Chapter 55 Chapter 55: Major Cavalcanti

The Count of Monte Cristo declined Albert's invitation on the pretext that the major would be visiting soon, but what he and Baptistin said was indeed true.Just after seven o'clock, that is to say, two hours after Bertuccio had been sent to Auteuil, a cab stopped in front of the mansion, and drove away in a hurry as soon as the passengers had alighted at the door. as if feeling ashamed of the errand.The man who got out of the carriage was a man of about fifty-two years old, wearing a coat with black frogs embroidered on a green background, which had been in fashion for a long time in Europe.His trousers were of blue cloth, and his shoes were very clean, but not very polished, and the heels were a little too thick; he wore buckskin gloves; Hat and a black and white striped bow tie.If the owner hadn't cherished this bow tie, it would have been unnecessary.The handsome man rang the bell at No. 30, the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, and asked if His Excellency the Count of Monte Cristo lived here. After receiving the answer from the porter in the affirmative, he entered, closed the door behind him, and began to climb the steps.

The man's head was small and thin, with snow-white hair and a bushy gray beard. Baptistin, who was waiting in the hall, had no trouble recognizing the waiting visitor, for he had been informed in advance of his appearance in detail.So, before the stranger announced his name, the count was informed of his arrival.He was led into a simple and elegant drawing room, and the count stood up to greet him with a smile on his face. "Ah, my dear sir, you are most welcome, and I am waiting for you." "Is your excellency really waiting for me?" said the Italian. "Yes, I have been informed that you will be here at seven o'clock today."

"Then, as to my coming, have you been informed in detail?" "Of course." "Ah, that's good, I'm really afraid that this procedure will be forgotten." "What procedure?" "Just to let you know in advance that I'm coming." "No, no, not forgotten." "But are you sure you are not mistaken?" "I'm sure so." "Is it really me that my lord is waiting at seven o'clock tonight?" "I can assure you that you don't have to doubt it at all." "Oh, no, no," said the Italian, "don't bother."

"Yes, yes," said Monte Cristo.His guest seemed slightly uneasy. "Let me think about it," said the count. "Aren't you the Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti?" "Bartolomeo Cavalcanti," answered the Italian cheerfully, "yes, I am indeed him." "A former major in the Austrian garrison?" "Am I a major?" asked the old soldier timidly. "Yes," said Monte Cristo, "you are a major, and your rank in Italy is equivalent to that of a French major." "Excellent," said the major, "I don't need you to say more, you know"

"Your visit today is not your own," said Monte Cristo. "No, of course not." "Someone asked you to write?" "yes." "That good abbe Busoni?" "Exactly," said the major cheerfully. "Have you brought a letter?" "Yes, that is." "Give it to me, then." Monte Cristo took the letter, and opened it.The major stared at the count with wide eyes, and then surveyed the situation in the room. His gaze returned almost quickly to the occupant of the room. "Yes, yes, yes. 'Major Cavalcanti, a venerable nobleman of Lucca, descended from the Florentine Cavalcanti tribe,'" Monte Cristo read aloud, "'an annual income of fifty Ten thousand.'" Monte Cristo lifted his eyes from the paper, and bowed. "Half a million," he said, "is a lot!"

"Half a million, is it?" said the major. "Yes, that's what the letter says, and it must be true, because the priest knows all the wealth of the richest men in Europe." "Well, let's say half a million. But to be honest, I didn't expect that much." "Because your butler is messing with you. You've got to improve on that." "You opened me up," said the Italian solemnly, "and I should ask the gentleman to open the way." Monte Cristo went on reading the letter: "'There was only one disappointment in his life.'"

"Yes, indeed, only one!" said the major, with a sigh. "'It's the loss of a beloved son.'" "Lost a beloved son!" "'Abducted in his infancy by an enemy of his family or by a gypsy.'" "He was only five years old then!" said the major, looking skyward, with a deep sigh. "Unfortunate father!" said the Count of Monte Cristo, and went on reading, "'I gave him the hope of being born again, and assured him that you had the means to bring him back that which he had been searching in vain for fifteen years. son.'" The major looked at the count with indescribable anxiety. "I can do it," said Monte Cristo.

The major regained his composure. "Oh, oh!" said he, "then the letter is true from beginning to end?" "Don't you believe it, Monsieur Bartolomeo?" "I, of course, of course I do. A good priest like the Abbe Busoni can't lie or make jokes, but your excellency hasn't finished reading." "Ah, yes!" said Monte Cristo, "and a postscript." "Yes, yes," the major went on, "and a--a--sentence." "'In order not to trouble Major Cavalcanti with withdrawals from his bank, I sent him a check for two thousand francs for his travel expenses, and asked him to withdraw from you the forty-eight thousand you owed me. Thousand francs.'"

The major's anxious expression lasted until the postscript was finished. "Excellent," said the Count. "He said 'very well,'" the major thought to himself, "then—sir—" he replied. "Then what?" asked Monte Cristo. "Then the postscript—" "Oh! How about a postscript?" "Then the postscript is as acceptable to you as the text of the letter?" "Of course, the Abbe Busoni has something to do with me. I don't remember whether I still owe him forty-eight thousand or not. But I dare say we will not dispute over the difference. So, what do you say about this postscript?" Do you think it matters, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti?"

"I must explain to you," said the major, "that since I have no other money myself, trusting in the signature of the Abbe Busoni, my situation in Paris will be very difficult if this money cannot be secured. It's hard." "How can a man of your stature be embarrassed in one place?" said Monte Cristo. "Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know a soul," said the major. "But people always know you, don't they?" "Yes, I am known, then" "Speak, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti." "Then you will pay me the forty-eight thousand livres?"

"Of course, whenever you want." The major's eyes widened in surprise. "But sit down," said Monte Cristo. "Really, I don't know what was going through my head to keep you standing there for a quarter of an hour." "It doesn't matter." The major dragged an armchair and sat down by himself. "Now," said the count, "would you like something to eat? A glass of red wine, white wine, or Alicante wine?" "Alicante wine bar, I like to drink this wine if it doesn't bother me." "I've got some nice bottles. Would you like to serve it with biscuits?" "Okay. I'll have some cookies, thanks for being so thoughtful." Monte Cristo rang the bell, and Baptistin appeared.The count went up to meet him. "How?" he whispered. "That young man is here." The valet also whispered. "Which room did you take him into?" "According to your lord's order, in the blue living room." "By the way, now go get a bottle of Alicante wine and some biscuits." Baptistin went out. "Really," said the major, "I am quite sorry to disturb you like this." "It's a trivial matter," said the count. Baptistin came in with wine and biscuits.The count filled one glass, but in the other he only dropped a few drops of the ruby-coloured liquid.There are spiders' threads all over the bottle, and there are other surer signs of old wine than the wrinkles on a man's face.The major also very wisely took the filled glass and a biscuit.The count told Baptistin to place the plate beside his guest, who took a sip of the Alicante with a contented expression, and dipped his biscuit in the wine with relish. "Oh, sir, have you lived in Lucca? You are rich, noble, and respected—everything that makes a man happy?" "It's all there," said the major, swallowing his biscuit hastily, "it's all there." "There's just one thing you lack, or you'd be perfect, don't you?" "Just one thing is missing," said the Italian. "And that thing is your missing child!" "Well," said the major, taking up the second biscuit, "that is indeed a pity of mine." The venerable major looked skyward and sighed. "Tell me, then," said the count, "who is this son you so deplore? For I always thought you were a bachelor." "That's generally said, sir," said the major, "and I" "Yes," replied the count, "and you have deliberately confirmed that rumour. Of course, I think, you intend to cover up an indiscretion in your youth, so as not to spread it in society?" The Major regained his countenance, resumed his usual deliberation, and lowered his eyes, presumably to recover the expression of his face or to aid his imagination; now and then he stole glances at the Count, but There was still that gentle, curious smile on the corner of his mouth. "Yes," said the major, "I do hope the error will be hidden from all." "You are certainly not to blame for the cause," replied Monte Cristo, "for a man like you would not be guilty of such a mistake." "Oh, no, of course I'm not to blame," said the major, smiling and shaking his head. "The mother is to blame?" said the count. "Yes, it's the mother's fault--his poor mother!" said the major, taking up the third biscuit. "Have a little more, my dear Cavalcanti," said the count, pouring him a second glass of Alicante, "you are too excited." "His poor mother!" stammered the major, trying to get his will over his tear ducts so completely that a fake tear would moisten the corner of his eye. "I suppose she comes from a first-rate Italian family, isn't she?" "Her family is the nobles of Feisal, Your Excellency the Earl." "Her name is—" "Would you like to know her name?" "Oh," said Monte Cristo, "it is unnecessary for you to tell me, for I already know." "Your Excellency knows everything," said the Italian, bowing. "Oliva Gossinelli, isn't she?" "Oliva Cossinari!" "A lady of the Marquis?" "A lady of the Marquis!" "And you finally married her despite her family's objections?" "Yes, I married her." "Surely you have brought all the papers?" said Monte Cristo. "what document?" "Certificate of your marriage to Olivia Corsinelli, birth certificates of your children." "My child's birth registration certificate?" "Andrea Cavalcanti's birth certificate—isn't the son's name Andrea?" "I suppose so," said the major. "What! You 'think' yes?" "I'm not quite sure because he's been missing for so long." "That is true," said Monte Cristo. "So have you brought all the papers?" "Your Excellency, I'm very sorry to say that, because I didn't know that I had to use those documents, I was negligent and forgot to bring them." "That would be very difficult," replied Monte Cristo. "Then, are they necessary?" "They are essential." The major wiped his brow with his hand. "Oh, bad, it's essential!" "Of course it is. Maybe someone here will doubt the legitimacy of your marriage or the legitimacy of your children!" "Yes," said the major, "someone might suspect it." "If that's the case, the situation of your child is not very optimistic." "At that time he was extremely disadvantaged." "Perhaps that would make him miss a very good marriage." "too bad!" "You must know that in France they place great value on these things. It's not okay to go to a priest like in Italy and say, 'We love each other, please marry us.' In France, marriage is a business. , official marriage must have impeccable proof documents." "That's unfortunate, I don't have the necessary papers." "Fortunately, I have," said Monte Cristo. "you?" "yes." "Do you have those documents?" "I have those documents." "Ah, indeed!" said the major, seeing that the object of his voyage would be defeated for want of those papers, and fearing that his forgetfulness might cause trouble for those forty-eight thousand livres, "oh, indeed! , that would be luck, yes, luck, because it never occurred to me to bring them." "I'm not surprised at all. You can't know everything! Thank you, the Abbe Busoni, for thinking of it." "He's such a nice guy!" "He was very cautious and extremely thoughtful." "He is a very admirable man," said the major. "Did he send them to you?" "This is." "The major clasped his hands in admiration. "You were married to Oliva Cossinari at the Church of St. Paul at Mount Ketni, and this is the priest's certificate." "Yes, that's right, it's this one," said the Italian, looking on in amazement. "Here is the baptismal certificate of Andrea Cavalcanti, issued by the priest of Seravicha." "Totally good." "Then, take these documents, it's none of my business. You can give them to your son, and your son will naturally keep them carefully." "I think he will! If he's lost" "Well, what if he is lost?" said Monte Cristo. "Then," replied the major, "a copy will have to be made, and it will take some time to get it." "This is a difficult matter," said Monte Cristo. "Almost impossible," replied the major. "I am glad to see that you understand the value of these documents." "I think they're priceless." "Well," said Monte Cristo, "as for the young man's mother—" "As for the young man's mother—" the Italian repeated anxiously. "As for the Marquis de Gossénelli—" "Really," said the major, as if feeling another question pop up before him, "does she still have to testify?" "No, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo, "and, has she not already--paid her last debt to nature?" "Oh! yes," replied the Italian. "I know," said Monte Cristo, "that she has been dead for ten years." "And I'm mourning her untimely death now!" lamented the major, and taking a checked handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped first his right eye, then his left. "What else do you want?" said Monte Cristo, "everyone will die. Now understand, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti, that you do not have to tell anyone in France that you have been separated from your son-in-law for fifteen years." Stories of gypsies abducting children do not happen often in this part of the world and would not be believed. You sent him to a university in a certain province and now you want him to complete his education in Parisian society For this reason you must leave Viareggio for a while, where you have lived since the death of your wife. That will suffice." "Is that how you see it?" "of course." "Excellent, then." "If they heard about the separation—" "Ah, by the way, what should I say?" "There was a treacherous governess who was bribed by the family's enemies—" "Let's go to the Senelli family?" "That's right, he abducted the child, and wanted to make the family in the house disappear." "It makes sense because he's an only son." "Well, now that it's all settled, don't forget these revived memories now. You must have guessed that I have prepared an unexpected thing for you?" "Isn't it a happy event?" asked the Italian. "Oh, I know a father's eyes are not as easily deceived as his heart." "Hey!" said the major. "Someone has told you the secret, or perhaps you have guessed that he is here." "Who's here?" "Your boy—your son—your Andrei!" "I did guess it," replied the major, as calmly as possible. "So is he here?" "He is coming," said Monte Cristo. "When my valet came in, he told me that he was coming." "Ah! excellent! excellent!" said the major, scratching at the buttons of his coat at each cry. "My dear Monsieur," said Monte Cristo, "I understand your feelings. You need some time to get used to yourself. I can use this time to prepare the young man for this long-awaited interview. Because I think his inner urgency is no less than yours." "I can imagine that," Cavalcanti said. "Well, in a quarter of an hour, you will be with him." "And will you bring him? Will you bring him to me yourself? How kind of you!" "No, I don't want to come between you father and son. You can meet alone. But don't be nervous, you can do well even if the instinct between father and son doesn't prompt you. He will come in through this door in a moment. He is a good-looking man. A young man, very fair--perhaps a little too white--and very lively, you will see him in a moment, and judge for yourself." "Wait a little longer," said the major; "you know I have only the two thousand francs that the Abbe Busoni gave me, which I have already spent on travel expenses, so" "So you want money, of course, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti. Well, here is eight thousand francs for you." There was a twinkle in the major's eyes. "I owe you only forty thousand francs now," said Monte Cristo. "Does Your Excellency want a receipt?" said the major, slipping the money into the inside pocket of his coat. "What do you want a receipt for?" said the count. "I thought you might show it to the Abbe Busoni." "Well, when you receive the remaining forty thousand francs, just give me a receipt in full. We are all gentlemen, and there is no need to be so fussy." "Ah, yes, indeed," said the major, "we are gentlemen." "One more thing," said Monte Cristo. "Please tell me." "Can you allow me to make a suggestion?" "Of course, I can't ask for more." "Then I advise you not to wear such clothes again." "Really!" said the major, looking at himself with great satisfaction. "Yes. It might be possible to wear it in Viareggio, but the dress, however elegant it may be, is out of date in Paris." "That's bad luck." "Oh, if you really like your old clothes, you can put them back on when you leave Paris." "But what should I wear?" "What clothes are in your suitcase?" "In my suitcase? I only had a traveling bag." "I'm sure you didn't bring anything else. Why would a man bother himself with so many things? Besides, an old soldier like you always likes to take as little luggage as possible when he goes out." of." "That's why I—" "But you are a man of prudence and foresight, so you sent for your luggage beforehand. It is now at the Hotel Dauphin, Rue Richelieu. You are staying there." "Then in those boxes—" "I think you have ordered your valet to put in all the clothes you are likely to need--your civilian clothes and your uniform. You must wear your uniform to look dignified on big occasions. Don't forget Wear your medals. The French still wear them, though they laugh at them." "Excellent! Excellent!" said the major, delightedly. "Now," said Monte Cristo, "you are ready, and you will not be overexcited, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti, and please wait to be reunited with your lost Andrea." So saying, Monte Cristo bowed, and withdrew behind the curtain, leaving the major to himself in ecstasy.