LV. Le major Cavalcanti.

LV

Major Cavalcanti.

Neither the count nor Baptistin had lied in announcing to Morcerf this visit from the Luccan major, which served Monte Cristo as a pretext for refusing the dinner that was offered him.

Seven o'clock had just struck, and M. Bertuccio, according to the order he had received, had set out two hours earlier for Auteuil, when a hackney carriage stopped at the door of the mansion, and seemed to flee in shame as soon as it had deposited near the gate a man of about fifty-two years, clad in one of those green greatcoats with black braid whose species is imperishable, it would appear, in Europe. Wide blue cloth trousers, a boot still fairly clean, though of uncertain polish and somewhat too thick in the sole, doeskin gloves, a hat approaching in shape that of a gendarme, a black collar, embroidered with a white edging, which, had its owner not worn it of his own full and entire will, might have passed for a collar of restraint: such was the picturesque costume in which the personage presented himself who rang at the gate, asking if it was not at No. 30 of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées that M. le Comte de Monte Cristo resided, and who, upon the porter's affirmative reply, entered, closed the door behind him, and directed his steps toward the perron.

The small, angular head of this man, his greying hair, his thick grey moustache, caused him to be recognized by Baptistin, who had the exact description of the visitor and who awaited him at the foot of the vestibule. Accordingly, scarcely had he pronounced his name before the intelligent servant than Monte Cristo was apprised of his arrival.

The stranger was shown into the simplest of the salons. The count awaited him there and went forward to meet him with a smiling air.

"Ah! dear sir," said he, "welcome. I was expecting you."

"Indeed," said the Luccan, "Your Excellency was expecting me?"

"Yes, I had been advised of your arrival for today at seven o'clock."

"Of my arrival? So you had been advised?"

"Perfectly."

"Ah! so much the better! I feared, I confess, that the little precaution had been forgotten."

"Which?"

"That of warning you."

"Oh! not at all!"

"But you are sure you are not mistaken?"

"I am sure."

"It is indeed I whom Your Excellency awaited today at seven o'clock?"

"It is indeed you. Besides, let us verify."

"Oh! if you were expecting me," said the Luccan, "there is no need."

"Yes, yes!" said Monte Cristo.

The Luccan appeared slightly uneasy.

"Let us see," said Monte Cristo, "are you not the Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti?"

"Bartolomeo Cavalcanti," repeated the Luccan joyfully, "that is it exactly."

"Late major in the service of Austria?"

"Was it major that I was?" asked the old soldier timidly.

"Yes," said Monte Cristo, "it was major. That is the name given in France to the rank you held in Italy."

"Good," said the Luccan, "I ask nothing better, you understand...."

"Besides, you have not come here of your own accord," resumed Monte Cristo.

"Oh! certainly not."

"You are sent to me by someone."

"Yes."

"By that excellent Abbé Busoni?"

"That is it!" cried the major joyfully.

"And you have a letter?"

"Here it is."

"Why, bless me! you see. Give it here, then."

And Monte Cristo took the letter, which he opened and read.

The major looked at the count with great astonished eyes that wandered curiously over every part of the apartment, but which invariably returned to its owner.

"That is it... that dear abbé, 'the Major Cavalcanti, a worthy native of Lucca, descended from the Cavalcanti of Florence,'" continued Monte Cristo as he read, "'enjoying a fortune of half a million in income.'"

Monte Cristo lifted his eyes from the paper and bowed.

"Of half a million," said he; "whew! my dear M. Cavalcanti."

"Is there half a million?" asked the Luccan.

"In so many words; and it must be so, the Abbé Busoni is the man who best knows all the great fortunes of Europe."

"So be it for half a million," said the Luccan; "but, upon my honor, I did not think it amounted to so much."

"Because you have a steward who robs you; what would you have, dear M. Cavalcanti, one must go through that!"

"You have just enlightened me," said the Luccan gravely; "I will turn the knave out of doors."

Monte Cristo continued:

"'And to whom there would be lacking but one thing to be happy.'"

"Oh! my God, yes! but one," said the Luccan with a sigh.

"'To find again an adored son.'"

"An adored son!"

"'Carried off in his youth, either by an enemy of his noble family, or by Bohemians.'"

"At the age of five years, sir," said the Luccan with a deep sigh and raising his eyes to heaven.

"Poor father!" said Monte Cristo.

The count continued:

"'I restore him hope, I restore him life, Monsieur le Comte, in announcing to him that this son, whom for fifteen years he has sought in vain, you can cause him to be found again.'"

The Luccan looked at Monte Cristo with an indefinable expression of uneasiness.

"I can," replied Monte Cristo.

The major drew himself up.

"Ah! ah!" said he, "was the letter then true to the end?"

"Had you doubted it, dear M. Bartolomeo?"

"Not at all, never! How so! a grave man, a man invested with a religious character like the Abbé Busoni, would not have permitted himself such a jest; but you have not read all, Excellency."

"Ah! that is true," said Monte Cristo, "there is a postscript."

"Yes," repeated the Luccan, "there... is... a... postscript."

"'That the Major Cavalcanti might not be put to the embarrassment of removing funds from his banker, I send him a draft of two thousand francs for his traveling expenses, and the credit upon you of the sum of forty-eight thousand francs which you remain owing me.'"

The major followed this postscript with his eyes with visible anxiety.

"Good!" was all the count said.

"He said good," murmured the Luccan. "So... sir..." resumed he.

"So?..." asked Monte Cristo.

"So, the postscript..."

"Well, the postscript?..."

"Is received by you as favorably as the rest of the letter?"

"Certainly. We are in account, the Abbé Busoni and I; I know not if it is precisely forty-eight thousand livres that I remain owing him, we are not among ourselves at a few banknotes. Ah, but you attached so great an importance to this postscript, dear M. Cavalcanti?"

"I will confess to you," answered the Luccan, "that, full of confidence in the signature of the Abbé Busoni, I had not provided myself with other funds; so that if this resource had failed me, I should have found myself much embarrassed in Paris."

"As if a man like you is ever embarrassed anywhere?" said Monte Cristo; "come now!"

"Why! knowing no one," said the Luccan.

"But you are known, you."

"Yes, I am known, so that...."

"Finish, dear M. Cavalcanti!"

"So that you will hand me those forty-eight thousand livres?"

"At your first request."

The major rolled his great bewildered eyes.

"But do sit down," said Monte Cristo; "truly, I know not what I am doing... I have kept you standing for a quarter of an hour."

"Pay no attention."

The major drew up a fauteuil and sat.

"Now," said the count, "will you take something; a glass of sherry, port, or alicante?"

"Alicante, since you are so kind, is my favorite wine."

"I have some excellent. With a biscuit, is it not?"

"With a biscuit, since you force me to it."

Monte Cristo rang; Baptistin appeared.

The count advanced toward him.

"Well?..." asked he in a low voice.

"The young man is there," answered the valet in the same tone.

"Good; where have you had him shown in?"

"In the blue salon, as His Excellency ordered."

"Admirable. Bring some alicante and biscuits."

Baptistin went out.

"Truly," said the Luccan, "I give you trouble that fills me with confusion."

"Come now!" said Monte Cristo.

Baptistin re-entered with the glasses, the wine, and the biscuits.

The count filled one glass, and into the second poured only a few drops of the liquid ruby contained in the bottle, all covered with cobwebs and all the other signs that indicate the age of wine far more surely than wrinkles do for man.

The major was not mistaken in the division; he took the full glass and a biscuit. The count ordered Baptistin to place the tray within reach of his guest's hand, who began by tasting the alicante with the tip of his lips, made a grimace of satisfaction, and delicately introduced the biscuit into the glass.

"So, sir," said Monte Cristo, "you dwelt at Lucca, you were rich, you are noble, you enjoyed general consideration, you had all that can render a man happy."

"All, Excellency," said the major, swallowing his biscuit, "all absolutely."

"And there lacked but one thing to your happiness?"

"But one," said the Luccan.

"It was to find again your child?"

"Ah!" said the major, taking a second biscuit; "but also that was a great lack."

The worthy Luccan raised his eyes and attempted an effort to sigh.

"Now, let us see, dear M. Cavalcanti," said Monte Cristo, "what was this much-regretted son? for I had been told, I, that you had remained a bachelor."

"It was believed, sir," said the major, "and I myself...."

"Yes," resumed Monte Cristo, "and you yourself had accredited that rumor. A sin of youth that you wished to hide from all eyes."

The Luccan drew himself up, assumed his calmest and most dignified air, at the same time modestly lowering his eyes, whether to steady his composure or to aid his imagination, while looking askance at the count, whose smile, stereotyped upon his lips, still announced the same benevolent curiosity.

"Yes, sir," said he, "I wished to hide that fault from all eyes."

"Not for yourself," said Monte Cristo, "for a man is above such things."

"Oh! no, not for myself certainly," said the major with a smile and a shake of the head.

"But for his mother," said the count.

"For his mother!" cried the Luccan, taking a third biscuit, "for his poor mother!"

"Drink then, dear M. Cavalcanti," said Monte Cristo, pouring the Luccan a second glass of alicante; "emotion is choking you."

"For his poor mother!" murmured the Luccan, trying whether the power of will, acting upon the lachrymal gland, might not moisten the corner of his eye with a false tear.

"Who belonged to one of the first families of Italy, I believe?"

"Patrician of Fiesole, Monsieur le Comte, patrician of Fiesole!"

"And named?"

"You wish to know her name?"

"Oh! my God!" said Monte Cristo, "it is useless for you to tell me, I know it."

"Monsieur le Comte knows all," said the Luccan, bowing.

"Olivia Corsinari, is it not?"

"Olivia Corsinari."

"Marchioness?"

"Marchioness."

"And you ended by marrying her, however, despite the opposition of the family?"

"My God! yes, I ended by that."

"And," resumed Monte Cristo, "you bring your papers in good order?"

"What papers?" asked the Luccan.

"Why, your marriage contract with Olivia Corsinari, and the birth certificate of the child."

"The birth certificate of the child?"

"The birth certificate of Andrea Cavalcanti, your son; is he not called Andrea?"

"I believe so," said the Luccan.

"How! you believe so?"

"Why! I dare not affirm, it is so long since he was lost."

"That is just," said Monte Cristo. "Finally, you have all these papers?"

"Monsieur le Comte, it is with regret that I announce to you that, not having been warned to furnish myself with these documents, I neglected to bring them with me."

"Ah! the devil," said Monte Cristo.

"Were they then quite necessary?"

"Indispensable!"

The Luccan scratched his forehead.

"Ah! per Bacco!" said he, "indispensable!"

"Doubtless; if anyone were to raise here some doubt as to the validity of your marriage, as to the legitimacy of your child!"

"That is just," said the Luccan, "one might raise doubts."

"That would be unfortunate for this young man."

"That would be fatal."

"That might cause him to miss some magnificent marriage."

"O peccato!"

"In France, you understand, one is strict; it is not enough, as in Italy, to go find a priest and say to him: 'We love each other, unite us.' There is civil marriage in France, and, to marry civilly, there are papers needed which establish identity."

"There is the misfortune: those papers, I have them not."

"Happily I have them," said Monte Cristo.

"You?"

"Yes."

"You have them?"

"I have them."

"Ah! upon my word," said the Luccan, who, seeing the purpose of his journey frustrated by the absence of his papers, feared this forgetfulness might bring some difficulty regarding the forty-eight thousand livres; "ah! upon my word, that is a piece of luck! Yes," resumed he, "that is a piece of luck, for I should not have thought of it, I."

"Bless me! I should think so, one does not think of everything. But happily the Abbé Busoni thought of it for you."

"See now, that dear abbé!"

"He is a man of precaution."

"He is an admirable man," said the Luccan; "and he sent them to you?"

"Here they are."

The Luccan joined his hands in sign of admiration.

"You married Olivia Corsinari in the church of Sainte-Paule de Monte-Catini; here is the priest's certificate."

"Yes, faith! there it is," said the major, looking at it with astonishment.

"And here is the baptismal certificate of Andrea Cavalcanti, delivered by the curate of Saravezza."

"All is in order," said the major.

"Then take these papers, which I have no use for, you will give them to your son, who will keep them carefully."

"I should think so!... If he were to lose them...."

"Well, if he were to lose them?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Why," resumed the Luccan, "one would be obliged to write back there, and it would be very long to obtain others."

"Indeed, that would be difficult," said Monte Cristo.

"Almost impossible," answered the Luccan.

"I am glad that you understand the value of these papers."

"That is to say, I regard them as priceless."

"Now," said Monte Cristo, "as to the mother of the young man?..."

"As to the mother of the young man..." repeated the major with uneasiness.

"As to the Marchioness Corsinari?"

"My God!" said the Luccan, beneath whose steps difficulties seemed to spring up, "would one have need of her?"

"No, sir," resumed Monte Cristo; "besides, has she not?..."

"Yes, yes," said the major, "she has...."

"Paid her tribute to nature?..."

"Alas! yes," said the Luccan quickly.

"I knew that," resumed Monte Cristo; "she died ten years ago."

"And I still weep for her death, sir," said the major, drawing from his pocket a checked handkerchief and wiping first his left eye and then his right alternately.

"What would you have," said Monte Cristo, "we are all mortal. Now you understand, dear M. Cavalcanti, you understand that it is useless for it to be known in France that you have been separated from your son for fifteen years. All these stories of Bohemians carrying off children have no vogue with us. You sent him to be educated in a provincial college, and you wish him to complete that education in Parisian society. That is why you have left Via-Reggio, which you inhabited since the death of your wife. That will suffice."

"You think so?"

"Certainly."

"Very well, then."

"If it were learned that something of this separation...."

"Ah! yes. What should I say?"

"That an unfaithful tutor, sold to the enemies of your family...."

"To the Corsinari?"

"Certainly... had carried off this child so that your name might be extinguished."

"That is just, since he is the only son."

"Well, now that all is settled, that your memories, renewed, will not betray you, you have guessed, no doubt, that I have prepared a surprise for you?"

"Agreeable?" asked the Luccan.

"Ah!" said Monte Cristo, "I see well that one deceives neither the eye nor the heart of a father."

"Hum!" said the major.

"Some indiscreet revelation has been made to you, or rather you have guessed that he was there."

"Who, there?"

"Your child, your son, your Andrea."

"I had guessed it," answered the Luccan with the greatest composure in the world; "so he is here?"

"Here itself," said Monte Cristo; "on entering just now, the valet warned me of his arrival."

"Ah! very good! ah! very good!" said the major, drawing closer at each exclamation the braid of his pelisse.

"My dear sir," said Monte Cristo, "I understand all your emotion, you must be given time to recover; I also wish to prepare the young man for this long-desired interview, for I presume he is no less impatient than you."

"I believe it," said Cavalcanti.

"Well, in a small quarter of an hour we are with you."

"You are bringing him to me then? you push goodness so far as to present him to me yourself?"

"No, I will not place myself between a father and his son, you will be alone, Monsieur le Major; but be tranquil, even in the case where the voice of blood remained mute, there would be no mistaking: he will enter by that door. He is a handsome young man, fair, a little too fair perhaps, of very prepossessing manners; you shall see."

"By the way," said the major, "you know that I brought with me only the two thousand francs that this good Abbé Busoni had sent me. Upon that I made the journey, and...."

"And you need money... that is but fair, dear M. Cavalcanti. Here, to make an account, eight banknotes of a thousand francs."

The major's eyes shone like carbuncles.

"That is forty thousand francs that I owe you back," said Monte Cristo.

"Does Your Excellency wish a receipt?" said the major, slipping the notes into the inner pocket of his pelisse.

"What for?" said the count.

"But to discharge you toward the Abbé Busoni."

"Well, you will give me a general receipt on touching the last forty thousand francs. Among honest men, such precautions are useless."

"Ah! yes, that is true," said the major, "among honest men."

"Now, one last word, marquis."

"Speak."

"You permit a small recommendation, do you not?"

"How so! I ask for it."

"It would do no harm for you to quit that pelisse."

"Truly!" said the major, looking at the garment with a certain complacency.

"Yes, it is still worn at Via-Reggio, but in Paris it is already long since this costume, however elegant it may be, went out of fashion."

"That is a pity," said the Luccan.

"Oh! if you are attached to it, you shall resume it on going away."

"But what shall I put on?"

"What you find in your trunks."

"How, in my trunks! I have but a portmanteau."

"With you, no doubt. What is the use of burdening yourself? Besides, an old soldier likes to march in light equipment."

"That is just why...."

"But you are a man of precaution, and you sent your trunks ahead. They arrived yesterday at the Hôtel des Princes, rue Richelieu. It is there you engaged your lodging."

"Then in those trunks?"

"I presume you had the precaution to have your valet lock up in them all that you need: town clothes, uniform clothes. On great occasions, you will put on the uniform, that looks well. Do not forget your cross. One mocks it still in France, but one always wears it."

"Very well, very well, very well!" said the major, who walked from dazzlement to dazzlement.

"And now," said Monte Cristo, "your heart being fortified against too vivid emotions, prepare yourself, dear M. Cavalcanti, to see again your son Andrea."

And making a charming bow to the Luccan, ravished, in ecstasy, Monte Cristo disappeared behind the tapestry.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”