"The heirs searched everywhere. They admired the prayer book, examined all the furniture, and were amazed to discover that Spada, supposedly so wealthy, was actually the poorest of uncles. They found no treasure, only the contents of his library and laboratory. That was all. Caesar and his father searched thoroughly but found almost nothing, just a few thousand crowns’ worth of silverware and about the sa amount in cash."
"But the nephew had managed to tell his wife before dying: ’Look carefully through my uncle’s papers. There is a will.’"
"They searched even more thoroughly than Caesar and the Pope had, but found nothing. There were two palaces and a vineyard, but in those days, real estate wasn’t worth much, so these properties remained with the family, they weren’t valuable enough for the Pope and his son to bother with."
"Years passed. Pope Alexander VI died, poisoned, as you probably know, by his own mistake. Caesar was poisoned at the sa ti but survived, though the poison left his skin spotted like a tiger’s. Eventually, he was forced to leave Ro and died obscurely in so minor battle that history barely rembers."
"After the Pope’s death and Caesar’s exile, people expected the Spada family to regain their forr splendor. But that never happened. The Spadas remained modestly well-off, and a mystery hung over the whole affair. Public opinion was that Caesar, being more cunning than his father, had made off with both cardinals’ fortunes, because Cardinal Rospigliosi, who had taken no precautions, was completely robbed as well."
Faria paused in his narrative. "Up to this point, this probably seems aningless to you, doesn’t it?"
"On the contrary!" Dantès exclaid. "It’s like reading a fascinating novel. Please, continue!"
"Very well. The family gradually grew accustod to their reduced circumstances. Years passed, and among the descendants, so beca soldiers, others diplomats, so joined the Church, others beca bankers. So grew rich, others were ruined. Eventually, I co to the last of the family line, the Count of Spada, whose secretary I beca."
"I often heard him complain about the gap between his noble rank and his modest fortune. I advised him to invest everything in governnt bonds, which doubled his inco. The famous prayer book remained in the family, passed down from father to son, treated as a sacred relic because of that strange clause in the only will ever found."
"It was a beautiful illuminated book with gorgeous ancient lettering, so heavy with gold decoration that a servant always carried it before the Cardinal on important ceremonial days."
"Looking through all the family papers, titles, contracts, docunts kept in the family archives, all dating back to the poisoned Cardinal. I examined thousands of docunts just like twenty servants, stewards, and secretaries before . Despite exhaustive research, I found nothing. I had even written a detailed history of the Borgia family, specifically to see if their fortune had increased after Cardinal Caesar Spada’s death. I could only trace the acquisition of Cardinal Rospigliosi’s property."
"I beca convinced that the inheritance had benefited neither the Borgias nor the family, but remained hidden like treasure in fairy tales, sleeping in the earth under so magical guardian. I searched, investigated, counted, and calculated the family’s inco and expenses for three hundred years. It was useless. I remained ignorant, and the Count of Spada remained poor."
"My patron died, leaving his family papers, his library of five thousand books, his famous prayer book, and a thousand Roman crowns in cash. In return, I was to arrange annual morial masses for his soul and compile a complete family genealogy and history. I did all of this faithfully."
"In 1807, a month before my arrest and two weeks after the Count’s death, on December 25th, you’ll see why I rember that date so clearly, I was reading through the papers I was organizing for the thousandth ti. The palace had been sold to a stranger, and I was preparing to leave Ro for Florence with my twelve thousand francs, my library, and the famous prayer book."
"Exhausted from my constant work and drowsy from a heavy lunch, I fell asleep at my desk around three in the afternoon. I woke when the clock struck six, finding myself in complete darkness. I rang for a servant to bring a light, but no one ca, so I decided to find one myself."
"I took a wax candle in one hand and groped around with the other for a piece of paper to light it with, my matchbox was empty and useless. I wanted to use the small fla still flickering in the fireplace, but I hesitated to sacrifice any valuable docunt as tinder, fearing it might contain so hidden note or forgotten secret of great importance."
"Then I rembered seeing an old, yellowed paper in the famous prayer book on the table beside . It had served as a bookmark for centuries, kept there by family tradition. I found it, twisted it into a spill, and put it into the dying fla to light it."
"But as the paper caught fire, sothing magical happened. Yellowish characters began appearing on the paper as the flas climbed higher, like ghostly writing summoned from the void! My heart pounded. I snatched it back from the fire, nearly burning my fingers, and extinguished the fla as quickly as I could by pressing it against the stone floor. Trembling with urgency, I lit my candle from the fireplace and carefully unfolded the crumpled paper with incredible excitent, as though I held destiny itself in my hands."
"I realized these characters had been written in special invisible ink, designed centuries ago, that revealed itself only when exposed to heat. Nearly a third of the paper had already been consud by the flas, and my despair was almost equal to my joy. Still, it was the sa docunt you read this morning. Read it again, Dantès, and then I shall fill in the missing words and complete its aning for you."
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