Beati Paoli
by Luigi Natoli
part one, chapter 10
| Italiano | English |
Father Bonaventura had just returned from his walk, when he heard a lively beating at the door of the cell; guessing who the visitor was, he went and opened up saying: "Enter, son."
Blasco entered with his good air, and the friar, who had not yet seen him in his new clothing, could not hold back an exclamation of wonder.
"Blessed Jesus! You look like another guy! So you're okay, and tomorrow I can introduce you to the duke and get his protection..."
"Huh?"
"I went this morning to talk about you and I came back tonight to congratulate him on the escaped danger..."
"A danger?"
"Yes: a convict, an escaped from jail, perhaps to avenge himself of the conviction received, threw a gun at him, but without, thank God, hit him."
"And who is this gentleman?"
"His Excellency the Duke of Motta..."
"The Duke of Motta!" shouted Blasco surprised with amazement but with a shining face of pleasure.
"Would you know him, perhaps?" asked the astonished friar in turn.
"No, but" and here Blasco went with hat in hand a lovely joking bow "I have the honor to meet the Duchess, who is beautiful..."
"Blasco!" rebuked the friar by taking himself seriously.
"Sorry!" answered the young man laughing; "on another occasion I will not let any judgment... of this kind run away."
"How did you meet her?"
"Oh! only in sight, let's watch: the Duchess of Motta is precisely the lady who was in the carriage, when the day of my arrival happened to me that little adventure. I reviewed it today at the walk..."
"Who told you she was the Duchess of Motta?"
"A young gentleman, with whom I have already made friends, as if we knew each other for a long time: the knight of Floresta. Do you know him?"
"First name. It's a remarkable family. Wow, mister. You guys make it quick to get to know each other. Bravo! But be careful and remember that it is your future. In two or three days the new king will arrive: of course he will grant graces: you will understand all the importance of having a protector like the Duke of Motta, who is among the most authoritative deputies of the kingdom, and we will soon see him president of the heritage... You have to know how to hurt the sympathy. I told him about you, and I don't hide from you that he has a great curiosity to know you."
"Is the Duke of Motta young?"
"Forty-five or forty-five years."
"But then he is the father of his wife!"
Blasco always came back with his mind to the Duchess, without wanting to.
The friar said: "For the duchess is very young; the duke was already a widower and father of a maiden, who may now be ten or twelve years old. If the Duchess does not give him an heir, the house of the Albamontes is extinct with him..."
And shortly afterwards, as he spoke to himself, he added, "Maybe."
But Blasco did not detect that "maybe" mysterious; his brain was elsewhere; he followed strange ideas: second marriage, youth of the Duchess, lack of heirs, difference of age, presentation, conquest of sympathy, probable familiarity, closeness; these ideas connected him with a subtle thread of logic, multiplying in images and scenes, quickly, confusedly.
The night did not sleep, marveling at the anxiety that gave him the fixity of that thought of the Duchess and the next presentation. It was repeated in the mind that he would see 'the beautiful woman, who would be near her, would speak to her...
What about Iraci's little prince? He immediately appeared to him: the image of that haughty belly, but in another aspect: that of a competitor. It was clear to him now that the young man wandered around the Duchess like a bee around a flower, with a greedy desire to suggest honey. A rival, then. Look at the case...
His thoughts took another path. Would the prince have sent him to challenge him now, or would he have gone to the city captain to have him arrested again? He was a gentleman, after all! Here is the story of his origins, which he had ignored up to three days before, and in which there was still a dark spot, and again his wrath for that anonymous father who had crossed him in the world.
At dawn, youth was right, and he fell deeply asleep and perhaps his sleep was comforted by the sweetest and laughing visions for a heart of twenty-five years; because, when the next morning, about fifteen hours in Italy, the innkeeper came timidly to wake him up, he looked satisfied with a happy man.
The innkeeper had for him a letter and an embassy: the embassy was of his father Bonaventura, who was waiting for him in the convent; the letter was of the knight of Floresta, who prayed if he had no other commitments, "to do him the honor of favoring him at lunch from him."
The knight of Floresta did not doubt that Blasco was a gentleman; but for a scrupulousness towards his class, he had gone that morning to the father Bonaventura to inquire; he had been assured that they had calmed his noble conscience, and that they had animated him to invite to lunch that young new friend, to whom, on the other hand, he felt a lively sympathy.
It is understood that this invitation filled Blasco with joy, appearing to him as his official entry into aristocratic society and as an acknowledgment of his rank, rather than the presentation to the Duke of Motta, to whom he had to hold the attitude of a poor person in need of help and protection; something that repudiated not little to his nature.
The father Bonaventura accepted it with a rebuke: "My son, first of all you make yourself wait, and what is worse you make the duke of Motta wait; secondly it seems that we are from the beginning with the prince of Iraki!..."
Blasco blushed, apologized for the delay, then smiled.
"Did that idiot come to you?"
"The prince of Iraki" admonished the friar "is a gentleman, and noble of the highest order, and we must talk about it with respect. He didn't come, of course: but I knew What happened yesterday after lunch. I have advised you to be careful, my son; but you do not listen to me... and you do not know what troubles you can throw at you..."
"Bah!" said Blasco with a gesture of contempt "if she knew what tricks I got away from, and how many times I fought!..."
"But here is the mistake, my son. These are not duels that are things against the law of God; they are much more: degrees, prominences, conveniences. The world is like this, it must be accepted and resigned. Come on, it's late..."
"Yeah, let's go. I do not hide that I would like to hurry soon, because the knight of Floresta has done me the honour of inviting me to lunch..."
"Oh, yeah?... Well done, then!"
The Duke of Motta was waiting for them in the studio. At their entrance he lifted his head to greet the two visitors, but he did not have the father Bonaventura finished saying: ""Excellency, here is my recommended" which, having looked at the young man, could not hold back a cry of astonishment.
"Oh, he?..."
He put himself back, biting his lips, and quickly added: "Is he the young man of whom he spoke to me?"
"Yes, Your Excellency, who is very happy and lucky to offer you your services."
Blasco stood, straight, with a hat in his hand, in an attitude that contrasted with the humble words of the friar. He looked curiously at that skinny, pale gentleman, with thin lips, angular jaws, long, waxy, venous hands, feeling a sense of aversion, almost repugnance, which prevented him from smiling and showing himself as the friar would wish for him, that is, humble and helpful.
Even the duke looked at him with an ever increasing amazement, as if an unexpected appearance had pushed him towards things forgotten, almost erased in memory.
After a moment of silence he asked the friar: "Is this handsome knight of Castiglione?"
The friar found himself a little embarrassed, and evasively replied: "For his kinship is of Castiglione."
"How old are you, sir?"
"Twenty-five, Your Excellency," said Blasco.
Don Raimondo seemed to go back to his memory some dates, perhaps he found some coincidence, paled, shook his head and, taking back his impassible and gloomy mask, said: "So, let's hear a little 'what we can do for you."
But something cold, glacial had fallen among them. Blasco didn't say a word: now he looked at a door and wondered if there was a way into the apartments of the Duchess, and why the Duchess didn't show up. Father Bonaventura felt awkward too, but he wanted to break that coldness.
"Your Excellency knows the habits of Mr. Blasco, he knows that he is a gentleman, therefore it is not necessary, indeed it would be presumptuous to suggest to the indulgence of your Excellency what would be more convenient..."
"Oh yeah!... Do you know, sir, that you had a boldness to beat the city captain's guards?"
Blasco made a gesture, as if to say that those were insignificant things, a kind of match to what he was capable of.
"I don't say," said Don Raimondo with a slight joking rebuke. "I don't say the trouble with one of the first "titles" of the kingdom, which was no less daring."
Blasco smiled, but he seemed mortified, "Good God!" he said, "But that prince, apparently, went everywhere telling a petty questioncella..."
"He didn't tell it," said Fr Raimondo, "it's the city that was amazed, and he talks about it..."
"It is something that is not worth discussing; if I am sorry, it is only because it happened before the eyes, and perhaps with disturbance of a lady; to which I would ask forgiveness."
"Ah! was there a lady?" asked Fr. Raimondo maliciously.
"No, Your Excellency; the lady was passing by with her carriage, in the moment that I exchanged some lively words with the prince, and I believe that it frightened her, and I regret them..."
"Provide and chivalrous, as in good time gone; good!" said Don Raimondo. "That's how I like it. We will see, when the king, our lord, arrives, that he will get you some rank in the army. His majesty is a warrior king, you know; and he loves the valiant. In the meantime, come to dinner tonight. Where are you staying?"
"At the inn of the Messinese..."
"Obiò! a knight like you! Don't you have any relatives here?"
"No, Your Excellency..."
"As I said to your Excellency, he is alone," the friar added.
"And in this case, if Don Blasco doesn't think I demand too much, I would be happy to offer him hospitality in this building..."
The eyes of joy shone in Blasco.
"Truly, Your Excellency..."
Father Bonaventura seemed moved by that generosity, and he said with sincere gratitude: "Your Excellency confuses us; I did not hope so much, but to this generous offering, it seems to me that the vow of his unfortunate mother is satisfied... She will pray in heaven for your Excellency and for her family."
Don Raimondo thought to himself: "My home and my person they will be guarded."
But the thought did not leak on the courteous and liberal mask assumed by Don Raimondo and the friar and Blasco were surprised; Blasco said to himself: "Of course I have deceived myself; despite his repugnant appearance, he is a good man."
And Father Bonaventura for his part mentally said: "Praise be to the Divine providence. God is just and merciful."
As he accompanied them to the door, Don Raimondo held a moment between you, and without feeling interested, asked underneath: "Say, father; he did not tell me where the young man was born...."
Father Bonaventura looked at him with a careful eye: the two eyes met and seemed to read.
"Blasco was born in the castle of Motta."
"Ah! and do you know?"
"He will know when your Excellency will..."
"He's fine. Then don't say anything..."
Obeyed.
Blasco who had stopped to look at the portraits of the dukes of Motta, hung along the walls of the salon, looked at one of a beautiful young man dressed in armor; and looked at him with admiration, pleasure and wonder.
"Look!," he said to his father who had reached him, "it would be said that that handsome gentleman in armor is my portrait!"
Father Bonaventura looked and paled.
He said, "Uhm! I don't think so. But let's go; it's almost noon, and you're waiting."
"It's true."
When they separated, the friar, going to the convent, said to himself: "That portrait... it would be better for now to get it out of there..."
It was the portrait of Don Emanuele Albamonte, Duke of Motta.
