The Count of Monte Cristo
preserves, the chestnuts stolen from a neighbor’s orchard, or the dried
apples in his loft, when he could eat as well of the nuts and apples
that grew in my garden.
“One day, when Benedetto was about five or six, our neighbor Wasilio,
who, according to the custom of the country, never locked up his purse
or his valuables—for, as your excellency knows, there are no thieves in
Corsica—complained that he had lost a louis out of his purse; we
thought he must have made a mistake in counting his money, but he
persisted in the accuracy of his statement. One day, Benedetto, who had
been gone from the house since morning, to our great anxiety, did not
return until late in the evening, dragging a monkey after him, which he
said he had found chained to the foot of a tree. For more than a month
past, the mischievous child, who knew not what to wish for, had taken
it into his head to have a monkey. A boatman, who had passed by
Rogliano, and who had several of these animals, whose tricks had
greatly diverted him, had, doubtless, suggested this idea to him.
‘Monkeys are not found in our woods chained to trees,’ said I; ‘confess
how you obtained this animal.’ Benedetto maintained the truth of what
he had said, and accompanied it with details that did more honor to his
imagination than to his veracity. I became angry; he began to laugh, I
threatened to strike him, and he made two steps backwards. ‘You cannot
beat me,’ said he; ‘you have no right, for you are not my father.’
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“We never knew who had revealed this fatal secret, which we had so
carefully concealed from him; however, it was this answer, in which the
child’s whole character revealed itself, that almost terrified me, and
my arm fell without touching him.
“The boy triumphed, and this victory rendered him so audacious, that
all the money of Assunta, whose affection for him seemed to increase as
he became more unworthy of it, was spent in caprices she knew not how
to contend against, and follies she had not the courage to prevent.
When I was at Rogliano everything went on properly, but no sooner was
my back turned than Benedetto became master, and everything went ill.
When he was only eleven, he chose his companions from among the young
men of eighteen or twenty, the worst characters in Bastia, or, indeed,
in Corsica, and they had already, for some mischievous pranks, been
several times threatened with a prosecution. I became alarmed, as any
prosecution might be attended with serious consequences. I was
compelled, at this period, to leave Corsica on an important expedition;
I reflected for a long time, and with the hope of averting some
impending misfortune, I resolved that Benedetto should accompany me.
“I hoped that the active and laborious life of a smuggler, with the
severe discipline on board, would have a salutary effect on his
character, which was now well-nigh, if not quite, corrupt. I spoke to
Benedetto alone, and proposed to him to accompany me, endeavoring to
tempt him by all the promises most likely to dazzle the imagination of
a child of twelve. He heard me patiently, and when I had finished,
burst out laughing.
“‘Are you mad, uncle?’ (he called me by this name when he was in good
humor); ‘do you think I am going to change the life I lead for your
mode of existence—my agreeable indolence for the hard and precarious
toil you impose on yourself, exposed to the bitter frost at night, and
the scorching heat by day, compelled to conceal yourself, and when you
are perceived, receive a volley of bullets, all to earn a paltry sum?
Why, I have as much money as I want; mother Assunta always furnishes me
when I ask for it! You see that I should be a fool to accept your
offer.’
“The arguments, and his audacity, perfectly stupefied me. Benedetto
rejoined his associates, and I saw him from a distance point me out to
them as a fool.”
“Sweet child,” murmured Monte Cristo.
“Oh, had he been my own son,” replied Bertuccio, “or even my nephew, I
would have brought him back to the right road, for the knowledge that
you are doing your duty gives you strength, but the idea that I was
striking a child whose father I had killed, made it impossible for me
to punish him. I gave my sister, who constantly defended the
unfortunate boy, good advice, and as she confessed that she had several
times missed money to a considerable amount, I showed her a safe place
in which to conceal our little treasure for the future. My mind was
already made up. Benedetto could read, write, and cipher perfectly, for
when the fit seized him, he learned more in a day than others in a
week. My intention was to enter him as a clerk in some ship, and
without letting him know anything of my plan, to convey him some
morning on board; by this means his future treatment would depend upon
his own conduct. I set off for France, after having fixed upon the
plan. Our cargo was to be landed in the Gulf of Lyons, and this was a
difficult thing to do because it was then the year 1829. The most
perfect tranquillity was restored, and the vigilance of the
custom-house officers was redoubled, and their strictness was increased
at this time, in consequence of the fair at Beaucaire.
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“Our expedition made a favorable beginning. We anchored our
vessel—which had a double hold, where our goods were concealed—amidst a
number of other vessels that bordered the banks of the Rhône from
Beaucaire to Arles. On our arrival we began to discharge our cargo in
the night, and to convey it into the town, by the help of the innkeeper
with whom we were connected.
“Whether success rendered us imprudent, or whether we were betrayed, I
know not; but one evening, about five o’clock, our little cabin-boy
came breathlessly, to inform us that he had seen a detachment of
custom-house officers advancing in our direction. It was not their
proximity that alarmed us, for detachments were constantly patrolling
along the banks of the Rhône, but the care, according to the boy’s
account, that they took to avoid being seen. In an instant we were on
the alert, but it was too late; our vessel was surrounded, and amongst
the custom-house officers I observed several gendarmes, and, as
terrified at the sight of their uniforms as I was brave at the sight of
any other, I sprang into the hold, opened a port, and dropped into the
river, dived, and only rose at intervals to breathe, until I reached a
ditch that had recently been made from the Rhône to the canal that runs
from Beaucaire to Aigues-Mortes. I was now safe, for I could swim along
the ditch without being seen, and I reached the canal in safety. I had
designedly taken this direction. I have already told your excellency of
an innkeeper from Nîmes who had set up a little tavern on the road from
Bellegarde to Beaucaire.”
“Yes,” said Monte Cristo “I perfectly recollect him; I think he was
your colleague.”
“Precisely,” answered Bertuccio; “but he had, seven or eight years
before this period, sold his establishment to a tailor at Marseilles,
who, having almost ruined himself in his old trade, wished to make his
fortune in another. Of course, we made the same arrangements with the
new landlord that we had with the old; and it was of this man that I
intended to ask shelter.”
“What was his name?” inquired the count, who seemed to become somewhat
interested in Bertuccio’s story.
“Gaspard Caderousse; he had married a woman from the village of
Carconte, and whom we did not know by any other name than that of her
village. She was suffering from malarial fever, and seemed dying by
inches. As for her husband, he was a strapping fellow of forty, or
five-and-forty, who had more than once, in time of danger, given ample
proof of his presence of mind and courage.”
“And you say,” interrupted Monte Cristo “that this took place towards
the year——”
“1829, your excellency.”
“In what month?”
“June.”
“The beginning or the end?”
“The evening of the 3rd.”
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“Ah,” said Monte Cristo “the evening of the 3rd of June, 1829. Go on.”
“It was from Caderousse that I intended demanding shelter, and, as we
never entered by the door that opened onto the road, I resolved not to
break through the rule, so climbing over the garden-hedge, I crept
amongst the olive and wild fig trees, and fearing that Caderousse might
have some guest, I entered a kind of shed in which I had often passed
the night, and which was only separated from the inn by a partition, in
which holes had been made in order to enable us to watch an opportunity
of announcing our presence.
“My intention was, if Caderousse was alone, to acquaint him with my
presence, finish the meal the custom-house officers had interrupted,
and profit by the threatened storm to return to the Rhône, and
ascertain the state of our vessel and its crew. I stepped into the
shed, and it was fortunate I did so, for at that moment Caderousse
entered with a stranger.
“I waited patiently, not to overhear what they said, but because I
could do nothing else; besides, the same thing had occurred often
before. The man who was with Caderousse was evidently a stranger to the
South of France; he was one of those merchants who come to sell
jewellery at the Beaucaire fair, and who during the month the fair
lasts, and during which there is so great an influx of merchants and
customers from all parts of Europe, often have dealings to the amount
of 100,000 to 150,000 francs. Caderousse entered hastily. Then, seeing
that the room was, as usual, empty, and only guarded by the dog, he
called to his wife, ‘Hello, Carconte,’ said he, ‘the worthy priest has
not deceived us; the diamond is real.’
“An exclamation of joy was heard, and the staircase creaked beneath a
feeble step. ‘What do you say?’ asked his wife, pale as death.
“‘I say that the diamond is real, and that this gentleman, one of the
first jewellers of Paris, will give us 50,000 francs for it. Only, in
order to satisfy himself that it really belongs to us, he wishes you to
relate to him, as I have done already, the miraculous manner in which
the diamond came into our possession. In the meantime please to sit
down, monsieur, and I will fetch you some refreshment.’
“The jeweller examined attentively the interior of the inn and the
apparent poverty of the persons who were about to sell him a diamond
that seemed to have come from the casket of a prince.
“‘Relate your story, madame,’ said he, wishing, no doubt, to profit by
the absence of the husband, so that the latter could not influence the
wife’s story, to see if the two recitals tallied.
“‘Oh,’ returned she, ‘it was a gift of heaven. My husband was a great
friend, in 1814 or 1815, of a sailor named Edmond Dantès. This poor
fellow, whom Caderousse had forgotten, had not forgotten him, and at
his death he bequeathed this diamond to him.’
“‘But how did he obtain it?’ asked the jeweller; ‘had he it before he
was imprisoned?’
“‘No, monsieur; but it appears that in prison he made the acquaintance
of a rich Englishman, and as in prison he fell sick, and Dantès took
the same care of him as if he had been his brother, the Englishman,
when he was set free, gave this stone to Dantès, who, less fortunate,
died, and, in his turn, left it to us, and charged the excellent abbé,
who was here this morning, to deliver it.’
“‘The same story,’ muttered the jeweller; ‘and improbable as it seemed
at first, it may be true. There’s only the price we are not agreed
about.’
“‘How not agreed about?’ said Caderousse. ‘I thought we agreed for the
price I asked.’
“‘That is,’ replied the jeweller, ‘I offered 40,000 francs.’
‘Forty thousand,’ cried La Carconte; ‘we will not part with it for that
sum. The abbé told us it was worth 50,000 without the setting.’
“‘What was the abbé’s name?’ asked the indefatigable questioner.