Chapter 56 Andrea Cavalcanti
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THE
COUNT of Monte Cristo entered the adjoining room, which Baptistin had
designated as the drawing-room, and found there a young man, of graceful
demeanor and elegant appearance, who had arrived in a cab about half an
hour previously. Baptistin had not found any difficulty in recognizing the
person who presented himself at the door for admittance. He was certainly
the tall young man with light hair, red heard, black eyes, and brilliant
complexion, whom his master had so particularly described to him. When the
count entered the room the young man was carelessly stretched on a sofa,
tapping his boot with the gold-headed cane which he held in his hand. On
perceiving the count he rose quickly. "The Count of Monte Cristo, I
believe?" said he. "Yes,
sir, and I think I have the honor of addressing Count Andrea Cavalcanti?"
"Count
Andrea Cavalcanti," repeated the young man, accompanying his words
with a bow. "You
are charged with a letter of introduction addressed to me, are you
not?" said the count. "I
did not mention that, because the signature seemed to me so strange."
"The
letter signed 'Sinbad the Sailor,' is it not?" "Exactly
so. Now, as I have never known any Sinbad, with the exception of the one
celebrated in the Thousand and One Nights----" "Well,
it is one of his descendants, and a great friend of mine; he is a very
rich Englishman, eccentric almost to insanity, and his real name is Lord
Wilmore." "Ah,
indeed? Then that explains everything that is extraordinary," said
Andrea. "He is, then, the same Englishman whom I met--at--ah--yes,
indeed. Well, monsieur, I am at your service." "If
what you say be true," replied the count, smiling, "perhaps you
will be kind enough to give me some account of yourself and your
family?" "Certainly,
I will do so," said the young man, with a quickness which gave proof
of his ready invention. "I am (as you have said) the Count Andrea
Cavalcanti, son of Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, a descendant of the
Cavalcanti whose names are inscribed in the golden book at Florence. Our
family, although still rich (for my father's income amounts to half a
million), has experienced many misfortunes, and I myself was, at the age
of five years, taken away by the treachery of my tutor, so that for
fifteen years I have not seen the author of my existence. Since I have
arrived at years of discretion and become my own master, I have been
constantly seeking him, but all in vain. At length I received this letter
from your friend, which states that my father is in Paris, and authorizes
me to address myself to you for information respecting him." "Really,
all you have related to me is exceedingly interesting," said Monte
Cristo, observing the young man with a gloomy satisfaction; "and you
have done well to conform in everything to the wishes of my friend Sinbad;
for your father is indeed here, and is seeking you." The
count from the moment of first entering the drawing-room, had not once
lost sight of the expression of the young man's countenance; he had
admired the assurance of his look and the firmness of his voice; but at
these words, so natural in themselves, "Your father is indeed here,
and is seeking you," young Andrea started, and exclaimed, "My
father? Is my father here?" "Most
undoubtedly," replied Monte Cristo; "your father, Major
Bartolomeo Cavalcanti." The expression of terror which, for the
moment, had overspread the features of the young man, had now disappeared.
"Ah, yes, that is the name, certainly. Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti.
And you really mean to say; monsieur, that my dear father is here?" "Yes,
sir; and I can even add that I have only just left his company. The
history which he related to me of his lost son touched me to the quick;
indeed, his griefs, hopes, and fears on that subject might furnish
material for a most touching and pathetic poem. At length, he one day
received a letter, stating that the abductors of his son now offered to
restore him, or at least to give notice where he might be found, on
condition of receiving a large sum of money, by way of ransom. Your father
did not hesitate an instant, and the sum was sent to the frontier of
Piedmont, with a passport signed for Italy. You were in the south of
France, I think?" "Yes,"
replied Andrea, with an embarrassed air, "I was in the south of
France." "A
carriage was to await you at Nice?" "Precisely
so; and it conveyed me from Nice to Genoa, from Genoa to Turin, from Turin
to Chamb¨¦ry,
from Chamb¨¦ry
to Pont-de-Beauvoisin, and from Pont-de-Beauvoisin to Paris." "Indeed?
Then your father ought to have met with you on the road, for it is exactly
the same route which he himself took, and that is how we have been able to
trace your journey to this place." "But,"
said Andrea, "if my father had met me, I doubt if he would have
recognized me; I must be somewhat altered since he last saw me." "Oh,
the voice of nature," said Monte Cristo. "True,"
interrupted the young man, "I had not looked upon it in that
light." "Now,"
replied Monte Cristo "there is only one source of uneasiness left in
your father's mind, which is this--he is anxious to know how you have been
employed during your long absence from him, how you have been treated by
your persecutors, and if they have conducted themselves towards you with
all the deference due to your rank. Finally, he is anxious to see if you
have been fortunate enough to escape the bad moral influence to which you
have been exposed, and which is infinitely more to be dreaded than any
physical suffering; he wishes to discover if the fine abilities with which
nature had endowed you have been weakened by want of culture; and, in
short, whether you consider yourself capable of resuming and retaining in
the world the high position to which your rank entitles you." "Sir!"
exclaimed the young man, quite astounded, "I hope no false
report"-- "As
for myself, I first heard you spoken of by my friend Wilmore, the
philanthropist. I believe he found you in some unpleasant position, but do
not know of what nature, for I did not ask, not being inquisitive. Your
misfortunes engaged his sympathies, so you see you must have been
interesting. He told me that he was anxious to restore you to the position
which you had lost, and that he would seek your father until he found him.
He did seek, and has found him, apparently, since he is here now; and,
finally, my friend apprised me of your coming, and gave me a few other
instructions relative to your future fortune. I am quite aware that my
friend Wilmore is peculiar, but he is sincere, and as rich as a gold-mine,
consequently, he may indulge his eccentricities without any fear of their
ruining him, and I have promised to adhere to his instructions. Now, sir,
pray do not be offended at the question I am about to put to you, as it
comes in the way of my duty as your patron. I would wish to know if the
misfortunes which have happened to you--misfortunes entirely beyond your
control, and which in no degree diminish my regard for you--I would wish
to know if they have not, in some measure, contributed to render you a
stranger to the world in which your fortune and your name entitle you to
make a conspicuous figure?" "Sir,"
returned the young man, with a reassurance of manner, "make your mind
easy on this score. Those who took me from my father, and who always
intended, sooner or later, to sell me again to my original proprietor, as
they have now done, calculated that, in order to make the most of their
bargain, it would be politic to leave me in possession of all my personal
and hereditary worth, and even to increase the value, if possible. I have,
therefore, received a very good education, and have been treated by these
kidnappers very much as the slaves were treated in Asia Minor, whose
masters made them grammarians, doctors, and philosophers, in order that
they might fetch a higher price in the Roman market." Monte Cristo
smiled with satisfaction; it appeared as if he had not expected so much
from M. Andrea Cavalcanti. "Besides," continued the young man,
"if there did appear some defect in education, or offence against the
established forms of etiquette, I suppose it would be excused, in
consideration of the misfortunes which accompanied my birth, and followed
me through my youth." "Well,"
said Monte Cristo in an indifferent tone, "you will do as you please,
count, for you are the master of your own actions, and are the person most
concerned in the matter, but if I were you, I would not divulge a word of
these adventures. Your history is quite a romance, and the world, which
delights in romances in yellow covers, strangely mistrusts those which are
bound in living parchment, even though they be gilded like yourself. This
is the kind of difficulty which I wished to represent to you, my dear
count. You would hardly have recited your touching history before it would
go forth to the world, and be deemed unlikely and unnatural. You would be
no longer a lost child found, but you would be looked upon as an upstart,
who had sprung up like a mushroom in the night. You might excite a little
curiosity, but it is not every one who likes to be made the centre of
observation and the subject of unpleasant remark." "I
agree with you, monsieur," said the young man, turning pale, and, in
spite of himself, trembling beneath the scrutinizing look of his
companion, "such consequences would be extremely unpleasant." "Nevertheless,
you must not exaggerate the evil," said Monte Cristo, "for by
endeavoring to avoid one fault you will fall into another. You must
resolve upon one simple and single line of conduct, and for a man of your
intelligence, this plan is as easy as it is necessary; you must form
honorable friendships, and by that means counteract the prejudice which
may attach to the obscurity of your former life." Andrea visibly
changed countenance. "I would offer myself as your surety and
friendly adviser," said Monte Cristo, "did I not possess a moral
distrust of my best friends, and a sort of inclination to lead others to
doubt them too; therefore, in departing from this rule, I should (as the
actors say) be playing a part quite out of my line, and should, therefore,
run the risk of being hissed, which would be an act of folly." "However,
your excellency," said Andrea, "in consideration of Lord
Wilmore, by whom I was recommended to you--" "Yes,
certainly," interrupted Monte Cristo; "but Lord Wilmore did not
omit to inform me, my dear M. Andrea, that the season of your youth was
rather a stormy one. Ah," said the count, watching Andrea's
countenance, "I do not demand any confession from you; it is
precisely to avoid that necessity that your father was sent for from Lucca.
You shall soon see him. He is a little stiff and pompous in his manner,
and he is disfigured by his uniform; but when it becomes known that he has
been for eighteen years in the Austrian service, all that will be
pardoned. We are not generally very severe with the Austrians. In short,
you will find your father a very presentable person, I assure you." "Ah,
sir, you have given me confidence; it is so long since we were separated,
that I have not the least remembrance of him, and, besides, you know that
in the eyes of the world a large fortune covers all defects." "He
is a millionaire--his income is 500,000 francs." "Then,"
said the young man, with anxiety, "I shall be sure to be placed in an
agreeable position." "One
of the most agreeable possible, my dear sir; he will allow you an income
of 50,000 livres per annum during the whole time of your stay in
Paris." "Then
in that case I shall always choose to remain there." "You
cannot control circumstances, my dear sir; 'man proposes, and God
disposes.'" Andrea sighed. "But," said he, "so long as
I do remain in Paris, and nothing forces me to quit it, do you mean to
tell me that I may rely on receiving the sum you just now mentioned to
me?" "You
may." "Shall
I receive it from my father?" asked Andrea, with some uneasiness. "Yes,
you will receive it from your father personally, but Lord Wilmore will be
the security for the money. He has, at the request of your father, opened
an account of 6,000 francs a month at M. Danglars', which is one of the
safest banks in Paris." "And
does my father mean to remain long in Paris?" asked Andrea. "Only
a few days," replied Monte Cristo. "His service does not allow
him to absent himself more than two or three weeks together." "Ah,
my dear father!" exclaimed Andrea, evidently charmed with the idea of
his speedy departure. "Therefore,"
said Monte Cristo feigning to mistake his meaning--"therefore I will
not, for another instant, retard the pleasure of your meeting. Are you
prepared to embrace your worthy father?" "I
hope you do not doubt it." "Go,
then, into the drawing-room, my young friend, where you will find your
father awaiting you." Andrea made a low bow to the count, and entered
the adjoining room. Monte Cristo watched him till he disappeared, and then
touched a spring in a panel made to look like a picture, which, in sliding
partly from the frame, discovered to view a small opening, so cleverly
contrived that it revealed all that was passing in the drawing-room now
occupied by Cavalcanti and Andrea. The young man closed the door behind
him, and advanced towards the major, who had risen when he heard steps
approaching him. "Ah, my dear father!" said Andrea in a loud
voice, in order that the count might hear him in the next room, "is
it really you?" "How
do you do, my dear son?" said the major gravely. "After
so many years of painful separation," said Andrea, in the same tone
of voice, and glancing towards the door, "what a happiness it is to
meet again!" "Indeed
it is, after so long a separation." "Will
you not embrace me, sir?" said Andrea. "If
you wish it, my son," said the major; and the two men embraced each
other after the fashion of actors on the stage; that is to say, each
rested his head on the other's shoulder. "Then
we are once more reunited?" said Andrea. "Once
more," replied the major. "Never
more to be separated?" "Why,
as to that--I think, my dear son, you must be by this time so accustomed
to France as to look upon it almost as a second country." "The
fact is," said the young man, "that I should be exceedingly
grieved to leave it." "As
for me, you must know I cannot possibly live out of Lucca; therefore I
shall return to Italy as soon as I can." "But
before you leave France, my dear father, I hope you will put me in
possession of the documents which will be necessary to prove my
descent." "Certainly;
I am come expressly on that account; it has cost me much trouble to find
you, but I had resolved on giving them into your hands, and if I had to
recommence my search, it would occupy all the few remaining years of my
life." "Where
are these papers, then?" "Here
they are." Andrea
seized the certificate of his father's marriage and his own baptismal
register, and after having opened them with all the eagerness which might
be expected under the circumstances, he read them with a facility which
proved that he was accustomed to similar documents, and with an expression
which plainly denoted an unusual interest in the contents. When he had
perused the documents, an indefinable expression of pleasure lighted up
his countenance, and looking at the major with a most peculiar smile, he
said, in very excellent Tuscan,--"Then there is no longer any such
thing, in Italy as being condemned to the galleys?" The major drew
himself up to his full height. "Why?--what
do you mean by that question?" "I
mean that if there were, it would be impossible to draw up with impunity
two such deeds as these. In France, my dear sir, half such a piece of
effrontery as that would cause you to be quickly despatched to Toulon for
five years, for change of air." "Will
you be good enough to explain your meaning?" said the major,
endeavoring as much as possible to assume an air of the greatest majesty. "My
dear M. Cavalcanti," said Andrea, taking the major by the arm in a
confidential manner, "how much are you paid for being my
father?" The major was about to speak, when Andrea continued, in a
low voice. "Nonsense,
I am going to set you an example of confidence, they give me 50,000 francs
a year to be your son; consequently, you can understand that it is not at
all likely I shall ever deny my parent." The major looked anxiously
around him. "Make yourself easy, we are quite alone," said
Andrea; "besides, we are conversing in Italian." "Well,
then," replied the major, "they paid me 50,000 francs
down." "Monsieur
Cavalcanti," said Andrea, "do you believe in fairy tales?" "I
used not to do so, but I really feel now almost obliged to have faith in
them." "You
have, then, been induced to alter your opinion; you have had some proofs
of their truth?" The major drew from his pocket a handful of gold.
"Most palpable proofs," said he, "as you may
perceive." "You
think, then, that I may rely on the count's promises?" "Certainly
I do." "You
are sure he will keep his word with me?" "To
the letter, but at the same time, remember, we must continue to play our
respective parts. I, as a tender father"-- "And
I as a dutiful son, as they choose that I shall be descended from
you." "Whom
do you mean by they?" "Ma
foi! I can hardly tell, but I was alluding to those who wrote the letter;
you received one, did you not?" "Yes."
"From
whom?" "From
a certain Abb¨¦
Busoni." "Have
you any knowledge of him?" "No,
I have never seen him." "What
did he say in the letter?" "You
will promise not to betray me?" "Rest
assured of that; you well know that our interests are the same." "Then
read for yourself;" and the major gave a letter into the young man's
hand. Andrea read in a low voice-- "You
are poor; a miserable old age awaits you. Would you like to become rich,
or at least independent? Set out immediately for Paris, and demand of the
Count of Monte Cristo, Avenue des Champs Elys¨¦es, No. 30, the son whom you had by the Marchesa
Corsinari, and who was taken from you at five years of age. This son is
named Andrea Cavalcanti. In order that you may not doubt the kind
intention of the writer of this letter, you will find enclosed an order
for 2,400 francs, payable in Florence, at Signor Gozzi's; also a letter of
introduction to the Count of Monte Cristo, on whom I give you a draft of
48,000 francs. Remember to go to the count on the 26th May at seven
o'clock in the evening. (Signed)
"ABB¨¦ BUSONI." "It
is the same." "What
do you mean?" said the major. "I
was going to say that I received a letter almost to the same effect."
"You?"
"Yes."
"From
the Abb¨¦
Busoni?" "No."
"From
whom, then?" "From
an Englishman, called Lord Wilmore, who takes the name of Sinbad the
Sailor." "And
of whom you have no more knowledge than I of the Abb¨¦ Busoni?" "You
are mistaken; there I am ahead of you." "You
have seen him, then?" "Yes,
once." "Where?"
"Ah,
that is just what I cannot tell you; if I did, I should make you as wise
as myself, which it is not my intention to do." "And
what did the letter contain?" "Read
it." "'You
are poor, and your future prospects are dark and gloomy. Do you wish for a
name? should you like to be rich, and your own master?'" "Ma
foi!" said the young man; "was it possible there could be two
answers to such a question?" "Take
the post-chaise which you will find waiting at the Porte de G¨ºnes, as you enter Nice; pass
through Turin, Chamb¨¦ry,
and Pont-de-Beauvoisin. Go to the Count of Monte Cristo, Avenue des Champs
Elys¨¦es, on the 26th of May, at seven
o'clock in the evening, and demand of him your father. You are the son of
the Marchese Cavalcanti and the Marchesa Oliva Corsinari. The marquis will
give you some papers which will certify this fact, and authorize you to
appear under that name in the Parisian world. As to your rank, an annual
income of 50,000 livres will enable you to support it admirably. I enclose
a draft for 5,000 livres, payable on M. Ferrea, banker at Nice, and also a
letter of introduction to the Count of Monte Cristo, whom I have directed
to supply all your wants. "SINBAD
THE SAILOR." "Humph,"
said the major; "very good. You have seen the count, you say?" "I
have only just left him " "And
has he conformed to all that the letter specified?" "He
has." "Do
you understand it?" "Not
in the least." "There
is a dupe somewhere." "At
all events, it is neither you nor I." "Certainly
not." "Well,
then"-- "Why,
it does not much concern us, do you think it does?" "No;
I agree with you there. We must play the game to the end, and consent to
be blindfold." "Ah,
you shall see; I promise you I will sustain my part to admiration." "I
never once doubted your doing so." Monte Cristo chose this moment for
re-entering the drawing-room. On hearing the sound of his footsteps, the
two men threw themselves in each other's arms, and while they were in the
midst of this embrace, the count entered. "Well, marquis," said
Monte Cristo, "you appear to be in no way disappointed in the son
whom your good fortune has restored to you." "Ah,
your excellency, I am overwhelmed with delight." "And
what are your feelings?" said Monte Cristo, turning to the young man.
"As
for me, my heart is overflowing with happiness." "Happy
father, happy son!" said the count. "There
is only one thing which grieves me," observed the major, "and
that is the necessity for my leaving Paris so soon." "Ah,
my dear M. Cavalcanti, I trust you will not leave before I have had the
honor of presenting you to some of my friends." "I
am at your service, sir," replied the major. "Now,
sir," said Monte Cristo, addressing Andrea, "make your
confession." "To
whom?" "Tell
M. Cavalcanti something of the state of your finances." "Ma
foi! monsieur, you have touched upon a tender chord." "Do
you hear what he says, major?" "Certainly
I do." "But
do you understand?" "I
do." "Your
son says he requires money." "Well,
what would you have me do?" said the major. "You
should furnish him with some of course," replied Monte Cristo. "I?"
"Yes,
you," said the count, at the same time advancing towards Andrea, and
slipping a packet of bank-notes into the young man's hand. "What
is this?" "It
is from your father." "From
my father?" "Yes;
did you not tell him just now that you wanted money? Well, then, he
deputes me to give you this." "Am
I to consider this as part of my income on account?" "No,
it is for the first expenses of your settling in Paris." "Ah,
how good my dear father is!" "Silence,"
said Monte Cristo; "he does not wish you to know that it comes from
him." "I
fully appreciate his delicacy," said Andrea, cramming the notes
hastily into his pocket. "And
now, gentlemen, I wish you good-morning," said Monte Cristo. "And
when shall we have the honor of seeing you again, your excellency?"
asked Cavalcanti. "Ah,"
said Andrea, "when may we hope for that pleasure?" "On
Saturday, if you will--Yes.--Let me see--Saturday--I am to dine at my
country house, at Auteuil, on that day, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28.
Several persons are invited, and among others, M. Danglars, your banker. I
will introduce you to him, for it will be necessary he should know you, as
he is to pay your money." "Full
dress?" said the major, half aloud. "Oh,
yes, certainly," said the count; "uniform, cross,
knee-breeches." "And
how shall I be dressed?" demanded Andrea. "Oh,
very simply; black trousers, patent leather boots, white waistcoat, either
a black or blue coat, and a long cravat. Go to Blin or Veronique for your
clothes. Baptistin will tell you where, if you do not know their address.
The less pretension there is in your attire, the better will be the
effect, as you are a rich man. If you mean to buy any horses, get them of
Devedeux, and if you purchase a phaeton, go to Baptiste for it." "At
what hour shall we come?" asked the young man. "About
half-past six." "We
will be with you at that time," said the major. The two Cavalcanti
bowed to the count, and left the house. Monte Cristo went to the window,
and saw them crossing the street, arm in arm. "There go two
miscreants;" said he, "it is a pity they are not really
related!"--then, after an instant of gloomy reflection, "Come, I
will go to see the Morrels," said he; "I think that disgust is
even more sickening than hatred." |
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