Vampa and Monte-Cristo

After his fearful and exhausting duel with old Pasquale Solara in which he had been so nearly vanquished and so signally favored by Fate, the Viscount Massetti dragged himself rather than ran through the chestnut grove by the roadside, pausing now and then to glance back through the trees and note what was taking place among Vampa’s bandits. His wounded antagonist was evidently unconscious, for the brigands were bending over him, some of them seeming to be engaged in endeavors to restore him to his senses. Another circumstance tending to confirm this supposition was the absence of pursuit, for had the shepherd been able to give even the most fragmentary information relative to the encounter, Vampa’s men would have immediately devoted their attention to a search for his successful assailant, and in Giovanni’s present condition of exhaustion his capture could not have been doubtful.

The young Italian did not waste a moment, but made his way towards Rome as rapidly as he was able, though his progress was necessarily toilsome and painful in the extreme. Having at length reached the bank of a small brook at a safe distance from the scene of the conflict, he washed the dust and sweat from his face, and held his benumbed hand in the cool, limpid water until the blood resumed its normal circulation. Then he arranged his torn and disordered garments so as not to attract too much attention from the curious pedestrians he would be sure to meet on the outskirts of the city, resuming his journey strengthened and refreshed. Contrary to his expectations he eventually gained the Hotel de France without exciting any special observation or comment. Once in his own apartment he carefully locked the door and, casting himself upon his bed, breathed freely for the first time since old Solara had fallen by his hand.

His thoughts, however, were not altogether of a reassuring nature. He had taken an Italian’s vengeance upon the despicable old Pasquale Solara, who certainly merited all he had received, but how would Monte-Cristo look at the affair when he learned of it as he most assuredly would when he began his campaign against Vampa, if not before? Undoubtedly with strong disapprobation and displeasure. The Count had cautioned him to keep out of sight, to restrain his impetuosity, and he had done neither. On the contrary he had shown himself to the shepherd, declared his identity and assumed the responsibility of dealing with him, though, to be sure, he had given him a chance to defend himself. If Solara was dead, if he had expired without making any revelation, his secret was secure and even Monte-Cristo could not unearth it, but would not the death of old Pasquale deprive the Count of a most important witness, a most important factor in his rehabilitation? Perhaps so, perhaps not, for it was by no means certain that Monte-Cristo could force Solara to confess and make at least partial and tardy amends for his atrocious misdeeds. It was highly probable that Annunziata’s wretched father, even if brought to bay, would persist in preserving a stony and unbroken silence, would make no admissions whatever. Taking this view of the matter the Viscount felt relieved and, composing himself on his couch, yielded to the influence of extreme fatigue and fell asleep. His slumber was profound and dreamless. Exactly how long he slept he knew not, but meanwhile an event as unexpected as it was portentous occurred almost within earshot of where he lay, an event brought about by his rash and inconsiderate action of that morning.

Monte-Cristo’s salon was opposite to Massetti’s chamber, a wide corridor separating the two apartments. It was late in the afternoon and the Count, seated at his desk, was pondering over his plans in relation to the Viscount. Matters had not progressed as swiftly as he had hoped. Besides, much further delay seemed inevitable. Maximilian, of course, could do nothing, for the present at least, and Valentine’s ability to be of use was limited to encouraging Zuleika and exercising a proper degree of surveillance over the lovers when such surveillance was possible. Peppino and Beppo, too, were comparatively useless, though by careful and well-directed inquiries they had ascertained that Luigi Vampa and his band had changed their quarters from the old rendezvous, locating in a fastness that could not be approached without great difficulty and danger. None of the brigands now visited Rome and even Vampa himself seemed distrustful of the future. According to the intelligence gathered by Peppino and Beppo he constantly went about in various disguises that defied detection, studiously avoiding all his accustomed haunts. With regard to the brigand chief’s actions Monte-Cristo could entertain but one of two opinions either he was filled with remorse for his shameful conduct towards poor Annunziata Solara and for his complicity with old Pasquale in bringing the innocent Viscount under suspicion, which was doubtful, or he was afraid that Roman justice stimulated by young Massetti and such friends as he still possessed would overtake him, which was the more probable. The Count had not hoped for much from Annunziata Solara, though he had calculated somewhat on the effect upon her of his assurance that he possessed conclusive proof of Giovanni’s innocence. His recent interview with the girl, however, had established the fact that she firmly believed the Viscount guilty, and it was fair to presume that she would retain her belief in the face of everything with all the proverbial obstinacy of woman. Besides, after all, what was his conclusive proof? Simply the unsupported assertions of a former member of Vampa’s band, who in making them had clearly been actuated by a desire of wreaking personal vengeance upon old Pasquale Solara!

The Count was not a little discouraged, but his own conviction of the truth of Peppino’s statement was as strong as ever and, notwithstanding all the apparently insurmountable obstacles, he did not doubt that he would eventually find some way to force Vampa and the shepherd into a full confirmation of every diabolical detail related by the ex-bandit in the cell of the police poste in Paris.

As he sat thus communing with his sombre thoughts and reflecting that the delay might stretch out into many months, a knock was heard at his door and in response to his permission Peppino entered the salon.

A glance at the man’s pale and agitated countenance was sufficient to tell Monte-Cristo that something unusual had happened.

“Well,” said he, gazing keenly at him, “what is it?”

The man looked hastily about the apartment and, having satisfied himself that his master was alone, came close to him, bending down and whispering in his ear:

“Signor Count, a strange visitor is below, asking to see you. He is garbed like a Roman noble and his face is made up with paints and cosmetics like that of an actor on the stage of a theatre. Still, I think I have pierced his disguise and that he is no less a personage than Luigi Vampa himself!”

“Ah!” said the Count, rising, with a smile of satisfaction. “Heaven grant that you are correct! If Vampa is here, his visit will simplify matters.”

“But you do not mean to see the brigand chief, do you, Signor Count?” said Peppino, in a startled tone.

“Why, pray, should I not see him when for so long I have been impatiently awaiting an opportunity to meet him?” asked Monte-Cristo, in amazement.

“Because,” answered the Italian, with an unmistakable display of fear, “he may have divined your mission to Rome and his business with you here to-day may be assassination!”

Monte Cristo laughed heartily.

“My good fellow,” said he, in a reassuring tone, “dismiss your childish terrors. Vampa will not dare even to attempt to harm me! Show the mysterious visitor up and let the problem of his identity be solved!”

“I know your power over Vampa, Signor Count,” returned Peppino, hesitating, “but still in this peculiar instance it may fail you!”

“Pshaw!” said the Count, impatiently. “I tell you I do not fear Vampa. Show him up at once.”

Peppino very reluctantly quitted the salon, soon returning with the suspicious visitor.

Monte-Cristo advanced to meet the new comer, who silently pointed to Peppino, motioning towards the door. The Count nodded to the ex-bandit and with a slow step he left the room.

Although Vampa was carefully disguised and even elegantly dressed in the fashionable attire of the Roman aristocracy, Monte-Cristo, like Peppino, had no difficulty whatever in recognizing him.

“Well, Luigi Vampa!” said he, facing his visitor and calmly folding his arms as soon as they were alone. “What do you want with me?”

The brigand chief did not seem either disconcerted or surprised even in the slightest degree. He boldly returned his host’s gaze and said:

“I knew you would recognize me at once, for I am well aware of your extraordinary keenness and penetration, Signor Count, but, to confess the truth, my disguise was not intended to deceive you; its sole object was to secure me safe entrance to and exit from Rome which of late has become dangerous for men in my line of industry!”

The Count smiled in his peculiar way.

“What do you want with me, Luigi Vampa?” he repeated. “Your errand must be of vast importance since you have taken so much trouble to execute it!”

“It is of vast importance, Signor Count. This morning one of the most efficient members of my band, old Pasquale Solara, was attacked and severely wounded by your protege the Viscount Giovanni Massetti!”

“Old Solara attacked and severely wounded by the Viscount Massetti? Impossible!”

The Count was greatly disconcerted by this intelligence; he could not conceal his chagrin. The Viscount’s rashness and impetuosity would ruin all!

“What I say is true,” continued Vampa, “and I have come to you to protest. You must restrain this Viscount Massetti, this reckless madman! He professes to have a grudge against Pasquale Solara and there is no telling to what length he may go if you do not control him. Had Pasquale been able to speak when discovered lying bathed in blood upon the highway by some of the members of my band, young Massetti would have been pursued, captured and made to pay for his murderous assault with his life; but it was only later, when brought into my presence, that he became sufficiently conscious to relate what had happened. Signor Count, I wish to respect your friends, but they on their part must respect me and my band!”

“Luigi Vampa,” replied Monte-Cristo, sternly, “you say that young Massetti has a grudge against old Pasquale Solara! What you seek to belittle with the name of grudge is simply just indignation for an outrage such as human beings rarely commit! This you know! you to whom Solara basely sold his daughter! you who plotted with the aged scoundrel that the charge of abduction and murder might fall upon the Viscount’s innocent shoulders when you, Luigi Vampa, were the guilty man!”

The brigand chief started and grew pale beneath the paint and cosmetics with which his visage was thickly coated.

“You have been deceived, Signor Count!” he stammered, taken at a disadvantage, but nevertheless speaking guardedly and endeavoring to put on a bold front. “The girl herself, Annunziata Solara, will swear to you that the Viscount Giovanni Massetti was her abductor and the author of her ruin!”

“Yes,” replied Monte-Cristo, bitterly, “she will and does say so, for she has been completely blinded by the cunning, fiendish stratagems you resorted to, aided and abetted by that infamous miscreant old Pasquale Solara, for whom a lingering death upon the rack of the ancient Spanish Inquisition would not be a sufficient punishment!”

“You speak very confidently, Signor Count,” said Vampa, resuming his cool self-possession. “Pray tell me how you are going to prove all this?”

“I should be foolish, indeed, did I do so,” replied Monte-Cristo, seeing the brigand chief’s trap and adroitly avoiding being caught in it. “However, suffice it to say that I can and will make good all I have asserted! Even Annunziata Solara herself shall be thoroughly convinced!”

“Signor Count,” said Vampa, pleadingly, “we have long been good friends, have long understood each other perfectly. Do not let the idle tales designing persons have poured into your ears destroy that friendship and that understanding!”

“I have heard no idle tales from designing persons,” retorted the Count. “What I have heard was a plain and simple statement of the truth. I know how old Solara summoned you with his signal whistle, how you bargained with him for his beautiful daughter and how you finally bought her of him! I know how you abducted the girl while her infamous father waited outside the cabin with a torch, how you bore her away in your arms through the forest, murdering her brother and in turn encountering my son Esperance and the Viscount Massetti. I know how you carried her to the hut you had prepared, how you kept her a close prisoner there guarded by members of your band until your shameful object was accomplished! I know how you wrote that letter signed Tonio which was intended to influence Annunziata’s belief in the Viscount’s guilt, and I know how old Solara secreted it where his daughter afterwards found and read it! Now, Luigi Vampa, are you satisfied? You said a moment ago that we have long understood each other. I hope there will be no misunderstanding on your part when I tell you that I mean to force both you and old Solara to confess your crimes and make reparation for them as far as possible!”

“Then you declare war against us?” cried the brigand chief.

“I do!” answered Monte-Cristo, coldly.

“Then in my own name and in that of Pasquale Solara, I defy you, Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte-Cristo!”

He backed towards the door as if afraid the Count would attack him. When he reached it, he turned, flung it open and stepped into the corridor, instantly finding himself in the grasp of Peppino and Beppo, who at once handed him over to a squad of policemen, the officer in charge of whom said:

“I arrest you, Luigi Vampa! Follow me!”