Chapter 121: Bertuccio’s Vendetta: IV
"I set off for France after finalizing the plan. Our cargo was to be landed in the Gulf of Lyon, which was difficult because it was 1829. Perfect peace had been restored, and the vigilance of customs officers had doubled. Their strictness had increased even more because of the trade fair at Beaucaire.
Our expedition began favorably. We anchored our vessel, which had a hidden compartment where our goods were concealed, among numerous other vessels lining the riverbanks. Upon arrival, we began unloading our cargo at night and transporting it into town with help from the innkeeper we worked with.
Whether success made us careless or we were betrayed, I don’t know. But one evening around five o’clock, our cabin boy came running breathlessly to tell us he’d seen a group of customs officers heading in our direction. It wasn’t their proximity that alarmed us, patrols constantly walked along the riverbanks, but according to the boy, they were taking care to avoid being seen.
In an instant, we were on alert, but it was too late. Our vessel was surrounded. Among the customs officers, I saw several police, and being as terrified of their uniforms as I was brave in the face of anything else, I jumped into the cargo hold, opened a porthole, and dropped into the river. I dove under and only surfaced at intervals to breathe until I reached a ditch that had recently been dug from the river to a canal. I was now safe. I could swim along the ditch without being seen, and I reached the canal safely.
I’d deliberately taken this direction. I’ve already told your excellency about an innkeeper from Nîmes who’d set up a small tavern on the road between two towns."
"Yes," Monte Cristo said. "I remember him perfectly. I think he was your colleague."
"Exactly," Bertuccio answered. "But seven or eight years before this time, he’d sold his establishment to a tailor from Marseilles who, having nearly ruined himself in his old trade, wanted to make his fortune in another. Of course, we made the same arrangements with the new landlord that we’d had with the old. It was from this man that I intended to ask for shelter."
"What was his name?" the count asked, seeming to become more interested in Bertuccio’s story.
"Gaspard Caderousse. He’d married a woman from the village of Carconte, who we only knew by her village’s name. She was suffering from malaria and seemed to be dying by inches. As for her husband, he was a strapping fellow of forty or forty-five who had more than once, in times of danger, given ample proof of his quick thinking and courage."
"And you say," Monte Cristo interrupted, "that this happened around the year-"
"1829, your excellency."
"What month?"
"June."
"The beginning or the end?"
"The evening of the third."
"Ah," Monte Cristo said, "the evening of June 3rd, 1829. Continue."
"I planned to ask Caderousse for shelter. Since we never entered through the door facing the road, I decided not to break that rule. So I climbed over the garden hedge, crept among the olive and wild fig trees, and fearing Caderousse might have a guest, I entered a kind of shed where I’d often spent the night. It was only separated from the inn by a partition with holes that let us watch for an opportunity to announce our presence.
My plan was, if Caderousse was alone, to let him know I was there, finish the meal the customs officers had interrupted, and take advantage of the approaching storm to return to the river and check on our vessel and crew. I stepped into the shed, and it was fortunate I did, because at that moment Caderousse entered with a stranger.
I waited patiently, not to eavesdrop on their conversation, but because I had no choice. Besides, the same thing had happened before. The man with Caderousse was clearly a stranger to southern France. He was one of those merchants who come to sell jewelry at the Beaucaire fair. During the month the fair lasts, with its huge influx of merchants and customers from all over Europe, these dealers often conduct business worth 100,000 to 150,000 francs.
Caderousse entered hastily. Seeing the room was, as usual, empty and only guarded by the dog, he called to his wife, ’Hey, Carconte! The worthy priest didn’t deceive us, the diamond is real!’
An exclamation of joy was heard, and the staircase creaked under a weak step.
’What are you saying?’ his wife asked, pale as death.
’I’m saying the diamond is real, and this gentleman, one of the finest jewelers in Paris, will give us 50,000 francs for it. But to satisfy himself that it really belongs to us, he wants you to tell him, as I already have, the miraculous way the diamond came into our possession. Meanwhile, please sit down, sir, and I’ll bring you some refreshment.’
The jeweler carefully examined the interior of the inn and the apparent poverty of the people about to sell him a diamond that seemed to have come from a prince’s collection.
’Tell your story, madame,’ he said, clearly wanting to take advantage of the husband’s absence so he couldn’t influence his wife’s story, to see if their accounts matched.
’Oh,’ she said, ’it was a gift from heaven. My husband was a great friend, in 1814 or 1815, of a sailor named Edmond Dantès. This poor fellow, whom Caderousse had forgotten, hadn’t forgotten him. At his death, he left this diamond to him.’
’But how did he get it?’ the jeweler asked. ’Did he have it before he was imprisoned?’
’No, sir. But apparently in prison he became acquainted with a rich Englishman. When the Englishman fell ill, Dantès cared for him as if he were his brother. When the Englishman was released, he gave this stone to Dantès, who was less fortunate and died. In turn, he left it to us and asked the excellent priest who was here this morning to deliver it.’
’The same story,’ the jeweler muttered. ’Though it seemed improbable at first, it may be true. We’re only not agreed about the price.’
’What do you mean, not agreed?’ Caderousse said. ’I thought we’d agreed on the price I asked.’
’That is,’ the jeweler replied, ’I offered 40,000 francs.’
’Forty thousand!’ La Carconte cried. ’We won’t part with it for that. The priest told us it was worth 50,000 without the setting.’
’What was the priest’s name?’ the persistent questioner asked.
’Father Busoni,’ La Carconte said.
’He was a foreigner?’
’An Italian, from near Mantua, I believe.’
’Let me see this diamond again,’ the jeweler replied. ’The first time, you’re often mistaken about a stone’s value.’
Caderousse took from his pocket a small black case, opened it, and gave it to the jeweler. At the sight of the diamond, which was as large as a hazelnut, La Carconte’s eyes sparkled with greed."
"And what did you think of this fine story, eavesdropper?" Monte Cristo asked. "Did you believe it?"
"Yes, your excellency. I didn’t consider Caderousse a bad man, and I thought him incapable of committing a crime or even a theft."
"That did more credit to your heart than your experience, Bertuccio. Had you known this Edmond Dantès they spoke of?"
"No, your excellency. I’d never heard of him before, and only once afterward, from Father Busoni himself when I saw him in prison at Nîmes."
"Continue."
"The jeweler took the ring and, pulling from his pocket a pair of steel pliers and a small set of copper scales, removed the stone from its setting and weighed it carefully.
’I’ll give you 45,000,’ he said, ’but not a penny more. Besides, since that’s the stone’s exact value, I brought just that sum with me.’
’Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ Caderousse replied. ’I’ll come back with you to get the other 5,000 francs.’
’No,’ the jeweler said, returning the diamond and ring to Caderousse. ’It’s worth no more, and I’m sorry I offered so much. The stone has a flaw I hadn’t noticed. However, I won’t go back on my word, and I’ll give 45,000.’
’At least put the diamond back in the ring,’ La Carconte said sharply.
’Ah, true,’ the jeweler replied, and he reset the stone.
’No matter,’ Caderousse said, replacing the box in his pocket. ’Someone else will buy it.’"