The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (162 page)

‘Listen to me, Morcerf.’

‘Beauchamp, I can see that you know something. You restore me to life!’

‘I am not saying that this is the answer, Albert, but I can see a light in the darkness and we may follow it to our goal.’

‘Tell me! You can see, I’m boiling over with impatience.’

‘This is something that I did not want to let you know when I returned from Janina.’

‘Tell me!’

‘Here is what happened. Naturally, I went to the first banker in the town to obtain information. As soon as I mentioned the matter,
and even before your father’s name was spoken, he said: “Ah, I can guess why you are here.”

‘ “How can you, and why?”

‘ “Because barely a fortnight ago I was questioned on the same subject.”

‘ “By whom?”

‘ “By a banker in Paris, an associate of mine.”

‘ “Whose name is?”

‘ “Monsieur Danglars.” ’

‘Him!’ Albert cried. ‘He has long pursued my poor father with jealous hatred; supposedly a man of the people, he cannot forgive the Count de Morcerf for being a peer of the realm. And what about that marriage, broken off for no specific reason? It must be him!’

‘Find out, Albert, but don’t get carried away until you know. Find out, I tell you, and, if it proves to be the case…’

‘Oh, yes, if it proves to be the case!’ the young man exclaimed. ‘He will repay me for all I have suffered.’

‘Be careful, Morcerf. He is already an old man.’

‘I shall take heed of his age as he took heed of my family’s honour. If he had a quarrel with my father, why did he not strike him? Oh, no: he was afraid to confront the man!’

‘I’m not criticizing you, Albert, but I do want to restrain you. Be cautious.’

‘Don’t worry. In any case, Beauchamp, you will come with me: such solemn matters must be dealt with in front of witnesses. Before the end of today, if Monsieur Danglars is guilty, Monsieur Danglars will have ceased to live, or I shall be dead. By heavens, Beauchamp, I want to bury my honour with all due ceremony!’

‘Very well. When one has taken such a resolve, Albert, it must be carried out at once. Do you want to visit Monsieur Danglars? Then let’s go.’

They sent out for a hired cab. As they turned into the drive of the banker’s house, they noticed Andrea Cavalcanti’s phaeton and servant at the door.

‘Well, I never! There’s a stroke of luck,’ said Albert in a grim voice. ‘If Monsieur Danglars does not want to fight with me, I shall kill his son-in-law. A Cavalcanti must fight, surely?’

The young man was announced to the banker who, knowing what had happened the previous evening, heard Albert’s name and
forbade him entry. But it was too late: he had followed the lackey, heard the order being given, pushed open the door and went through into the banker’s study, followed by Beauchamp.

‘But, Monsieur, what is this?’ Danglars exclaimed. ‘Can one no longer be allowed to choose whom one shall or shall not receive in one’s home? I think you are forgetting yourself.’

‘No, Monsieur,’ said Albert. ‘There are some circumstances – yours included – when one must be at home, at least to certain people, unless one pleads cowardice. You may choose that alternative.’

‘So what do you want with me, Monsieur?’

‘I want,’ said Morcerf, coming over to him without appearing to pay any attention to Cavalcanti, who was leaning against the mantelpiece, ‘I want to suggest a meeting with you, in a quiet spot, where no one will trouble you for ten minutes – I ask no longer – and where, of two men who have met there, one will remain among the leaves.’

Danglars went pale and Cavalcanti started. Albert turned to the young man and said: ‘Why, do come if you wish, Count, you have the right to be there, you are almost one of the family. When I give this kind of invitation, it is open to as many people as there may be to accept it.’

Cavalcanti looked dumbfounded at Danglars who, with an effort, got up and came to stand between the two young men. Albert’s attack on Andrea had put the matter on a different footing, and he began to hope that his visit had a different motive from the one he had supposed.

‘Ah, I understand, Monsieur,’ he said to Albert. ‘If you have come here to pick a fight with this gentleman because I preferred him over you, I must warn you that it will be a matter for the public prosecutor.’

‘You are mistaken, Monsieur,’ said Morcerf with a grim smile. ‘I am not speaking at all about marriage and I only addressed myself to Monsieur Cavalcanti because it appeared that he might momentarily have considered intervening in our discussion. But then, on the other hand,’ he added, ‘you are right: today I am ready to pick a fight with everybody. But have no fear, Monsieur Danglars, you shall have priority.’

‘Monsieur,’ Danglars said, white with anger and fear, ‘I warn you that when I have the misfortune to come across a rabid mastiff
blocking my path, I kill it; and, far from thinking myself guilty, I consider I have done a service to society. So I warn you, if you are rabid and try to bite me, I shall strike you down without pity. I ask you! Is it my fault if your father has been dishonoured?’

‘Yes, you wretch!’ cried Morcerf. ‘It is your fault!’

Danglars stepped backwards. ‘My fault!’ he said. ‘Mine! Do I know anything about Greek history? Have I travelled in those countries? Did I advise your father to hand over the castles of Janina? To betray…’

‘Silence!’ Albert said in a stern voice. ‘No, it was not you directly who created this scandal and caused this misfortune, but you it was who hypocritically initiated it.’

‘I!’

‘Yes, you! Where else did the revelation come from?’

‘But the newspaper told you that: from Janina, of course!’

‘And who wrote to Janina?’

‘To Janina?’

‘Yes. Who wrote to ask for information about my father?’

‘I suppose that anyone can write to Janina.’

‘Yet only one person did write.’

‘Only one?’

‘Yes, and that person was you!’

‘Certainly, I did write. It seems to me that when you are marrying your daughter to a young man, you should obtain some information about his family. To do so is not only one’s right but one’s duty.’

‘You wrote, Monsieur,’ said Albert, ‘knowing perfectly well what reply you would receive.’

‘What! Ah, now, I swear to you,’ Danglars exclaimed, with a certainty and confidence that may perhaps have come even less from his fear than from the interest he felt in his heart for the unfortunate young man. ‘I swear to you that I should never have considered writing of my own accord. Whatever did I know about the catastrophe that befell Ali Pasha?’

‘So did anyone suggest that you write?’

‘Indeed they did.’

‘Someone encouraged you to do it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who did? Tell me! Go on!’

‘But nothing could be easier. I was speaking of your father’s past and saying that the origin of his fortune had always remained a
mystery. This person asked me where your father had made his fortune, so I replied: “In Greece.” And he said: “Then, write to Janina.” ’

‘Who gave you this advice?’

‘It was the Count of Monte Cristo, your friend.’

‘The count told you to write to Janina?’

‘Yes and I did so. Do you want to see the letters? I can show them to you.’

Albert and Beauchamp exchanged looks.

‘Monsieur,’ Beauchamp said, up to this point having taken no part in the conversation, ‘it appears that you are accusing the count when he is away from Paris and cannot answer the charge.’

‘I am accusing no one, Monsieur,’ said Danglars. ‘I am telling you, and I shall repeat in front of the Count of Monte Cristo what I have just said before you.’

‘Does the count know what reply you received?’

‘I showed it to him.’

‘Did he know that my father’s Christian name was Fernand and his surname Mondego?’

‘Yes, I told him that a long time ago. Moreover, I only acted in all this as anyone else would, and I may perhaps have done less than many others. When, on the day after this reply, at the instigation of Monsieur de Monte Cristo, your father came to ask me for my daughter officially, as one does when one wants to conclude a match, I refused. I refused outright, it’s true, but without giving an explanation and without making a stir. Why should I cause any trouble? What do I care for the honour or dishonour of Monsieur de Morcerf? There’s no percentage in it for me either way.’

Albert felt himself blush. There could be no further doubt: Danglars was defending himself basely, but with the confidence of a man who is speaking, if not the whole truth, at least a part of it – not for motives of conscience, admittedly, but through fear. In any case, what did Morcerf want? It was not either the greater or lesser guilt of Danglars or Monte Cristo; it was a man who would answer for the offence, whether great or small, a man who would fight; and it was clear that Danglars would not.

Then, one by one, certain things that he had forgotten or failed to notice became visible to his eyes and present in his memory: Monte Cristo knew everything, since he had bought the daughter of Ali Pasha; and, knowing everything, he had advised Danglars to
write to Janina. Once he knew the reply, he had granted Albert’s wish to be introduced to Haydée; and, once in her presence, he had allowed the conversation to turn to the death of Ali, not objecting to Haydée’s story – but no doubt instructing the young woman, in the few words of Romaic that he spoke to her, not to allow Morcerf to recognize his father. Moreover, had he not requested Morcerf to avoid mentioning his father’s name in front of Haydée? Finally he had taken Albert to Normandy at the very moment when he knew that the scandal would break. There could no longer be any doubt: all this was part of a plot and, without any doubt, Monte Cristo was in collusion with his father’s enemies.

Albert led Beauchamp into a corner and told him what he thought. ‘You are right,’ Beauchamp said. ‘Monsieur Danglars is only implicated in the crude, operational part of what has happened. If you want an explanation, you must ask Monte Cristo for it.’

Albert turned around. ‘Monsieur,’ he said to Danglars, ‘you will understand that I am not definitively taking my leave of you. I still need to confirm that your charges are correct and I shall go at once to do so from the Count of Monte Cristo.’ And, bowing to the banker, he left with Beauchamp, without appearing to pay any further heed to Cavalcanti.

Danglars accompanied them to the door and there repeated his assurance to Albert that he felt no personal animosity towards the Comte de Morcerf.

As they were leaving the banker’s, Beauchamp stopped Morcerf. ‘Listen,’ he warned, ‘just now I said, while we were at Monsieur Danglars’, that the person you should ask for an explanation was Monsieur de Monte Cristo.’

‘Yes, and we are going to see him.’

‘One moment, Morcerf. Think before you go to the count’s.’

‘What do you want me to think about?’

‘The seriousness of this step.’

‘Is it more serious than going to see Monsieur Danglars?’

‘Yes. Monsieur Danglars was a man of money and, as you know, men of money have too precise an idea of the capital they are risking to fight easily. The other, on the contrary, is a gentleman, at least in appearance. Are you not afraid of discovering the bravo beneath the gentleman?’

‘I am afraid of only one thing, which is to discover a man who will not fight.’

‘Have no fear,’ said Beauchamp. ‘This one will fight. I am even afraid of something, namely that he will fight too well. Take care!’

‘My friend,’ Morcerf said, with a fine smile, ‘that’s all I ask. And the best that could happen to me is to be killed for my father: that would save all of us.’

‘Your mother would die of grief!’

‘Yes, my poor mother,’ said Albert, putting a hand to his eyes. ‘I know. But it is better for her to die of grief than of shame.’

‘So you have really made up your mind, Albert?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on, then. But do you think we will find him?’

‘He was due to return a few hours after me and will certainly have done so.’

They got into the cab and ordered the driver to take them to No. 30, Avenue des Champs-Elysées.

Beauchamp wanted to go in alone, but Albert pointed out to him that this affair was so unusual that it allowed them to ignore the usual duelling etiquette. The young man was acting in this case in such a sacred cause that Beauchamp could do nothing except bow to his will, so he did as Morcerf said and agreed to follow him.

Albert covered the distance between the concierge’s lodge and the front steps in a single bound. Baptistin came to greet him. The count had indeed returned, but he was in the bath and had forbidden him to admit anyone at all.

‘And after the bath?’ Morcerf asked.

‘Monsieur will take dinner.’

‘And after dinner?’

‘Monsieur will sleep for an hour.’

‘And then?’

‘And then he will go to the opera.’