Annunziata Solara

It was a bright, warm afternoon in spring, and the Piazza del Popolo, Rome’s great promenade, was crowded with gay pleasure-seekers of both sexes, while the Corso and the two other principal thoroughfares diverging from this extensive public square were also thronged with young and old. The trees were covered with fresh green foliage, and multitudes of blooming flowers adorned the Piazza and the windows of the adjacent palaces and humble dwellings. Sounds of joy and mirth were heard on every side, while now and then strains of soft music were audible. It was truly a most inspiring scene of light and life. Flirtations were frequent between beautiful dark-visaged girls, with hair and eyes like night, in their picturesque attire, and manly-looking youthful gallants, while here and there sullen and sombre glances spoke of jealousy as fierce as fire, hinting of marital vengeance and love tragedies characteristic of the hot-blooded, impetuous Italians.

In the midst of the throng on the Piazza two youths were strolling, arm in arm. They were the Viscount Giovanni Massetti and Esperance, the son of Monte-Cristo. Fast friends they seemed, and gayly they chatted as they passed leisurely along. Their spirits were in full harmony with the animated scene around them, and they were evidently not insensible to the charms of the many pretty maidens they encountered and upon whom they cast admiring glances.

Suddenly a peasant girl of dazzling beauty appeared in the Piazza very near them. She was apparently about seventeen, glowing with sturdy health, her full cheeks the hue of the red rose. Her sleeves, rolled above the elbows, displayed perfect arms that would have been the envy of a sculptor. Her feet were bare and her short skirts afforded dazzling glimpses of finely turned ankles and limbs of almost faultless form. Her face had a cheery and agreeable expression, not unmixed with piquant archness and a sort of dainty, bewitching coquetry. She was a flower-girl, and was vending bouquets from a basket jauntily borne on one arm. She addressed herself glibly to the young men she met, offering her wares so demurely and modestly that she seldom failed in finding appreciation and liberal customers. There was not even a suspicion of boldness or sauciness about her, but she had that entire self-possession engendered by thorough familiarity with her somewhat risky and perilous vocation.

Giovanni and Esperance caught sight of her simultaneously. Both were struck by her appearance and demeanor, to which her gaudy but neat and clean peasant costume gave additional eclat.

“What a handsome girl!” exclaimed Esperance, involuntarily.

“A divinity!” replied the Viscount, excitedly.

Then they glanced at each other and laughed, evidently rather ashamed of the admiration they had so enthusiastically expressed.

“Her first words, however, will scatter the illusion to the winds,” said Esperance, cynically. “She is, no doubt, as ignorant as she is pretty.”

“Quite likely,” rejoined Giovanni. “The outside beauty of these peasant girls generally conceals much internal coarseness, not to say depravity.”

They were about pursuing their way, when the girl advanced, offering them her bouquets. Her voice was so sweet, so melodious, so deliciously modulated, that the young men paused in spite of themselves. She stood in a most graceful attitude, her parted coral lips exhibiting teeth as white and glittering as pearls. A subtile magnetism seemed to exhale from her that was not without its influence upon the two youths. Besides, her words did not betoken that ignorance alluded to by Esperance or that depravity the Viscount had spoken of.

“Buy some bouquets for your fair sweethearts, signors,” she said. “They will gladden their hearts, for the perfume speaks of love!”

“Love!” exclaimed Giovanni, smiling at her earnestness and poetic language. “What do you know of love?”

“Ah! signor,” she answered, blushing deeply and averting her eyes, “what girl does not know of love! Even the meanest peasant feels the arrow of the little blind god!”

The young men were amused and interested. Though belonging to the lower class, this poor flower-girl had certainly received some education and was endowed with a fair share of the finer feelings. Esperance felt attracted towards her, and Giovanni experienced a fascination not difficult to account for. Separated from Zuleika, filled with a lover’s despair, the ardent Viscount was not averse to a little flirtation, more or less innocent. Here was his opportunity; he would cultivate this romantic and handsome girl’s acquaintance. Where was the harm? He did not design being unfaithful to Zuleika, and this piquant peasant would be none the worse for brightening some of his sad hours. No doubt she was accessible and would welcome such a diversion, especially as he would pour gold liberally into her lap.

“I will buy some flowers of you, my girl,” he said, encouragingly.

“Here is a beautiful bouquet, signor,” said the girl, smiling joyously at the prospect of making a profitable sale, and handing him a magnificent selection of fragrant buds and bloom.

Giovanni took the bouquet and, at the same time, gently pressed the girl’s taper fingers. They were soft and velvety to his touch. A delightful thrill shot through him at the contact. The flower-girl evinced no displeasure. Clearly she was accustomed to such advances. The Viscount slipped a gold coin of considerable value into her hand, again experiencing the delightful thrill.

“This is too much, signor,” said the girl, looking at the coin, “and I have not the change. You must wait a moment until I get it.”

“Never mind the change,” answered Giovanni. “Keep the whole.”

The girl looked astonished at such liberality, then a joyous smile overspread her beautiful visage.

“Oh! thank you, thank you ever so much, signor,” she said, effusively, the color deepening on her tempting cheeks. Giovanni with difficulty restrained himself from kissing them.

“What is your name, my girl?” he asked, as she moved to depart.

“Annunziata Solara, signor,” she replied, surprised that such a question should be asked her.

“Where do you live?”

“In the country, just beyond the Trastavere.”

“Do you live alone?”

“No; with my father, Pasquale Solara.”

“What is his occupation?”

“He is a shepherd, signor.”

The girl bowed to the two young men and, with a glance at Giovanni that set his blood tingling in his veins, passed on and was speedily lost in the throng of promenaders.

Esperance, who had watched this scene with amused curiosity, broke into a hearty laugh as the Viscount turned towards him with something very like a sigh.

“Giovanni,” said he, “the pretty Annunziata Solara has bewitched you!”

“Not quite so much as that, Esperance,” replied the young Italian. “But she is a glorious creature, isn’t she?”

“Yes, as far as looks go; but all is not gold that glitters, and this fair Annunziata may turn out a perfect fiend or fury upon a closer acquaintance!”

Giovanni gave his friend a glance of reproach.

“Do not insult her with such wretched insinuations,” he replied, warmly.

Esperance smiled and said:

“You are smitten with her, that’s plain!”

“I am not, but I admire her as I would anything beautiful.”

“Put it as you please. At any rate, you will hardly be likely to see her again. She was a vision and has faded.”

“But I do not intend to lose sight of her.”

“You do not mean to say that you design seeking her out?”

“That is exactly what I mean to say.”

Esperance looked at his friend quizzically and, at the same time, uneasily.

“When do you design seeking her out?”

“This very night.”

“In the Trastavere?”

“No. You did not hear her aright. She said she lived in the country, just beyond the Trastavere. I will seek her there.”

“What! Alone?”

“Alone.”

“Beware, Giovanni! Her bright eyes may lead you into danger! How do you know that she has not some fierce brigand lover, who will meet you with a stiletto?”

“Nonsense! Your fears are childish!”

“I am not so sure of that. The country beyond the Trastavere is infested by daring robbers, who would not hesitate to seize you and hold you for a ransom. Only the other day the notorious Luigi Vampa performed just such an exploit, exacting a very large sum for the release of his prisoner, who was a wealthy nobleman like yourself.”

“I will take the chances!”

“You are mad!”

“I am not. I have no fear of brigands. They would not dare to lay even a finger upon a Massetti!”

The young Viscount drew himself up proudly as he spoke. He believed the power of his family invincible.

Esperance was at a total loss to understand the firm hold this sudden infatuation had taken upon his friend. Of course, he fully comprehended the influence of female beauty over hot, headstrong youth, and he acknowledged to himself that Annunziata was really very beautiful and alluring; still, she was not more so than hosts of other girls who would be glad to win a smile from the Viscount Massetti at almost any price, and whose pursuit would be altogether unattended with danger. It was well known that the shrewd brigands frequently sent handsome young women to Rome to entice their prey to them, and might not Annunziata Solara, with all her apparent demureness, be one of those dangerous Delilahs?

After several further attempts to dissuade the Viscount from the rash venture he had decided upon making, all of which were vain, Esperance resolved that his impetuous friend should not go alone that night in quest of the fascinating Annunziata. He would follow him unseen and endeavor to protect him should the necessity arise. He knew the Viscount’s nature too thoroughly to propose accompanying him, as such a proposition would undoubtedly be received with scorn, if not as an absolute insult. He would, however, keep track of him and, if all went well, Massetti would be none the wiser. If, on the contrary, his aid should be needed, he could come forward and give it. In that event, gratitude on the Viscount’s part would prevent him from demanding an explanation of his presence.

Meanwhile the young men had continued their stroll and had passed from the Piazza del Popolo to the Corso. Giovanni was taciturn and moody. He looked straight ahead, failing to notice the gayly attired beauties thronging that great thoroughfare, who at ordinary times would have engrossed his attention. Not so with Esperance; he admired the vivacious ladies on the sidewalk or in their handsome carriages drawn by spirited horses. Now and then he recognized an acquaintance among them and bowed, but Giovanni recognized no one. He seemed plunged in a reverie that nothing could break. Scarcely did he reply to Espérance’s occasional remarks, and when he did so it was with the air of a man whose thoughts are far away.

At the broad portico of the magnificent Palazzo Massetti, Esperance, the son of Monte-Cristo bade his friend farewell. As he turned to depart, he said:

“Is your determination still unaltered, do you yet intend to seek Annunziata Solara in the country beyond the Trastavere?”

Giovanni glanced at him keenly, as he replied, somewhat impatiently:

“My determination is unaltered. I shall seek her!”

“To-night?”

“To-night!”

Esperance said nothing further, but departed, full of sad forebodings. He felt a premonition of evil, and was certain that his infatuated friend would meet with some dire mishap during the romantic and hazardous expedition of that night. It was now quite late, and the young man hurriedly bent his steps towards the Palazzo Costi, maturing his plan as he walked along. He would inform the Count of Monte-Cristo that he had been invited to accompany some friends on a pleasure excursion, requesting his permission to absent himself from Rome for a few days. This permission obtained, he would assume the garb of an Italian peasant, make his way to the Ponte St. Angelo and there, in the shadow of the bridge, await the coming of the Viscount Massetti. When the latter had passed his place of concealment, he would follow him at a distance, keeping him in view and watching him closely.

Monte-Cristo made no objection to his son’s proposed absence, and the young man, after a hasty supper, hurried to his sleeping chamber, where he soon assumed a peasant’s dress he had worn at a recent masquerade. Stepping in front of a toilet mirror, he applied a stain to his face, giving it the color of that of a sunburnt tiller of the fields. When his disguise was completed, he surveyed himself triumphantly in the glass. Even his father could not have recognized him, so radically had he altered his appearance.

Gaining the street by a private door without being observed, he was speedily at the bridge. As he stepped into the shadow of one of the abutments, he heard the great clock of the Vatican strike seven. It was twilight, but everything around him was as plainly visible as in broad day. He glanced in every direction. No sign of Giovanni. Had the ardent young Viscount already crossed the Tiber?

He thought not, and waited patiently for a quarter of an hour. Still no sign. Then he began to grow anxious. Massetti had certainly passed over the bridge and he had missed him. He waited a few minutes longer, devoured by impatience and anxiety. At last he reached the conclusion that Giovanni had preceded him, had gone on alone, unprotected. He must have done so; otherwise he would certainly have appeared ere this. The thought was torture. To what unknown, what deadly perils was he exposing himself amid the marshes without the city walls? But perhaps he had not yet left the city walls behind him! A ray of hope came to Esperance. If Massetti were still within the limits of the Trastavere, he might by using due speed overtake him! He would make the attempt at any rate. As he formed this resolution, he emerged from the shadow of the abutment. At that instant a man came upon the bridge and passed him. He passed so closely that they almost touched, uttering a suppressed oath at finding an intruder in his path. His pace was rapid, so rapid that he was soon far away. He had not even looked at Esperance, and it seemed to the latter that he had endeavored to conceal his face. The man was of Giovanni’s size and had Giovanni’s bearing, but there the resemblance ended. He was certainly a peasant; his attire betokened it; besides, his countenance, of which Esperance had caught a glimpse, was rough and tanned. The son of Monte-Cristo felt a pang of keen disappointment; then he glanced at his own garments, thought of his own stained visage, and a revelation came to him like a flash of lightning the man was Giovanni Giovanni in disguise! He hurriedly looked after his retiring figure; it was now but a mere speck in the distance, scarcely discernible in the fading twilight. He started swiftly in pursuit, almost running across the bridge. After a hot and weary chase, he at length gained so much on the object of his solicitude that he was as near as he deemed it prudent to approach. He was now sure that the man ahead of him was the Viscount Massetti.

Esperance paused a second to recover his breath; then he went on at a slower pace. The pursued had not discovered the pursuit; he trudged along steadily and sturdily, never once looking back. Thus the two men crossed the Trastavere, and each in turn, emerging from a gate in the wall of the Leonine City, passed out into the marshy country beyond. They had not gone very far, when Esperance saw Giovanni suddenly give a start; at the same time he heard a loud, harsh voice cry out:

“In the name of Luigi Vampa, halt!”

Straining his eyes, Esperance finally succeeded in piercing the semi-darkness of the surroundings, and perceived a gigantic ruffian, who wore a black mask, standing in the centre of the road and presenting a pistol at the head of the man he had every reason to believe was Giovanni Massetti.