Edmond turned away with a deep sigh.
“You persist in your incredulity, Edmond,” Faria continued. “I see you must have proofs. Well, then, read this paper which I have not shown to anyone until now.”
“I will not vex him,” Dantès said to himself, and, taking the paper, half of which was missing, having, no doubt, been burnt by accident, he read:
This treasure which may amount to two . . .
Roman crowns in the farthest cor . . .
of the secret opening which . . .
declare belongs to him as . . .
heir . . .
April 25, 1498
“Well?” said Faria when the young man had finished reading.
“I see nothing here but broken lines and disjointed words; fire has made it unintelligible.”
“That may be so to you who are reading it for the first time, but not to me who have toiled over it for many a long night, and reconstructed each phrase and completed each thought.”
“Do you think you have discovered the whole meaning?”
“I am sure of it, but you shall judge for yourself presently. First of all let me relate the story of the piece of paper.”
“Hush!” exclaimed Dantès, “I hear footsteps . . . someone is coming . . . I am going . . . Good-bye.”
Dantès was very glad thus to escape a story and explanation which would only confirm his fear that the attack of catalepsy had deprived his friend of his reason. He stayed in his room all day in order to postpone the terrible moment when he would be quite satisfied that the abbé was mad. But when evening drew on and Dantès still did not make his appearance, not even after the gaoler had paid his customary visit, Faria tried to cover the space between his cell and that of his friend. Edmond shuddered when he heard the painful efforts he made to drag himself along; his leg was lifeless and he could no longer use his arm. Edmond was compelled to assist him, for alone he would never have been able to get through the narrow opening that led to Dantès’ cell.
“Here I am, obstinately resolved on pursuing you,” he said with a kindly smile. “You thought to escape my munificence, but it is useless. Now listen to me.”
Edmond realized that he had to comply, so he placed the old man on the bed while he seated himself on the stool.
“You know already,” the abbé began, “that I was the secretary and intimate friend of Cardinal Spada, the last prince of that name. It is to this worthy lord that I owe all the happiness of my life. He was not rich, although the riches of his family were proverbial, and he lived on the reputation of his wealth. His palace was my paradise. I taught his nephews but they died, and when he was alone in the world, I made some return for all he had done for me during ten years by absolute devotion to his every wish.
“The Cardinal’s house held no secrets for me. I often saw Monsignor examining some old books and eagerly searching among family manuscripts. One day when I reproached him with the uselessness of working thus for whole nights together, which alone could account for his low spirits, he looked at me and, smiling bitterly, opened a book which was a history of Rome. There in the twentieth chapter of the Life of Pope Alexander the Sixth, I read the following lines which I shall never forget:
“‘The great wars of the Romagna were ended. Caesar Borgia, who had made his conquest, had need of money with which to buy the whole of Italy. The Pope, too, had need of money to rid himself of Louis the Twelfth, King of France, who was still a formidable foe in spite of his recent defeats. It was necessary, therefore, to make some profitable speculation, which was no easy matter in Italy at that time owing to her impoverished and exhausted condition.’
“His Holiness had an idea. He decided to create two new cardinals. By choosing two of the greatest and, above all, richest personages in Rome he would make a very profitable speculation. First of all he could hold up for sale the splendid appointments and offices these two Cardinals already held, and besides, he expected to realize a large sum by the sale of the two hats.
“There was still a third factor which we shall come to presently.
“The Pope and Caesar Borgia found the desired prospective cardinals, in John Rospigliosi, who alone held four of the highest titles of the Holy See, and Caesar Spada, one of the noblest and richest Romans. They both appreciated such high favour from the Pope for they were both ambitious. Caesar soon found purchasers for their appointments. The result was that Rospigliosi and Spada paid for the honour of being made cardinals, and eight other persons paid for the honour of holding the late appointments of the newly created cardinals. Eight hundred thousand crowns passed into the coffers of the speculators.
“It is now time we touched upon the third part of the speculation. The Pope having overwhelmed Rospigliosi and Spada with favours, having conferred on them the insignia of a cardi nalate and feeling sure that they must have realized their fortunes to enable them to pay their very material debt of gratitude and to establish themselves at Rome, he and Caesar Borgia invited the two Cardinals to dinner.
“There now arose a dispute between the Holy Father and his son. Caesar Borgia thought that use might be made of one of those expedients which were always at the disposal of his intimate friends. There was first of all the famous key with which certain people were asked to open a particular cupboard. The key was furnished with a small iron point, due to negligence on the part of the maker. When bringing pressure to bear on this key, for the lock was a difficult one, the person would prick himself with this point and the next day he would die. Then there was the ring with the lion’s head which Caesar placed on his finger when he shook hands with certain people. The lion bit the favoured hand and at the end of twenty-four hours this bite proved mortal.
“Caesar proposed to his father that they should send the Cardinals to open the cupboard, or else shake each one heartily by the hand; but Alexander the Sixth replied:
“‘Do not let us begrudge these two worthy Cardinals a dinner. Something tells me we shall get our money back. Besides, you forget that an attack of indigestion declares itself immediately, whereas the results of a prick or bite do not manifest themselves for a day or two.’
“Caesar gave way to this reasoning and the two Cardinals were invited to dinner. The table was laid in a vineyard belonging to the Pope near San Pietro in Vincoli, a charming residence of which the Cardinals had often heard.
“Rospigliosi, overwhelmed with his new dignity, made all preparations for this new favour. Spada, being a prudent man who only loved his nephew, a hopeful young captain, took paper and pen and wrote his will. He then sent a message to his nephew to meet him near the vineyard, but apparently the messenger did not find him.
“Spada left for the vineyard near San Pietro in Vincoli at about two o’clock; the Pope was awaiting him. The first person Spada saw was his nephew, in full dress, the recipient of marked attentions from Caesar Borgia. Spada turned pale as Caesar cast on him a look full of irony, which seemed to say that he had foreseen everything and had seen to it that the trap was well laid.
“They went in to dinner. Spada had only been able to ask his nephew whether he had received his message. The nephew answered that he had not. He understood what was meant by this question but it was too late. He had just drunk a glass of excellent wine which the Pope’s butler had set aside for him. Spada was liberally supplied from another bottle, and an hour later the physician declared they had both been poisoned through eating mushrooms. Spada died on the threshold of the vineyard, his nephew expired at his door while making a sign to his wife which she did not understand.
“Caesar and the Pope hastened to lay their hands on the heritage on the pretext that they were seeking for the dead man’s papers. But the sole heritage was a piece of paper on which were written the words:
“‘I bequeath to my dearly beloved nephew my coffers and my books, amongst which he will find my gold-cornered breviary, and I desire him to keep them in memory of his affectionate uncle.’
“Spada’s would-be heir
s searched everywhere, admired the breviary, laid hands on the furniture, and were filled with astonishment that Spada, the rich man, was in reality the most worthless of uncles: there were no treasures unless one reckoned the works of science in the library and the laboratories. There was nothing more. Caesar and his father searched and examined, rummaged amongst the papers, investigated everything, but nothing could they find, or at any rate very little: about a thousand crowns’ worth of plate and about the same value in ready money. Yet, before dying, the nephew had had time to say to his wife:
“‘Look among my uncle’s papers; there is a will.’
“She searched even more energetically than the august heirs had done but all was in vain. There was nothing more than two palaces and a vineyard; and as at that period real property was of very little value, palaces and vineyards remained in the family as unworthy of the rapacity of the Pope and his son.
“Months and years rolled on. Alexander the Sixth was poisoned; Caesar was poisoned at the same time, but escaped death by shedding his skin like a snake, assuming a new cuticle on which the poison left spots like those on a tiger’s skin. Compelled to leave Rome, he was killed in a nocturnal brawl almost forgotten by history.
“After the death of the Pope and the exile of the son, it was generally supposed that the Spada family would resume their splendour of the Cardinal’s time, but it was not the case. They continued to live in doubtful comfort, and a mystery veiled the whole affair. It was noised abroad that Caesar, who was more politic than his father, had taken the fortunes of the two Cardinals from under his father’s nose.
“Do you find my story very stupid?” Faria suddenly asked his companion with a smile.
“Oh, no, my friend,” returned Dantès, “on the contrary. It is as though I were reading a most interesting narrative. Pray continue.”
“I will. Spada’s family accustomed themselves to living in obscurity and the years rolled on. Some of the descendants were soldiers, others diplomats, some entered the church, others became bankers. Some of them grew rich, while others lost all their fortunes. I come now to the last of the family, the Count Spada to whom I acted as secretary.
“I felt sure that neither the Cardinal’s relations nor Borgia had profited by his fortune, and that it had remained ownerless in the bowels of the earth guarded by some genie. I searched and ransacked everything and everywhere; thousands of times did I add up the income and expenditure of the family for the past three hundred years, but it was all in vain. I remained ignorant and Count Spada remained poor.
“My patron died. He bequeathed to me his library, composed of five thousand books, his breviary, which had remained in the family and had been handed down from father to son, and in addition a thousand Roman crowns with the request that I should have anniversary masses said for the repose of his soul, draw up a genealogical tree, and write a history of his family. All this I carried out most scrupulously.
“In eighteen-seven, a month before my arrest, and fifteen days after Count Spada’s death, on December the twenty-fifth—you will understand presently why the date of this memorable day became fixed in my memory—I was reading for the thousandth time the papers I was putting in order, for the palace had been sold to a stranger and I was leaving Rome to settle at Florence, taking with me what money I possessed, my library, and the famous breviary, when, tired with my assiduous study and rendered drowsy by the heavy dinner I had partaken of, my head fell in my hands and I dropped off to sleep. This was at three o’clock in the afternoon.
“I awoke as the clock was striking six to find that I was in complete darkness. I rang for a servant to bring me a light, but as no one came I resolved to help myself. Taking the candle in one hand, I groped about with the other for a piece of paper which I intended to light at the last flame flickering in the hearth. However, fearing that in the dark I might take a valuable piece of paper, I hesitated, but suddenly recollected that I had seen in the famous breviary which lay on the table beside me, an old piece of paper, yellow with age, which had probably served as a bookmark and had been kept in the same place for centuries by the different owners. I found this useless piece of paper and, putting it into the dying flame, lighted it.
“But as the flames devoured the paper I held between my fingers, I saw yellowish characters appear, as if by magic; an unholy terror seized me. I crushed the paper in my hand and choked the flame. Then I lighted the candle and with inexpressible emotion opened out the crumpled paper. I recognized that a mysterious, sympathetic ink had traced these characters which could only become apparent when placed in contact with heat. A little more than one-third of the paper had been consumed by the flames. It was the very paper you read this morning; read it again, Dantès, and then I will give you the missing words to make the sense complete.”
So saying, Faria gave Dantès the paper, and he read this time with great eagerness the following words which had been written with an ink of the colour of rust:
This 25th day of April 1498, be . . .
Alexander VI, and fearing that, not . . .
he may desire to become my heir, and re . . .
and Bentiviglio, who were poisoned, . . .
my sole heir, that I have bu . . .
and has visited with me—that is, in . . .
isle of Monte Cristo—all I pos . . .
els, diamonds, gems that alone . . .
may amount to about two mil . . .
will find on raising the twentieth ro . . .
creek to the East in a straight line. Two open . . .
in these caves; the treasure is in the farthest cor . . .
which treasure I bequeath to him and leave en . . .
sole heir.
CAES . . .
April 25, 1498
“Now,” continued the abbé, “read this other paper.” And he gave Dantès a second piece containing the other half of the broken sentences.
. . . ing invited to dinner by His Holiness
. . . content to make me pay for my hat
. . . serve for me the fate of Cardinals Crapara . . .
I declare to my nephew, Guido Spada,
. . . ried in a spot he knows . . .
the caves of the small
. . . sess in ingots, gold, money, jew
. . . I know the existence of this treasure, which
. . . lion Roman crowns, and which he
. . . ck from the small
. . . ings have been made
. . . ner of the second,
. . . tire to him as my
. . . AR † SPADA
Faria watched him attentively.
When he saw that Dantès had read the last line, he said: “Now place the two fragments together and judge for yourself.”
Dantès obeyed and read as follows:
This 25th day of April 1498, being invited to dinner by His
Holiness Alexander VI, and fearing that, not content to make
me pay for my hat, he may desire to become my heir, and re serve for me the fate of Cardinals Crapara and Bentiviglio, who
were poisoned, I declare to my nephew, Guido Spada, my sole
heir, that I have buried in a spot he knows and has visited with
me—that is, in the caves of the small isle of Monte Cristo—all I
possess in ingots, gold, money, jewels, diamonds, gems; that
alone I know the existence of this treasure, which may amount
to about two million Roman crowns and which he will find on
raising the twentieth rock from the small creek to the East in a
straight line. Two openings have been made in these caves; the
treasure is in the farthest corner of the second, which treasure
I bequeath to him and leave entire to him as my sole heir.
CAESAR † SPADA1
April 25, 1498
“Well! Do you understand it now?” Faria asked.
“Then it is the declaration of Cardinal Spada and the will so long soug
ht for?” Dantès asked with incredulity.
“Yes, and a thousand times yes.”
“Who reconstructed it in this way?”
“I did. With the assistance of the half of the will I had rescued, I worked out the rest by measuring the length of the lines with that of the paper, and by fathoming the missing words by means of those already in my possession, just as in a vault one is guided by a ray of light that enters from above.”
“And what did you do when you thought you had solved the mysterious script?”
“I made up my mind to leave Rome at once, which I did, taking with me the beginning of my big work on the unity of the Kingdom of Italy. The imperial police, however, had been watching me for some time past, and my sudden departure aroused their suspicions. I was arrested just as I was about to embark at Piombino.
“Now, my dear friend,” Faria continued, looking at Dantès with an almost paternal expression, “you know as much as I do; if we ever escape together half of my treasure is yours; if I die here and you escape alone, the whole of it belongs to you.”
“But is there not a more legitimate owner to this treasure than ourselves?” asked Dantès hesitatingly.
“No, none whatever. You can make your mind easy on that score. The family is completely extinct and, besides, the last Count Spada made me his heir; in bequeathing the breviary to me, he bequeathed to me all that it contained. No, if we lay our hands on this fortune, we can enjoy it without any compunction.”
“And you say this treasure consists of . . .”