"Gentlen," the Count of Monte Cristo said as he walked into the room, "please forgive for arriving before you could visit . I didn’t want to disturb you too early at your hotel, and besides, you said you’d co to see anyway. I’ve been waiting for you."
"Count, Franz and I can’t thank you enough," Albert replied with a warm smile. "You saved us from a real ss. We were about to co up with so ridiculous plan when your invitation arrived."
"Really?" the count said, gesturing for the two young n to sit down. "That fool Pastrini should have told about your problem sooner. He didn’t say a word about your situation, even though he knows I’m always looking to et new people here. I’m pretty isolated, you know. The mont I heard I could help, I jumped at the chance."
The two young n bowed politely. Franz still hadn’t figured out what to say. He couldn’t make up his mind about sothing important. The count wasn’t giving any sign that he wanted Franz to recognize him from before, so Franz didn’t know whether to bring up their previous encounter or wait for more proof. Sure, he was almost certain this was the sa man who’d been in the theater box last night, but he couldn’t be 100% sure this was also the guy he’d seen at the Colosseum ruins. He decided to just let things play out naturally without pushing the issue.
At least he had one advantage, he knew the count’s secret, while the count had no leverage over him. Franz had nothing to hide. Still, he decided to steer the conversation toward sothing that might clear up his doubts.
"Count," Franz said, "you’ve offered us seats in your carriage and spots at your windows in the Rospoli Palace. Can you tell us where we could watch what’s happening at the People’s Plaza?"
"Ah," the count said casually, though his eyes focused intently on Albert’s companion. "Isn’t there supposed to be an execution at the People’s Plaza today?"
"Yes," Franz replied, relieved that the count was heading toward the topic he wanted to discuss.
"Wait, I think I told my steward yesterday to arrange sothing for that. Maybe I can help you with this too." He reached out and rang a bell three tis. "Have you ever thought about ti managent and how to summon your servants more efficiently? I have. When I ring once, it’s for my personal valet. Twice ans my butler. Three tis, my steward. That way I don’t waste a single minute or word. And here he is now."
A man around forty-five or fifty years old entered. He looked exactly like the smuggler who’d taken Franz into that cave before, but he showed no sign of recognizing him. Clearly, he’d been given his orders.
"Mr. Bertuccio," the count said, "did you get those windows overlooking the People’s Plaza like I asked yesterday?"
"Yes, sir," the steward answered, "but it was really late to arrange."
"Didn’t I tell you I wanted one?" the count said with a slight frown.
"Your excellency does have one, it was rented to Prince Lobanieff originally, but I had to pay a hundred-"
"That’s enough, Mr. Bertuccio. Don’t bore these gentlen with household details. You got the window, that’s all that matters. Tell the driver to get ready, and wait on the stairs to show us the way."
The steward bowed and started to leave.
"Oh," the count added, "ask Pastrini if he received the execution notice, and if he can send us the details."
"No need," Franz said, pulling out his notebook. "I saw the notice and copied it down."
"Perfect. You can go, Mr. Bertuccio, but let us know when breakfast is ready. These gentlen," he said, turning to his two guests, "will hopefully join for breakfast?"
"But Count, we don’t want to impose," Albert protested.
"Not at all, you’d be doing a favor. One of you, or maybe both, can return the hospitality when I visit Paris. Mr. Bertuccio, set the table for three."
He then took Franz’s notebook from his hand. "We announce," he read in the sa tone soone might use to read a newspaper, "that today, February 23rd, Andrea Rondolo will be executed for murdering the respected Don César Torlini, a church canon, and Peppino, known as Rocca Priori, convicted of being an accomplice to the notorious bandit Luigi Vampa and his gang." He paused. "The first will be killed with a mallet, the second beheaded. Yes," the count continued, "that was the original plan, but I think sothing changed yesterday in how they’ll carry it out."
"Really?" Franz asked.
"Yes, I spent last evening at Cardinal Rospigliosi’s house, and soone ntioned that one of the two n might receive a pardon."
"Andrea Rondolo?" Franz asked.
"No," the count replied carelessly, glancing at the notebook as if to rember the na. "The other one, Peppino, called Rocca Priori. So you won’t get to see a man beheaded, but the mallet execution is still happening. It’s quite a sight the first ti you witness it, even the second ti. The guillotine, as you must know, is very simple. It never fails, never wavers, never takes thirty strikes like that soldier who botched the Count of Chalais’s execution, the one Richelieu must have specifically recomnded for the job." He added with contempt, "Don’t talk to about European executions. They’re either primitive or outdated when it cos to cruelty."
"Count," Franz replied, "you sound like you’ve studied every form of torture from around the world."
"There are few I haven’t seen," the count said coldly.
"And you enjoyed watching these terrible displays?"
"My first reaction was horror. The second was indifference. The third was curiosity."
"Curiosity, that’s a disturbing word."
"Why? In life, isn’t death our greatest obsession? Isn’t it natural to be curious about the different ways the soul separates from the body? And how different people, with their different personalities, temperants, and cultures, handle the transition from life to death, from existence to nothing? I can tell you one thing, the more deaths you witness, the easier it becos to face your own. In my opinion, death might be torture, but it isn’t justice."
"I don’t understand," Franz said. "Please explain, you’ve really got curious now."
"Listen," the count said, and deep hatred flooded his face, coloring his normally pale features. "If soone had tortured and killed your father, your mother, your fiancée, soone whose loss left a permanent wound in your heart that never heals, do you think the justice society offers is enough? They simply slide a guillotine blade between the base of the skull and the neck muscles of the murderer, letting soone who caused you years of ntal suffering escape with just a few monts of physical pain. Is that fair?"
"I know," Franz said, "that human justice isn’t enough to console us. It can only trade blood for blood, nothing more. But you can only demand from it what it’s capable of giving."
"Let give you another example," the count continued. "What about when society is attacked by soone’s death and avenges it with execution? But aren’t there a thousand ways soone can make you suffer without society even noticing, let alone offering you even that insufficient revenge we just talked about? Aren’t there cris so terrible that even the most brutal punishnts, Turkish impalent, Persian torture devices, Native Arican burning stakes, wouldn’t be adequate, yet society doesn’t punish them at all? Tell , don’t these cris exist?"
"Yes," Franz answered, "and that’s why dueling is tolerated, to punish them."
"Ah, dueling!" the count exclaid. "What a pleasant way to get your revenge! A man steals your girlfriend, seduces your wife, dishonors your daughter. He’s ruined the entire life of soone who had every right to expect happiness, one of God’s creatures entitled to their share of joy, turning their existence into misery and sha. And you think you’re avenged because you shoot a bullet through his head or drive a sword through his chest? This man who drove you mad with grief and filled your heart with despair? And rember, often it’s the guilty party who wins the duel and walks away completely absolved in society’s eyes. No, no," the count continued, "if I were seeking revenge, that’s not how I’d do it."
"So you disapprove of dueling? You wouldn’t fight one?" Albert asked, astonished by this strange theory.
"Oh yes," the count replied, "understand , I’d fight a duel over sothing trivial, an insult, a slap in the face. In fact, I’d be even more willing because thanks to my physical skills and the indifference to danger I’ve developed over ti, I’d almost certainly win. I’d definitely fight for those reasons. But in return for slow, deep, eternal torture, I’d give back the sa if possible. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, as they say in the East, our masters in everything. Those fortunate people who’ve created lives of dreams and paradises of reality."
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