Chapter 69
The Inquiry.
M. de Villefort kept the promise he had made to Madame
Danglars, to endeavor to find out how the Count of Monte
Cristo had discovered the history of the house at Auteuil.
He wrote the same day for the required information to M. de
Boville, who, from having been an inspector of prisons, was
promoted to a high office in the police; and the latter
begged for two days time to ascertain exactly who would be
most likely to give him full particulars. At the end of the
second day M. de Villefort received the following note: --
"The person called the Count of Monte Cristo is an intimate
acquaintance of Lord Wilmore, a rich foreigner, who is
sometimes seen in Paris and who is there at this moment; he
is also known to the Abbe Busoni, a Sicilian priest, of high
repute in the East, where he has done much good."
M. de Villefort replied by ordering the strictest inquiries
to be made respecting these two persons; his orders were
executed, and the following evening he received these
details: --
"The abbe, who was in Paris only for a month, inhabited a
small two-storied house behind Saint-Sulpice; there were two
rooms on each floor and he was the only tenant. The two
lower rooms consisted of a dining-room, with a table,
chairs, and side-board of walnut, -- and a wainscoted
parlor, without ornaments, carpet, or timepiece. It was
evident that the abbe limited himself to objects of strict
necessity. He preferred to use the sitting-room upstairs,
which was more library than parlor, and was furnished with
theological books and parchments, in which he delighted to
bury himself for months at a time, according to his valet de
chambre. His valet looked at the visitors through a sort of
wicket; and if their faces were unknown to him or displeased
him, he replied that the abbe was not in Paris, an answer
which satisfied most persons, because the abbe was known to
be a great traveller. Besides, whether at home or not,
whether in Paris or Cairo, the abbe always left something to
give away, which the valet distributed through this wicket
in his master's name. The other room near the library was a
bedroom. A bed without curtains, four arm-chairs, and a
couch, covered with yellow Utrecht velvet, composed, with a
prie-Dieu, all its furniture. Lord Wilmore resided in Rue
Fontaine-Saint-George. He was one of those English tourists
who consume a large fortune in travelling. He hired the
apartment in which he lived furnished, passed only a few
hours in the day there, and rarely slept there. One of his
peculiarities was never to speak a word of French, which he
however wrote with great facility."
The day after this important information had been given to
the king's attorney, a man alighted from a carriage at the
corner of the Rue Ferou, and rapping at an olive-green door,
asked if the Abbe Busoni were within. "No, he went out early
this morning," replied the valet.
"I might not always be content with that answer," replied
the visitor, "for I come from one to whom everyone must be
at home. But have the kindness to give the Abbe Busoni" --
"I told you he was not at home," repeated the valet. "Then
on his return give him that card and this sealed paper. Will
he be at home at eight o'clock this evening?"
"Doubtless, unless he is at work, which is the same as if he
were out."
"I will come again at that time," replied the visitor, who
then retired.
At the appointed hour the same man returned in the same
carriage, which, instead of stopping this time at the end of
the Rue Ferou, drove up to the green door. He knocked, and
it opened immediately to admit him. From the signs of
respect the valet paid him, he saw that his note had
produced a good effect. "Is the abbe at home?" asked he.
"Yes; he is at work in his library, but he expects you,
sir," replied the valet. The stranger ascended a rough
staircase, and before a table, illumined by a lamp whose
light was concentrated by a large shade while the rest of
the apartment was in partial darkness, he perceived the abbe
in a monk's dress, with a cowl on his head such as was used
by learned men of the Middle Ages. "Have I the honor of
addressing the Abbe Busoni?" asked the visitor.
"Yes, sir," replied the abbe; "and you are the person whom
M. de Boville, formerly an inspector of prisons, sends to me
from the prefect of police?"
"Exactly, sir."
"One of the agents appointed to secure the safety of Paris?"
"Yes, sir"" replied the stranger with a slight hesitation,
and blushing.
The abbe replaced the large spectacles, which covered not
only his eyes but his temples, and sitting down motioned to
his visitor to do the same. "I am at your service, sir,"
said the abbe, with a marked Italian accent.
"The mission with which I am charged, sir," replied the
visitor, speaking with hesitation, "is a confidential one on
the part of him who fulfils it, and him by whom he is
employed." The abbe bowed. "Your probity," replied the
stranger, "is so well known to the prefect that he wishes as
a magistrate to ascertain from you some particulars
connected with the public safety, to ascertain which I am
deputed to see you. It is hoped that no ties of friendship
or humane consideration will induce you to conceal the
truth."
"Provided, sir, the particulars you wish for do not
interfere with my scruples or my conscience. I am a priest,
sir, and the secrets of confession, for instance, must
remain between me and God, and not between me and human
justice."
"Do not alarm yourself, monsieur, we will duly respect your
conscience."
At this moment the abbe pressed down his side of the shade
and so raised it on the other, throwing a bright light on
the stranger's face, while his own remained obscured.
"Excuse me, abbe," said the envoy of the prefect of the
police, "but the light tries my eyes very much." The abbe
lowered the shade. "Now, sir, I am listening -- go on."
"I will come at once to the point. Do you know the Count of
Monte Cristo?"
"You mean Monsieur Zaccone, I presume?"
"Zaccone? -- is not his name Monte Cristo?"
"Monte Cristo is the name of an estate, or, rather, of a
rock, and not a family name."
"Well, be it so -- let us not dispute about words; and since
M. de Monte Cristo and M. Zaccone are the same" --
"Absolutely the same."
"Let us speak of M. Zaccone."
"Agreed."
"I asked you if you knew him?"
"Extremely well."
"Who is he?"
"The son of a rich shipbuilder in Malta."
"I know that is the report; but, as you are aware, the
police does not content itself with vague reports."
"However," replied the abbe, with an affable smile, "when
that report is in accordance with the truth, everybody must
believe it, the police as well as all the rest."
"Are you sure of what you assert?"
"What do you mean by that question?"
"Understand, sir, I do not in the least suspect your
veracity; I ask if you are certain of it?"
"I knew his father, M. Zaccone."
"Ah, indeed?"
"And when a child I often played with the son in the
timber-yards."
"But whence does he derive the title of count?"
"You are aware that may be bought."
"In Italy?"
"Everywhere."
"And his immense riches, whence does he procure them?"
"They may not be so very great."
"How much do you suppose he possesses?"
"From one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand livres
per annum."
"That is reasonable," said the visitor; "I have heard he had
three or four millions."
"Two hundred thousand per annum would make four millions of
capital."
"But I was told he had four millions per annum?"
"That is not probable."
"Do you know this Island of Monte Cristo?"
"Certainly, every one who has come from Palermo, Naples, or
Rome to France by sea must know it, since he has passed
close to it and must have seen it."
"I am told it is a delightful place?"
"It is a rock."
"And why has the count bought a rock?"
"For the sake of being a count. In Italy one must have
territorial possessions to be a count."
"You have, doubtless, heard the adventures of M. Zaccone's
youth?"
"The father's?"
"No, the son's."
"I know nothing certain; at that period of his life, I lost
sight of my young comrade."
"Was he in the wars?"
"I think he entered the service."
"In what branch?"
"In the navy."
"Are you not his confessor?"
"No, sir; I believe he is a Lutheran."
"A Lutheran?"
"I say, I believe such is the case, I do not affirm it;
besides, liberty of conscience is established in France."
"Doubtless, and we are not now inquiring into his creed, but
his actions; in the name of the prefect of police, I ask you
what you know of him.
"He passes for a very charitable man. Our holy father, the
pope, has made him a knight of Jesus Christ for the services
he rendered to the Christians in the East; he has five or
six rings as testimonials from Eastern monarchs of his
services."
"Does he wear them?"
"No, but he is proud of them; he is better pleased with
rewards given to the benefactors of man than to his
destroyers."
"He is a Quaker then?"
"Exactly, he is a Quaker, with the exception of the peculiar
dress."
"Has he any friends?"
"Yes, every one who knows him is his friend."
"But has he any enemies?"
"One only."
"What is his name?"
"Lord Wilmore."
"Where is he?"
"He is in Paris just now."
"Can he give me any particulars?"
"Important ones; he was in India with Zaccone."
"Do you know his abode?"
"It's somewhere in the Chaussee d'Antin; but I know neither
the street nor the number."
"Are you at variance with the Englishman?"
"I love Zaccone, and he hates him; we are consequently not
friends."
"Do you think the Count of Monte Cristo had ever been in
France before he made this visit to Paris?"
"To that question I can answer positively; no, sir, he had
not, because he applied to me six months ago for the
particulars he required, and as I did not know when I might
again come to Paris, I recommended M. Cavalcanti to him."
"Andrea?"
"No, Bartolomeo, his father."
"Now, sir, I have but one question more to ask, and I charge
you, in the name of honor, of humanity, and of religion, to
answer me candidly."
"What is it, sir?"
"Do you know with what design M. de Monte Cristo purchased a
house at Auteuil?"
"Certainly, for he told me."
"What is it, sir?"
"To make a lunatic asylum of it, similar to that founded by
the Count of Pisani at Palermo. Do you know about that
institution?"
"I have heard of it."
"It is a magnificent charity." Having said this, the abbe
bowed to imply he wished to pursue his studies. The visitor
either understood the abbe's meaning, or had no more
questions to ask; he arose, and the abbe accompanied him to
the door. "You are a great almsgiver," said the visitor,
"and although you are said to be rich, I will venture to
offer you something for your poor people; will you accept my
offering?"
"I thank you, sir; I am only jealous in one thing, and that
is that the relief I give should be entirely from my own
resources."
"However" --
"My resolution, sir, is unchangeable, but you have only to
search for yourself and you will find, alas, but too many
objects upon whom to exercise your benevolence." The abbe
once more bowed as he opened the door, the stranger bowed
and took his leave, and the carriage conveyed him straight
to the house of M. de Villefort. An hour afterwards the
carriage was again ordered, and this time it went to the Rue
Fontaine-Saint-George, and stopped at No. 5, where Lord
Wilmore lived. The stranger had written to Lord Wilmore,
requesting an interview, which the latter had fixed for ten
o'clock. As the envoy of the prefect of police arrived ten
minutes before ten, he was told that Lord Wilmore, who was
precision and punctuality personified, was not yet come in,
but that he would be sure to return as the clock struck.
The visitor was introduced into the drawing-room, which was
like all other furnished drawing-rooms. A mantle-piece, with
two modern Sevres vases, a timepiece representing Cupid with
his bent bow, a mirror with an engraving on each side -- one
representing Homer carrying his guide, the other, Belisarius
begging -- a grayish paper; red and black tapestry -- such
was the appearance of Lord Wilmore's drawing-room. It was
illuminated by lamps with ground-glass shades which gave
only a feeble light, as if out of consideration for the
envoy's weak sight. After ten minutes' expectation the clock
struck ten; at the fifth stroke the door opened and Lord
Wilmore appeared. He was rather above the middle height,
with thin reddish whiskers, light complexion and light hair,
turning rather gray. He was dressed with all the English
peculiarity, namely, in a blue coat, with gilt buttons and
high collar, in the fashion of 1811, a white kerseymere
waistcoat, and nankeen pantaloons, three inches too short,
but which were prevented by straps from slipping up to the
knee. His first remark on entering was, -- "You know, sir, I
do not speak French?"
"I know you do not like to converse in our language,"
replied the envoy. "But you may use it," replied Lord
Wilmore; "I understand it."
"And I," replied the visitor, changing his idiom, "know
enough of English to keep up the conversation. Do not put
yourself to the slightest inconvenience."
"Aw?" said Lord Wilmore, with that tone which is only known
to natives of Great Britain.
The envoy presented his letter of introduction, which the
latter read with English coolness, and having finished, --
"I understand," said he, "perfectly."
Then began the questions, which were similar to those which
had been addressed to the Abbe Busoni. But as Lord Wilmore,
in the character of the count's enemy, was less restrained
in his answers, they were more numerous; he described the
youth of Monte Cristo, who he said, at ten years of age,
entered the service of one of the petty sovereigns of India
who make war on the English. It was there Wilmore had first
met him and fought against him; and in that war Zaccone had
been taken prisoner, sent to England, and consigned to the
hulks, whence he had escaped by swimming. Then began his
travels, his duels, his caprices; then the insurrection in
Greece broke out, and he had served in the Grecian ranks.
While in that service he had discovered a silver mine in the
mountains of Thessaly, but he had been careful to conceal it
from every one. After the battle of Navarino, when the Greek
government was consolidated, he asked of King Otho a mining
grant for that district, which was given him. Hence that
immense fortune, which, in Lord Wilmore's opinion, possibly
amounted to one or two millions per annum, -- a precarious
fortune, which might be momentarily lost by the failure of
the mine.
"But," asked the visitor, "do you know why he came to
France?"
"He is speculating in railways," said Lord Wilmore, "and as
he is an expert chemist and physicist, he has invented a new
system of telegraphy, which he is seeking to bring to
perfection."
"How much does he spend yearly?" asked the prefect.
"Not more than five or six hundred thousand francs," said
Lord Wilmore; "he is a miser." Hatred evidently inspired the
Englishman, who, knowing no other reproach to bring on the
count, accused him of avarice. "Do you know his house at
Auteuil?"
"Certainly."
"What do you know respecting it?"
"Do you wish to know why he bought it?"
"Yes."
"The count is a speculator, who will certainly ruin himself
in experiments. He supposes there is in the neighborhood of
the house he has bought a mineral spring equal to those at
Bagneres, Luchon, and Cauterets. He is going to turn his
house into a Badhaus, as the Germans term it. He has already
dug up all the garden two or three times to find the famous
spring, and, being unsuccessful, he will soon purchase all
the contiguous houses. Now, as I dislike him, and hope his
railway, his electric telegraph, or his search for baths,
will ruin him, I am watching for his discomfiture, which
must soon take place."
"What was the cause of your quarrel?"
"When he was in England he seduced the wife of one of my
friends."
"Why do you not seek revenge?"
"I have already fought three duels with him," said the
Englishman, "the first with the pistol, the second with the
sword, and the third with the sabre."
"And what was the result of those duels?"
"The first time, he broke my arm; the second, he wounded me
in the breast; and the third time, made this large wound."
The Englishman turned down his shirt-collar, and showed a
scar, whose redness proved it to be a recent one. "So that,
you see, there is a deadly feud between us."
"But," said the envoy, "you do not go about it in the right
way to kill him, if I understand you correctly."
"Aw?" said the Englishman, "I practice shooting every day,
and every other day Grisier comes to my house."
This was all the visitor wished to ascertain, or, rather,
all the Englishman appeared to know. The agent arose, and
having bowed to Lord Wilmore, who returned his salutation
with the stiff politeness of the English, he retired. Lord
Wilmore, having heard the door close after him, returned to
his bedroom, where with one hand he pulled off his light
hair, his red whiskers, his false jaw, and his wound, to
resume the black hair, dark complexion, and pearly teeth of
the Count of Monte Cristo. It was M. de Villefort, and not
the prefect, who returned to the house of M. de Villefort.
The procureur felt more at ease, although he had learned
nothing really satisfactory, and, for the first time since
the dinner-party at Auteuil, he slept soundly.
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