Peppino’s story

At the appointed hour, of which he had been duly notified by the Procureur de la République, the Count of Monte-Cristo entered the room set apart for the use of the Juge d’ Instruction at the police poste where Peppino and Beppo were confined. The magistrate was already on the judicial bench and by his side stood the Deputy Procureur, who was explaining to him the wishes of his superior. As Monte-Cristo came in he bowed to the Juge and the Deputy, who returned his salute with all the respect due to so exalted a personage.

“Messieurs,” said the Count, after this exchange of civilities, “you are, of course, aware of the reason of my presence here this afternoon, so we can proceed to business at once, but before the Italians are brought in I have a slight favor to ask.”

“Name it, M. the Count,” said the Juge d’ Instruction, blandly. “We shall be happy to grant it if it lies within our power to do so.”

“Well, messieurs,” said the Count of Monte-Cristo, stepping upon the platform and leaning on the Juge’s desk, “it is simply this. The prisoner calling himself Peppino is in possession of certain details to which I attach considerable importance. He has promised to reveal them to me as the price of his liberty and that of his companion. It is needless to say that the sole motive of my interference in this matter is to obtain these details. Now, from long experience I know all the trickery and treachery of the Italian nature. Once free, this man might snap his fingers in my face and refuse to speak. After the formalities of the law have been duly complied with, I wish the prisoners remanded to their cells and informed that their liberation will take place only when Peppino has given me the promised intelligence.”

“That will be but a trifling stretch of my authority,” replied the Juge d’ Instruction, smiling, “if it is any stretch whatever, for, as I understand the case, the prisoners are to remain virtually in your custody until their departure from France, for which you have pledged your word to the Procureur de la République. Hence the favor you ask shall be cheerfully granted.”

As he concluded the Juge d’ Instruction glanced at the Deputy Procureur, who nodded assent.

The magistrate touched a bell that stood on his desk and said to the gardien de la paix who answered the summons:

“Bring in the prisoners.”

Monte-Cristo and the Deputy retired from the platform, seating themselves in a couple of fauteuils placed at a table immediately in front of the Juge’s desk.

As the two Italians were brought in Peppino glanced first at the magistrate on the bench and then at the Deputy. Finally his eyes rested on the Count, when his countenance instantly lighted up; he instinctively felt that Monte-Cristo’s mysterious influence had been fully as potent with the authorities of Paris as with Luigi Vampa and his band, that the wonderful man had succeeded in effecting the liberation of himself and Beppo.

“Place the prisoners at the bar,” said the Juge d’ Instruction, addressing the gardien.

This order was instantly complied with and the two Italians stood facing the magistrate.

“Remove your hats.”

The prisoners obeyed, Peppino with a confident smile, Beppo with a sullen scowl.

“Prisoners at the bar,” said the Juge d’ Instruction severely, “you are charged with the offense of picking pockets upon the public street. What have you to say?”

This formal and rather menacing beginning was both a surprise and a disappointment to Peppino. He glanced inquiringly at Monte-Cristo, but could read nothing in his pale, handsome face; then with a dark frown he made answer to the Juge, in a harsh, defiant tone:

“I am not guilty!”

The magistrate glanced at Beppo who in his turn repeated his comrade’s words.

Here the Deputy Procureur arose and said to the Juge d’ Instruction, in a full, clear voice:

“May it please you, honored Juge, as the representative of the Procureur de la République I desire to state that it is not my intention to push the charge against the prisoners at the bar. For this course I have a good and sufficient reason. I, therefore, in my official capacity demand that the persons calling themselves Peppino and Beppo be discharged.”

This demand was another surprise to Peppino, but he instantly divined that Monte-Cristo counted for a great deal in it and gazed at him with a look of gratitude. Beppo was absolutely astounded, for he could not understand the sudden, favorable turn in the situation.

The Juge d’ Instruction, in pursuance of the form prescribed by law, said to the Deputy:

“May I ask the worthy representative of the Procureur de la République what are his good and sufficient reasons?”

“Certainly, honored Juge,” replied the functionary. “His Excellency the Count of Monte-Cristo, here present, has entered into a compact with the Procureur, pledging himself in the event of the prisoners’ discharge to induce them to quit France immediately.”

At this Monte-Cristo arose and facing the judicial bench said, in that impressive manner which always marked his public speeches:

“Honored Juge, what the Deputy Procureur has just said is perfectly true in every respect. In the event of the prisoners’ discharge I stand pledged to his superior in office to see that they return to Italy without delay.”

The Deputy and the Count resumed their seats. The Juge d’ Instruction appeared to think for a moment; then he said:

“My duty in the premises is plain. No evidence is presented against the prisoners and the official statement and demand of the Procureur de la République, expressed through his worthy and esteemed representative, preclude the necessity of a formal interrogation of the accused. I shall, therefore, discharge them, subject, however, to the control of his Excellency, the Count of Monte-Cristo. Prisoners at the bar,” he added, addressing Peppino and Beppo, “I remand you to your cells, your liberation to take place at such time as his Excellency, the Count of Monte-Cristo may determine.”

He resumed his seat upon the judicial bench, motioning to the gardien to remove the prisoners.

Ten minutes later Monte-Cristo was in Peppino’s cell. The Italian was radiant with delight and very effusive in the expression of his thanks to his powerful and mysterious benefactor.

The Count waved his hand impatiently.

“A truce to thanks,” he said. “Time presses, and the sooner you give me the details of the conspiracy against the Viscount Massetti the sooner you and your companion will be free.”

Peppino threw himself half down upon his bed and Monte-Cristo seated himself on a rickety stool, his usually impassible countenance plainly showing the absorbing interest he felt in what was to follow.

The Italian cleared his throat and began.

“Signor Count,” said he, “in the first place I must tell you that young Massetti has been disowned and disinherited by his proud, stern father, who believes him one of the guiltiest and most depraved scoundrels on earth!”

Monte-Cristo gave a start; his face grew a shade paler than was habitual with him, but he said nothing; he was eagerly awaiting further developments.

“That is not all, however,” continued Peppino, after a slight pause to note the effect of his communication upon his auditor, “nor is it the worst! The unfortunate Viscount, upon being ignominiously expelled from the Palazzo Massetti by the old Count’s orders, immediately lost his senses; he is now a raving maniac!”

“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Monte-Cristo, springing to his feet and pacing the cell, a prey to intense agitation he did not endeavour to control. “A raving maniac! Giovanni a raving maniac! Oh! my daughter, my daughter!”

“All I say is the truth,” resumed the Italian. “As I hope for Heaven I swear it!”

“But what has become of Massetti? Where is he?” demanded the Count, abruptly pausing in his walk. “Has he been consigned to some asylum?”

“He is an outcast and a wanderer,” replied Peppino. “All Rome frowns upon him, avoids him as a pestilence is avoided. When I left Italy he had sought refuge amid the ruins of the Colosseum, where he was the terror alike of visitors and the superstitious guides. I saw him there with my own eyes the day before my departure. He was in rags, carried a tall staff, wore a crown of ivy leaves and spent his time cursing God and man. They say he never leaves the ruins, save to beg a few scraps upon which to subsist, and that he sleeps at night in the depths of a dark vomitarium in company with bats, spiders and other unclean things.”

“This is incredible!” cried Monte-Cristo, gazing piercingly at his companion and half suspecting that he was drawing upon his vivid Italian imagination for some of his graphic details.

“But it is true, Signor Count,” protested Peppino, earnestly; “every word of it is true!”

“Go on,” said Monte-Cristo, hoarsely, again seating himself on the stool. “Tell me about the conspiracy.”

“I am coming to it, Signor Count,” said the former bandit, assuming a sitting posture upon the edge of the bed. “You know, of course, that the cause of all the Viscount Massetti’s trouble was a certain handsome young peasant girl named Annunziata Solara?”

“I have heard it was some woman, but that does not matter; proceed.”

“This girl sold flowers in the Piazza del Popolo and on the Corso; there she attracted the attention of Massetti and your son Esperance.”

“Esperance!” exclaimed Monte-Cristo, his hands working nervously. “Oh! mon Dieu! the light is commencing to break!”

Peppino smiled reassuringly.

“Have no fear, Signor Count,” said he; “in all the unhappy occurrences that brought the poor Viscount under suspicion your son bore a part as noble as it was honorable; you have abundant reason to be proud of him!”

Monte-Cristo uttered a sigh of relief.

“Can you prove this?”

“I can. Luigi Vampa and his whole band know your son to be entirely innocent so far as the flower-girl is concerned and will so express themselves. Even old Solara himself, hardened and despicable wretch as he is, will not seek to inculpate him. Rest assured that the proof of your son’s innocence is ample.”

“Luigi Vampa has already written to me that no guilt attaches to Esperance, but I must have more reliable vouchers than the letter or even the oath of a notorious brigand.”

“Such vouchers can be procured without much difficulty. The unfortunate girl herself, who is now in the Refuge at Civita Vecchia, will exculpate him.”

“But the details of the plot, the details of the plot!”

“Well, the Viscount learned from Annunziata that she dwelt in the country beyond the Trastavere and that evening set out to find her. Your son, who knew his object, followed him to protect him against the bandits. Massetti was halted by one of Vampa’s men, who wounded him in the struggle that ensued, your son appearing in time to kill the brigand and rescue his friend. Shortly afterwards they encountered a large number of Vampa’s band and narrowly escaped being hung to the nearest trees in revenge for the death of the man slain by your son. They were set free by Vampa himself as soon as he learned that Esperance was your son, Massetti having disclosed both his own identity and that of his comrade. The young men, it seems, had determined to return to Rome immediately after the Viscount received his wound, but Massetti grew faint from pain and loss of blood and it was resolved to seek for shelter. A peasant appeared at this juncture and, after some hesitation, agreed to conduct them to his father’s cabin where they could pass the night. He was as good as his word. To be brief, the young men, who were disguised as peasants, soon found themselves in Pasquale Solara’s hut and in the presence of the fair Annunziata herself.”

Peppino paused for an instant and then continued:

“These preliminary details, Signor Count, are necessary to enable you to understand the conspiracy which was speedily to be hatched. The peasant, who had conducted Massetti and your son to the very spot the former had left Rome to seek, was Annunziata’s brother. Old Pasquale Solara was absent from home at the time of the arrival of the strangers, but returned shortly afterwards. I have no doubt that he had long been in league with Luigi Vampa and had been secretly acting as his agent and confederate. At any rate, when he arrived he was well aware that the young men were at his cabin and was also thoroughly informed as to their identity, though, with his habitual cunning, he concealed both facts, feigning surprise and dissatisfaction when it was announced to him by his children that he had guests. Secretly he was delighted, for the presence of young Massetti gave him an opportunity at once to take a signal revenge on the old Count, whom he had long bitterly hated, and to divert the crashing stigma of a fiendish act he meditated from himself to the name and fame of another.”

“Do you mean to assert that this wretched old man had base designs against his own daughter?” said the Count, his visage expressing all the horror he felt.

“Exactly,” answered Peppino, coolly. “Old Solara, miserable miser as he is, had for a very large sum of the gold he so ardently coveted sold his own child, his beautiful daughter Annunziata, to the bandit chief Luigi Vampa!”

“The black-hearted demon!” exclaimed Monte-Cristo. “He is unworthy of the name of man! In Paris the indignant populace would crush him to death beneath their feet!”

“So, you see,” resumed the Italian, “the arrival of Massetti was opportune, and Pasquale Solara, after having seen that the Viscount was safely housed beneath the roof of his cabin, hastened back to Luigi Vampa and together they laid the foul plot that succeeded but too well. A more shrewdly devised and thoroughly concealed piece of diabolical villainy has never stained the annals of the civilized world!”