Chapter 119: Bertuccio’s Vendetta: II
"One evening, looking over the wall, I saw a young, beautiful woman walking alone in the garden, which had no overlooking windows. I guessed she was waiting for Villefort. When she came close enough for me to see her features, I could tell she was eighteen or nineteen, tall and very fair-skinned. She wore a loose dress that revealed her figure, and I could see she would soon become a mother.
A few moments later, the small door opened and a man entered. The young woman hurried to meet him. They threw themselves into each other’s arms, embraced tenderly, and returned to the house together. The man was Villefort. I fully believed that when he left at night, he would have to cross the entire garden alone."
"And did you ever learn this woman’s name?" the count asked.
"No, excellency," Bertuccio replied. "You’ll see I didn’t have time to learn it."
"Continue."
"That evening, I could have killed the prosecutor, but I didn’t know the neighborhood well enough. I was afraid of not killing him instantly, and if his cries were heard, I might be caught. So I postponed it until the next opportunity. To make sure nothing escaped my notice, I rented a room overlooking the street that bordered the garden wall.
Three days later, around seven in the evening, I saw a servant on horseback leave the house at full gallop, heading toward a nearby town. I concluded he was going to Versailles, and I was right. Three hours later, the man returned covered in dust, his errand complete. Two minutes after that, another man on foot, wrapped in a cloak, opened the small garden door and closed it behind him. I descended rapidly. Although I hadn’t seen Villefort’s face, I recognized him by the pounding of my heart.
I crossed the street and stopped at a post placed at the corner of the wall, which I’d used before to look into the garden. This time I didn’t just look, I took my knife from my pocket, tested that the point was sharp, and jumped over the wall. My first concern was to check the door. He’d left the key in it, taking the simple precaution of turning it twice in the lock. Nothing would prevent my escape by that route. I examined the grounds.
The garden was long and narrow. A stretch of smooth grass extended down the middle, and in the corners were clusters of trees with thick, dense foliage that created a backdrop for the shrubs and flowers. To go from the door to the house or vice versa, Villefort would have to pass by one of these tree clusters.
It was late September, and the wind blew violently. Faint glimpses of the pale moon, hidden momentarily by masses of dark clouds sweeping across the sky, lit up the gravel paths leading to the house but couldn’t pierce the darkness of the thick shrubbery where a man could hide without fear of discovery. I concealed myself in the cluster nearest to Villefort’s path. Barely had I settled there when, amid the gusts of wind, I thought I heard groaning. But you know, or rather you don’t know, your excellency, that someone about to commit murder imagines he constantly hears low cries ringing in his ears.
Two hours passed like this, during which I thought I heard moans repeatedly. Midnight struck. As the last chime faded, I saw a faint light shine through the windows of a private staircase we’d just descended earlier. The door opened, and the cloaked man reappeared.
The terrible moment had come, but I’d been prepared for so long that my heart didn’t fail me. I drew my knife from my pocket again, opened it, and prepared to strike. The cloaked man advanced toward me, but as he drew near, I saw he carried something in his hand. I was afraid, not of a struggle, but of failure. When he was only a few steps away, I saw that what I’d mistaken for a weapon was only a shovel.
I still couldn’t understand why Villefort had a shovel in his hands. He stopped close to the thicket where I hid, glanced around, and began digging a hole in the earth. Then I noticed he was hiding something under his cloak, which he laid on the grass to dig more freely. I confess, curiosity mixed with hatred. I wanted to see what Villefort was doing there, so I remained motionless, holding my breath.
Then an idea crossed my mind, confirmed when I saw the prosecutor lift a box from under his cloak, about two feet long and six or eight inches deep. I let him place the box in the hole he’d made. Then, while he stamped his feet to remove all traces of his work, I rushed at him and plunged my knife into his chest, shouting, ’I am Giovanni Bertuccio! Your death for my brother’s death! Your treasure for his widow! You see my vengeance is more complete than I’d hoped!’
I don’t know if he heard those words. I think he didn’t, because he fell without a cry. I felt his blood gush over my face, but I was intoxicated, delirious, and the blood refreshed me instead of burning me. In seconds, I’d dug up the box. Then, so no one would know I’d done it, I filled the hole, threw the shovel over the wall, and rushed through the door, which I double-locked, taking the key with me."
"Ah," Monte Cristo said, "that seems like nothing more than murder and robbery."
"No, your excellency," Bertuccio returned. "It was a vendetta followed by restitution."
"And was the sum large?"
"It wasn’t money."
"Ah, I remember," the count replied. "Didn’t you mention something about a baby?"
"Yes, excellency. I hurried to the river, sat on the bank, and forced open the box’s lock with my knife. Inside fine linen cloth was wrapped a newborn child. Its purple face and violet-colored hands showed it had died from suffocation, but since it wasn’t cold yet, I hesitated to throw it into the water at my feet. After a moment, I thought I felt a slight heartbeat. I’d worked as an assistant at a hospital in Bastia, so I did what a doctor would do, I inflated the lungs by blowing air into them. After about fifteen minutes, the baby began to breathe and cried feebly. I cried out too, but with joy. ’God hasn’t cursed me, then,’ I said, ’since He allows me to save a human life in exchange for the life I took.’"
"And what did you do with the child?" Monte Cristo asked. "That’s a burdensome load for a man trying to escape."
"I never considered keeping it, but I knew Paris had an asylum that took in such children. As I passed the city gates, I said I’d found the child on the road and asked where the asylum was. The box confirmed my story. The fine linen proved the infant came from wealthy parents. The blood covering me could have come from the child as easily as from anyone else. No objections were raised. They pointed me to the asylum, located at the far end of a street called Rue d’Enfer.
I took the precaution of cutting the linen into two pieces, so one of the two letters embroidered on it stayed with the child, while the other remained with me. I rang the bell and fled at full speed. Two weeks later, I was back in Rogliano, and I said to Assunta, ’Console yourself, sister. Israel is dead, but he is avenged.’
She asked what I meant, and when I’d told her everything, she said, ’Giovanni, you should have brought this child home with you. We could have replaced the parents it lost, called him Benedetto, and through this good deed, God would have blessed us.’ In response, I gave her the half of the linen I’d kept so we could reclaim the child if we became wealthy."
"What letters were embroidered on the linen?" Monte Cristo asked.
"An H and an N, topped with a baron’s crown."
"By heaven, Bertuccio, you use heraldic terms. Where did you study such things?"
"In your service, excellency, where one learns everything."
"Continue. I’m curious about two things."
"What are they, your excellency?"
"What became of this little boy? I think you said it was a boy, Bertuccio."
"No, excellency, I don’t recall saying that."
"I thought you did. I must have been mistaken."
"No, you weren’t mistaken, it was indeed a little boy. But you said you were curious about two things. What was the second?"
"The second was the crime you were accused of when you asked for a confessor, and Father Busoni came to visit you in prison at Nîmes."
"That story will be very long, excellency."
"What does it matter? You know I sleep little, and I don’t suppose you’re very inclined to sleep either."