Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part one, chapter 11

It was recently sung at midnight at the Monte di Pietà clock and, against the usual, there was a great animation in the city that night. That morning, October 10, had arrived the thirty English and Genoese vessels carrying Vittorio Amedeo, his Court, his follow-up to the capital of the kingdom. At first landed at the Arenella, and received the visit of the archbishop, and shortly after that of some lords and of the two deputies of the Senate, the ships towards evening had thrown anchor into the Great Pier, and the king had manifested his will to disembark the next day towards twenty-three hours of Italy.

Throughout the day an army of craftsmen had feverishly waited to decorate the landing bridge at the Cala, and the four arches of Piazza Villena. and now followed the light of torches and torches to finish the work before day. A route of chariots and baroccini, a resonating of hammers and shouts and confused noises, which increased at night, spread through the Cassaro, intensifying to the Four Songs, echoing over the whole city and recalling the curious.

The idea of having a king of his own had infused the enthusiasm of souls into his hands. In the fervor of those artisans, in the curiosity of the citizens, who instead of going to sleep they stayed at the Four Songs or at the Cala to see work, almost incuorating with their presence to do quickly and well, there was patriotism. Those who slept that night were lightly and gently anxiously asleep.

Those were not the preparations for the solemn entrance and for the crowning, which required a longer time and more work; however, they were enough to set the city in mind and in motion.

The attention was so drawn to the two centers of greater work, and the frequency of people, even at that unusual hour, was such that no one could be surprised to meet other people on the streets.

Two men intabarrati in an unrecognizable way came out of the Conceria and crossed the Strada Nuova they hunted themselves in the Candelai road, not without first looking around, with the air of people who do not want to be followed. When it seemed to them that they had strayed somewhat, so that they could not be seen by the unusual visitors of the beautiful street, they left the pace of people who go their own way, and rushed as those who fear to arrive late.

They bent for the Piazza del Monte di Pietà, and pulled away along the street of the Lettighe, until at the church of the "Canceddi," i.e. of the cars commonly understood as Santa Maruzza: there they stopped.

One of the two drew his hands from under the cloak, saying: "Have patience: let yourselves be blindfolded."

The other didn't object. The first tied a handkerchief over his eyes and took it by the hand, adding: "Come safely."

They went along the church, entered a black and mysterious alley, and after a few steps they stopped.

"This is it!" said the driver.

He approached a low, tarlated, dirty little door, and scraped with his fingernail, slightly, like a cat. From the inside after a short interval, another scraper answered. The man then modulated a slight whistle.

The door opened silently; the man took the blindfold by the hand, and drew it to himself in the black chamber. and deep, saying, "Come. Look, there's a step..."

The door closed behind them.

They walked through a short corridor, at the bottom of which another little door opened with the same mystery. They entered a little courtyard, in the middle of which blackened a twisted tree in the night. The floor rose in the night under their footsteps, as if it had been empty.

"Watch out," the driver warned, "here we go down."

In fact, some steps went down; the blindfold felt that the air was getting humid and smelled of mold; in fact, the stairs went down through a passage dug into the tuff that throbbed here and there, and made the ground lubricated. A skylight, placed in a small niche dug into the wall, spread a light just enough to let you guess the steps.

At the foot of the ladder they stopped; the driver said: "Wait here for a moment. You will be picked up."

He left the blindfold in some kind of hall, and hit five shots at a door. A voice from within whispered mysterious words, which the driver reciprocated; the door opened and he entered a room illuminated by lanterns fixed on the wall. Some voices greeted him.

"Good night, Uncle Rosario."

In the light of the lanterns appeared the thrown face and the bright eyes of the small shopkeeper.

"It is here," he said; "when your Lordship wills..."

At the bottom of the room was a sort of stone altar, on which stood a Christ on the cross, between two lit candles, and at the foot of the cross a book was opened. Before the altar, there was a small table, at which three masked men sat, dressed in a sort of black sack: from here and there, on the crags, six other men sat, also stuffed and masked. Under the black masks the eyes shone leftly.

Uncle Rosario approached the wall, drove his hands into a niche, made a roll of it and a moment later, also dressed in sackcloth and masked was no longer recognizable than the others. Then he who seemed to preside over the meeting made a sign: one of the six rose up and went out to return almost immediately, drawing the blindfolded man by the hand.

"Give him the light," the chief ordered.

The blindfold was removed and Andrea's stunned and moved face appeared. The sudden passage from darkness to light, for a minute took away the exact perception of the environment; then gradually became addicted, and in the moment of silence that reigned in the room, looked with amazement at the place where he was, almost not persuaded that in the heart of Palermo there were those caves that, not infrequent around the city, the people attributed to the Saracens. The room was dug into the tuff, with a certain artistic criterion; it had a vaulted roof, in the walls some niches. There were vestiges of plaster at the altar, but the humidity had scrambled it: it was felt that the cave was in the subsoil.

The chief asked, "Do you call yourselves Andrea Lo Bianco?"

"Very illustrious, yes."

"There are no illustrious men here; there are brothers."

"Dooming forgiveness..."

"Did you serve the late Duke of Motta?"

"Until the day he died at the hands of the Turks..."

"He's fine. This venerable society has come to know that you can provide news about the current Duke of Motta... Secure news and documents are needed: take care. Words cannot please us. We are behind a work of justice and vindication, but we could not take a step forward, because we found ourselves in front of a closed door that perhaps you can open..."

The head remained silent for a minute, and then he resumed with a solemn and moved voice: "Andrea Lo Bianco, you entered a place where no profane has ever set foot; but this commits your life perhaps in a way that you do not imagine. You're sure you keep your promises. If you are not, declare it: you will be accompanied in the same way as you came, and you will be left free; we trust in your silence; but if you declare that you are sure, beware, Andrea Lo Bianco, that we will not allow you to withdraw, and that beside you, behind you, in the street, in the church, in your own house there will always be, invisible and infallible the avenging arm of our justice..."

Andrew replied: "I have faith in you; have faith in me. You're here for justice. I'm here for revenge. You have saved me, and you are the masters of my life: I place everything myself at your service."

"He's fine. Brothers, to you."

The six men rose up and surrounded Andrew; all of them at the same time drew from the black sack that covered them a long and sharp dagger, and caused his point to flash to his eyes; two of them quickly grabbed Andrew, stripped his left arm, and carved a small cross with the tip of the dagger. The blood bloomed on the bare arm. Then one of the three who sat at the table rose up, took the book from the foot of the crucifix, put it on the table, pulled a pen out of a small box, and dipped it in the blood, handed it to Andrew.

"Andrea Lo Bianco" resumed the head "this book contains the holy gospel and the letters of the holy apostle Paul. Put the cross with your blood on this page; and swear to obey blindly to swear by the holy gospel, by the holy apostle Paul, by your blood, which will be poured out to drip; swear that you will keep the secret of what you will hear and see and that neither torture nor tempting will pull one accent out of your mouth; swear that your body and your soul will belong now and always to this venerable society of the Beati Paoli, in the service of justice, in defense of the weak, against all violence and arrogance of government, lords, priests."

Andrew with a firm hand drew a large cross, at the foot of the page that showed him, and said, "I swear; and that this cross written with my blood will mark my sentence if I fail my obligation."

"May God assist you and the Beato Paolo the Apostle arm you with his zeal, and give you his sword! Now answer it. Were you at the service of Duke Don Emanuele?"

"Yes, sir."

"Until his death, did you say?"

"He died in my arms; before he died he gave me a medal, that I might put it around the neck of the little son, whom he did not know. Returning to Palermo, after some peripetia, I fulfilled the pitiful task."

The comrade who sat on the president's right asked with vivacity: "What about that medal?"

"It was a silver medal, which on the one hand held a relic, a very small splinter: on the other it had impressed the image of San Sebastiano, protector of the ancient Academy of Arms... He was suspended from a chain of silver jerseys..."

"Ah!... he is well!..." exclaimed the Beato Paolo.

"Continue," said the chief.

"I kept watch over the master, and I had found a faithful companion in Maddalena... But I was driven away by Don Raimondo, and Maddalena was killed; perhaps poisoned."

"What can you suppose?"

"Don Raimondo tried to poison the Duchess...

He had gone with his trusted servant to take the poison into the house of a witch who lived in the alley of St. Onofrio, and his name was Peppa la Sarda. I heard what they said, standing behind the door... When they left, I broke into the house of Peppa la Sarda, forced her to give me the backlash, and, for safety, I gagged and brought the witch to my house... But every effort was unsuccessful. The Duchess was certainly killed and killed her son... To hide the crime, Don Raimondo simulated that murderers had kidnapped them; he tied a rope to the parapet of the balcony, to simulate the rat;... then he dropped the suspicions on me, and I was arrested and thrown into jail.A murderer, gentlemen, a murderer: he killed three innocent people to take possession of a heritage that was not his..."

"Who is the servant?"

"I don't know if he still has it at his service, his name was Giuseppico; he was a minor, skinny, black, twisting."

"What happened to Peppa la Sarda?"

"I don't know. The same night, when I came home, I couldn't find her. How did he escape? I don't know. Where did he go to take refuge? You have to track her down. She gave twice the poison, and one night she went into the palace to prepare it herself, and gave it to the mistress, who believed Magdalene... Oh, it's a sad, infamous, unholy story!... If Don Raimondo had the witch in his power, he would certainly have made her disappear; but if she is alive, she is a witness, indeed a terrible accuser... It and Joseph. Poor Maddalena could have said much more... but she died, the victim of her devotion to the mistress. It is therefore necessary to trace Peppa the Sarda and Giuseppico; it is not possible that they are dead; the bad grass does not die. They'll be holed up somewhere. Find them, force them to tell the truth and do justice. The souls of the victims, of woman Aloisia, of little Don Emanuele, of Maddalena will bless you, and they will have rest."

Andrew's eyes were shining; the waves of emotion were passing over his face; hatred and love were shaking in his voice. A soft murmur followed, as a commentary, his last words.

The Beato Paolo, who had asked Andrew about the medal, rose up and exclaimed with a moved voice: "God is righteous! God is great! God has sent this man to us, so that justice may be full and whole: Dominus pupillum suscipiet, et vi sinterum dispersit."

Andrew did not understand that Latin, but he sensed that he had to allude to the cases he had told; and from the emphasis with which it was said, he pointed out that there was something that he did not know, but that it had to be terrible.

The Beato Paolo, who had spoken, said: "I have some news that may interest me and on which, on the contrary, I draw the attention of this venerable court. The Duke of Motta has housed in his house a young man, who is called or called Blasco da Castiglione... This young man was recommended to him by a friar of the convent of the Chiovari, Father Bonaventura from Licodia. He's a valiant young man, and apparently the duke took him with him for his defense. My information says it's really fearsome..."

"It's true," said another; "he was enough for the birri. He was staying at the Messinese inn..."

Then the chief said, "We must know who this man is and where he comes from."

Then he turned to Andrew, adding: "You must be ready to the orders that will be communicated to you by the brother who brought you here: and in the meantime do not make yourselves known, do not let yourselves be seen. The Duke of Motta unleashed a dog, who immediately entered into a joke; you know him: he is Matteo Lo Vecchio. Be on your guard."

He made a sign. One of those mysterious men blindfolded Andrew again and led him out. There he found himself next to uncle Rosario who took him by the hand and led him along the same path he walked before. When he arrived at the Mount of Pietà, he blew him off.

"Up," he said, "let's hurry home..."

Andrea was as overwhelmed by what he had seen: he wondered why that mysterious and terrible court was interested in the usurping of the duke of Motta; certainly it was not to avenge the death of anyone; and then? And who were those men, of whom all spoke, whom no one knew, and who also caused so much terror in the city, and often made the magistrate hesitant and shy about the point of ruling?

The sect that in those years spread in Palermo and also in Val di Mazara the terror of his acts of justice had broad ramifications that were known only to the supreme court that directed it; the affiliates ignored those who were; each of them knew only the companion by whom he had been led with mystery, blindfolded, and did not see before himself that masked men. It happened that the affiliates were guarded by the leaders, without knowing it, and without being able to look at it; this made them dumb, prudent, faithful, even ready for sacrifice.

To the poor, to the weak, the sect presented itself as a formidable protector and this brought her sympathies and the unconscious and yet very powerful solidarity, for which the affiliates never felt alone, and could count on the help and protection of the people and of the petty bourgeoisie.

The masters of the State were the lords and the clergy, because they possessed the wealth; all the offices were in their power, the most delicate offices were granted only to nobles, who naturally, in the spirit of caste, helped themselves, supported themselves, protected themselves. Whatever violence they committed, they were sure of impunity; the most serious condemnations were limited to exile or confinement in some noble castle, or in some royal castle, where they were housed and served with every comfort, and enjoyed the widest freedom. But the people and the petty bourgeoisie had nothing but poverty and servitude, and the law electrocuted the fiercest punishments that the insane rigor of those times put in their hands, not only to punish real faults, but also to allow violence and injustice to be carried out.

The Beati Paoli appeared and were in fact a force of reaction, moderator: they rose to defend, protect the weak, prevent injustices and violence: they were a state within the State, formidable because hidden, terrible because they judged without appeal, punished without pity, struck without failure. And no one knew his judges and the executioners of justice. They seemed to belong to the myth more than to reality. They were everywhere, they heard everything, they knew everything, and no one knew where they were, where they were gathered. The exercise of their office of guardians and avengers was manifested through warnings, letters, which happened mysteriously.

The man to whom they came knew that he had suspended a death sentence on his head.

How did they arise?... Donde? Mystery. They had ancestors: those terrible "vengeful" who in the days of Arrigo VI and Federico II were widespread for the kingdom and whose leader was a lord, Adinolfo di Pontecorvo; the proselytes thousands; their task was to avenge the violence suffered by the weak.

But no one ever knew who the leader of the Beati Paoli was, nor could he ever say if he belonged to this or that other class or caste. No trial could ever, in more than a quarter of a century, thin the mystery. Sometimes a man climbed on the gallows, accused of blood crime: it was said, it was believed for certain that he was an affiliate; but neither the torture nor the sight of the gallows could tear the secret from him. Justice cut off some branches; the tree remained and threw down the new shoots.

In 1713 the sect was in its full force; it seemed enraged with what seemed to it to be the work of righteousness, and the city was as overwhelmed as it was. The viceroyal government, the captain's court, the court of the Holy Office had confederated, putting aside the usual quarrels for prominence and prerogatives, to eradicate the sect; but in vain. The most daring hounds, at the point where they seemed to be on the trail, fell mysteriously.

This was the secret society in which Andrea had come across; this was the court to which he asked for revenge: and in his imagination, through the mask, he enlarged those characters, giving them almost extraordinary appearances. If he had been able, hidden, to see in his face those terrible men, who, after coming out, took off their masks, he would have been amazed at the insignificant and common physionomies.

The man who, sitting next to the chief, had asked Andrea a few questions, was Don Girolamo Ammirata.