Twelve

THE STORY OF THE TREASURE

When Dantes returned to Faria's room next morning, he found Faria looking a little better. He held in his left hand (which was, of course, the only hand which he could use) a small piece of paper. He did not speak, but showed the paper to Dantes.

"What is it?" asked Edmond.

"Look at it," replied the old man.

"I have looked at it, and I only see a half-burnt paper on which is some writing which is not easy to read, and the writing is of a curious colour."

"I can tell you now what this paper is, since I have proved that you are a true and good man. This paper is my treasure, of which, from this day on, one half is yours."

A cold fear came over Dantes. Until this day he had always been careful not to speak to Faria about his "treasure",the thing which had caused him to be thought mad. He had never even touched upon this painful subject, and Faria had been equally silent. He had thought that the old man's silence showed that his madness had left him. And now these few words, spoken by Faria after so fearful an illness, seemed to prove that he had gone mad again.

"Your treasure?" said Dantes, not knowing how to reply.

"Yes," answered Faria. "You have indeed a kind heart, Edmond; and I see what is passing in your mind. No, you may be sure of this, that I am not mad. There is really a treasure; and, if I have not been allowed to use it, you will be. Yes—you. No one would believe me or listen to me, because they thought me mad; but I pray you, who must know that I am not mad, to listen to me, and believe me when you have heard me, if you wish."

"This is fearful," said Edmond to himself. "This is the last and greatest of all my troubles." Then he returned to Faria. "My dear friend," he said, "your illness has tired you. Had you not better rest? Tomorrow, if you wish, I will hear your story; but today I want to take care of you. A treasure," he added, "is not a matter in which we need to hurry."

"No, Edmond. It must be hurried," replied the old man. "Who knows if tomorrow or the next day my illness may not return for the third time? And then all may be finished. I have often thought with joy that this treasure, which would make ten families rich as princes for ever, will be for ever lost to those who were my enemies. But I have forgotten such thoughts as those in my love for you. Now I see you young and full of hope, and I think of all the joy which these riches may bring you, and I must make sure that they shall come to you."

Edmond turned his head away sadly.

"You still do not believe me, Edmond? I must prove it to you. Well, then, read this paper which I have never shown to anyone."

"Tomorrow, my dear friend," said Edmond. "I thought that 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 must not make him angry," thought Edmond. So he took the piece of paper. Half of it had been burnt away.

"Well!" said Faria.

"Why," said Dantes, "I see nothing but broken lines and words which do not hold together to give any meaning, and are not easy to read because of the fire."

"To you, my friend, who read them for the first time, they are not easy; but they are easy to me. For I have studied them night after night. I have filled in the missing words and completed every thought."

"And do you believe that you have discovered some meaning in it?"

"I am sure I have. And you shall judge for yourself; but first listen to the history of this paper."

"Silence!" cried Dantes. "I hear footsteps, and I must go!"

So Dantes hurried away to his room, happy to escape the history and all the talk about it which would only prove his friend's madness more surely.

Faria had quickly moved the stone into place with his foot and covered it with a piece of cloth.

It was the Governor. He had heard of Faria's illness from the keeper, and had come to see him.

Faria sat up to receive him, and tried to hide the condition of his right arm and leg, for he feared that the Governor might order him to be taken to some more healthy room, and so take him from his young friend. Happily this did not happen: the Governor left him, believing that the poor madman was suffering only from some small illness.

During this time Edmond was sitting on his bed with his head in his hands trying to gather together his thoughts. All that Faria had said since he had been known to him had been so learned, so wise, so clear: how, then, could so much wisdom on all other matters go with madness on this one thing? Was Faria wrong about his treasure? or was all the world wrong about Faria?

Dantes remained in his room all day, not daring to return to his friend, fearing to have it proved to him that his friend was mad.

Evening came, and Faria did not see the young man appear. The keeper made his usual visit. Then the old man tried to move and get over the distance which lay between them. Edmond heard the painful sounds as he tried to draw himself along the underground way; his leg was dead, and he could no longer use one arm. Edmond was forced to help him.

"Here I am," said Faria with a laugh. "You thought to escape from my treasure! But you have not done so. Listen to me."

Edmond saw that there was no escape; so, placing the old man on his bed, he sat down on the chair beside him.

"You know," said Faria, "that I was the friend and helper of Prince Spada, the last of the princes of that name. I was very happy with him. He was not rich, although his family had at one time been famous for its riches. Indeed there is the common saying 'As rich as a Spada.' But he had little money. His house was my heaven. I taught his sister's children; (they are now dead). And, when he was alone in the world, I did all that I could for him.

"Now I had often seen the Prince studying old books and looking among the old papers of the family. So much study was bad for his health, and I one day asked him why he did it. He looked at me, and then, with a sad laugh, he opened a book on the History of the City of Rome. In that part of the book which tells the life of Caesar Borgia there were these lines, which I can never forget:

"'Caesar Borgia was Lord of Valentinois and Romagna. His wars were now ended—for the time; but he needed money in order to carry them further. It was not easy at that time to get money, for these long wars had left the country in a very bad condition. There were few rich men, but many who were very poor. At last he thought of a plan. There were two men, Rospigliosi and Spada, who were well known for their riches. He offered, in return for a large amount of money, to make them Princes. This was done. They were then told that, as Princes, it was their duty to live in Rome (bringing their riches with them). When they came to Rome they were treated with every possible honour.

"'Caesar Borgia then began to think out some plan for putting them to death. There were several ways of doing this, for indeed Caesar Borgia had given much study to this subject (of putting people to death). There was the Key: he asked his "friend" to open a door for him, using a certain key. This key had a small point on it; the person pricked by this point would die next day. There was a Ring. Wearing this ring Caesar would seize the hand of his "dear friend"; a needle hidden in the ring would prick the "friend's" hand, and the "friend" would die at the end of twenty-four hours. These had been used several times before. Perhaps they were beginning to be known. Indeed the simplest, as well as the surest, way was to ask them to dinner.

"'They were asked to dinner. The table was set ready in Caesar Borgia's garden. Rospigliosi was delighted at the honour, and put on his best clothes. Spada was a wise man. He loved his brother's child, now a young captain. He took paper and wrote careful orders as to what was to happen to all his money after his death. He then sent a note to the young captain asking him to wait for him near the garden: but the servant did not find him.

"'Spada knew what this dinner meant: it meant certain death. He set out at about noon. When he came to the garden, the first person that he saw there was the young captain, his brother's son, and Caesar Borgia talking to him in a very loving manner. Spada's face became white with fear. Caesar Borgia looked round at him, and laughed: he had thought of everything; the plan was perfect.

"'They began dinner. Spada was only able to ask the young fellow if he had received his note. He answered "No," well understanding the meaning of the question. It was too late, for he had already drunk from the glass at his side. Spada drank also. Spada died just outside the garden. The captain died at his own door, trying to tell his wife something; but she could not understand what he said.

"'Caesar Borgia then seized everything. He took also all the dead man's papers, and that paper which he had written just before his death:

"'"I give to my brother's child all that I have, all my money and all my books, and, among the books, my prayer-book with the gold corners. I hope that he will keep this prayer-book carefully, and that it will help him to remember his dear uncle."

"'This was all. Caesar looked everywhere, but he discovered nothing. There were some gold cups and a few jewels, a little money—very little; and that was all. The treasure of the Spadas, if there ever was any, had gone! It was not to be found!

"'The captain had said to his wife, just before he died, "Look well among my uncle's papers. There is one paper which tells where it is." But nothing was found.

"'Caesar Borgia was driven away from Rome. It was thought that now the treasure of the Spadas would appear again, and the Spada family would become rich as before. But this did not happen. The Spadas remained poor, and people said that perhaps Caesar Borgia had found the money after all.'

"I suppose," said Faria, breaking off his history, "that all this seems to you nothing but a silly story."

"Oh, no," said Dantes, "go on, I pray you."

"I will."

"Years went by. Sons became grandfathers, and their children became grandfathers. Some of the Spadas were soldiers, others became officers of the Government, some merchants; some grew rich, and others lost their money. I come now to the last of the Spadas, the man who was my friend, Prince Spada.

"The famous prayer-book remained in the family, and the Prince now had it. It was beautifully written, and so heavy with gold that a servant always carried it before the Prince when he went to church.

"Like many before me, I went through all the papers of the family, rooms full of papers, trying to find the unknown answer to this old question, 'Where was the treasure of the Spadas?' I found nothing. I read through all the history of the Borgia family to discover whether Caesar Borgia ever got the money in the end. I found that he certainly got all the riches of Rospigliosi; but about the riches of Spada, I could find nothing.

"I then felt that the treasure had come neither to the Borgias, nor to the Spada family. It had remained all this time hidden and unused.

"My friend died. At his death all that he had came to me. In leaving it to me, he asked only that I would say prayers for his soul, and would write a History of the Spada family.

"In 1807, a month before I became a prisoner, I was reading some papers which I had read a thousand times before. But I was setting everything in order, for the house was to be sold to a stranger. I was going to leave Rome and live in Florence, taking with me the little money left to me by the Prince, my books, and the famous prayer-book. I was tired with my long-continued labour. My head dropped on my hands, and I fell asleep.

"It was evening when I awoke.

"I raised my head; all was in darkness. I called for a light, but no servants came; so I decided to find one for myself. I took the lamp in one hand, and with the other I felt about for a piece of paper, so that I might get a light from the fire. I was afraid I might burn some important paper in doing this; then I remembered that there was a piece of plain white paper in the prayer-book. It had served to mark the place in the book, and it had been there for I knew not how many years. I took this and put the corner of it in the fire. Then, as the fire spread up the paper, I saw yellow writing appear. I put out the fire as quickly as I could. As soon as I could get a light, I opened the paper and looked at it. It had been written upon with some liquid which would appear only when the paper was heated. A part of the paper had already been destroyed by the fire. It was the paper you read this morning. Read it again, Dantes, and then I will complete for you what is missing."

Faria offered the paper to Dantes who now read the words written upon it in yellow.

"And now," said Faria, "look at this other paper," and he gave Dantes a second paper on which there were broken lines of writing.

"Now," said Faria quickly, "put the two pieces together, and judge for yourself."

"Well, do you understand now?" asked Faria.

"It is the paper which was so long sought for," said Dantes. "What did you do when you discovered this?"

"I decided to set out at once, taking with me the beginnings of my great book about Italy. But the Government were already afraid of me. They could not understand the reason for my wishing to go away so suddenly. I was taken prisoner just as I was going on board the ship."

Faria turned to Dantes, and looked at him almost as a father on his son, "And now, my dear fellow," said he, "you know as much as I do myself. If we ever escape together, half this treasure is yours. If I die here and you escape alone, the whole of it is yours."

"But the Spadas? Or is there no other ... ?"

"No, no, do not trouble yourself about that. That Prince Spada who was my friend, was the last of the Spadas, and he left everything to me."

Edmond thought that he was in a dream. He was filled with joy, and yet he could not really believe it.

"I have waited until I knew you well, knew that you were worth my trust. And then I meant to surprise you. If we had escaped before my illness, I should have taken you to Monte Cristo. Now," he added sadly, "it is you who will take me there. Well, Dantes, do you not thank me?"

"The treasure is yours, dear friend, and yours only. I have no right to it. I am not one of your family."

"You are my son, Dantes," cried the old man. "You are the child born to me in this prison. God has sent you to be a joy to a man who could not be a father and who could not be free."