基督山伯爵 英文版 The Count of Monte Cristo
大仲马 Alexandre Dumas père
Chapter 44 Page 2
"Philosophy, M. Bertuccio," interrupted the Count; "you havedone a little of everything in your life."
"Oh, excellency,"
"No, no; but philosophy at half-past ten at night issomewhat late; yet I have no other observation to make, forwhat you say is correct, which is more than can be said forall philosophy."
"My journeys became more and more extensive and moreproductive. Assunta took care of all, and our little fortuneincreased. One day as I was setting off on an expedition,`Go,' said she; `at your return I will give you a surprise.'I questioned her, but in vain; she would tell me nothing,and I departed. Our expedition lasted nearly six weeks; wehad been to Lucca to take in oil, to Leghorn for Englishcottons, and we ran our cargo without opposition, andreturned home full of joy. When I entered the house, thefirst thing I beheld in the middle of Assunta's chamber wasa cradle that might be called sumptuous compared with therest of the furniture, and in it a baby seven or eightmonths old. I uttered a cry of joy; the only moments ofsadness I had known since the assassination of the procureurwere caused by the recollection that I had abandoned thischild. For the assassination itself I had never felt anyremorse. Poor Assunta had guessed all. She had profited bymy absence, and furnished with the half of the linen, andhaving written down the day and hour at which I haddeposited the child at the asylum, had set off for Paris,and had reclaimed it. No objection was raised, and theinfant was given up to her. Ah, I confess, your excellency,when I saw this poor creature sleeping peacefully in itscradle, I felt my eyes filled with tears. `Ah, Assunta,'cried I, `you are an excellent woman, and heaven will blessyou.'"
"This," said Monte Cristo, "is less correct than yourphilosophy, -- it is only faith."
"Alas, your excellency is right," replied Bertuccio, "andGod made this infant the instrument of our punishment. Neverdid a perverse nature declare itself more prematurely, andyet it was not owing to any fault in his bringing up. He wasa most lovely child, with large blue eyes, of that deepcolor that harmonizes so well with the blond complexion;only his hair, which was too light, gave his face a mostsingular expression, and added to the vivacity of his look,and the malice of his smile. Unfortunately, there is aproverb which says that `red is either altogether good oraltogether bad.' The proverb was but too correct as regardedBenedetto, and even in his infancy he manifested the worstdisposition. It is true that the indulgence of hisfoster-mother encouraged him. This child, for whom my poorsister would go to the town, five or six leagues off, topurchase the earliest fruits and the most temptingsweetmeats, preferred to Palma grapes or Genoese preserves,the chestnuts stolen from a neighbor's orchard, or the driedapples in his loft, when he could eat as well of the nutsand apples that grew in my garden. One day, when Benedettowas about five or six, our neighbor Vasilio, who, accordingto the custom of the country, never locked up his purse orhis valuables -- for, as your excellency knows, there are nothieves in Corsica -- complained that he had lost a louisout of his purse; we thought he must have made a mistake incounting his money, but he persisted in the accuracy of hisstatement. One day, Benedetto, who had been gone from thehouse since morning, to our great anxiety, did not returnuntil 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 knewnot what to wish for, had taken it into his head to have amonkey. A boatman, who had passed by Rogliano, and who hadseveral of these animals, whose tricks had greatly divertedhim, had, doubtless, suggested this idea to him. `Monkeysare not found in our woods chained to trees,' said I;`confess how you obtained this animal.' Benedetto maintainedthe truth of what he had said, and accompanied it withdetails that did more honor to his imagination than to hisveracity. I became angry; he began to laugh, I threatened tostrike him, and he made two steps backwards. `You cannotbeat me,' said he; `you have no right, for you are not myfather.'
"We never knew who had revealed this fatal secret, which wehad so carefully concealed from him; however, it was thisanswer, in which the child's whole character revealeditself, that almost terrified me, and my arm fell withouttouching him. The boy triumphed, and this victory renderedhim so audacious, that all the money of Assunta, whoseaffection for him seemed to increase as he became moreunworthy of it, was spent in caprices she knew not how tocontend against, and follies she had not the courage toprevent. When I was at Rogliano everything went on properly,but no sooner was my back turned than Benedetto becamemaster, and everything went ill. When he was only eleven, hechose his companions from among the young men of eighteen ortwenty, the worst characters in Bastia, or, indeed, inCorsica, and they had already, for some mischievous pranks,been several times threatened with a prosecution. I becamealarmed, as any prosecution might be attended with seriousconsequences. I was compelled, at this period, to leaveCorsica on an important expedition; I reflected for a longtime, and with the hope of averting some impendingmisfortune, I resolved that Benedetto should accompany me. Ihoped that the active and laborious life of a smuggler, withthe severe discipline on board, would have a salutary effecton his character, which was now well-nigh, if not quite,corrupt. I spoke to Benedetto alone, and proposed to him toaccompany me, endeavoring to tempt him by all the promisesmost likely to dazzle the imagination of a child of twelve.He heard me patiently, and when I had finished, burst outlaughing.
"`Are you mad, uncle?' (he called me by this name when hewas in good humor); `do you think I am going to change thelife I lead for your mode of existence -- my agreeableindolence for the hard and precarious toil you impose onyourself, exposed to the bitter frost at night, and thescorching heat by day, compelled to conceal yourself, andwhen you are perceived, receive a volley of bullets, all toearn a paltry sum? Why, I have as much money as I want;mother Assunta always furnishes me when I ask for it! Yousee that I should be a fool to accept your offer.' Thearguments, and his audacity, perfectly stupefied me.Benedetto rejoined his associates, and I saw him from adistance point me out to them as a fool."
"Sweet child," murmured Monte Cristo.
"Oh, had he been my own son," replied Bertuccio, "or even mynephew, I would have brought him back to the right road, forthe knowledge that you are doing your duty gives youstrength, but the idea that I was striking a child whosefather I had killed, made it impossible for me to punishhim. I gave my sister, who constantly defended theunfortunate boy, good advice, and as she confessed that shehad several times missed money to a considerable amount, Ishowed her a safe place in which to conceal our littletreasure for the future. My mind was already made up.Benedetto could read, write, and cipher perfectly, for whenthe fit seized him, he learned more in a day than others ina week. My intention was to enter him as a clerk in someship, and without letting him know anything of my plan, toconvey him some morning on board; by this means his futuretreatment would depend upon his own conduct. I set off forFrance, after having fixed upon the plan. Our cargo was tobe landed in the Gulf of Lyons, and this was a difficultthing to do because it was then the year 1829. The mostperfect tranquillity was restored, and the vigilance of thecustom-house officers was redoubled, and their strictnesswas increased at this time, in consequence of the fair atBeaucaire.
"Our expedition made a favorable beginning. We anchored ourvessel -- which had a double hold, where our goods wereconcealed -- amidst a number of other vessels that borderedthe banks of the Rhone from Beaucaire to Arles. On ourarrival we began to discharge our cargo in the night, and toconvey it into the town, by the help of the inn-keeper withwhom we were connected. Whether success rendered usimprudent, or whether we were betrayed, I know not; but oneevening, about five o'clock, our little cabin-boy camebreathlessly, to inform us that he had seen a detachment ofcustom-house officers advancing in our direction. It was nottheir proximity that alarmed us, for detachments wereconstantly patrolling along the banks of the Rhone, but thecare, according to the boy's account, that they took toavoid being seen. In an instant we were on the alert, but itwas too late; our vessel was surrounded, and amongst thecustom-house officers I observed several gendarmes, and, asterrified at the sight of their uniforms as I was brave atthe sight of any other, I sprang into the hold, opened aport, and dropped into the river, dived, and only rose atintervals to breathe, until I reached a ditch that hadrecently been made from the Rhone to the canal that runsfrom Beaucaire to Aigues-Mortes. I was now safe, for I couldswim along the ditch without being seen, and I reached thecanal in safety. I had designedly taken this direction. Ihave already told your excellency of an inn-keeper fromNimes who had set up a little tavern on the road fromBellegarde to Beaucaire."
"Yes," said Monte Cristo "I perfectly recollect him; I thinkhe was your colleague."
"What was his name?" inquired the count, who seemed tobecome somewhat interested in Bertuccio's story.
"Gaspard Caderousse; he had married a woman from the villageof Carconte, and whom we did not know by any other name thanthat of her village. She was suffering from malarial fever,and seemed dying by inches. As for her husband, he was astrapping fellow of forty, or five and forty, who had morethan once, in time of danger, given ample proof of hispresence of mind and courage."
"And you say," interrupted Monte Cristo "that this tookplace towards the year" --
"1829, your excellency."
"In what month?"
"June."
"The beginning or the end?"
"The evening of the 3d."
"Ah," said Monte Cristo "the evening of the 3d 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 theroad, I resolved not to break through the rule, so climbingover the garden-hedge, I crept amongst the olive and wildfig trees, and fearing that Caderousse might have someguest, I entered a kind of shed in which I had often passedthe night, and which was only separated from the inn by apartition, in which holes had been made in order to enableus to watch an opportunity of announcing our presence. Myintention was, if Caderousse was alone, to acquaint him withmy presence, finish the meal the custom-house officers hadinterrupted, and profit by the threatened storm to return tothe Rhone, and ascertain the state of our vessel and itscrew. I stepped into the shed, and it was fortunate I didso, for at that moment Caderousse entered with a stranger.
"I waited patiently, not to overhear what they said, butbecause I could do nothing else; besides, the same thing hadoccurred often before. The man who was with Caderousse wasevidently a stranger to the South of France; he was one ofthose merchants who come to sell jewellery at the Beaucairefair, and who during the month the fair lasts, and duringwhich there is so great an influx of merchants and customersfrom all parts of Europe, often have dealings to the amountof 100,000 to 150,000 francs. Caderousse entered hastily.Then, seeing that the room was, as usual, empty, and onlyguarded 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, andthe staircase creaked beneath a feeble step. `What do yousay?' 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 50,000francs for it. Only, in order to satisfy himself that itreally belongs to us, he wishes you to relate to him, as Ihave done already, the miraculous manner in which thediamond came into our possession. In the meantime please tosit down, monsieur, and I will fetch you some refreshment.'The jeweller examined attentively the interior of the innand the apparent poverty of the persons who were about tosell him a diamond that seemed to have come from the casketof a prince. `Relate your story, madame,' said he, wishing,no doubt, to profit by the absence of the husband, so thatthe latter could not influence the wife's story, to see ifthe two recitals tallied.
"`Oh,' returned she, `it was a gift of heaven. My husbandwas a great friend, in 1814 or 1815, of a sailor namedEdmond Dantes. This poor fellow, whom Caderousse hadforgotten, had not forgotten him, and at his death hebequeathed this diamond to him.' -- `But how did he obtainit?' asked the jeweller; `had he it before he wasimprisoned?' -- `No, monsieur; but it appears that in prisonhe made the acquaintance of a rich Englishman, and as inprison he fell sick, and Dantes took the same care of him asif he had been his brother, the Englishman, when he was setfree, gave this stone to Dantes, who, less fortunate, died,and, in his turn, left it to us, and charged the excellentabbe, who was here this morning, to deliver it.' -- `Thesame story,' muttered the jeweller; `and improbable as itseemed at first, it may be true. There's only the price weare not agreed about.' -- `How not agreed about?' saidCaderousse. `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 partwith it for that sum. The abbe told us it was worth 50,000without the setting.'
he was astrapping fellow of forty, or five and forty, who had morethan once, in time of danger, given ample proof of hispresence of mind ?
"`What was the abbe's name?' asked the indefatigablequestioner. -- `The Abbe Busoni,' said La Carconte. -- `Hewas a foreigner?' -- `An Italian, from the neighborhood ofMantua, I believe.' -- `Let me see this diamond again,'replied the jeweller; `the first time you are often mistakenas to the value of a stone.' Caderousse took from his pocketa small case of black shagreen, opened, and gave it to thejeweller. At the sight of the diamond, which was as large asa hazel-nut, La Carconte's eyes sparkled with cupidity."
"And what did you think of this fine story, eavesdropper?"said Monte Cristo; "did you credit it?"
"Yes, your excellency. I did not look on Caderousse as a badman, and I thought him incapable of committing a crime, oreven a theft."
"That did more honor to your heart than to your experience,M. Bertuccio. Had you known this Edmond Dantes, of whom theyspoke?"
"No, your excellency, I had never heard of him before, andnever but once afterwards, and that was from the Abbe Busonihimself, when I saw him in the prison at Nimes."
"Go on."
"The jeweller took the ring, and drawing from his pocket apair of steel pliers and a small set of copper scales, hetook the stone out of its setting, and weighed it carefully.`I will give you 45,000,' said he, `but not a sou more;besides, as that is the exact value of the stone, I broughtjust that sum with me.' -- `Oh, that's no matter,' repliedCaderousse, `I will go back with you to fetch the other5,000 francs.' -- `No,' returned the jeweller, giving backthe diamond and the ring to Caderousse -- `no, it is worthno more, and I am sorry I offered so much, for the stone hasa flaw in it, which I had not seen. However, I will not goback on my word, and I will give 45,000.' -- `At least,replace the diamond in the ring,' said La Carconte sharply.-- `Ah, true,' replied the jeweller, and he reset the stone.-- `No matter,' observed Caderousse, replacing the box inhis pocket, `some one else will purchase it.' -- `Yes,'continued the jeweller; `but some one else will not be soeasy as I am, or content himself with the same story. It isnot natural that a man like you should possess such adiamond. He will inform against you. You will have to findthe Abbe Busoni; and abbes who give diamonds worth twothousand louis are rare. The law would seize it, and put youin prison; if at the end of three or four months you are setat liberty, the ring will be lost, or a false stone, worththree francs, will be given you, instead of a diamond worth50,000 or perhaps 55,000 francs; from which you must allowthat one runs considerable risk in purchasing.' Caderousseand his wife looked eagerly at each other. -- `No,' saidCaderousse, `we are not rich enough to lose 5,000 francs.'-- `As you please, my dear sir,' said the, jeweller; `I had,however, as you see, brought you the money in bright coin.'And he drew from his pocket a handful of gold, and held itsparkling before the dazzled eyes of the innkeeper, and inthe other hand he held a packet of bank-notes.
"There was evidently a severe struggle in the mind ofCaderousse; it was plain that the small shagreen case, whichhe turned over and over in his hand, did not seem to himcommensurate in value to the enormous sum which fascinatedhis gaze. He turned towards his wife. `What do you think ofthis?' he asked in a low voice. -- `Let him have it -- lethim have it,' she said. `If he returns to Beaucaire withoutthe diamond, he will inform against us, and, as he says, whoknows if we shall ever again see the Abbe Busoni? -- in allprobability we shall never see him.' -- `Well, then, so Iwill!' said Caderousse; `so you may have the diamond for45,000 francs. But my wife wants a gold chain, and I want apair of silver buckles.' The jeweller drew from his pocket along flat box, which contained several samples of thearticles demanded. `Here,' he said, `I am verystraightforward in my dealings -- take your choice.' Thewoman selected a gold chain worth about five louis, and thehusband a pair of buckles, worth perhaps fifteen francs. --`I hope you will not complain now?' said the jeweller.
"`The abbe told me it was worth 50,000 francs,' mutteredCaderousse. `Come, come -- give it to me! What a strangefellow you are,' said the jeweller, taking the diamond fromhis hand. `I give you 45,000 francs -- that is, 2,500 livresof income, -- a fortune such as I wish I had myself, and youare not satisfied!' -- `And the five and forty thousandfrancs,' inquired Caderousse in a hoarse voice, `where arethey? Come -- let us see them.' -- `Here they are,' repliedthe jeweller, and he counted out upon the table 15,000francs in gold, and 30,000 francs in bank-notes.
"`Wait while I light the lamp,' said La Carconte; `it isgrowing dark, and there may be some mistake.' In fact, nighthad come on during this conversation, and with night thestorm which had been threatening for the last half-hour. Thethunder growled in the distance; but it was apparently notheard by the jeweller, Caderousse, or La Carconte, absorbedas they were all three with the demon of gain. I myselffelt; a strange kind of fascination at the sight of all thisgold and all these bank-notes; it seemed to me that I was ina dream, and, as it always happens in a dream, I felt myselfriveted to the spot. Caderousse counted and again countedthe gold and the notes, then handed them to his wife, whocounted and counted them again in her turn. During thistime, the jeweller made the diamond play and sparkle in thelamplight, and the gem threw out jets of light which madehim unmindful of those which -- precursors of the storm --began to play in at the windows. `Well,' inquired thejeweller, `is the cash all right?'
"`Yes,' said Caderousse. `Give me the pocket-book, LaCarconte, and find a bag somewhere.'
"La Carconte went to a cupboard, and returned with an oldleathern pocket-book and a bag. From the former she tooksome greasy letters, and put in their place the bank-notes,and from the bag took two or three crowns of six livreseach, which, in all probability, formed the entire fortuneof the miserable couple. `There,' said Caderousse; `and now,although you have wronged us of perhaps 10,000 francs, willyou have your supper with us? I invite you with good-will.'-- `Thank you,' replied the jeweller, `it must be gettinglate, and I must return to Beaucaire -- my wife will begetting uneasy.' He drew out his watch, and exclaimed,`Morbleu, nearly nine o'clock -- why, I shall not get backto Beaucaire before midnight! Good-night, my friends. If theAbbe Busoni should by any accident return, think of me.' --`In another week you will have left Beaucaire.' remarkedCaderousse, `for the fair ends in a few days.' -- `True, butthat makes no difference. Write to me at Paris, to M.Joannes, in the Palais Royal, arcade Pierre, No. 45. I willmake the journey on purpose to see him, if it is worthwhile.' At this moment there was a tremendous clap ofthunder, accompanied by a flash of lightning so vivid, thatit quite eclipsed the light of the lamp.
"`See here,' exclaimed Caderousse. `You cannot think ofgoing out in such weather as this.' -- `Oh, I am not afraidof thunder,' said the jeweller. -- `And then there arerobbers,' said La Carconte. `The road is never very safeduring fair time.' -- `Oh, as to the robbers,' said Joannes,`here is something for them,' and he drew from his pocket apair of small pistols, loaded to the muzzle. `Here,' saidhe, `are dogs who bark and bite at the same time, they arefor the two first who shall have a longing for your diamond,Friend Caderousse.'
"Caderousse and his wife again interchanged a meaning look.It seemed as though they were both inspired at the same timewith some horrible thought. `Well, then, a good journey toyou,' said Caderousse. -- `Thanks,' replied the jeweller. Hethen took his cane, which he had placed against an oldcupboard, and went out. At the moment when he opened thedoor, such a gust of wind came in that the lamp was nearlyextinguished. `Oh,' said he, `this is very nice weather, andtwo leagues to go in such a storm.' -- `Remain,' saidCaderousse. `You can sleep here.' -- `Yes; do stay,' addedLa Carconte in a tremulous voice; `we will take every careof you.' -- `No; I must sleep at Beaucaire. So, once more,good-night.' Caderousse followed him slowly to thethreshold. `I can see neither heaven nor earth,' said thejeweller, who was outside the door. `Do I turn to the right,or to the left hand?' -- `To the right,' said Caderousse.`You cannot go wrong -- the road is bordered by trees onboth sides.' -- `Good -- all right,' said a voice almostlost in the distance. `Close the door,' said La Carconte; `Ido not like open doors when it thunders.' -- `Particularlywhen there is money in the house, eh?' answered Caderousse,double-locking the door.
"He came into the room, went to the cupboard, took out thebag and pocket-book, and both began, for the third time, tocount their gold and bank-notes. I never saw such anexpression of cupidity as the flickering lamp revealed inthose two countenances. The woman, especially, was hideous;her usual feverish tremulousness was intensified, hercountenance had become livid, and her eyes resembled burningcoals. `Why,' she inquired in a hoarse voice, `did youinvite him to sleep here to-night?' -- `Why?' saidCaderousse with a shudder; `why, that he might not have thetrouble of returning to Beaucaire.' -- `Ah,' responded thewoman, with an expression impossible to describe; `I thoughtit was for something else.' -- `Woman, woman -- why do youhave such ideas?' cried Caderousse; `or, if you have them,why don't you keep them to yourself?' -- `Well,' said LaCarconte, after a moment's pause, `you are not a man.' --`What do you mean?' added Caderousse. -- `If you had been aman, you would not have let him go from here.' -- `Woman!'-- `Or else he should not have reached Beaucaire.' --`Woman!' -- `The road takes a turn -- he is obliged tofollow it -- while alongside of the canal there is a shorterroad.' -- `Woman! -- you offend the good God. There --listen!' And at this moment there was a tremendous peal ofthunder, while the livid lightning illumined the room, andthe thunder, rolling away in the distance, seemed towithdraw unwillingly from the cursed abode. `Mercy!' saidCaderousse, crossing himself.
At the same moment, and in the midst of the terrifyingsilence which usually follows a clap of thunder, they hearda knocking at the door. Caderousse and his wife started andlooked aghast at each other. `Who's there?' criedCaderousse, rising, and drawing up in a heap the gold andnotes scattered over the table, and which he covered withhis two hands. -- `It is I,' shouted a voice. -- `And whoare you?' -- `Eh, pardieu, Joannes, the jeweller.' -- `Well,and you said I offended the good God,' said La Carconte witha horrid smile. `Why, the good God sends him back again.'Caderousse sank pale and breathless into his chair. LaCarconte, on the contrary, rose, and going with a firm steptowards the door, opened it, saying, as she did so -- `Comein, dear M. Joannes.' -- `Ma foi,' said the jeweller,drenched with rain, `I am not destined to return toBeaucaire to-night. The shortest follies are best, my dearCaderousse. You offered me hospitality, and I accept it, andhave returned to sleep beneath your friendly roof.'Caderousse stammered out something, while he wiped away thesweat that started to his brow. La Carconte double-lockedthe door behind the jeweller.