Page:The Count of Monte-Cristo (1887 Volume 1).djvu/241

Rh rooms. Spada died on the threshold of the villa; 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:

"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, composed in the library and laboratories. This 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.'

"They sought even more thoroughly than the august heirs had done, but it was fruitless. There were two palaces and a villa behind the Palatine Hill; but in these days landed property had not much value, and the two palaces and the villa remained to the family as beneath the rapacity of the pope and his son. Months and years rolled on. Alexander VI, died poisoned,—you know by what mistake. Cæsar, poisoned at the same time, escaped with changing his skin like a snake, and assumed a new cuticle, on which the poison left spots, like those we see on the skin of a tiger; then, compelled to quit Rome, he went and got himself killed in obscurity in a night skirmish, scarcely noticed in history.

"After the pope's death and his son's exile, it was supposed the Spada family would again make the splendid figure they had before the cardinal's time; but this was not the case. The Spadas remained in doubtful ease; a mystery hung over this dark affair, and the public rumor was that Cæsar, a better politician than his father, had carried off from the pope the fortune of the cardinals. I say the two, because Cardinal Rospigliosi, who had not taken any precaution, was completely despoiled.

"Up to this time," said Faria, interrupting the thread of his narrative, "this seems to you very ridiculous, no doubt, eh?"

"Oh, my friend," cried Dantès, "on the contrary, it seems as if I were reading a most interesting narrative; go on, I pray of you."

"I will. The family began to feel accustomed to this obscurity. Years