able to comprehend that this place, which I revisit for the first
time — this garden, the actual scene of my crime — must have given
rise to reflections of no very agreeable nature, and produced that
gloom and depression of spirits which excited the notice of your
excellency, who was pleased to express a desire to know the cause.
At this instant a shudder passes over me as I reflect that possibly
I am now standing on the very grave in which lies M. de Villefort,
by whose hand the ground was dug to receive the corpse of his
child."
"Everything is possible," said Monte Cristo, rising from the
bench on which he had been sitting; "even," he added in an
inaudible voice, "even that the procureur be not dead. The Abbe
Busoni did right to send you to me," he went on in his ordinary
tone, "and you have done well in relating to me the whole of your
history, as it will prevent my forming any erroneous opinions
concerning you in future. As for that Benedetto, who so grossly
belied his name, have you never made any effort to trace out
whither he has gone, or what has become of him?"
"No; far from wishing to learn whither he has betaken himself, I
should shun the possibility of meeting him as I would a wild beast.
Thank God, I have never heard his name mentioned by any person, and
I hope and believe he is dead."
"Do not think so, Bertuccio," replied the count; "for the wicked
are not so easily disposed of, for God seems to have them under his
special watch-care to make of them instruments of his
vengeance."
"So be it," responded Bertuccio, "all I ask of heaven is that I
may never see him again. And now, your excellency," he added,
bowing his head, "you know everything — you are my judge on earth,
as the Almighty is in heaven; have you for me no words of
consolation?"
"My good friend, I can only repeat the words addressed to you by
the Abbe Busoni. Villefort merited punishment for what he had done
to you, and, perhaps, to others. Benedetto, if still living, will
become the instrument of divine retribution in some way or other,become the instrument of divine retribution in some way or other,
and then be duly punished in his turn. As far as you yourself are
concerned, I see but one point in which you are really guilty. Ask
yourself, wherefore, after rescuing the infant from its living
grave, you did not restore it to its mother? There was the crime,
Bertuccio — that was where you became really culpable."
"True, excellency, that was the crime, the real crime, for in
that I acted like a coward. My first duty, directly I had succeeded
in recalling the babe to life, was to restore it to its mother;
but, in order to do so, I must have made close and careful inquiry,
which would, in all probability, have led to my own apprehension;
and I clung to life, partly on my sister's account, and partly from
that feeling of pride inborn in our hearts of desiring to come off
untouched and victorious in the execution of our vengeance.
Perhaps, too, the natural and instinctive love of life made me wish
to avoid endangering my own. And then, again, I am not as brave and
courageous as was my poor brother." Bertuccio hid his face in his
hands as he uttered these words, while Monte Cristo fixed on him a
look of inscrutable meaning. After a brief silence, rendered still
more solemn by the time and place, the count said, in a tone of
melancholy wholly unlike his usual manner, "In order to bring this
conversation to a fitting termination (the last we shall ever hold
upon this subject), I will repeat to you some words I have heard
from the lips of the Abbe Busoni. For all evils there are two
remedies — time and silence. And now leave me, Monsieur Bertuccio,
to walk alone here in the garden. The very circumstances which
inflict on you, as a principal in the tragic scene enacted here,
such painful emotions, are to me, on the contrary, a source of
something like contentment, and serve but to enhance the value of
this dwelling in my estimation. The chief beauty of trees consists
in the deep shadow of their umbrageous boughs, while fancy picturesin the deep shadow of their umbrageous boughs, while fancy pictures
a moving multitude of shapes and forms flitting and passing beneath
that shade. Here I have a garden laid out in such a way as to
afford the fullest scope for the imagination, and furnished with
thickly grown trees, beneath whose leafy screen a visionary like
myself may conjure up phantoms at will. This to me, who expected
but to find a blank enclosure surrounded by a straight wall, is, I
assure you, a most agreeable surprise. I have no fear of ghosts,
and I have never heard it said that so much harm had been done by
the dead during six thousand years as is wrought by the living in a
single day. Retire within, Bertuccio, and tranquillize your mind.
Should your confessor be less indulgent to you in your dying
moments than you found the Abbe Busoni, send for me, if I am still
on earth, and I will soothe your ears with words that shall
effectually calm and soothe your parting soul ere it goes forth to
traverse the ocean called eternity."
Bertuccio bowed respectfully, and turned away, sighing heavily.
Monte Cristo, left alone, took three or four steps onwards, and
murmured, "Here, beneath this plane-tree, must have been where the
infant's grave was dug. There is the little door opening into the
garden. At this corner is the private staircase communicating with
the sleeping apartment. There will be no necessity for me to make a
note of these particulars, for there, before my eyes, beneath my
feet, all around me, I have the plan sketched with all the living
reality of truth." After making the tour of the garden a second
time, the count re-entered his carriage, while Bertuccio, who
perceived the thoughtful expression of his master's features, took
his seat beside the driver without uttering a word. The carriage
proceeded rapidly towards Paris.
That same evening, upon reaching his abode in the Champs
Elysees, the Count of Monte Cristo went over the whole building
with the air of one long acquainted with each nook or corner. Nor,