The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (152 page)

‘There now, mate,’ said Caderousse. ‘You seem to be reconciled with your old landlord?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Andrea replied, his youthful and vigorous appetite taking precedence at that moment over everything.

‘Are you enjoying it, you rogue?’

‘So much so that I can’t understand how a man who can fry and eat such good things can possibly be disillusioned with life.’

‘Well, now,’ said Caderousse, ‘the trouble is that all my happiness is ruined by a single thought.’

‘What can that be?’

‘That I am living at the expense of a friend, when I have always sturdily struggled to earn my own bread.’

‘Oh, don’t fret over that,’ said Andrea. ‘I’ve got plenty for two, don’t you worry.’

‘No, no, it’s the truth: believe me or not, but at the end of every month, I feel guilty.’

‘My dear Caderousse!’

‘So much so that yesterday I didn’t want to take the two hundred francs.’

‘Yes, you wanted to talk about it; but did you really feel guilty, then?’

‘Really! And then I had an idea.’

Andrea shuddered. He always shuddered at Caderousse’s ideas.

‘It’s a miserable business,’ Caderousse went on, ‘always having to wait until the end of the month.’

Andrea shrugged philosophically, deciding to see where this was leading. ‘Isn’t life spent waiting?’ he asked. ‘Look at me: what do I do but wait? Well, I’m patient, aren’t I?’

‘Yes, because instead of waiting for two hundred miserable francs, you are waiting for five or six thousand, perhaps ten, or even twelve. You’re a sly one, you are. Even in the old days you always had your little purses or money-boxes that you tried to hide from your poor friend Caderousse. Luckily, the said Caderousse had a way of sniffing them out.’

‘There you go again, wandering off the subject and turning the
past over and over. I ask you, what’s the use of harping on like that?’

‘Oh, you say that because you’re twenty-one; you can forget the past. I’m fifty and obliged to remember it. But no matter, let’s get back to business.’

‘Yes, let’s.’

‘I was saying that in your place…’

‘What?’

‘I should cash in…’

‘What! You’d cash in…’

‘Yes, I’d ask for a six-month advance, on the grounds that I wanted to go into politics and I was going to buy a farm; then, once I had the money, I’d be off.’

‘Well, well, well,’ said Andrea. ‘That’s perhaps not such a bad idea after all.’

‘My dear friend,’ said Caderousse, ‘eat my cooking and digest my words; you won’t be any the worse for it, physically or otherwise.’

‘Well, in that case,’ said Andrea, ‘why don’t you take your own advice? Why not cash in a half-year, or even a whole one, and retire to Brussels? Instead of looking like a retired baker, you would seem like a fully active bankrupt: that’s a step up.’

‘And how the devil do you expect me to retire on twelve hundred francs?’

‘Now, then, Caderousse,’ said Andrea. ‘You’re getting fussy! Two months ago you were starving to death.’

‘The more you eat,’ said Caderousse, baring his teeth like a laughing monkey or a growling tiger, ‘the more you want. Moreover, I’ve got a plan,’ he added, biting off a huge mouthful of bread with those same teeth, which were sharp and white, despite the man’s age.

Caderousse’s plans terrified Andrea even more than his ideas: the ideas were only the seed, the plan was the full fruit.

‘Tell us this plan,’ he said. ‘It must be a good one!’

‘Why not? Who had the plan that got us out of Monsieur Thing-ummy’s place? I did, it goes without saying. And it wasn’t a bad plan, after all, since we’re both here.’

‘I’m not denying it,’ said Andrea. ‘You do sometimes have a good one. So, let’s hear it.’

‘In that case,’ Caderousse continued, ‘can you, without paying a
sou
, get me fifteen thousand francs… ? No, fifteen thousand is
not enough, I don’t want to become an honest man for less than thirty thousand.’

‘No,’ Andrea replied drily, ‘I can’t.’

‘I don’t think you can have understood me,’ Caderousse replied, coldly and calmly. ‘I said: without paying a
sou
.’

‘I suppose you’re not asking me to steal, so that I can ruin everything for myself, and you with me, and have both of us taken back where we came from?’

‘Oh, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Caderousse, ‘I don’t mind either way if I’m caught. I’m an odd fish, you know: I sometimes miss the company… I’m not heartless like you, happy if you never see your old friends again!’

This time Andrea did more than shudder: he went pale. ‘Come now, Caderousse,’ he said, ‘don’t do anything foolish.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t, my little Benedetto. Just show me the means to make thirty thousand francs. You don’t have to be involved. Just let me get on with it.’

‘All right, I’ll see, I’ll look for something,’ said Andrea.

‘Meanwhile, you can increase my allowance to five hundred francs a month. I’ve got this idea in my head that I’d like a maid.’

‘Very well, you shall have your five hundred,’ said Andrea. ‘But it’s not going to be easy for me, Caderousse. You’re starting to take advantage…’

‘Huh!’ said Caderousse. ‘You get it from a bottomless chest.’

Andrea seemed to be expecting this, because his eye shone with a brief flame, though one that was immediately extinguished. ‘That’s true,’ he replied. ‘My protector is very good to me.’

‘Your dear protector!’ said Caderousse. ‘How much does he give you every month?’

‘Five thousand francs.’

‘A thousand for every hundred you will be giving me,’ Caderousse said. ‘As they say, only bastards know real good fortune. Five thousand francs a month… What the devil can you do with it all?’

‘Believe me, it soon goes! So, like you, I would prefer a lump sum.’

‘A lump sum… Yes, I understand. Everyone would like a lump sum.’

‘And I am going to get one.’

‘Who will give it to you, then? Your prince?’

‘Yes, my prince; but unfortunately I have to wait.’

‘What for?’ asked Caderousse.

‘His death.’

‘Your prince’s death?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he has provided for me in his will.’

‘Is that so?’

‘On my word.’

‘How much?’

‘Five hundred thousand.’

‘Is that all? Thanks a lot.’

‘I’m telling the truth.’

‘Come on, it’s impossible.’

‘Caderousse, are you my friend?’

‘Of course: in life, to the death!’

‘I’m going to tell you a secret.’

‘Go on.’

‘Listen, then.’

‘Right, then! Not a word.’

‘Well, I think…’ Andrea stopped and looked around.

‘You think… ? Don’t worry, we’re alone.’

‘I think I have found my father.’

‘Your real father?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not Father Cavalcanti?’

‘No. Anyway, he’s gone. No, the real one…’

‘Who is it?’

‘Caderousse, it’s the Count of Monte Cristo.’

‘Huh!’

‘Yes. Don’t you see, it explains everything. Apparently he cannot admit to me openly, but he has had me recognized by Monsieur Cavalcanti and given him fifty thousand francs for doing so.’

‘Fifty thousand francs, to be your father! I would have done it for half as much; or even for twenty, no, fifteen! Why didn’t you think of me, ungrateful wretch!’

‘How did I know, since it all happened while we were inside?’

‘So it did. And you say that in his will… ?’

‘He leaves me five hundred thousand
livres
.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘He showed it to me; but that’s not all.’

‘There is a codicil, as I just said.’

‘Probably.’

‘And in it… ?’

‘He acknowledges me.’

‘Oh, what a good father! A fine father! A most excellent father!’ Caderousse said, twirling a plate in the air between his hands.

‘Now tell me that I keep any secrets from you!’

‘No, and in my view your trusting nature does you credit. And this prince of fathers, is he rich… ultra-rich?’

‘I think so. He doesn’t know his own wealth.’

‘I can’t believe it!’

‘Dammit, I can see as much, since I’m admitted to his house at all hours. The other day, a boy came from the bank with fifty thousand francs in a portfolio as big as your briefcase. Yesterday, a banker brought him one hundred thousand francs in gold.’

Caderousse was stunned. It seemed to him that the young man’s words rang like metal and he could hear showers of gold coins. ‘And you go into that house?’ he exclaimed naïvely.

‘Whenever I want.’

Caderousse reflected for a moment. It was easy to see that his mind was turning over some deep thought. Then suddenly he exclaimed: ‘Wouldn’t I love to see all that! It must be lovely!’

‘In fact, it’s magnificent,’ Andrea said.

‘Doesn’t he live in the Avenue des Champs-Elysées?’

‘At number thirty.’

‘Ah, number thirty?’ said Caderousse.

‘Yes. A fine house, standing alone in its own grounds, which is all you can see.’

‘Perhaps, but it’s not the outside that interests me; it’s indoors. There must be some fine furniture, huh?’

‘Have you ever seen the Tuileries?’

‘No.’

‘Well, this is better.’

‘Tell me, Andrea, when this good Monte Cristo drops his purse, it must be worth stooping to pick it up?’

‘Oh, heavens! No need to wait for that,’ said Andrea. ‘Money lies around in that house like fruit in an orchard.’

‘Now, you really should take me there one day.’

‘How can I? As whom?’

‘You’re right, but you’ve made my mouth water. I really must see it. I’ll find a way.’

‘Don’t do anything silly, Caderousse.’

‘I’ll introduce myself as a polisher.’

‘They have carpets everywhere.’

‘That’s a pity. I’ll just have to imagine it.’

‘Believe me, that’s the best way.’

‘At least help me to guess what it must be like.’

‘How can I do that?’

‘Nothing simpler. Is it big?’

‘Neither too large, nor too small.’

‘What is the general layout?’

‘Hell! I’d need ink and paper to draw a plan for you.’

‘Here you are!’ Caderousse said at once, going over to his writing-desk to fetch some white paper, ink and a quill. ‘There, now, put it all down on paper, my lad.’

Andrea took the pen with a faint smile and began. ‘As I told you, the house is in its own grounds; do you see? Like this.’ He drew the outline of the garden, the courtyard and the house.

‘High walls?’

‘No, eight or ten feet at most.’

‘That’s risky,’ said Caderousse.

‘In the courtyard, tubs for orange-trees, lawns and flowerbeds.’

‘Any mantraps?’

‘No.’

‘And the stables?’

‘On either side of the fence, you see: there.’ Andrea went on with his plan.

‘Let’s see the ground floor,’ said Caderousse.

‘On the ground floor there’s a dining-room, two drawing-rooms, a billiard-room, a stairway from the hall and a little hidden staircase.’

‘Windows?’

‘Splendid windows, so beautiful and so wide that I honestly do believe a man of your size could climb through a single pane.’

‘Why on earth do they have stairways, with such windows?’

‘What do you think! Extravagance!’

‘But there are shutters?’

‘Yes, there are, but they are never used. He’s eccentric, this Count of Monte Cristo, and likes to see the sky, even at night.’

‘So where do the servants sleep, then?’

‘Oh, they have their own house. Picture a fine storeroom on the right as you go in, where they keep the ladders. Well, on top of that there is a collection of rooms for the servants, with bells corresponding to the rooms.’

‘Hell’s bells!’

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing. I was just saying that they’re expensive to install, bells. And what use are they, I ask you?’

‘At one time there was a dog which used to walk around the courtyard at night, but they’ve taken him to the house in Auteuil – you know, the one you visited?’

‘Yes.’

‘And I was saying only yesterday: “It’s unwise of you, Monsieur le Comte, because when you go to Auteuil, and take your servants, the house remains empty.”

‘ “What about it?” he asked.