The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 96. The Contract

  Three days after the scene we have just described, namely towards fiveo’clock in the afternoon of the day fixed for the signature of thecontract between Mademoiselle Eugénie Danglars and Andrea Cavalcanti,whom the banker persisted in calling prince, a fresh breeze was stirringthe leaves in the little garden in front of the Count of Monte Cristo’shouse, and the count was preparing to go out. While his horses wereimpatiently pawing the ground, held in by the coachman, who had beenseated a quarter of an hour on his box, the elegant phaeton with whichwe are familiar rapidly turned the angle of the entrance-gate, and castout on the doorsteps M. Andrea Cavalcanti, as decked up and gay as if hewere going to marry a princess.

  He inquired after the count with his usual familiarity, and ascendinglightly to the first story met him at the top of the stairs.

  The count stopped on seeing the young man. As for Andrea, he waslaunched, 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 doyou do?”

  “Charmingly, as you see. I am come to talk to you about a thousandthings; 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 pleasein your carriage, and Tom shall follow with my phaeton in tow.”

  “No,” said the count, with an imperceptible smile of contempt, for hehad no wish to be seen in the young man’s society,—“no; I preferlistening 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 thisevening. 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 theceremony?”

  “Oh, yes,” said the count; “I received a letter from him yesterday, butI 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 amost suitable alliance you are contracting, and Mademoiselle Danglars isa 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 MonteCristo.

  “Very rich, do you think?” replied the young man.

  “Doubtless; it is said M. Danglars conceals at least half of hisfortune.”

  “And he acknowledges fifteen or twenty millions,” said Andrea with alook sparkling with joy.

  “Without reckoning,” added Monte Cristo, “that he is on the eve ofentering into a sort of speculation already in vogue in the UnitedStates and in England, but quite novel in France.”

  “Yes, yes, I know what you mean,—the railway, of which he has obtainedthe grant, is it not?”

  “Precisely; it is generally believed he will gain ten millions by thataffair.”

  “Ten millions! Do you think so? It is magnificent!” said Cavalcanti, whowas quite confounded at the metallic sound of these golden words.

  “Without reckoning,” replied Monte Cristo, “that all his fortune willcome to you, and justly too, since Mademoiselle Danglars is an onlydaughter. Besides, your own fortune, as your father assured me, isalmost equal to that of your betrothed. But enough of money matters. Doyou know, M. Andrea, I think you have managed this affair ratherskilfully?”

  “Not badly, by any means,” said the young man; “I was born for adiplomatist.”

  “Well, you must become a diplomatist; diplomacy, you know, is somethingthat is not to be acquired; it is instinctive. Have you lost yourheart?”

  “Indeed, I fear it,” replied Andrea, in the tone in which he had heardDorante or Valère reply to Alceste21 at the Théâtre Français.

  “Is your love returned?”

  “I suppose so,” said Andrea with a triumphant smile, “since I amaccepted. 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 onthe title, “what have I done for you? Are not your name, your socialposition, and your merit sufficient?”

  “No,” said Andrea,—“no; it is useless for you to say so, count. Imaintain 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 feltthe perfidious manœuvre of the young man, and understood the bearing ofhis words; “you only acquired my protection after the influence andfortune of your father had been ascertained; for, after all, whoprocured for me, who had never seen either you or your illustriousfather, the pleasure of your acquaintance?—two of my good friends, LordWilmore and the Abbé Busoni. What encouraged me not to become yoursurety, but to patronize you?—your father’s name, so well known in Italyand so highly honored. Personally, I do not know you.”

  This calm tone and perfect ease made Andrea feel that he was, for themoment, restrained by a more muscular hand than his own, and that therestraint 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 wantof money.”

  Andrea was so surprised that he pondered the matter for a moment. Then,arousing from his reverie:

  “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 manynoted 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 besupported by an illustrious name, and in the absence of the paternalhand some powerful one ought to lead me to the altar; now, my father isnot coming to Paris, is he?”

  “He is old, covered with wounds, and suffers dreadfully, he says, intravelling.”

  “I understand; 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 thehappiness to sustain towards you, can it be that you know me so littleas to ask such a thing? Ask me to lend you half a million and, althoughsuch 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 participationin this world’s affairs, more especially in their moral aspects, theCount of Monte Cristo has never ceased to entertain the scruples andeven the superstitions of the East. I, who have a seraglio at Cairo, oneat 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 thesame way.”

  “But what must be done?” said Andrea, disappointed.

  “You said just now that you had a hundred friends.”

&nbs
p; “Very true, but you introduced me at M. Danglars’.”

  “Not at all! Let us recall the exact facts. You met him at a dinnerparty at my house, and you introduced yourself at his house; that is atotally 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 youwhen you asked me to propose you. ‘Oh, I never make matches, my dearprince, it is my settled principle.’” Andrea bit his lips.

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  “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 yougive 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 wishedto do them stylishly: Your two solicitors appoint a meeting, when thecontract is signed, for the next or the following day; then theyexchange the two portions, for which they each give a receipt; then,when the marriage is celebrated, they place the amount at your disposalas the chief member of the alliance.”

  “Because,” said Andrea, with a certain ill-concealed uneasiness, “Ithought I heard my father-in-law say that he intended embarking ourproperty in that famous railway affair of which you spoke just now.”

  “Well,” replied Monte Cristo, “it will be the way, everybody says, oftrebling 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 yourrefusal, which quite grieves me.”

  “You must attribute it only to natural scruples under similarcircumstances.”

  “Well,” said Andrea, “let it be as you wish. This evening, then, at nineo’clock.”

  “Adieu till then.”

  Notwithstanding a slight resistance on the part of Monte Cristo, whoselips turned pale, but who preserved his ceremonious smile, Andrea seizedthe count’s hand, pressed it, jumped into his phaeton, and disappeared.

  The four or five remaining hours before nine o’clock arrived, Andreaemployed in riding, paying visits,—designed to induce those of whom hehad spoken to appear at the banker’s in their gayest equipages,—dazzlingthem by promises of shares in schemes which have since turned everybrain, and in which Danglars was just taking the initiative.

  In fact, at half-past eight in the evening the grand salon, the galleryadjoining, and the three other drawing-rooms on the same floor, werefilled with a perfumed crowd, who sympathized but little in the event,but who all participated in that love of being present wherever there isanything fresh to be seen. An Academician would say that theentertainments of the fashionable world are collections of flowers whichattract inconstant butterflies, famished bees, and buzzing drones.

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  No one could deny that the rooms were splendidly illuminated; the lightstreamed forth on the gilt mouldings and the silk hangings; and all thebad taste of decorations, which had only their richness to boast of,shone in its splendor. Mademoiselle Eugénie was dressed with elegantsimplicity in a figured white silk dress, and a white rose halfconcealed in her jet black hair was her only ornament, unaccompanied bya single jewel. Her eyes, however, betrayed that perfect confidencewhich contradicted the girlish simplicity of this modest attire.

  Madame Danglars was chatting at a short distance with Debray, Beauchamp,and Château-Renaud. Debray was admitted to the house for this grandceremony, but on the same plane with everyone else, and without anyparticular privilege. M. Danglars, surrounded by deputies and menconnected with the revenue, was explaining a new theory of taxationwhich he intended to adopt when the course of events had compelled thegovernment to call him into the ministry. Andrea, on whose arm hung oneof the most consummate dandies of the Opera, was explaining to himrather cleverly, since he was obliged to be bold to appear at ease, hisfuture projects, and the new luxuries he meant to introduce to Parisianfashions with his hundred and seventy-five thousand livres per annum.

  The crowd moved to and fro in the rooms like an ebb and flow ofturquoises, rubies, emeralds, opals, and diamonds. As usual, the oldestwomen were the most decorated, and the ugliest the most conspicuous. Ifthere 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 witha bird-of-paradise.

  At each moment, in the midst of the crowd, the buzzing, and thelaughter, the door-keeper’s voice was heard announcing some name wellknown in the financial department, respected in the army, or illustriousin the literary world, and which was acknowledged by a slight movementin the different groups. But for one whose privilege it was to agitatethat ocean of human waves, how many were received with a look ofindifference or a sneer of disdain!

  At the moment when the hand of the massive time-piece, representingEndymion asleep, pointed to nine on its golden face, and the hammer, thefaithful type of mechanical thought, struck nine times, the name of theCount of Monte Cristo resounded in its turn, and as if by an electricshock all the assembly turned towards the door. The count was dressed inblack and with his habitual simplicity; his white waistcoat displayedhis expansive noble chest and his black stock was singularly noticeablebecause of its contrast with the deadly paleness of his face. His onlyjewellery was a chain, so fine that the slender gold thread was scarcelyperceptible on his white waistcoat.

  A circle was immediately formed around the door. The count perceived atone glance Madame Danglars at one end of the drawing-room, M. Danglarsat the other, and Eugénie in front of him. He first advanced towards thebaroness, who was chatting with Madame de Villefort, who had come alone,Valentine being still an invalid; and without turning aside, so clearwas the road left for him, he passed from the baroness to Eugénie, whomhe complimented in such rapid and measured terms, that the proud artistwas quite struck. Near her was Mademoiselle Louise d’Armilly, whothanked the count for the letters of introduction he had so kindly givenher for Italy, which she intended immediately to make use of. On leavingthese ladies he found himself with Danglars, who had advanced to meethim.

  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 causedby the arrival of Monte Cristo, and now came forward to pay his respectsto the count. He found him completely surrounded; all were eager tospeak to him, as is always the case with those whose words are few andweighty. The solicitors arrived at this moment and arranged theirscrawled papers on the velvet cloth embroidered with gold which coveredthe table prepared for the signature; it was a gilt table supported onlions’ claws. One of the notaries sat down, the other remained standing.They were about to proceed to the reading of the contract, which halfParis assembled was to sign. All took their places, or rather the ladiesformed a circle, while the gentlemen (more indifferent to the restraintsof what Boileau calls the style énergique) commented on the feverishagitation of Andrea, on M. Danglars’ riveted attention, Eugénie’scomposure, and the light and sprightly manner in which the baronesstreated this important affair.

  The contract was read during a profound silence. But as soon as it wasfinished, the buzz was redoubled through all the drawi
ng-rooms; thebrilliant sums, the rolling millions which were to be at the command ofthe two young people, and which crowned the display of the weddingpresents and the young lady’s diamonds, which had been made in a roomentirely appropriated for that purpose, had exercised to the full theirdelusions over the envious assembly.

  Mademoiselle Danglars’ charms were heightened in the opinion of theyoung men, and for the moment seemed to outvie the sun in splendor. Asfor the ladies, it is needless to say that while they coveted themillions, they thought they did not need them for themselves, as theywere beautiful enough without them. Andrea, surrounded by his friends,complimented, flattered, beginning to believe in the reality of hisdream, 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 arestyled in the abominable phraseology of legal documents.

  The baron took the pen and signed, then the representative. The baronessapproached, leaning on Madame de Villefort’s arm.

  “My dear,” said she, as she took the pen, “is it not vexatious? Anunexpected incident, in the affair of murder and theft at the Count ofMonte Cristo’s, in which he nearly fell a victim, deprives us of thepleasure of seeing M. de Villefort.”

  “Indeed?” said M. Danglars, in the same tone in which he would havesaid, “Oh, well, what do I care?”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Monte Cristo, approaching, “I am much afraidthat I am the involuntary cause of his absence.”

  “What, you, count?” said Madame Danglars, signing; “if you are, takecare, for I shall never forgive you.”

  Andrea pricked up his ears.

  “But it is not my fault, as I shall endeavor to prove.”

  Everyone listened eagerly; Monte Cristo who so rarely opened his lips,was about to speak.

  “You remember,” said the count, during the most profound silence, “thatthe unhappy wretch who came to rob me died at my house; the suppositionis 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 hisclothes were thrown into a corner, where the police picked them up, withthe exception of the waistcoat, which they overlooked.”

  Andrea turned pale, and drew towards the door; he saw a cloud rising inthe horizon, which appeared to forebode a coming storm.

  “Well, this waistcoat was discovered today, covered with blood, and witha hole over the heart.” The ladies screamed, and two or three preparedto faint. “It was brought to me. No one could guess what the dirty ragcould be; I alone suspected that it was the waistcoat of the murderedman. My valet, in examining this mournful relic, felt a paper in thepocket 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 theblood with which the letter was stained,” replied Monte Cristo, amid thegeneral 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 andthe letter were both what is termed circumstantial evidence; I thereforesent them to the king’s attorney. You understand, my dear baron, thatlegal methods are the safest in criminal cases; it was, perhaps, someplot against you.” Andrea looked steadily at Monte Cristo anddisappeared in the second drawing-room.

  “Possibly,” said Danglars; “was not this murdered man an old galley-slave?”

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  “Yes,” replied the count; “a felon named Caderousse.” Danglars turnedslightly pale; Andrea reached the anteroom beyond the little drawing-room.

  “But go on signing,” said Monte Cristo; “I perceive that my story hascaused a general emotion, and I beg to apologize to you, baroness, andto Mademoiselle Danglars.”

  The baroness, who had signed, returned the pen to the notary.

  “Prince Cavalcanti,” said the latter; “Prince Cavalcanti, where areyou?”

  “Andrea, Andrea,” repeated several young people, who were already onsufficiently intimate terms with him to call him by his Christian name.

  “Call the prince; inform him that it is his turn to sign,” criedDanglars to one of the floorkeepers.

  But at the same instant the crowd of guests rushed in alarm into theprincipal salon as if some frightful monster had entered the apartments,quærens quem devoret. There was, indeed, reason to retreat, to bealarmed, and to scream. An officer was placing two soldiers at the doorof each drawing-room, and was advancing towards Danglars, preceded by acommissary of police, girded with his scarf. Madame Danglars uttered ascream and fainted. Danglars, who thought himself threatened (certainconsciences are never calm),—Danglars even before his guests showed acountenance of abject terror.

  “What is the matter, sir?” asked Monte Cristo, advancing to meet thecommissioner.

  “Which of you gentlemen,” asked the magistrate, without replying to thecount, “answers to the name of Andrea Cavalcanti?”

  A cry of astonishment was heard from all parts of the room. Theysearched; 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, “ofhaving assassinated the man named Caderousse, his former companion inprison, at the moment he was making his escape from the house of theCount of Monte Cristo.”

  Monte Cristo cast a rapid glance around him. Andrea was gone.