chance, hear the hollow sound of his footsteps, and call the attention
of his officer to the circumstance. That would bring about a discovery
which would inevitably lead to our being separated. Go, then, and set
about this work, in which, unhappily, I can offer you no assistance;
keep at it all night, if necessary, and do not return here to-morrow
till after the jailer his visited me. I shall have something of the
greatest importance to communicate to you."
Dantes took the hand of the abbe in his, and affectionately pressed
it. Faria smiled encouragingly on him, and the young man retired to his
task, in the spirit of obedience and respect which he had sworn to show
towards his aged friend.
Chapter 18. The Treasure.
When Dantes returned next morning to the chamber of his companion in
captivity, he found Faria seated and looking composed. In the ray of
light which entered by the narrow window of his cell, he held open in
his left hand, of which alone, it will be recollected, he retained the
use, a sheet of paper, which, from being constantly rolled into a small
compass, had the form of a cylinder, and was not easily kept open. He
did not speak, but showed the paper to Dantes.
"What is that?" he inquired.
"Look at it," said the abbe with a smile.
"I have looked at it with all possible attention," said Dantes, "and I
only see a half-burnt paper, on which are traces of Gothic characters
inscribed with a peculiar kind of ink."
"This paper, my friend," said Faria, "I may now avow to you, since I
have the proof of your fidelity--this paper is my treasure, of which,
from this day forth, one-half belongs to you."
The sweat started forth on Dantes brow. Until this day and for how
long a time!--he had refrained from talking of the treasure, which had
brought upon the abbe the accusation of madness. With his instinctive
delicacy Edmond had preferred avoiding any touch on this painful chord,
and Faria had been equally silent. He had taken the silence of the old
man for a return to reason; and now these few words uttered by Faria,
after so painful a crisis, seemed to indicate a serious relapse into
mental alienation.
"Your treasure?" stammered Dantes. Faria smiled.
"Yes," said he. "You have, indeed, a noble nature, Edmond, and I see
by your paleness and agitation what is passing in your heart at this
moment. No, be assured, I am not mad. This treasure exists, Dantes, and
if I have not been allowed to possess it, you will. Yes--you. No one
would listen or believe me, because everyone thought me mad; but you,
who must know that I am not, listen to me, and believe me so afterwards
if you will."
"Alas," murmured Edmond to himself, "this is a terrible relapse! There
was only this blow wanting." Then he said aloud, "My dear friend, your
attack has, perhaps, fatigued you; had you not better repose awhile?
To-morrow, if you will, I will hear your narrative; but to-day 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 to-morrow, 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 any one."
"To-morrow, 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 to-morrow."
"Then we will not talk of it until to-morrow; but read this paper
to-day."
"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 Dantes, "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 Dantes. "Steps approach--I go--adieu."
And Dantes, 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?
Dantes 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 abbe 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 Dantes' 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 abbe, "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; Caesar 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 Caesar Borgia first found the two future cardinals; they were
Giovanni Rospigliosi, who held four of the highest dignities of the
Holy See, and Caesar 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 Caesar 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.
"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 Caesar Borgia
invited the two cardinals to dinner. This was a matter of dispute
between the holy father and his son. Caesar 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 Caesar 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. Caesar 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, Caesar, an indigestion declares itself immediately, while
a prick or a bite occasions a delay of a day or two.' Caesar 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, 'Caesar wills that
you die.' but it was a legate a 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 Caesar Borgia paying him most marked
attentions. Spada turned pale, as Caesar 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 Caesar and the pope hastened to lay hands on the heritage, under
