiful," said Albert,
"I shall fix myself at Rome for six weeks, at least. I adore Rome,
and I have always had a great taste for archaeology."
"Come, two or three more such adventures, and I do not despair
of seeing you a member of the Academy." Doubtless Albert was about
to discuss seriously his right to the academic chair when they were
informed that dinner was ready. Albert's love had not taken away
his appetite. He hastened with Franz to seat himself, free to
recommence the discussion after dinner. After dinner, the Count of
Monte Cristo was announced. They had not seen him for two days.
Signor Pastrini informed them that business had called him to
Civita Vecchia. He had started the previous evening, and had only
returned an hour since. He was charming. Whether he kept a watch
over himself, or whether by accident he did not sound the
acrimonious chords that in other circumstances had been touched, he
was to-night like everybody else. The man was an enigma to Franz.
The count must feel sure that Franz recognized him; and yet he had
not let fall a single word indicating any previous acquaintance
between them. On his side, however great Franz's desire was to
allude to their former interview, the fear of being disagreeable to
the man who had loaded him and his friend with kindness prevented


the man who had loaded him and his friend with kindness prevented
him from mentioning it. The count had learned that the two friends
had sent to secure a box at the Argentina Theatre, and were told
they were all let. In consequence, he brought them the key of his
own — at least such was the apparent motive of his visit. Franz and
Albert made some difficulty, alleging their fear of depriving him
of it; but the count replied that, as he was going to the Palli
Theatre, the box at the Argentina Theatre would be lost if they did
not profit by it. This assurance determined the two friends to
accept it.
Franz had by degrees become accustomed to the count's pallor,
which had so forcibly struck him at their first meeting. He could
not refrain from admiring the severe beauty of his features, the
only defect, or rather the principal quality of which was the
pallor. Truly, a Byronic hero! Franz could not, we will not say see
him, but even think of him without imagining his stern head upon
Manfred's shoulders, or beneath Lara's helmet. His forehead was
marked with the line that indicates the constant presence of bitter
thoughts; he had the fiery eyes that seem to penetrate to the very
soul, and the haughty and disdainful upper lip that gives to the
words it utters a peculiar character that impresses them on the
minds of those to whom they are addressed. The count was no longer
young. He was at least forty; and yet it was easy to understand
that he was formed to rule the young men with whom he associated at
present. And, to complete his resemblance with the fantastic heroes
of the English poet, the count seemed to have the power of
fascination. Albert was constantly expatiating on their good
fortune in meeting such a man. Franz was less enthusiastic; but the
count exercised over him also the ascendency a strong mind always
acquires over a mind less domineering. He thought several times of
the project the count had of visiting Paris; and he had no doubt
but that, with his eccentric character, his characteristic face,but that, with his eccentric character, his characteristic face,
and his colossal fortune, he would produce a great effect there.
And yet he did not wish to be at Paris when the count was there.
The evening passed as evenings mostly pass at Italian theatres;
that is, not in listening to the music, but in paying visits and
conversing. The Countess G—— wished to revive the subject of the
count, but Franz announced he had something far newer to tell her,
and, in spite of Albert's demonstrations of false modesty, he
informed the countess of the great event which had preoccupied them
for the last three days. As similar intrigues are not uncommon in
Italy, if we may credit travellers, the comtess did not manifest
the least incredulity, but congratulated Albert on his success.
They promised, upon separating, to meet at the Duke of Bracciano's
ball, to which all Rome was invited. The heroine of the bouquet
kept her word; she gave Albert no sign of her existence the morrow
or the day after.
At length Tuesday came, the last and most tumultuous day of the
Carnival. On Tuesday, the theatres open at ten o'clock in the
morning, as Lent begins after eight at night. On Tuesday, all those
who through want of money, time, or enthusiasm, have not been to
see the Carnival before, mingle in the gayety, and contribute to
the noise and excitement. From two o'clock till five Franz and
Albert followed in the fete, exchanging handfuls of confetti with
the other carriages and the pedestrians, who crowded amongst the
horses' feet and the carriage wheels without a single accident, a
single dispute, or a single fight. The fetes are veritable pleasure
days to the Italians. The author of this history, who has resided
five or six years in Italy, does not recollect to have ever seen a
ceremony interrupted by one of those events so common in other
countries. Albert was triumphant in his harlequin costume. A knot
of rose-colored ribbons fell from his shoulder almost to the
ground. In order that there might be no confusion, Franz wore hisground. In order that there might be no confusion, Franz wore his
peasant's costume.
As the day advanced, the tumult became greater. There was not on
the pavement, in the carriages, at the windows, a single tongue
that was silent, a single arm that did not move. It was a human
storm, made up of a thunder of cries, and a hail of sweetmeats,
flowers, eggs, oranges, and nosegays. At three o'clock the sound of
fireworks, let off on the Piazza del Popolo and the Piazza di
Venezia (heard with difficulty amid the din and confusion)
announced that the races were about to begin. The races, like the
moccoli, are one of the episodes peculiar to the last days of the
Carnival. At the sound of the fireworks the carriages instantly
broke ranks, and retired by the adjacent streets. All these
evolutions are executed with an inconceivable address and
marvellous rapidity, without the police interfering in the matter.
The pedestrians ranged themselves against the walls; then the
trampling of horses and the clashing of steel were heard. A
detachment of carbineers, fifteen abreast, galloped up the Corso in
order to clear it for the barberi. When the detachment arrived at
the Piazza di Venezia, a second volley of fireworks was discharged,
to announce that the street was clear. Almost instantly, in the
midst of a tremendous and general outcry, seven or eight horses,
excited by the shouts of three hundred thousand spectators, passed
by like lightning. Then the Castle of Saint Angelo fired three
cannon to indicate that number three had won. Immediately, without
any other signal, the carriages moved on, flowing on towards the
Corso, down all the streets, like torrents pent up for a while,
which again flow into the parent river; and the immense stream
again continued its course between its two granite banks.
A new source of noise and movement was added to the crowd. The
sellers of moccoletti entered on the scene. The moccoli, or
moccoletti, are candles which vary in size from the pascal taper to


moccoletti, are candles which vary in size from the pascal taper to
the rushlight, and which give to each actor in the great final
scene of the Carnival two very serious problems to grapple with, —
first, how to keep his own moccoletto alight; and secondly, how to
extinguish the moccoletti of others. The moccoletto is like life:
man has found but one means of transmitting it, and that one comes
from God. But he has discovered a thousand means of taking it away,
and the devil has somewhat aided him. The moccoletto is kindled by
approaching it to a light. But who can describe the thousand means
of extinguishing the moccoletto? — the gigantic bellows, the
monstrous extinguishers, the superhuman fans. Every one hastened to
purchase moccoletti — Franz and Albert among the rest.
The night was rapidly approaching; and already, at the cry of
"Moccoletti!" repeated by the shrill voices of a thousand vendors,
two or three stars began to burn among the crowd. It was a signal.
At the end of ten minutes fifty thousand lights glittered,
descending from the Palazzo di Venezia to the Piazza del Popolo,
and mounting from the Piazzo del Popolo to the Palazzo di Venezia.
It seemed like the fete of jack-o'-lanterns. It is impossible to
form any idea of it without having seen it. Suppose that all the
stars had descended from the sky and mingled in a wild dance on the
face of the earth; the whole accompanied by cries that were never
heard in any other part of the world. The facchino follows the
prince, the Transteverin the citizen, every one blowing,
extinguishing, relighting. Had old AEolus appeared at this moment,
he would have been proclaimed king of the moccoli, and Aquilo the
heir-presumptive to the throne. This battle of folly and flame
continued for two hours; the Corso was light as day; the features
of the spectators on the third and fourth stories were visible.
Every five minutes Albert took out his watch; at length it pointed
to seven. The two friends were in the Via dei Pontefici. Albertto seven. The two friends were in the Via dei Pontefici. Albert
sprang out, bearing his moccoletto in his hand. Two or three masks
strove to knock his moccoletto out of his hand; but Albert, a
first-rate pugilist, sent them rolling in the street, one after the
other, and continued his course towards the church of San Giacomo.
The steps were crowded with masks, who strove to snatch each
other's torches. Franz followed Albert with his eyes, and saw him
mount the first step. Instantly a mask, wearing the well-known
costume of a peasant woman, snatched his moccoletto from him
without his offering any resistance. Franz was too far off to hear
what they said; but, without doubt, nothing hostile passed, for he
saw Albert disappear arm-in-arm with the peasant girl. He watched
them pass through the crowd for some time, but at length he lost
sight of them in the Via Macello. Suddenly the bell that gives the
signal for the end of the carnival sounded, and at the same instant
all the moccoletti were extinguished as if by enchantment. It
seemed as though one immense blast of the wind had extinguished
every one. Franz found himself in utter darkness. No sound was
audible save that of the carriages that were carrying the maskers
home; nothing was visible save a few lights that burnt behind the
windows. The Carnival was over.The first words that Albert uttered to his friend, on the
following morning, contained a request that Franz would accompany
him on a visit to the count; true, the young man had warmly and
energetically thanked the count on the previous evening; but
services such as he had rendered could never be too often
acknowledged. Franz, who seemed attracted by some invisible
influence towards the count, in which terror was strangely mingled,
felt an extreme reluctance to permit his friend to be exposed alone
to the singular fascination that this mysterious personage seemed
to exercise over him, and therefore made no objection to Albert's
request, but at once accompanied him to the desired spot, and,
after a short delay, the count joined them in the salon. "My dear
count," said Albert, advancing to meet him, "permit me to repeat
the poor thanks I offered last night, and to assure you that the
remembrance of all I owe to you will never be effaced from my
memory; believe me, as long as I live, I shall never cease to dwell
with grateful recollection on the prompt and important service you
rendered me; and also to remember that to you I am indebted even
for my life."
"My very good friend and excellent neighbor," replied the count,
with a smile, "you really exaggerate my trifling exertions. You owe
me nothing but some trifle of 20,000 francs, which you have been
saved out of your travelling expenses, so that there is not much of
a score between us; — but you must really permit me to congratulate
you on the ease and unconcern with which you resigned yourself to
your fate, and the perfect indifference you manifested as to the
turn events might take."
"Upon my word," said Albert, "I deserve no credit for what I
could not help, namely, a determination to take everything as I
found it, and to let those bandits see, that although men get into
troublesome scrapes all over the world, there is no nation but the
French that can smile even in the face of grim Death himself. AllFrench that can smile even in the face of grim Death himself. All
that, however, has nothing to do with my obligations to you, and I
now come to ask you whether, in my own person, my family, or
connections, I can in any way serve you? My father, the Comte de
Morcerf, although of Spanish origin, possesses considerable
influence, both at the court of France and Madrid, and I
unhesitatingly place the best services of myself, and all to whom
my life is dear, at your disposal."
"Monsieur de Morcerf," replied the count, "your offer, far from
surprising me, is precisely what I expected from you, and I accept
it in the same spirit of hearty sincerity with which it is made; —
nay, I will go still further, and say that I had previously made up
my mind to ask a great favor at your hands."
"Oh, pray name it."
"I am wholly a stranger to Paris — it is a city I have never yet
seen."
"Is it possible," exclaimed Albert, "that you have reached your
present age without visiting the finest capital in the world? I can
scarcely credit it."
"Nevertheless, it is quite true; still, I agree with you in
thinking that my present ignorance of the first city in Europe is a
reproach to me in every way, and calls for immediate correction;
but, in all probability, I should have performed so important, so
necessary a duty, as that of making myself acquainted with the
wonders and beauties of your justly celebrated capital, had I known
any person who would have introduced me into the fashionable world,
but unfortunately I possessed no acquaintance there, and, of
necessity, was compelled to abandon the idea."
"So distinguished an individual as yourself," cried Albert,
"could scarcely have required an introduction."
"You are most kind; but as regards myself, I can find no merit I
possess, save that, as a millionaire, I might have become a partner
in the speculations of M. Aguado and M. Rothschild; but as my
motive in travelling to your capital would not have been for the
pleasure of dabbling in stocks, I stayed away till some favorable


pleasure of dabbling in stocks, I stayed away till some favorable
chance should present itself of carrying my wish into execution.
Your offer, however, smooths all difficulties, and I have only to
ask you, my dear M. de Morcerf" (these words were accompanied by a
most peculiar smile), "whether you undertake, upon my arrival in
France, to open to me the doors of that fashionable world of which
I know no more than a Huron or a native of Cochin-China?"
"Oh, that I do, and with infinite pleasure," answered Albert;
"and so much the more readily as a letter received this morning
from my father summons me to Paris, in consequence of a treaty of
marriage (my dear Franz, do not smile, I beg of you) with a family
of high standing, and connected with the very cream of Parisian
society."
"Connected by marriage, you mean," said Franz, laughingly.
"Well, never mind how it is," answered Albert, "it comes to the
same thing in the end. Perhaps by the time you return to Paris, I
shall be quite a sober, staid father of a family! A most edifying
representative I shall make of all the domestic virtues — don't you
think so? But as regards your wish to visit our fine city, my dear
count, I can only say that you may command me and mine to any
extent you please."
"Then it is settled," said the count, "and I give you my solemn
assurance that I only waited an opportunity like the present to
realize plans that I have long meditated." Franz did not doubt that
these plans were the same concerning which the count had dropped a
few words in the grotto of Monte Cristo, and while the Count was
speaking the young man watched him closely, hoping to read
something of his purpose in his face, but his countenance was
inscrutable especially when, as in the present case, it was veiled
in a sphinx-like smile. "But tell me now, count," exclaimed Albert,
delighted at the idea of having to chaperon so distinguished a
person as Monte Cristo; "tell me truly whether you are in earnest,
or if this project of visiting Paris is merely one of theor if this project of visiting Paris is merely one of the
chimerical and uncertain air castles of which we make so many in
the course of our lives, but which, like a house built on the sand,
is liable to be blown over by the first puff of wind?"
"I pledge you my honor," returned the count, "that I mean to do
as I have said; both inclination and positive necessity compel me
to visit Paris."
"When do you propose going thither?"
"Have you made up your mind when you shall be there
yourself?"
"Certainly I have; in a fortnight or three weeks' time, that is
to say, as fast as I can get there!"
"Nay," said the Count; "I will give you three months ere I join
you; you see I make an ample allowance for all delays and
difficulties.
"And in three months' time," said Albert, "you will be at my
house?"
"Shall we make a positive appointment for a particular day and
hour?" inquired the count; "only let me warn you that I am
proverbial for my punctilious exactitude in keeping my
engagements."
"Day for day, hour for hour," said Albert; "that will suit me to
a dot."
"So be it, then," replied the count, and extending his hand
towards a calendar, suspended near the chimney-piece, he said,
"to-day is the 21st of February;" and drawing out his watch, added,
"it is exactly half-past ten o'clock. Now promise me to remember
this, and expect me the 21st of May at the same hour in the
forenoon."
"Capital," exclaimed Albert; "your breakfast shall be
waiting."
"Where do you live?"
"No. 27, Rue du Helder."
"Have you bachelor's apartments there? I hope my coming will not
put you to any inconvenience."
"I reside in my father's house, but occupy a pavilion at the
farther side of the court-yard, entirely separated from the main
building."
"Quite sufficient," replied the count, as, taking out his
tablets, he wrote down "No. 27, Rue du Helder, 21st May, half-past
ten in the morning."
"Now then," said the count, returning his tablets to his pocket,
"make yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your time-piece will not"make yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your time-piece will not
be more accurate in marking the time than myself."
"Shall I see you again ere my departure?" asked Albert.
"That depends; when do you leave?"
"To-morrow evening, at five o'clock."
"In that case I must say adieu to you, as I am compelled to go
to Naples, and shall not return hither before Saturday evening or
Sunday morning. And you, baron," pursued the count, addressing
Franz, "do you also depart to-morrow?"
"Yes."
"For France?"
"No, for Venice; I shall remain in Italy for another year or
two."
"Then we shall not meet in Paris?"
"I fear I shall not have that honor."
"Well, since we must part," said the count, holding out a hand
to each of the young men, "allow me to wish you both a safe and
pleasant journey." It was the first time the hand of Franz had come
in contact with that of the mysterious individual before him, and
unconsciously he shuddered at its touch, for it felt cold and icy
as that of a corpse. "Let us understand each other," said Albert;
"it is agreed — is it not? — that you are to be at No. 27, in the
Rue du Helder, on the 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning,
and your word of honor passed for your punctuality?"
"The 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning, Rue du
Helder, No. 27," replied the Count. The young men then rose, and
bowing to the count, quitted the room. "What is the matter?" asked
Albert of Franz, when they had returned to their own apartments;
"you seem more than commonly thoughtful."
"I will confess to you, Albert," replied Franz, "the count is a
very singular person, and the appointment you have made to meet him
in Paris fills me with a thousand apprehensions."
"My dear fellow," exclaimed Albert, "what can there possibly be
in that to excite uneasiness? Why, you must have lost your
senses."
"Whether I am in my senses or not," answered Franz, "that is the
way I feel."
"Listen to me, Franz," said Albert; "I am glad that the occasion
has presented itself for saying this to you, for I have noticed how


has presented itself for saying this to you, for I have noticed how
cold you are in your bearing towards the count, while he, on the
other hand, has always been courtesy itself to us. Have you
anything particular against him?"
"Possibly."
"Did you ever meet him previously to coming hither?"
"I have."
"And where?"
"Will you promise me not to repeat a single word of what I am
about to tell you?"
"I promise."
"Upon your honor?"
"Upon my honor."
"Then listen to me." Franz then related to his friend the
history of his excursion to the Island of Monte Cristo and of his
finding a party of smugglers there, and the two Corsican bandits
with them. He dwelt with considerable force and energy on the
almost magical hospitality he had received from the count, and the
magnificence of his entertainment in the grotto of the "Thousand
and One Nights." He recounted, with circumstantial exactitude, all
the particulars of the supper, the hashish, the statues, the dream,
and how, at his awakening, there remained no proof or trace of all
these events, save the small yacht, seen in the distant horizon
driving under full sail toward Porto-Vecchio. Then he detailed the
conversation overheard by him at the Colosseum, between the count
and Vampa, in which the count had promised to obtain the release of
the bandit Peppino, — an engagement which, as our readers are
aware, he most faithfully fulfilled. At last he arrived at the
adventure of the preceding night, and the embarrassment in which he
found himself placed by not having sufficient cash by six or seven
hundred piastres to make up the sum required, and finally of his
application to the count and the picturesque and satisfactory
result that followed. Albert listened with the most profound
attention. "Well," said he, when Franz had concluded, "what do you
find to object to in all you have related? The count is fond of
travelling, and, being rich, possesses a vessel of his own. Go but
to Portsmouth or Southampton, and you will find the harbors crowdedto Portsmouth or Southampton, and you will find the harbors crowded
with the yachts belonging to such of the English as can afford the
expense, and have the same liking for this amusement. Now, by way
of having a resting-place during his excursions, avoiding the
wretched cookery — which has been trying its best to poison me
during the last four months, while you have manfully resisted its
effects for as many years, — and obtaining a bed on which it is
possible to slumber, Monte Cristo has furnished for himself a
temporary abode where you first found him; but, to prevent the
possibility of the Tuscan government taking a fancy to his
enchanted palace, and thereby depriving him of the advantages
naturally expected from so large an outlay of capital, he has
wisely enough purchased the island, and taken its name. Just ask
yourself, my good fellow, whether there are not many persons of our
acquaintance who assume the names of lands and properties they
never in their lives were masters of?"
"But," said Franz, "the Corsican bandits that were among the
crew of his vessel?"
"Why, really the thing seems to me simple enough. Nobody knows
better than yourself that the bandits of Corsica are not rogues or
thieves, but purely and simply fugitives, driven by some sinister
motive from their native town or village, and that their fellowship
involves no disgrace or stigma; for my own part, I protest that,
should I ever go to Corsica, my first visit, ere even I presented
myself to the mayor or prefect, should be to the bandits of
Colomba, if I could only manage to find them; for, on my
conscience, they are a race of men I admire greatly."
"Still," persisted Franz, "I suppose you will allow that such
men as Vampa and his band are regular villains, who have no other
motive than plunder when they seize your person. How do you explain
the influence the count evidently possessed over those
ruffians?"
"My good friend, as in all probability I own my present safety
to that influence, it would ill become me to search too closelyto that influence, it would ill become me to search too closely
into its source; therefore, instead of condemning him for his
intimacy with outlaws, you must give me leave to excuse any little
irregularity there may be in such a connection; not altogether for
preserving my life, for my own idea was that it never was in much
danger, but certainly for saving me 4,000 piastres, which, being
translated, means neither more nor less than 24,000 livres of our
money — a sum at which, most assuredly, I should never have been
estimated in France, proving most indisputably," added Albert with
a laugh, "that no prophet is honored in his own country."
"Talking of countries," replied Franz, "of what country is the
count, what is his native tongue, whence does he derive his immense
fortune, and what were those events of his early life — a life as
marvellous as unknown — that have tinctured his succeeding years
with so dark and gloomy a misanthropy? Certainly these are
questions that, in your place, I should like to have answered."
"My dear Franz," replied Albert, "when, upon receipt of my
letter, you found the necessity of asking the count's assistance,
you promptly went to him, saying, `My friend Albert de Morcerf is
in danger; help me to deliver him.' Was not that nearly what you
said?"
"It was."
"Well, then, did he ask you, `Who is M. Albert de Morcerf? how
does he come by his name — his fortune? what are his means of
existence? what is his birthplace! of what country is he a native?'
Tell me, did he put all these questions to you?"
"I confess he asked me none."
"No; he merely came and freed me from the hands of Signor Vampa,
where, I can assure you, in spite of all my outward appearance of
ease and unconcern, I did not very particularly care to remain.
Now, then, Franz, when, for services so promptly and unhesitatingly
rendered, he but asks me in return to do for him what is done daily
for any Russian prince or Italian nobleman who may pass through
Paris — merely to introduce him into society — would you have me


Paris — merely to introduce him into society — would you have me
refuse? My good fellow, you must have lost your senses to think it
possible I could act with such cold-blooded policy." And this time
it must be confessed that, contrary to the usual state of affairs
in discussions between the young men, the effective arguments were
all on Albert's side.
"Well," said Franz with a sigh, "do as you please my dear
viscount, for your arguments are beyond my powers of refutation.
Still, in spite of all, you must admit that this Count of Monte
Cristo is a most singular personage."
"He is a philanthropist," answered the other; "and no doubt his
motive in visiting Paris is to compete for the Monthyon prize,
given, as you are aware, to whoever shall be proved to have most
materially advanced the interests of virtue and humanity. If my
vote and interest can obtain it for him, I will readily give him
the one and promise the other. And now, my dear Franz, let us talk
of something else. Come, shall we take our luncheon, and then pay a
last visit to St. Peter's?" Franz silently assented; and the
following afternoon, at half-past five o'clock, the young men
parted. Albert de Morcerf to return to Paris, and Franz d'Epinay to
pass a fortnight at Venice. But, ere he entered his travelling
carriage, Albert, fearing that his expected guest might forget the
engagement he had entered into, placed in the care of a waiter at
the hotel a card to be delivered to the Count of Monte Cristo, on
which, beneath the name of Vicomte Albert de Morcerf, he had
written in pencil — "27, Rue du Helder, on the 21st May, half-past
ten A.M."When Albert found himself alone with Monte Cristo, "My dear
count," said he, "allow me to commence my services as cicerone by
showing you a specimen of a bachelor's apartment. You, who are
accustomed to the palaces of Italy, can amuse yourself by
calculating in how many square feet a young man who is not the
worst lodged in Paris can live. As we pass from one room to
another, I will open the windows to let you breathe." Monte Cristo
had already seen the breakfast-room and the salon on the
ground-floor. Albert led him first to his atelier, which was, as we
have said, his favorite apartment. Monte Cristo quickly appreciated
all that Albert had collected here — old cabinets, Japanese
porcelain, Oriental stuffs, Venetian glass, arms from all parts of
the world — everything was familiar to him; and at the first glance
he recognized their date, their country, and their origin. Morcerf
had expected he should be the guide; on the contrary, it was he
who, under the count's guidance, followed a course of archaeology,
mineralogy, and natural history. They descended to the first floor;
Albert led his guest into the salon. The salon was filled with the
works of modern artists; there were landscapes by Dupre, with their
long reeds and tall trees, their lowing oxen and marvellous skies;
Delacroix's Arabian cavaliers, with their long white burnouses,
their shining belts, their damasked arms, their horses, who tore
each other with their teeth while their riders contended fiercely
with their maces; aquarelles of Boulanger, representing Notre Dame
de Paris with that vigor that makes the artist the rival of the
poet; there were paintings by Diaz, who makes his flowers more
beautiful than flowers, his suns more brilliant than the sun;
designs by Decamp, as vividly colored as those of Salvator Rosa,
but more poetic; pastels by Giraud and Muller, representing
children like angels and women with the features of a virgin;
sketches torn from the album of Dauzats' "Travels in the East,"sketches torn from the album of Dauzats' "Travels in the East,"
that had been made in a few seconds on the saddle of a camel, or
beneath the dome of a mosque — in a word, all that modern art can
give in exchange and as recompense for the art lost and gone with
ages long since past.
Albert expected to have something new this time to show to the
traveller, but, to his great surprise, the latter, without seeking
for the signatures, many of which, indeed, were only initials,
named instantly the author of every picture in such a manner that
it was easy to see that each name was not only known to him, but
that each style associated with it had been appreciated and studied
by him. From the salon they passed into the bed-chamber; it was a
model of taste and simple elegance. A single portrait, signed by
Leopold Robert, shone in its carved and gilded frame. This portrait
attracted the Count of Monte Cristo's attention, for he made three
rapid steps in the chamber, and stopped suddenly before it. It was
the portrait of a young woman of five or six and twenty, with a
dark complexion, and light and lustrous eyes, veiled beneath long
lashes. She wore the picturesque costume of the Catalan
fisherwomen, a red and black bodice, and golden pins in her hair.
She was looking at the sea, and her form was outlined on the blue
ocean and sky. The light was so faint in the room that Albert did
not perceive the pallor that spread itself over the count's visage,
or the nervous heaving of his chest and shoulders. Silence
prevailed for an instant, during which Monte Cristo gazed intently
on the picture.
"You have there a most charming mistress, viscount," said the
count in a perfectly calm tone; "and this costume — a ball costume,
doubtless — becomes her admirably."
"Ah, monsieur," returned Albert, "I would never forgive you this
mistake if you had seen another picture beside this. You do not
know my mother; she it is whom you see here. She had her portrait
painted thus six or eight years ago. This costume is a fancy one,


painted thus six or eight years ago. This costume is a fancy one,
it appears, and the resemblance is so great that I think I still
see my mother the same as she was in 1830. The countess had this
portrait painted during the count's absence. She doubtless intended
giving him an agreeable surprise; but, strange to say, this
portrait seemed to displease my father, and the value of the
picture, which is, as you see, one of the best works of Leopold
Robert, could not overcome his dislike to it. It is true, between
ourselves, that M. de Morcerf is one of the most assiduous peers at
the Luxembourg, a general renowned for theory, but a most mediocre
amateur of art. It is different with my mother, who paints
exceedingly well, and who, unwilling to part with so valuable a
picture, gave it to me to put here, where it would be less likely
to displease M. de Morcerf, whose portrait, by Gros, I will also
show you. Excuse my talking of family matters, but as I shall have
the honor of introducing you to the count, I tell you this to
prevent you making any allusions to this picture. The picture seems
to have a malign influence, for my mother rarely comes here without
looking at it, and still more rarely does she look at it without
weeping. This disagreement is the only one that has ever taken
place between the count and countess, who are still as much united,
although married more than twenty years, as on the first day of
their wedding."
Monte Cristo glanced rapidly at Albert, as if to seek a hidden
meaning in his words, but it was evident the young man uttered them
in the simplicity of his heart. "Now," said Albert, "that you have
seen all my treasures, allow me to offer them to you, unworthy as
they are. Consider yourself as in your own house, and to put
yourself still more at your ease, pray accompany me to the
apartments of M. de Morcerf, he whom I wrote from Rome an account
of the services you rendered me, and to whom I announced your
promised visit, and I may say that both the count and countesspromised visit, and I may say that both the count and countess
anxiously desire to thank you in person. You are somewhat blase I
know, and family scenes have not much effect on Sinbad the Sailor,
who has seen so many others. However, accept what I propose to you
as an initiation into Parisian life — a life of politeness,
visiting, and introductions." Monte Cristo bowed without making any
answer; he accepted the offer without enthusiasm and without
regret, as one of those conventions of society which every
gentleman looks upon as a duty. Albert summoned his servant, and
ordered him to acquaint M. and Madame de Morcerf of the arrival of
the Count of Monte Cristo. Albert followed him with the count. When
they arrived at the ante-chamber, above the door was visible a
shield, which, by its rich ornaments and its harmony with the rest
of the furniture, indicated the importance the owner attached to
this blazon. Monte Cristo stopped and examined it attentively.
"Azure seven merlets, or, placed bender," said he. "These are,
doubtless, your family arms? Except the knowledge of blazons, that
enables me to decipher them, I am very ignorant of heraldry — I, a
count of a fresh creation, fabricated in Tuscany by the aid of a
commandery of St. Stephen, and who would not have taken the trouble
had I not been told that when you travel much it is necessary.
Besides, you must have something on the panels of your carriage, to
escape being searched by the custom-house officers. Excuse my
putting such a question to you."
"It is not indiscreet," returned Morcerf, with the simplicity of
conviction. "You have guessed rightly. These are our arms, that is,
those of my father, but they are, as you see, joined to another
shield, which has gules, a silver tower, which are my mother's. By
her side I am Spanish, but the family of Morcerf is French, and, I
have heard, one of the oldest of the south of France."
"Yes," replied Monte Cristo "these blazons prove that. Almost
all the armed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land took for theirall the armed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land took for their
arms either a cross, in honor of their mission, or birds of
passage, in sign of the long voyage they were about to undertake,
and which they hoped to accomplish on the wings of faith. One of
your ancestors had joined the Crusades, and supposing it to be only
that of St. Louis, that makes you mount to the thirteenth century,
which is tolerably ancient."
"It is possible," said Morcerf; "my father has in his study a
genealogical tree which will tell you all that, and on which I made
commentaries that would have greatly edified Hozier and Jaucourt.
At present I no longer think of it, and yet I must tell you that we
are beginning to occupy ourselves greatly with these things under
our popular government."
"Well, then, your government would do well to choose from the
past something better than the things that I have noticed on your
monuments, and which have no heraldic meaning whatever. As for you,
viscount," continued Monte Cristo to Morcerf, "you are more
fortunate than the government, for your arms are really beautiful,
and speak to the imagination. Yes, you are at once from Provence
and Spain; that explains, if the portrait you showed me be like,
the dark hue I so much admired on the visage of the noble Catalan."
It would have required the penetration of Oedipus or the Sphinx to
have divined the irony the count concealed beneath these words,
apparently uttered with the greatest politeness. Morcerf thanked
him with a smile, and pushed open the door above which were his
arms, and which, as we have said, opened into the salon. In the
most conspicuous part of the salon was another portrait. It was
that of a man, from five to eight and thirty, in the uniform of a
general officer, wearing the double epaulet of heavy bullion, that
indicates superior rank, the ribbon of the Legion of Honor around
his neck, which showed he was a commander, and on the right breast,
the star of a grand officer of the order of the Saviour, and on the


the star of a grand officer of the order of the Saviour, and on the
left that of the grand cross of Charles III., which proved that the
person represented by the picture had served in the wars of Greece
and Spain, or, what was just the same thing as regarded
decorations, had fulfilled some diplomatic mission in the two
countries.
Monte Cristo was engaged in examining this portrait with no less
care than he had bestowed upon the other, when another door opened,
and he found himself opposite to the Count of Morcerf in person. He
was a man of forty to forty-five years, but he seemed at least
fifty, and his black mustache and eyebrows contrasted strangely
with his almost white hair, which was cut short, in the military
fashion. He was dressed in plain clothes, and wore at his
button-hole the ribbons of the different orders to which he
belonged. He entered with a tolerably dignified step, and some
little haste. Monte Cristo saw him advance towards him without
making a single step. It seemed as if his feet were rooted to the
ground, and his eyes on the Count of Morcerf. "Father," said the
young man, "I have the honor of presenting to you the Count of
Monte Cristo, the generous friend whom I had the good fortune to
meet in the critical situation of which I have told you."
"You are most welcome, monsieur," said the Count of Morcerf,
saluting Monte Cristo with a smile, "and monsieur has rendered our
house, in preserving its only heir, a service which insures him our
eternal gratitude." As he said these words, the count of Morcerf
pointed to a chair, while he seated himself in another opposite the
window.
Monte Cristo, in taking the seat Morcerf offered him, placed
himself in such a manner as to remain concealed in the shadow of
the large velvet curtains, and read on the careworn and livid
features of the count a whole history of secret griefs written in
each wrinkle time had planted there. "The countess," said Morcerf,
"was at her toilet when she was informed of the visit she was about"was at her toilet when she was informed of the visit she was about
to receive. She will, however, be in the salon in ten minutes."
"It is a great honor to me," returned Monte Cristo, "to be thus,
on the first day of my arrival in Paris, brought in contact with a
man whose merit equals his reputation, and to whom fortune has for
once been equitable, but has she not still on the plains of
Metidja, or in the mountains of Atlas, a marshal's staff to offer
you?"
"Oh," replied Morcerf, reddening slightly, "I have left the
service, monsieur. Made a peer at the Restoration, I served through
the first campaign under the orders of Marshal Bourmont. I could,
therefore, expect a higher rank, and who knows what might have
happened had the elder branch remained on the throne? But the
Revolution of July was, it seems, sufficiently glorious to allow
itself to be ungrateful, and it was so for all services that did
not date from the imperial period. I tendered my resignation, for
when you have gained your epaulets on the battle-field, you do not
know how to manoeuvre on the slippery grounds of the salons. I have
hung up my sword, and cast myself into politics. I have devoted
myself to industry; I study the useful arts. During the twenty
years I served, I often wished to do so, but I had not the
time."
"These are the ideas that render your nation superior to any
other," returned Monte Cristo. "A gentleman of high birth,
possessor of an ample fortune, you have consented to gain your
promotion as an obscure soldier, step by step — this is uncommon;
then become general, peer of France, commander of the Legion of
Honor, you consent to again commence a second apprenticeship,
without any other hope or any other desire than that of one day
becoming useful to your fellow-creatures; this, indeed, is
praiseworthy, — nay, more, it is sublime." Albert looked on and
listened with astonishment; he was not used to see Monte Cristo
give vent to such bursts of enthusiasm. "Alas," continued thegive vent to such bursts of enthusiasm. "Alas," continued the
stranger, doubtless to dispel the slight cloud that covered
Morcerf's brow, "we do not act thus in Italy; we grow according to
our race and our species, and we pursue the same lines, and often
the same uselessness, all our lives."
"But, monsieur," said the Count of Morcerf, "for a man of your
merit, Italy is not a country, and France opens her arms to receive
you; respond to her call. France will not, perhaps, be always
ungrateful. She treats her children ill, but she always welcomes
strangers."
"Ah, father," said Albert with a smile, "it is evident you do
not know the Count of Monte Cristo; he despises all honors, and
contents himself with those written on his passport."
"That is the most just remark," replied the stranger, "I ever
heard made concerning myself."
"You have been free to choose your career," observed the Count
of Morcerf, with a sigh; "and you have chosen the path strewed with
flowers."
"Precisely, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo with one of those
smiles that a painter could never represent or a physiologist
analyze.
"If I did not fear to fatigue you," said the general, evidently
charmed with the count's manners, "I would have taken you to the
Chamber; there is a debate very curious to those who are strangers
to our modern senators."
"I shall be most grateful, monsieur, if you will, at some future
time, renew your offer, but I have been flattered with the hope of
being introduced to the countess, and I will therefore wait."
"Ah, here is my mother," cried the viscount. Monte Cristo,
turned round hastily, and saw Madame de Morcerf at the entrance of
the salon, at the door opposite to that by which her husband had
entered, pale and motionless; when Monte Cristo turned round, she
let fall her arm, which for some unknown reason had been resting on
the gilded door-post. She had been there some moments, and had
heard the last words of the visitor. The latter rose and bowed to
the countess, who inclined herself without speaking. "Ah, good


the countess, who inclined herself without speaking. "Ah, good
heavens, madame," said the count, "are you ill, or is it the heat
of the room that affects you?"
"Are you ill, mother?" cried the viscount, springing towards
her.
She thanked them both with a smile. "No," returned she, "but I
feel some emotion on seeing, for the first time, the man without
whose intervention we should have been in tears and desolation.
Monsieur," continued the countess, advancing with the majesty of a
queen, "I owe to you the life of my son, and for this I bless you.
Now, I thank you for the pleasure you give me in thus affording me
the opportunity of thanking you as I have blessed you, from the
bottom of my heart." The count bowed again, but lower than before;
He was even paler than Mercedes. "Madame," said he, "the count and
yourself recompense too generously a simple action. To save a man,
to spare a father's feelings, or a mother's sensibility, is not to
do a good action, but a simple deed of humanity." At these words,
uttered with the most exquisite sweetness and politeness, Madame de
Morcerf replied. "It is very fortunate for my son, monsieur, that
he found such a friend, and I thank God that things are thus." And
Mercedes raised her fine eyes to heaven with so fervent an
expression of gratitude, that the count fancied he saw tears in
them. M. de Morcerf approached her. "Madame," said he. "I have
already made my excuses to the count for quitting him, and I pray
you to do so also. The sitting commences at two; it is now three,
and I am to speak."
"Go, then, and monsieur and I will strive our best to forget
your absence," replied the countess, with the same tone of deep
feeling. "Monsieur," continued she, turning to Monte Cristo, "will
you do us the honor of passing the rest of the day with us?"
"Believe me, madame, I feel most grateful for your kindness, but
I got out of my travelling carriage at your door this morning, and
I am ignorant how I am installed in Paris, which I scarcely know;I am ignorant how I am installed in Paris, which I scarcely know;
this is but a trifling inquietude, I know, but one that may be
appreciated."
"We shall have the pleasure another time," said the countess;
"you promise that?" Monte Cristo inclined himself without
answering, but the gesture might pass for assent. "I will not
detain you, monsieur," continued the countess; "I would not have
our gratitude become indiscreet or importunate."
"My dear Count," said Albert, "I will endeavor to return your
politeness at Rome, and place my coupe at your disposal until your
own be ready."
"A thousand thanks for your kindness, viscount," returned the
Count of Monte Cristo "but I suppose that M. Bertuccio has suitably
employed the four hours and a half I have given him, and that I
shall find a carriage of some sort ready at the door." Albert was
used to the count's manner of proceeding; he knew that, like Nero,
he was in search of the impossible, and nothing astonished him, but
wishing to judge with his own eyes how far the count's orders had
been executed, he accompanied him to the door of the house. Monte
Cristo was not deceived. As soon as he appeared in the Count of
Morcerf's ante-chamber, a footman, the same who at Rome had brought
the count's card to the two young men, and announced his visit,
sprang into the vestibule, and when he arrived at the door the
illustrious traveller found his carriage awaiting him. It was a
coupe of Koller's building, and with horses and harness for which
Drake had, to the knowledge of all the lions of Paris, refused on
the previous day seven hundred guineas. "Monsieur," said the count
to Albert, "I do not ask you to accompany me to my house, as I can
only show you a habitation fitted up in a hurry, and I have, as you
know, a reputation to keep up as regards not being taken by
surprise. Give me, therefore, one more day before I invite you; I
shall then be certain not to fail in my hospitality."
"If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate; it"If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate; it
will not be a house I shall see, but a palace. You have decidedly
some genius at your control."
"Ma foi, spread that idea," replied the Count of Monte Cristo,
putting his foot on the velvet-lined steps of his splendid
carriage, "and that will be worth something to me among the
ladies." As he spoke, he sprang into the vehicle, the door was
closed, but not so rapidly that Monte Cristo failed to perceive the
almost imperceptible movement which stirred the curtains of the
apartment in which he had left Madame de Morcerf. When Albert
returned to his mother, he found her in the boudoir reclining in a
large velvet arm-chair, the whole room so obscure that only the
shining spangle, fastened here and there to the drapery, and the
angles of the gilded frames of the pictures, showed with some
degree of brightness in the gloom. Albert could not see the face of
the countess, as it was covered with a thin veil she had put on her
head, and which fell over her features in misty folds, but it
seemed to him as though her voice had altered. He could distinguish
amid the perfumes of the roses and heliotropes in the
flower-stands, the sharp and fragrant odor of volatile salts, and
he noticed in one of the chased cups on the mantle-piece the
countess's smelling-bottle, taken from its shagreen case, and
exclaimed in a tone of uneasiness, as he entered, — "My dear
mother, have you been ill during my absence?"
"No, no, Albert, but you know these roses, tuberoses, and
orange-flowers throw out at first, before one is used to them, such
violent perfumes."
"Then, my dear mother," said Albert, putting his hand to the
bell, "they must be taken into the ante-chamber. You are really
ill, and just now were so pale as you came into the room" —
"Was I pale, Albert?"
"Yes; a pallor that suits you admirably, mother, but which did
not the less alarm my father and myself."
"Did your father speak of it?" inquired Mercedes eagerly.


not the less alarm my father and myself."
"Did your father speak of it?" inquired Mercedes eagerly.
"No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the fact
to you?"
"Yes, I do remember," replied the countess. A servant entered,
summoned by Albert's ring of the bell. "Take these flowers into the
anteroom or dressing-room," said the viscount; "they make the
countess ill." The footman obeyed his orders. A long pause ensued,
which lasted until all the flowers were removed. "What is this name
of Monte Cristo?" inquired the countess, when the servant had taken
away the last vase of flowers, "is it a family name, or the name of
the estate, or a simple title?"
"I believe, mother, it is merely a title. The count purchased an
island in the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he told you to-day, has
founded a commandery. You know the same thing was done for Saint
Stephen of Florence, Saint George, Constantinian of Parma, and even
for the Order of Malta. Except this, he has no pretension to
nobility, and calls himself a chance count, although the general
opinion at Rome is that the count is a man of very high
distinction."
"His manners are admirable," said the countess, "at least, as
far as I could judge in the few minutes he remained here."
"They are perfect mother, so perfect, that they surpass by far
all I have known in the leading aristocracy of the three proudest
nobilities of Europe — the English, the Spanish, and the German."
The countess paused a moment; then, after a slight hesitation, she
resumed, — "You have seen, my dear Albert — I ask the question as a
mother — you have seen M. de Monte Cristo in his house, you are
quicksighted, have much knowledge of the world, more tact than is
usual at your age, do you think the count is really what he appears
to be?"
"What does he appear to be?"
"Why, you have just said, — a man of high distinction."
"I told you, my dear mother, he was esteemed such."
"But what is your own opinion, Albert?"
"I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion"I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion
respecting him, but I think him a Maltese."
"I do not ask you of his origin but what he is."
"Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so
many remarkable things in him, that if you would have me really say
what I think, I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one
of Byron's heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some
Manfred, some Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were,
of some ancient family, who, disinherited of their patrimony, have
achieved one by the force of their adventurous genius, which has
placed them above the laws of society."
"You say" —
"I say that Monte Cristo is an island in the midst of the
Mediterranean, without inhabitants or garrison, the resort of
smugglers of all nations, and pirates of every flag. Who knows
whether or not these industrious worthies do not pay to their
feudal lord some dues for his protection?"
"That is possible," said the countess, reflecting.
"Never mind," continued the young man, "smuggler or not, you
must agree, mother dear, as you have seen him, that the Count of
Monte Cristo is a remarkable man, who will have the greatest
success in the salons of Paris. Why, this very morning, in my
rooms, he made his entree amongst us by striking every man of us
with amazement, not even excepting Chateau-Renaud."
"And what do you suppose is the count's age?" inquired Mercedes,
evidently attaching great importance to this question.
"Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother."
"So young, — it is impossible," said Mercedes, replying at the
same time to what Albert said as well as to her own private
reflection.
"It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has said to
me, and certainly without the slightest premeditation, `at such a
period I was five years old, at another ten years old, at another
twelve,' and I, induced by curiosity, which kept me alive to these
details, have compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate.details, have compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate.
The age of this singular man, who is of no age, is then, I am
certain, thirty-five. Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye,
how raven-black his hair, and his brow, though so pale, is free
from wrinkles, — he is not only vigorous, but also young." The
countess bent her head, as if beneath a heavy wave of bitter
thoughts. "And has this man displayed a friendship for you,
Albert?" she asked with a nervous shudder.
"I am inclined to think so."
"And — do — you — like — him?"
"Why, he pleases me in spite of Franz d'Epinay, who tries to
convince me that he is a being returned from the other world." The
countess shuddered. "Albert," she said, in a voice which was
altered by emotion, "I have always put you on your guard against
new acquaintances. Now you are a man, and are able to give me
advice; yet I repeat to you, Albert, be prudent."
"Why, my dear mother, it is necessary, in order to make your
advice turn to account, that I should know beforehand what I have
to distrust. The count never plays, he only drinks pure water
tinged with a little sherry, and is so rich that he cannot, without
intending to laugh at me, try to borrow money. What, then, have I
to fear from him?"
"You are right," said the countess, "and my fears are weakness,
especially when directed against a man who has saved your life. How
did your father receive him, Albert? It is necessary that we should
be more than complaisant to the count. M. de Morcerf is sometimes
occupied, his business makes him reflective, and he might, without
intending it" —
"Nothing could be in better taste than my father's demeanor,
madame," said Albert; "nay, more, he seemed greatly flattered at
two or three compliments which the count very skilfully and
agreeably paid him with as much ease as if he had known him these
thirty years. Each of these little tickling arrows must have
pleased my father," added Albert with a laugh. "And thus they
parted the best possible friends, and M. de Morcerf even wished toparted the best possible friends, and M. de Morcerf even wished to
take him to the Chamber to hear the speakers." The countess made no
reply. She fell into so deep a revery that her eyes gradually
closed. The young man, standing up before her, gazed upon her with
that filial affection which is so tender and endearing with
children whose mothers are still young and handsome. Then, after
seeing her eyes closed, and hearing her breathe gently, he believed
she had dropped asleep, and left the apartment on tiptoe, closing
the door after him with the utmost precaution. "This devil of a
fellow," he muttered, shaking his head; "I said at the time he
would create a sensation here, and I measure his effect by an
infallible thermometer. My mother has noticed him, and he must
therefore, perforce, be remarkable." He went down to the stables,
not without some slight annoyance, when he remembered that the
Count of Monte Cristo had laid his hands on a "turnout" which sent
his bays down to second place in the opinion of connoisseurs. "Most
decidedly," said he, "men are not equal, and I must beg my father
to develop this theorem in the Chamber of Peers."


Monte Cristo noticed, as they descended the staircase, that
Bertuccio signed himself in the Corsican manner; that is, had
formed the sign of the cross in the air with his thumb, and as he
seated himself in the carriage, muttered a short prayer. Any one
but a man of exhaustless thirst for 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."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 toa 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.


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 thehands, 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?"
"Yes; but as he said you would make an excellent steward, I
concluded you had stolen — that was all."
"Oh, your excellency," returned Bertuccio in deep contempt.
"Or, as you are a Corsican, that you had been unable to resist
the desire of making a `stiff,' as you call it."
"Yes, my good master," cried Bertuccio, casting himself at the
count's feet, "it was simply vengeance — nothing else."
"I understand that, but I do not understand what it is that
galvanizes you in this manner."
"But, monsieur, it is very natural," returned Bertuccio, "since
it was in this house that my vengeance was accomplished."
"What! my house?"it was in this house that my vengeance was accomplished."
"What! my house?"
"Oh, your excellency, it was not yours, then."
"Whose, then? The Marquis de Saint-Meran, I think, the concierge
said. What had you to revenge on the Marquis de Saint-Meran?"
"Oh, it was not on him, monsieur; it was on another."
"This is strange," returned Monte Cristo, seeming to yield to
his reflections, "that you should find yourself without any
preparation in a house where the event happened that causes you so
much remorse."
"Monsieur," said the steward, "it is fatality, I am sure. First,
you purchase a house at Auteuil — this house is the one where I
have committed an assassination; you descend to the garden by the
same staircase by which he descended; you stop at the spot where he
received the blow; and two paces farther is the grave in which he
had just buried his child. This is not chance, for chance, in this
case, is too much like providence."
"Well, amiable Corsican, let us suppose it is providence. I
always suppose anything people please, and, besides, you must
concede something to diseased minds. Come, collect yourself, and
tell me all."
"I have related it but once, and that was to the Abbe Busoni.
Such things," continued Bertuccio, shaking his head, "are only
related under the seal of confession."
"Then," said the count, "I refer you to your confessor. Turn
Chartreux or Trappist, and relate your secrets, but, as for me, I
do not like any one who is alarmed by such phantasms, and I do not
choose that my servants should be afraid to walk in the garden of
an evening. I confess I am not very desirous of a visit from the
commissary of police, for, in Italy, justice is only paid when
silent — in France she is paid only when she speaks. Peste, I
thought you somewhat Corsican, a great deal smuggler, and an
excellent steward; but I see you have other strings to your bow.
You are no longer in my service, Monsieur Bertuccio."
"Oh, your excellency, your excellency!" cried the steward,


"Oh, your excellency, your excellency!" cried the steward,
struck with terror at this threat, "if that is the only reason I
cannot remain in your service, I will tell all, for if I quit you,
it will only be to go to the scaffold."
"That is different," replied Monte Cristo; "but if you intend to
tell an untruth, reflect it were better not to speak at all."
"No, monsieur, I swear to you, by my hopes of salvation, I will
tell you all, for the Abbe Busoni himself only knew a part of my
secret; but, I pray you, go away from that plane-tree. The moon is
just bursting through the clouds, and there, standing where you do,
and wrapped in that cloak that conceals your figure, you remind me
of M. de Villefort."
"What!" cried Monte Cristo, "it was M. de Villefort?"
"Your excellency knows him?"
"The former royal attorney at Nimes?"
"Yes."
"Who married the Marquis of Saint-Meran's daughter?"
"Yes."
"Who enjoyed the reputation of being the most severe, the most
upright, the most rigid magistrate on the bench?"
"Well, monsieur," said Bertuccio, "this man with this spotless
reputation" —
"Well?"
"Was a villain."
"Bah," replied Monte Cristo, "impossible!"
"It is as I tell you."
"Ah, really," said Monte Cristo. "Have you proof of this?"
"I had it."
"And you have lost it; how stupid!"
"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."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 Abbe 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 Cape Corso.
This letter was from my brother. He told us that the army was
disbanded, and that he should return by Chateauroux,
Clermont-Ferrand, Le Puy, and Nimes; and, if I had any money, he
prayed me to leave it for him at Nimes, with an inn-keeper with
whom I had dealings."
"In the smuggling line?" said Monte Cristo.
"Eh, your excellency? Every one 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, mypossessed a thousand francs. I left five hundred with Assunta, my
sister-in-law, and with the other five hundred I set off for Nimes.
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 Rhone. At last, however, we
succeeded, and worked up to Arles. I left the boat between
Bellegarde and Beaucaire, and took the road to Nimes."
"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 Nimes, 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 inn-keeper. My misgivings had been but too true. My
brother had arrived the previous evening at Nimes, 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.