The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 18. The Treasure-1

Chapter 18. The Treasure

When Dantès 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 Dantès.

“What is that?” he inquired.

“Look at it,” said the abbé with a smile.

“I have looked at it with all possible attention,” said Dantès, “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 Dantès’ brow. Until this day and for how long

a time!—he had refrained from talking of the treasure, which had brought

upon the abbé 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 Dantès. 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, Dantès, 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?

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.

“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