Chapter 96 The Contract
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THREE
DAYS after the scene we have just described, namely towards five o'clock
in the afternoon of the day fixed for the signature of the contract
between Mademoiselle Eugижnie
Danglars and Andrea Cavalcanti,--whom the banker persisted in calling
prince,--a fresh breeze was stirring the leaves in the little garden in
front of the Count of Monte Cristo's house, and the count was preparing to
go out. While his horses were impatiently pawing the ground,--held in by
the coachman, who had been seated a quarter of an hour on his box,--the
elegant phaeton with which we are familiar rapidly turned the angle of the
entrance-gate, and cast out on the doorsteps M. Andrea Cavalcanti, as
decked up and gay as if he were going to marry a princess. He inquired
after the count with his usual familiarity, and ascending lightly to the
second story met him at the top of the stairs. The count stopped on seeing
the young man. As for Andrea, he was launched, and when he was once
launched nothing stopped him. "Ah, good morning, my dear count,"
said he. "Ah, M. Andrea," said the latter, with his half-jesting
tone; "how do you do." "Charmingly,
as you see. I am come to talk to you about a thousand things; but, first
tell me, were you going out or just returned?" "I
was going out, sir." "Then,
in order not to hinder you, I will get up with you if you please in your
carriage, and Tom shall follow with my phaeton in tow." "No,"
said the count, with an imperceptible smile of contempt, for he had no
wish to be seen in the young man's society,--"no; I prefer listening
to you here, my dear M. Andrea; we can chat better in-doors, and there is
no coachman to overhear our conversation." The count returned to a
small drawing-room on the first floor, sat down, and crossing his legs
motioned to the young man to take a seat also. Andrea assumed his gayest
manner. "You know, my dear count," said he, "the ceremony
is to take place this evening. At nine o'clock the contract is to be
signed at my father-in-law's." "Ah,
indeed?" said Monte Cristo. "What;
is it news to you? Has not M. Danglars informed you of the ceremony?"
"Oh,
yes," said the count; "I received a letter from him yesterday,
but I do not think the hour was mentioned." "Possibly
my father-in-law trusted to its general notoriety." "Well,"
said Monte Cristo, "you are fortunate, M. Cavalcanti; it is a most
suitable alliance you are contracting, and Mademoiselle Danglars is a
handsome girl." "Yes,
indeed she is," replied Cavalcanti, in a very modest tone. "Above
all, she is very rich,--at least, I believe so," said Monte Cristo. "Very
rich, do you think?" replied the young man. "Doubtless;
it is said M. Danglars conceals at least half of his fortune." "And
he acknowledges fifteen or twenty millions," said Andrea with a look
sparkling with joy. "Without
reckoning," added Monte Cristo, "that he is on the eve of
entering into a sort of speculation already in vogue in the United States
and in England, but quite novel in France." "Yes,
yes, I know what you mean,--the railway, of which he has obtained the
grant, is it not?" "Precisely;
it is generally believed he will gain ten millions by that affair." "Ten
millions! Do you think so? It is magnificent!" said Cavalcanti, who
was quite confounded at the metallic sound of these golden words.
"Without reckoning," replied Monte Cristo, "that all his
fortune will come to you, and justly too, since Mademoiselle Danglars is
an only daughter. Besides, your own fortune, as your father assured me, is
almost equal to that of your betrothed. But enough of money matters. Do
you know, M. Andrea, I think you have managed this affair rather skilfully?"
"Not
badly, by any means," said the young man; "I was born for a
diplomatist." "Well,
you must become a diplomatist; diplomacy, you know, is something that is
not to be acquired; it is instinctive. Have you lost your heart?" "Indeed,
I fear it," replied Andrea, in the tone in which he had heard Dorante
or Valere reply to Alceste* at the Theatre Fran?ais. "Is
your love returned?" *
In Moliииre's comedy, Le Misanthrope. "I
suppose so," said Andrea with a triumphant smile, "since I am
accepted. But I must not forget one grand point." "Which?"
"That
I have been singularly assisted." "Nonsense."
"I
have, indeed." "By
circumstances?" "No;
by you." "By
me? Not at all, prince," said Monte Cristo laying a marked stress on
the title, "what have I done for you? Are not your name, your social
position, and your merit sufficient?" "No,"
said Andrea,--"no; it is useless for you to say so, count. I maintain
that the position of a man like you has done more than my name, my social
position, and my merit." "You
are completely mistaken, sir," said Monte Cristo coldly, who felt the
perfidious manoeuvre of the young man, and understood the bearing of his
words; "you only acquired my protection after the influence and
fortune of your father had been ascertained; for, after all, who procured
for me, who had never seen either you or your illustrious father, the
pleasure of your acquaintance?--two of my good friends, Lord Wilmore and
the Abbиж Busoni. What encouraged me not
to become your surety, but to patronize you?--your father's name, so well
known in Italy and so highly honored. Personally, I do not know you."
This calm tone and perfect ease made Andrea feel that he was, for the
moment, restrained by a more muscular hand than his own, and that the
restraint could not be easily broken through. "Oh,
then my father has really a very large fortune, count?" "It
appears so, sir," replied Monte Cristo. "Do
you know if the marriage settlement he promised me has come?" "I
have been advised of it." "But
the three millions?" "The
three millions are probably on the road." "Then
I shall really have them?" "Oh,
well," said the count, "I do not think you have yet known the
want of money." Andrea was so surprised that he pondered the matter
for a moment. Then, arousing from his revery,--"Now, sir, I have one
request to make to you, which you will understand, even if it should be
disagreeable to you." "Proceed,"
said Monte Cristo. "I
have formed an acquaintance, thanks to my good fortune, with many noted
persons, and have, at least for the moment, a crowd of friends. But
marrying, as I am about to do, before all Paris, I ought to be supported
by an illustrious name, and in the absence of the paternal hand some
powerful one ought to lead me to the altar; now, my father is not coming
to Paris, is he? He is old, covered with wounds, and suffers dreadfully,
he says, in travelling." "Indeed?"
"Well,
I am come to ask a favor of you." "Of
me?" "Yes,
of you." "And
pray what may it be?" "Well,
to take his part." "Ah,
my dear sir! What?--after the varied relations I have had the happiness to
sustain towards you, can it be that you know me so little as to ask such a
thing? Ask me to lend you half a million and, although such a loan is
somewhat rare, on my honor, you would annoy me less! Know, then, what I
thought I had already told you, that in participation in this world's
affairs, more especially in their moral aspects, the Count of Monte Cristo
has never ceased to entertain the scruples and even the superstitions of
the East. I, who have a seraglio at Cairo, one at Smyrna, and one at
Constantinople, preside at a wedding?--never!" "Then
you refuse me?" "Decidedly;
and were you my son or my brother I would refuse you in the same
way." "But
what must be done?" said Andrea, disappointed. "You
said just now that you had a hundred friends." "Very
true, but you introduced me at M. Danglars'." "Not
at all! Let us recall the exact facts. You met him at a dinner party at my
house, and you introduced yourself at his house; that is a totally
different affair." "Yes,
but, by my marriage, you have forwarded that." "I?--not
in the least, I beg you to believe. Recollect what I told you when you
asked me to propose you. 'Oh, I never make matches, my dear prince, it is
my settled principle.'" Andrea bit his lips. "But,
at least, you will be there?" "Will
all Paris be there?" "Oh,
certainly." "Well,
like all Paris, I shall be there too," said the count. "And
will you sign the contract?" "I
see no objection to that; my scruples do not go thus far." "Well,
since you will grant me no more, I must be content with what you give me.
But one word more, count." "What
is it?" "Advice."
"Be
careful; advice is worse than a service." "Oh,
you can give me this without compromising yourself." "Tell
me what it is." "Is
my wife's fortune five hundred thousand livres?" "That
is the sum M. Danglars himself announced." "Must
I receive it, or leave it in the hands of the notary?" "This
is the way such affairs are generally arranged when it is wished to do
them stylishly: Your two solicitors appoint a meeting, when the contract
is signed, for the next or the following day; then they exchange the two
portions, for which they each give a receipt; then, when the marriage is
celebrated, they place the amount at your disposal as the chief member of
the alliance." "Because,"
said Andrea, with a certain ill-concealed uneasiness, "I thought I
heard my father-in-law say that he intended embarking our property in that
famous railway affair of which you spoke just now." "Well,"
replied Monte Cristo, "it will be the way, everybody says, of
trebling your fortune in twelve months. Baron Danglars is a good father,
and knows how to calculate." "In
that case," said Andrea, "everything is all right, excepting
your refusal, which quite grieves me." "You
must attribute it only to natural scruples under similar
circumstances." "Well,"
said Andrea, "let it be as you wish. This evening, then, at nine
o'clock." "Adieu
till then." Notwithstanding a slight resistance on the part of Monte
Cristo, whose lips turned pale, but who preserved his ceremonious smile,
Andrea seized the count's hand, pressed it, jumped into his phaeton, and
disappeared. The
four or five remaining hours before nine o'clock arrived, Andrea employed
in riding, paying visits,--designed to induce those of whom he had spoken
to appear at the banker's in their gayest equipages,--dazzling them by
promises of shares in schemes which have since turned every brain, and in
which Danglars was just taking the initiative. In fact, at half-past eight
in the evening the grand salon, the gallery adjoining, and the three other
drawing-rooms on the same floor, were filled with a perfumed crowd, who
sympathized but little in the event, but who all participated in that love
of being present wherever there is anything fresh to be seen. An
Academician would say that the entertainments of the fashionable world are
collections of flowers which attract inconstant butterflies, famished
bees, and buzzing drones. No
one could deny that the rooms were splendidly illuminated; the light
streamed forth on the gilt mouldings and the silk hangings; and all the
bad taste of decorations, which had only their richness to boast of, shone
in its splendor. Mademoiselle Eugижnie
was dressed with elegant simplicity in a figured white silk dress, and a
white rose half concealed in her jet black hair was her only ornament,
unaccompanied by a single jewel. Her eyes, however, betrayed that perfect
confidence which contradicted the girlish simplicity of this modest
attire. Madame Danglars was chatting at a short distance with Debray,
Beauchamp, and Chateau-Renaud. Debray
was admitted to the house for this grand ceremony, but on the same plane
with every one else, and without any particular privilege. M. Danglars,
surrounded by deputies and men connected with the revenue, was explaining
a new theory of taxation which he intended to adopt when the course of
events had compelled the government to call him into the ministry. Andrea,
on whose arm hung one of the most consummate dandies of the opera, was
explaining to him rather cleverly, since he was obliged to be bold to
appear at ease, his future projects, and the new luxuries he meant to
introduce to Parisian fashions with his hundred and seventy-five thousand
livres per annum. The
crowd moved to and fro in the rooms like an ebb and flow of turquoises,
rubies, emeralds, opals, and diamonds. As usual, the oldest women were the
most decorated, and the ugliest the most conspicuous. If there was a
beautiful lily, or a sweet rose, you had to search for it, concealed in
some corner behind a mother with a turban, or an aunt with a bird of
paradise. At
each moment, in the midst of the crowd, the buzzing, and the laughter, the
door-keeper's voice was heard announcing some name well known in the
financial department, respected in the army, or illustrious in the
literary world, and which was acknowledged by a slight movement in the
different groups. But for one whose privilege it was to agitate that ocean
of human waves, how many were received with a look of indifference or a
sneer of disdain! At the moment when the hand of the massive time-piece,
representing Endymion asleep, pointed to nine on its golden face, and the
hammer, the faithful type of mechanical thought, struck nine times, the
name of the Count of Monte Cristo resounded in its turn, and as if by an
electric shock all the assembly turned towards the door. The
count was dressed in black and with his habitual simplicity; his white
waistcoat displayed his expansive noble chest and his black stock was
singularly noticeable because of its contrast with the deadly paleness of
his face. His only jewellery was a chain, so fine that the slender gold
thread was scarcely perceptible on his white waistcoat. A circle was
immediately formed around the door. The count perceived at one glance
Madame Danglars at one end of the drawing-room, M. Danglars at the other,
and Eugижnie in front of him. He first
advanced towards the baroness, who was chatting with Madame de Villefort,
who had come alone, Valentine being still an invalid; and without turning
aside, so clear was the road left for him, he passed from the baroness to
Eugижnie, whom he complimented in such
rapid and measured terms, that the proud artist was quite struck. Near her
was Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, who thanked the count for the letters
of introduction he had so kindly given her for Italy, which she intended
immediately to make use of. On leaving these ladies he found himself with
Danglars, who had advanced to meet him. Having
accomplished these three social duties, Monte Cristo stopped, looking
around him with that expression peculiar to a certain class, which seems
to say, "I have done my duty, now let others do theirs." Andrea,
who was in an adjoining room, had shared in the sensation caused by the
arrival of Monte Cristo, and now came forward to pay his respects to the
count. He found him completely surrounded; all were eager to speak to him,
as is always the case with those whose words are few and weighty. The
solicitors arrived at this moment and arranged their scrawled papers on
the velvet cloth embroidered with gold which covered the table prepared
for the signature; it was a gilt table supported on lions' claws. One of
the notaries sat down, the other remained standing. They were about to
proceed to the reading of the contract, which half Paris assembled was to
sign. All took their places, or rather the ladies formed a circle, while
the gentlemen (more indifferent to the restraints of what Boileau calls
the "energetic style") commented on the feverish agitation of
Andrea, on M. Danglars' riveted attention, Eugижnie's composure, and the light
and sprightly manner in which the baroness treated this important affair. The
contract was read during a profound silence. But as soon as it was
finished, the buzz was redoubled through all the drawing-rooms; the
brilliant sums, the rolling millions which were to be at the command of
the two young people, and which crowned the display of the wedding
presents and the young lady's diamonds, which had been made in a room
entirely appropriated for that purpose, had exercised to the full their
delusions over the envious assembly. Mademoiselle Danglars' charms were
heightened in the opinion of the young men, and for the moment seemed to
outvie the sun in splendor. As for the ladies, it is needless to say that
while they coveted the millions, they thought they did not need them for
themselves, as they were beautiful enough without them. Andrea, surrounded
by his friends, complimented, flattered, beginning to believe in the
reality of his dream, was almost bewildered. The notary solemnly took the
pen, flourished it above his head, and said, "Gentlemen, we are about
to sign the contract." The
baron was to sign first, then the representative of M. Cavalcanti, senior,
then the baroness, afterwards the "future couple," as they are
styled in the abominable phraseology of legal documents. The baron took
the pen and signed, then the representative. The baroness approached,
leaning on Madame de Villefort's arm. "My dear," said she, as
she took the pen, "is it not vexatious? An unexpected incident, in
the affair of murder and theft at the Count of Monte Cristo's, in which he
nearly fell a victim, deprives us of the pleasure of seeing M. de
Villefort." "Indeed?"
said M. Danglars, in the same tone in which he would have said, "Oh,
well, what do I care?" "As
a matter of fact," said Monte Cristo, approaching, "I am much
afraid that I am the involuntary cause of his absence." "What,
you, count?" said Madame Danglars, signing; "if you are, take
care, for I shall never forgive you." Andrea pricked up his ears. "But
it is not my fault, as I shall endeavor to prove." Every one listened
eagerly; Monte Cristo who so rarely opened his lips, was about to speak.
"You remember," said the count, during the most profound
silence, "that the unhappy wretch who came to rob me died at my
house; the supposition is that he was stabbed by his accomplice, on
attempting to leave it." "Yes,"
said Danglars. "In
order that his wounds might be examined he was undressed, and his clothes
were thrown into a corner, where the police picked them up, with the
exception of the waistcoat, which they overlooked." Andrea turned
pale, and drew towards the door; he saw a cloud rising in the horizon,
which appeared to forebode a coming storm. "Well,
this waistcoat was discovered to-day, covered with blood, and with a hole
over the heart." The ladies screamed, and two or three prepared to
faint. "It was brought to me. No one could guess what the dirty rag
could be; I alone suspected that it was the waistcoat of the murdered man.
My valet, in examining this mournful relic, felt a paper in the pocket and
drew it out; it was a letter addressed to you, baron." "To
me?" cried Danglars. "Yes,
indeed, to you; I succeeded in deciphering your name under the blood with
which the letter was stained," replied Monte Cristo, amid the general
outburst of amazement. "But,"
asked Madame Danglars, looking at her husband with uneasiness, "how
could that prevent M. de Villefort"-- "In
this simple way, madame," replied Monte Cristo; "the waistcoat
and the letter were both what is termed circumstantial evidence; I
therefore sent them to the king's attorney. You understand, my dear baron,
that legal methods are the safest in criminal cases; it was, perhaps, some
plot against you." Andrea looked steadily at Monte Cristo and
disappeared in the second drawing-room. "Possibly,"
said Danglars; "was not this murdered man an old galley-slave?" "Yes,"
replied the count; "a felon named Caderousse." Danglars turned
slightly pale; Andrea reached the anteroom beyond the little drawing-room.
"But
go on signing," said Monte Cristo; "I perceive that my story has
caused a general emotion, and I beg to apologize to you, baroness, and to
Mademoiselle Danglars." The baroness, who had signed, returned the
pen to the notary. "Prince Cavalcanti," said the latter;
"Prince Cavalcanti, where are you?" "Andrea,
Andrea," repeated several young people, who were already on
sufficiently intimate terms with him to call him by his Christian name. "Call
the prince; inform him that it is his turn to sign," cried Danglars
to one of the floorkeepers. But
at the same instant the crowd of guests rushed in alarm into the principal
salon as if some frightful monster had entered the apartments, quaerens
quem devoret. There was, indeed, reason to retreat, to be alarmed, and to
scream. An officer was placing two soldiers at the door of each
drawing-room, and was advancing towards Danglars, preceded by a commissary
of police, girded with his scarf. Madame Danglars uttered a scream and
fainted. Danglars, who thought himself threatened (certain consciences are
never calm),--Danglars even before his guests showed a countenance of
abject terror. "What
is the matter, sir?" asked Monte Cristo, advancing to meet the
commissioner. "Which
of you gentlemen," asked the magistrate, without replying to the
count, "answers to the name of Andrea Cavalcanti?" A cry of
astonishment was heard from all parts of the room. They searched; they
questioned. "But who then is Andrea Cavalcanti?" asked Danglars
in amazement. "A
galley-slave, escaped from confinement at Toulon." "And
what crime has he committed?" "He
is accused," said the commissary with his inflexible voice, "of
having assassinated the man named Caderousse, his former companion in
prison, at the moment he was making his escape from the house of the Count
of Monte Cristo." Monte Cristo cast a rapid glance around him. Andrea
was gone. |
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