The Count of Monte Cristo
Tomorrow, if you will, I will hear your narrative; but today I wish to
nurse you carefully. Besides,” he said, “a treasure is not a thing we
need hurry about.”
“On the contrary, it is a matter of the utmost importance, Edmond!”
replied the old man. “Who knows if tomorrow, or the next day after, the
third attack may not come on? and then must not all be over? Yes,
indeed, I have often thought with a bitter joy that these riches, which
would make the wealth of a dozen families, will be forever lost to
those men who persecute me. This idea was one of vengeance to me, and I
tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon and the despair of my
captivity. But now I have forgiven the world for the love of you; now
that I see you, young and with a promising future,—now that I think of
all that may result to you in the good fortune of such a disclosure, I
shudder at any delay, and tremble lest I should not assure to one as
worthy as yourself the possession of so vast an amount of hidden
wealth.”
Edmond turned away his head with a sigh.
“You persist in your incredulity, Edmond,” continued Faria. “My words
have not convinced you. I see you require proofs. Well, then, read this
paper, which I have never shown to anyone.”
“Tomorrow, my dear friend,” said Edmond, desirous of not yielding to
the old man’s madness. “I thought it was understood that we should not
talk of that until tomorrow.”
“Then we will not talk of it until tomorrow; but read this paper
today.”
“I will not irritate him,” thought Edmond, and taking the paper, of
which half was wanting,—having been burnt, no doubt, by some
accident,—he read:
“this treasure, which may amount to two...
of Roman crowns in the most distant a...
of the second opening wh...
declare to belong to him alo...
heir.
“25th April, 149’”
“Well!” said Faria, when the young man had finished reading it.
“Why,” replied Dantès, “I see nothing but broken lines and unconnected
words, which are rendered illegible by fire.”
“Yes, to you, my friend, who read them for the first time; but not for
me, who have grown pale over them by many nights’ study, and have
reconstructed every phrase, completed every thought.”
“And do you believe you have discovered the hidden meaning?”
“I am sure I have, and you shall judge for yourself; but first listen
to the history of this paper.”
“Silence!” exclaimed Dantès. “Steps approach—I go—adieu!”
And Dantès, happy to escape the history and explanation which would be
sure to confirm his belief in his friend’s mental instability, glided
like a snake along the narrow passage; while Faria, restored by his
alarm to a certain amount of activity, pushed the stone into place with
his foot, and covered it with a mat in order the more effectually to
avoid discovery.
It was the governor, who, hearing of Faria’s illness from the jailer,
had come in person to see him.
Faria sat up to receive him, avoiding all gestures in order that he
might conceal from the governor the paralysis that had already half
stricken him with death. His fear was lest the governor, touched with
pity, might order him to be removed to better quarters, and thus
separate him from his young companion. But fortunately this was not the
case, and the governor left him, convinced that the poor madman, for
whom in his heart he felt a kind of affection, was only troubled with a
slight indisposition.
During this time, Edmond, seated on his bed with his head in his hands,
tried to collect his scattered thoughts. Faria, since their first
acquaintance, had been on all points so rational and logical, so
wonderfully sagacious, in fact, that he could not understand how so
much wisdom on all points could be allied with madness. Was Faria
deceived as to his treasure, or was all the world deceived as to Faria?
Dantès remained in his cell all day, not daring to return to his
friend, thinking thus to defer the moment when he should be convinced,
once for all, that the abbé was mad—such a conviction would be so
terrible!
But, towards the evening after the hour for the customary visit had
gone by, Faria, not seeing the young man appear, tried to move and get
over the distance which separated them. Edmond shuddered when he heard
the painful efforts which the old man made to drag himself along; his
leg was inert, and he could no longer make use of one arm. Edmond was
obliged to assist him, for otherwise he would not have been able to
enter by the small aperture which led to Dantès’ chamber.
“Here I am, pursuing you remorselessly,” he said with a benignant
smile. “You thought to escape my munificence, but it is in vain. Listen
to me.”
Edmond saw there was no escape, and placing the old man on his bed, he
seated himself on the stool beside him.
“You know,” said the abbé, “that I was the secretary and intimate
friend of Cardinal Spada, the last of the princes of that name. I owe
to this worthy lord all the happiness I ever knew. He was not rich,
although the wealth of his family had passed into a proverb, and I
heard the phrase very often, ‘As rich as a Spada.’ But he, like public
rumor, lived on this reputation for wealth; his palace was my paradise.
I was tutor to his nephews, who are dead; and when he was alone in the
world, I tried by absolute devotion to his will, to make up to him all
he had done for me during ten years of unremitting kindness. The
cardinal’s house had no secrets for me. I had often seen my noble
patron annotating ancient volumes, and eagerly searching amongst dusty
family manuscripts. One day when I was reproaching him for his
unavailing searches, and deploring the prostration of mind that
followed them, he looked at me, and, smiling bitterly, opened a volume
relating to the History of the City of Rome. There, in the twentieth
chapter of the Life of Pope Alexander VI., were the following lines,
which I can never forget:—
“‘The great wars of Romagna had ended; Cæsar Borgia, who had completed
his conquest, had need of money to purchase all Italy. The pope had
also need of money to bring matters to an end with Louis XII. King of
France, who was formidable still in spite of his recent reverses; and
it was necessary, therefore, to have recourse to some profitable
scheme, which was a matter of great difficulty in the impoverished
condition of exhausted Italy. His holiness had an idea. He determined
to make two cardinals.’
“By choosing two of the greatest personages of Rome, especially rich
men—_this_ was the return the Holy Father looked for. In the first
place, he could sell the great appointments and splendid offices which
the cardinals already held; and then he had the two hats to sell
besides. There was a third point in view, which will appear hereafter.
“The pope and Cæsar Borgia first found the two future cardinals; they
were Giovanni Rospigliosi, who held four of the highest dignities of
the Holy See, and Cæsar Spada, one of the noblest and richest of the
Roman nobility; both felt the high honor of such a favor from the pope.
They were ambitious, and Cæsar Borgia soon found purchasers for their
appointments. The result was, that Rospigliosi and Spada paid for being
cardinals, and eight other persons paid for the offices the cardinals
held before their elevation, and thus eight hundred thousand crowns
entered into the coffers of the speculators.
0239m
“It is time now to proceed to the last part of the speculation. The
pope heaped attentions upon Rospigliosi and Spada, conferred upon them
the insignia of the cardinalate, and induced them to arrange their
affairs and take up their residence at Rome. Then the pope and Cæsar
Borgia invited the two cardinals to dinner. This was a matter of
dispute between the Holy Father and his son. Cæsar thought they could
make use of one of the means which he always had ready for his friends,
that is to say, in the first place, the famous key which was given to
certain persons with the request that they go and open a designated
cupboard. This key was furnished with a small iron point,—a negligence
on the part of the locksmith. When this was pressed to effect the
opening of the cupboard, of which the lock was difficult, the person
was pricked by this small point, and died next day. Then there was the
ring with the lion’s head, which Cæsar wore when he wanted to greet his
friends with a clasp of the hand. The lion bit the hand thus favored,
and at the end of twenty-four hours, the bite was mortal.
“Cæsar proposed to his father, that they should either ask the
cardinals to open the cupboard, or shake hands with them; but Alexander
VI. replied: ‘Now as to the worthy cardinals, Spada and Rospigliosi,
let us ask both of them to dinner, something tells me that we shall get
that money back. Besides, you forget, Cæsar, an indigestion declares
itself immediately, while a prick or a bite occasions a delay of a day
or two.’ Cæsar gave way before such cogent reasoning, and the cardinals
were consequently invited to dinner.
“The table was laid in a vineyard belonging to the pope, near San
Pierdarena, a charming retreat which the cardinals knew very well by
report. Rospigliosi, quite set up with his new dignities, went with a
good appetite and his most ingratiating manner. Spada, a prudent man,
and greatly attached to his only nephew, a young captain of the highest
promise, took paper and pen, and made his will. He then sent word to
his nephew to wait for him near the vineyard; but it appeared the
servant did not find him.
“Spada knew what these invitations meant; since Christianity, so
eminently civilizing, had made progress in Rome, it was no longer a
centurion who came from the tyrant with a message, ‘Cæsar wills that
you die.’ but it was a legate _à latere_, who came with a smile on his
lips to say from the pope, ‘His holiness requests you to dine with
him.’
“Spada set out about two o’clock to San Pierdarena. The pope awaited
him. The first sight that attracted the eyes of Spada was that of his
nephew, in full costume, and Cæsar Borgia paying him most marked
attentions. Spada turned pale, as Cæsar looked at him with an ironical
air, which proved that he had anticipated all, and that the snare was
well spread.
“They began dinner and Spada was only able to inquire of his nephew if
he had received his message. The nephew replied no; perfectly
comprehending the meaning of the question. It was too late, for he had
already drunk a glass of excellent wine, placed for him expressly by
the pope’s butler. Spada at the same moment saw another bottle approach
him, which he was pressed to taste. An hour afterwards a physician
declared they were both poisoned through eating mushrooms. Spada died
on the threshold of the vineyard; the nephew expired at his own door,
making signs which his wife could not comprehend.
“Then Cæsar and the pope hastened to lay hands on the heritage, under
pretense of seeking for the papers of the dead man. But the inheritance
consisted in this only, a scrap of paper on which Spada had written:—‘I
bequeath to my beloved nephew my coffers, my books, and, amongst
others, my breviary with the gold corners, which I beg he will preserve
in remembrance of his affectionate uncle.’
“The heirs sought everywhere, admired the breviary, laid hands on the
furniture, and were greatly astonished that Spada, the rich man, was
really the most miserable of uncles—no treasures—unless they were those
of science, contained in the library and laboratories. That was all.
Cæsar and his father searched, examined, scrutinized, but found
nothing, or at least very little; not exceeding a few thousand crowns
in plate, and about the same in ready money; but the nephew had time to
say to his wife before he expired: ‘Look well among my uncle’s papers;
there is a will.’