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 Abbe 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 Elysees, 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)
"Abbe 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 Abbe 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 Abbe 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."
