Part 64 (1/2)
”It is usual, certainly; but Cavalcanti is an original who does nothing like other people. I cannot help thinking that he has brought his son to France 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, and others that he did not possess a farthing.”
”And what is your opinion?”
”I ought not to influence you, because it is only my own personal impression.”
”Well, and it is that”-- ”My opinion is, that all these old podestas, these ancient condottieri,--for the Cavalcanti have commanded armies and governed provinces,--my opinion, I say, is, that they have buried their millions in corners, the secret of which they have transmitted only to their eldest sons, who have done the same from generation to generation; and the proof of this is seen in their yellow and dry appearance, like the florins of the republic, which, from being constantly gazed upon, have become reflected in them.”
”Certainly,” said Danglars, ”and this is further supported by the fact of 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 is something.”
”Yes; and more than that, he lets it to the Minister of Finance while he lives in a simple house. Oh, as I told you before, I think the old fellow 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 telling me this morning that, tired of letting his property lie dormant in Italy, which is a dead nation, he wished to find a method, either in France or England, of multiplying his millions, but remember, that though I place great confidence in Busoni, I am not responsible for this.”
”Never mind; accept my thanks for the client you have sent me. It is a fine name to inscribe on my ledgers, and my cas.h.i.+er was quite proud of it when I explained to him who the Cavalcanti were. By the way, this is merely a simple question, when this sort of people marry their sons, do they give them any fortune?”
”Oh, that depends upon circ.u.mstances. I know an Italian prince, rich as a gold mine, one of the n.o.blest families in Tuscany, who, when his sons married according to his wish, gave them millions; and when they married against his consent, merely allowed them thirty crowns a month. Should Andrea marry according to his father's views, he will, perhaps, give him one, two, or three millions. For example, supposing it were the daughter of a banker, he might take an interest in the house of the father-in-law of his son; then again, if he disliked his choice, the major takes the key, double-locks his coffer, and Master Andrea would be obliged to live like the sons of a Parisian family, by shuffling cards or rattling the dice.”
”Ah, that boy will find out some Bavarian or Peruvian princess; he will want a crown and an immense fortune.”
”No; these grand lords on the other side of the Alps frequently marry into plain families; like Jupiter, they like to cross the race. But do you wish to marry Andrea, my dear M. Danglars, that you are asking so many 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 not like poor Andrea to have his throat cut by Albert?”
”Albert,” repeated Danglars, shrugging his shoulders; ”ah, well; he would 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 Madame de 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. de Morcerf.”
”Mademoiselle Danglars' fortune will be great, no doubt, especially if the 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 being obliged to go to Dieppe for the benefit of sea air.”
”Yes, yes,” said Danglars, laughing, ”it would do her a great deal of good.”
”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 the count, ”you must allow that he has a fine name?”
”So he has; but I like mine as well.”
”Certainly; your name is popular, and does honor to the t.i.tle they have adorned it with; but you are too intelligent not to know that according to a prejudice, too firmly rooted to be exterminated, a n.o.bility which dates back five centuries is worth more than one that can only reckon twenty years.”
”And for this very reason,” said Danglars with a smile, which he tried to make sardonic, ”I prefer M. Andrea Cavalcanti to M. Albert de Morcerf.”
”Still, I should not think the Morcerfs would yield to the Cavalcanti?”
”The Morcerfs!--Stay, my dear count,” said Danglars; ”you are a man of the 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 a count, so that he is not one at all.”