Chapter 66. Matrimonial Projects
The day following this scene, at the hour Debray usually chose to pay avisit to Madame Danglars on his way to his office, his coupé did notappear. At this time, that is, about half-past twelve, Madame Danglarsordered her carriage, and went out. Danglars, hidden behind a curtain,watched the departure he had been waiting for. He gave orders that heshould be informed as soon as Madame Danglars appeared; but at twoo’clock she had not returned. He then called for his horses, drove tothe Chamber, and inscribed his name to speak against the budget. Fromtwelve to two o’clock Danglars had remained in his study, unsealing hisdispatches, and becoming more and more sad every minute, heaping figureupon figure, and receiving, among other visits, one from MajorCavalcanti, who, as stiff and exact as ever, presented himself preciselyat the hour named the night before, to terminate his business with thebanker.
On leaving the Chamber, Danglars, who had shown violent marks ofagitation during the sitting, and been more bitter than ever against theministry, re-entered his carriage, and told the coachman to drive to theAvenue des Champs-Élysées, No. 30.
Monte Cristo was at home; only he was engaged with someone and beggedDanglars to wait for a moment in the drawing-room. While the banker waswaiting in the anteroom, the door opened, and a man dressed as an abbéand doubtless more familiar with the house than he was, came in andinstead of waiting, merely bowed, passed on to the farther apartments,and disappeared.
A minute after the door by which the priest had entered reopened, andMonte Cristo appeared.
“Pardon me,” said he, “my dear baron, but one of my friends, the AbbéBusoni, whom you perhaps saw pass by, has just arrived in Paris; nothaving seen him for a long time, I could not make up my mind to leavehim sooner, so I hope this will be sufficient reason for my having madeyou wait.”
“Nay,” said Danglars, “it is my fault; I have chosen my visit at a wrongtime, and will retire.”
“Not at all; on the contrary, be seated; but what is the matter withyou? You look careworn; really, you alarm me. Melancholy in acapitalist, like the appearance of a comet, presages some misfortune tothe world.”
“I have been in ill-luck for several days,” said Danglars, “and I haveheard nothing but bad news.”
“Ah, indeed?” said Monte Cristo. “Have you had another fall at theBourse?”
“No; I am safe for a few days at least. I am only annoyed about abankrupt of Trieste.”
“Really? Does it happen to be Jacopo Manfredi?”
“Exactly so. Imagine a man who has transacted business with me for Idon’t know how long, to the amount of 800,000 or 900,000 francs duringthe year. Never a mistake or delay—a fellow who paid like a prince.Well, I was a million in advance with him, and now my fine JacopoManfredi suspends payment!”
“Really?”
“It is an unheard-of fatality. I draw upon him for 600,000 francs, mybills are returned unpaid, and, more than that, I hold bills of exchangesigned by him to the value of 400,000 francs, payable at hiscorrespondent’s in Paris at the end of this month. Today is the 30th. Ipresent them; but my correspondent has disappeared. This, with mySpanish affairs, made a pretty end to the month.”
“Then you really lost by that affair in Spain?”
“Yes; only 700,000 francs out of my cash box—nothing more!”
“Why, how could you make such a mistake—such an old stager?”
“Oh, it is all my wife’s fault. She dreamed Don Carlos had returned toSpain; she believes in dreams. It is magnetism, she says, and when shedreams a thing it is sure to happen, she assures me. On this convictionI allow her to speculate, she having her bank and her stockbroker; shespeculated and lost. It is true she speculates with her own money, notmine; nevertheless, you can understand that when 700,000 francs leavethe wife’s pocket, the husband always finds it out. But do you mean tosay you have not heard of this? Why, the thing has made a tremendousnoise.”
“Yes, I heard it spoken of, but I did not know the details, and then noone can be more ignorant than I am of the affairs in the Bourse.”
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“Then you do not speculate?”
“I?—How could I speculate when I already have so much trouble inregulating my income? I should be obliged, besides my steward, to keep aclerk and a boy. But touching these Spanish affairs, I think that thebaroness did not dream the whole of the Don Carlos matter. The paperssaid something about it, did they not?”
“Then you believe the papers?”
“I?—not the least in the world; only I fancied that the honest Messagerwas an exception to the rule, and that it only announced telegraphicdespatches.”
“Well, that’s what puzzles me,” replied Danglars; “the news of thereturn of Don Carlos was brought by telegraph.”
“So that,” said Monte Cristo, “you have lost nearly 1,700,000 francsthis month.”
“Not nearly, indeed; that is exactly my loss.”
“Diable!” said Monte Cristo compassionately, “it is a hard blow for athird-rate fortune.”
“Third-rate,” said Danglars, rather humble, “what do you mean by that?”
“Certainly,” continued Monte Cristo, “I make three assortments infortune—first-rate, second-rate, and third-rate fortunes. I call thosefirst-rate which are composed of treasures one possesses under one’shand, such as mines, lands, and funded property, in such states asFrance, Austria, and England, provided these treasures and property forma total of about a hundred millions; I call those second-rate fortunes,that are gained by manufacturing enterprises, joint-stock companies,viceroyalties, and principalities, not drawing more than 1,500,000francs, the whole forming a capital of about fifty millions; finally, Icall those third-rate fortunes, which are composed of a fluctuatingcapital, dependent upon the will of others, or upon chances which abankruptcy involves or a false telegram shakes, such as banks,speculations of the day—in fact, all operations under the influence ofgreater or less mischances, the whole bringing in a real or fictitiouscapital of about fifteen millions. I think this is about your position,is it not?”
“Confound it, yes!” replied Danglars.
“The result, then, of six more such months as this would be to reducethe third-rate house to despair.”
“Oh,” said Danglars, becoming very pale, how you are running on!”
“Let us imagine seven such months,” continued Monte Cristo, in the sametone. “Tell me, have you ever thought that seven times 1,700,000 francsmake nearly twelve millions? No, you have not;—well, you are right, forif you indulged in such reflections, you would never risk yourprincipal, which is to the speculator what the skin is to civilized man.We have our clothes, some more splendid than others,—this is our credit;but when a man dies he has only his skin; in the same way, on retiringfrom business, you have nothing but your real principal of about five orsix millions, at the most; for third-rate fortunes are never more than afourth of what they appear to be, like the locomotive on a railway, thesize of which is magnified by the smoke and steam surrounding it. Well,out of the five or six millions which form your real capital, you havejust lost nearly two millions, which must, of course, in the same degreediminish your credit and fictitious fortune; to follow out my simile,your skin has been opened by bleeding, and this if repeated three orfour times will cause death—so pay attention to it, my dear MonsieurDanglars. Do you want money? Do you wish me to lend you some?”
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“What a bad calculator you are!” exclaimed Danglars, calling to hisassistance all his philosophy and dissimulation. “I have made money atthe same time by speculations which have succeeded. I have made up theloss of blood by nutrition. I lost a battle in Spain, I have beendefeated in Trieste, but my naval army in India will have taken somegalleons, and my Mexican pioneers will have discovered some mine.”
“Very good, very good! But the wound remains and will reopen at thefirst loss.”
“No, for I am only embarked in certainties,” replied Danglars, with theair
of a mountebank sounding his own praises; “to involve me, threegovernments must crumble to dust.”
“Well, such things have been.”
“That there should be a famine!”
“Recollect the seven fat and the seven lean kine.”
“Or, that the sea should become dry, as in the days of Pharaoh, and eventhen my vessels would become caravans.”
“So much the better. I congratulate you, my dear M. Danglars,” saidMonte Cristo; “I see I was deceived, and that you belong to the class ofsecond-rate fortunes.”
“I think I may aspire to that honor,” said Danglars with a smile, whichreminded Monte Cristo of the sickly moons which bad artists are so fondof daubing into their pictures of ruins. “But, while we are speaking ofbusiness,” Danglars added, pleased to find an opportunity of changingthe subject, “tell me what I am to do for M. Cavalcanti.”
“Give him money, if he is recommended to you, and the recommendationseems good.”
“Excellent; he presented himself this morning with a bond of 40,000francs, payable at sight, on you, signed by Busoni, and returned by youto me, with your endorsement—of course, I immediately counted him overthe forty bank-notes.”
Monte Cristo nodded his head in token of assent.
“But that is not all,” continued Danglars; “he has opened an accountwith my house for his son.”
“May I ask how much he allows the young man?”
“Five thousand francs per month.”
“Sixty thousand francs per year. I thought I was right in believing thatCavalcanti to be a stingy fellow. How can a young man live upon 5,000francs a month?”
“But you understand that if the young man should want a few thousandsmore——”
“Do not advance it; the father will never repay it. You do not knowthese ultramontane millionaires; they are regular misers. And by whomwere they recommended to you?”
“Oh, by the house of Fenzi, one of the best in Florence.”
“I do not mean to say you will lose, but, nevertheless, mind you hold tothe terms of the agreement.”
“Would you not trust the Cavalcanti?”
“I? oh, I would advance ten millions on his signature. I was onlyspeaking in reference to the second-rate fortunes we were mentioningjust now.”
“And with all this, how unassuming he is! I should never have taken himfor anything more than a mere major.”
“And you would have flattered him, for certainly, as you say, he has nomanner. The first time I saw him he appeared to me like an oldlieutenant who had grown mouldy under his epaulets. But all the Italiansare the same; they are like old Jews when they are not glittering inOriental splendor.”
“The young man is better,” said Danglars.
“Yes; a little nervous, perhaps, but, upon the whole, he appearedtolerable. I was uneasy about him.”
“Why?”
“Because you met him at my house, just after his introduction into theworld, as they told me. He has been travelling with a very severe tutor,and had never been to Paris before.”
“Ah, I believe noblemen marry amongst themselves, do they not?” askedDanglars carelessly; “they like to unite their fortunes.”
“It is usual, certainly; but Cavalcanti is an original who does nothinglike other people. I cannot help thinking that he has brought his son toFrance to choose a wife.”
“Do you think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And you have heard his fortune mentioned?”
“Nothing else was talked of; only some said he was worth millions, andothers that he did not possess a farthing.”
“And what is your opinion?”
“I ought not to influence you, because it is only my own personalimpression.”
“Well, and it is that——”
“My opinion is, that all these old podestàs, these ancientcondottieri,—for the Cavalcanti have commanded armies and governedprovinces,—my opinion, I say, is, that they have buried their millionsin corners, the secret of which they have transmitted only to theireldest sons, who have done the same from generation to generation; andthe proof of this is seen in their yellow and dry appearance, like theflorins of the republic, which, from being constantly gazed upon, havebecome reflected in them.”
“Certainly,” said Danglars, “and this is further supported by the factof their not possessing an inch of land.”
“Very little, at least; I know of none which Cavalcanti possesses,excepting his palace in Lucca.”
“Ah, he has a palace?” said Danglars, laughing; “come, that issomething.”
“Yes; and more than that, he lets it to the Minister of Finance while helives in a simple house. Oh, as I told you before, I think the oldfellow is very close.”
“Come, you do not flatter him.”
“I scarcely know him; I think I have seen him three times in my life;all I know relating to him is through Busoni and himself. He was tellingme this morning that, tired of letting his property lie dormant inItaly, which is a dead nation, he wished to find a method, either inFrance or England, of multiplying his millions, but remember, thatthough I place great confidence in Busoni, I am not responsible forthis.”
“Never mind; accept my thanks for the client you have sent me. It is afine name to inscribe on my ledgers, and my cashier was quite proud ofit when I explained to him who the Cavalcanti were. By the way, this ismerely a simple question, when this sort of people marry their sons, dothey give them any fortune?”
“Oh, that depends upon circumstances. I know an Italian prince, rich asa gold mine, one of the noblest families in Tuscany, who, when his sonsmarried according to his wish, gave them millions; and when they marriedagainst his consent, merely allowed them thirty crowns a month. ShouldAndrea marry according to his father’s views, he will, perhaps, give himone, two, or three millions. For example, supposing it were the daughterof a banker, he might take an interest in the house of the father-in-lawof his son; then again, if he disliked his choice, the major takes thekey, double-locks his coffer, and Master Andrea would be obliged to livelike the sons of a Parisian family, by shuffling cards or rattling thedice.”
“Ah, that boy will find out some Bavarian or Peruvian princess; he willwant a crown, an El Dorado, and Potosí.”
“No; these grand lords on the other side of the Alps frequently marryinto plain families; like Jupiter, they like to cross the race. But doyou wish to marry Andrea, my dear M. Danglars, that you are asking somany questions?”
“Ma foi,” said Danglars, “it would not be a bad speculation, I fancy,and you know I am a speculator.”
“You are not thinking of Mademoiselle Danglars, I hope; you would notlike poor Andrea to have his throat cut by Albert?”
“Albert,” repeated Danglars, shrugging his shoulders; “ah, well; hewould care very little about it, I think.”
“But he is betrothed to your daughter, I believe?”
“Well, M. de Morcerf and I have talked about this marriage, but Madamede Morcerf and Albert——”
“You do not mean to say that it would not be a good match?”
“Indeed, I imagine that Mademoiselle Danglars is as good as M. deMorcerf.”
“Mademoiselle Danglars’ fortune will be great, no doubt, especially ifthe telegraph should not make any more mistakes.”
“Oh, I do not mean her fortune only; but tell me——”
“What?”
“Why did you not invite M. and Madame de Morcerf to your dinner?”
“I did so, but he excused himself on account of Madame de Morcerf beingobliged to go to Dieppe for the benefit of sea air.”
“Yes, yes,” said Danglars, laughing, “it would do her a great deal ofgood.”
“Why so?”
“Because it is the air she always breathed in her youth.”
Monte Cristo took no notice of this ill-natured remark.
“But still, if Albert be not so rich as Mademoiselle Danglars,” said thecount, “you must allow that he ha
s a fine name?”
“So he has; but I like mine as well.”
“Certainly; your name is popular, and does honor to the title they haveadorned it with; but you are too intelligent not to know that accordingto a prejudice, too firmly rooted to be exterminated, a nobility whichdates back five centuries is worth more than one that can only reckontwenty years.”
“And for this very reason,” said Danglars with a smile, which he triedto make sardonic, “I prefer M. Andrea Cavalcanti to M. Albert deMorcerf.”
“Still, I should not think the Morcerfs would yield to the Cavalcanti?”
“The Morcerfs!—Stay, my dear count,” said Danglars; “you are a man ofthe world, are you not?”
“I think so.”
“And you understand heraldry?”
“A little.”
“Well, look at my coat-of-arms, it is worth more than Morcerf’s.”
“Why so?”
“Because, though I am not a baron by birth, my real name is, at least,Danglars.”
“Well, what then?”
“While his name is not Morcerf.”
“How?—not Morcerf?”
“Not the least in the world.”
“Go on.”
“I have been made a baron, so that I actually am one; he made himself acount, so that he is not one at all.”
“Impossible!”
“Listen my dear count; M. de Morcerf has been my friend, or rather myacquaintance, during the last thirty years. You know I have made themost of my arms, though I never forgot my origin.”
“A proof of great humility or great pride,” said Monte Cristo.
“Well, when I was a clerk, Morcerf was a mere fisherman.”
“And then he was called——”
“Fernand.”
“Only Fernand?”
“Fernand Mondego.”
“You are sure?”
“Pardieu! I have bought enough fish of him to know his name.”
“Then, why did you think of giving your daughter to him?”
“Because Fernand and Danglars, being both parvenus, both having becomenoble, both rich, are about equal in worth, excepting that there havebeen certain things mentioned of him that were never said of me.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing!”
“Ah, yes; what you tell me recalls to mind something about the name ofFernand Mondego. I have heard that name in Greece.”
“In conjunction with the affairs of Ali Pasha?”
“Exactly so.”
“This is the mystery,” said Danglars. “I acknowledge I would have givenanything to find it out.”
“It would be very easy if you much wished it?”
“How so?”
“Probably you have some correspondent in Greece?”
“I should think so.”
“At Yanina?”
“Everywhere.”
“Well, write to your correspondent in Yanina, and ask him what part wasplayed by a Frenchman named Fernand Mondego in the catastrophe of AliTepelini.”
“You are right,” exclaimed Danglars, rising quickly, “I will writetoday.”
“Do so.”
“I will.”
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“And if you should hear of anything very scandalous——”
“I will communicate it to you.”
“You will oblige me.”
Danglars rushed out of the room, and made but one leap into his coupé.