Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part one, chapter 22

Donna Gabriella had been back for a while, and she didn't sleep either. Lying on the bed, with his head leaning on the palm of his hand and his elbow sinking on his cheeks, he looked down on the floor at a sword and a sheet of wrinkled paper.

He had shining eyes of tears and burning as by fever; his face expressed pain, anger, spite, shame.

As soon as she left Palazzo Trabia, standing alone in a carriage with that knight who was terribly disliked, she regretted her move. The carriage reawakened sweet and painful memories, which made her more obnoxious the company of the prince of Iraki.

In his vanity as conqueror, the young gentleman assumed that she suffered the sweet emotion of love, and wanted to take her hand, with tender intimacy; but Gabriella was shielded with harshness.

"Let me go!... What did you believe?"

Those words amazed and disconcerted him; he looked at the Duchess blushing and stuttering.

"How? What does that mean, my sigh?"

"You are boring with your sentences, if you do not know how to fit with a lady, I will beg you to leave me alone..."

"Forgive me... I didn't think I would offend you... but you..."

"Me? What did you believe?"

The poor young man didn't know what to think. Was he then deceived? Didn't Gabriella lean on him with such a meaningful and delicious abandonment? Didn't you say to accompany her? Wasn't that why he left the party? Didn't he keep it close to him all night, listening to his words, his most tender expressions? What, then, did that sudden change mean, that anger, that disdain?

The carriage, not to make the steep ascent of Guilla, had gone out on the road of Montevergini in Cassaro, and now, turned the Four Songs, went up the Strada Nuova, towards St. Augustine.

The prince thought: "Perhaps it is a gesture of modesty or backwardness, one must be bold." And he gathered his courage, stretched out his arm around the life of a woman Gabriella, taking her hand free, vigorously drew the lady against her chest to kiss her.

The Duchess threw a cry, and with her face in flames, rising in the middle, she pushed the bold back, saying in tears of rage: "Villano!... you are a villain!"

That cry launched in the night, turned a man, who at that point passed before the church of the Crucifers. He saw confusedly, through the windows, at the light of the torches of the two wheels that were trotting beside the horses, he saw at the same time the liveries, he punched himself on the forehead, and picked up the cloak around his arm, threw himself behind the carriage, reached it, threw a look into it, saw and recognized the prince of Iraki, who was confused, shameful, stuttering with his hands coming before the Duchess, who hid his face in his hands:

"Forgive me... forgive me... But if you knew how much I love you!"

Neither the prince nor the Duchess saw that man with one hand on the door ran beside the carriage by sticking his eyes through the windows. After all, he remained there for a moment; left the door, he jumped on the back board where in the days of the gala the lackeys were standing; he sat there, holding on to one of the straps of the springs, with the sword on them. knees and the cloak rolled on the arm.

The few passersby looked with amazement and laughing at that lackey dressed as a knight and squatting on the axis like a brat; and they wondered if it was not a joke or some madman escaped from St. John of the Lepers.

The two horses trotted on the paved with equal frequency, filling between their irons and the four heavy wheels the night silence.

Inside the carriage calm had returned: the defeated prince, confused, had not had the spirit of confessing his own mistake and of making honorable amends of his foolishness by those ways that every good knight should know how to find. He was enchanted in a corner of the carriage, mute, angry with himself, calling himself an imbecile and attributing his defeat to too much haste.

Donna Gabriella also stood in the opposite corner, suspicious, guarding, full of indignation and repentance; indignation against that vanesio, who had really believed that he had conquered her; regret that she had risked with him, after having, in spite, made a dangerous game. And of all that had happened to her accused Blasco, calling him within himself with all the names suggested by anger and hatred... and that woman, the unknown rival to whom she had been sacrificed, and for whom she, the adored, the desired, the tempted up to that moment, had been a whim, a game of Blasco.

The carriage had crossed the road of St. Augustine, past the cross of the Cape, and had stopped in front of the gate of the Albamonte palace.

The man jumped to the ground, quickly fixed his cloak, and ran to open the door saying with slight irony: "May I, Lord Prince, render this small service to the Duchess?"

"You!" cried surprised the Duchess recognizing him.

"Mr. Castiglione!" exclaimed at the same time, with ill-fated spite, the prince.

Blasco bowed with a singing gesture.

"I myself, gentlemen, am surprised, in truth, by your surprise. I myself, who wish you good night, and I apologize for the small freedom that I have allowed myself."

Donna Gabriella, reawakened from the first amazement, resumed her angerful attitude and came down from the carriage without leaning on anyone's arm, slipped in the door, with an entrance as an offended queen.

The prince was exasperated: "Lord," he cried to Blasco, "when will you stop bothering me?"

"Whenever you will, my handsome moscardino; even now, if you like."

"Well, yes. For once, I must go down to you!" "How? Are you then mounted on a chair, to reach the height of a man?"

"Come on, sir."

Brought by his anger, the prince of Iraci ordered one of the flyers, who by deference were still there with the torches on, to precede him to make light and went towards the nearby square of Mercedes, which offered the convenience of being able to beat off.

Blasco followed him. The Mercedes church was still closed, and the solitary square. With a gesture he loosed him and threw the cloak on the ground, the prince of Iraki threw it instead on the arms of the steering wheel. A moment later the blades sparkled and crossed squealing.

The prince was a strong defender having nothing else to do he practiced every day, at home, with the first fencing master who was in Palermo and with the best blades of the nobility; but he was too angry to be able to fight in the hall, to play all his game. The defeat in love, the mortifications received, the petty figure made in front of the Duchess, were strong reasons to take away his dominion of himself, and light in his soul the crazy desire to vent; the appearance of Blasco, against whom he had a deep and irreconcilable hatred; he had overflowed the vase. He attacked with blind fury, more eager to kill the opponent, than scholar to show his superiority.

Blasco, on the other hand, kept his calm; from the first moves he had realized that he had to do with a master blade, and he was not broken to all the cunnings of the fencing: but he had a firm fist, a sure eye, and that great self-control, which made him consider all the dangers, like games. And, as usual, he had become in a good mood and sarcastic.

"You scramble too much, dear sir!" he said, shielding himself from the fury of the prince; "you scramble too much... and you could catch a cold... What... Adagio, handsome master, you'll get stuck by yourself... and that doesn't fit into my plan... so I was saying... a constipation could alarm your mother's lady! And I'd be sorry. Watch out for you... Look out, you're forcing me to give you a wink. And believe me, I don't want to waste you... You're such a handsome champ of the scimuniti kind. It would be a shame to send you to Dante's hell... Have you read Dante?... I guess not. I did, I read something..." The prince of Iraki was furious. He kept at a distance from the sword of Blasco, which always flashed before his eyes, failing to mislead her and to discover the opponent to strike him exasperated by those words that seemed to him as many slaps, puffed, like a young cat angry.

"And I bet you didn't even read Tasso... A knight should read it... You see, the knights of Tasso, when they fight, don't forget... They fight like a gun room; but you get too angry... do you suffer from liver? Bad illness!... I met a man who, in order to be sick with liver, died... of a beam that fell on his head!... God forbid."

The prince couldn't take it anymore. Ah! It was time to finish it. He became ridiculous in the eyes of the wheel that made light and that evidently laughed. He gathered all his strength and explained all his art to hurt Blasco. His sword came to escape the enemy weapon and make his way: if Blasco had not been solicitous to jump back, the prince would have passed through it.

"Ah! ah!" said Blasco without losing the good mood: "Do you really want to kill me?... Oibò! a handsome and good son as I am?.. Wait... I will teach you in three times, a master stroke that taught me a knight from Malta... In Tunis where I was a slave... One... Take care, my beautiful figure... Two... Now the beauty comes... There, there, three!..."

With a quick, unpredictable, whirlwind, strong move, wrapped, torn, blew up at five or six paces the prince's sword, placed there on one foot, and suddenly changing tone, he exclaimed murky and serious:

"Now, my boy, get out!"

He picked up the prince's sword and put it under his arm; the prince had remained merciless, with his eyes barred, without conscience; then suddenly, having returned to himself, he punched himself on his forehead, and burst into tears of anger, sorrow and shame he fled. Blasco followed him with his eyes for a while and when he saw him vanishing in the shadows, he murmured:

"Poor devil!... It makes me feel sorry for...

Finally, he fought like a good man..."

Then, turning to the wheel, he ordered him: "Go up and get me a pen, an ink and a piece of paper..."

The steering wheel ran. On the front door the other steering wheel was waiting; from afar he had heard the coals of irons and had moved himself to see him too; now he was asking his companion some details.

"Ah! a wonderful thing: I'll tell you."

The steering wheel returned shortly after with what had been asked. Blasco at the light of the torch wrote the following note:

Lady Duchess and my venerated mistress,

"I dared to send to V.S. the sword of the Prince of Iraci; why do you deserve to give it back to him, and warn him that, when you have the honor to accompany a lady of quality like V.S., you have the obligation to hold her more firmly in hand. I humbly and devoutly kiss her the beautiful hand and I am always at the foot of V. S.

Blasco da Castiglione

Your servant"

"Bring this sword and this card to the Duchess lady" ordered at the wheel; "and take this to drink to my health."

He threw a shield on his hand and went quietly home, but he did not go to bed. That adventure had taken his sleep away. He had a bottle of old wine brought and abandoned his thoughts. How long did he spend? He didn't count the hours. Coriolano, returning from the party, was amazed to see light in Blasco's room and went to the door to find out if he needed anything.

"How?" he said to him on the way in: "Are you still up?"

"Isn't this Christmas night?... I'm watching, too. Did you have fun?"

"A little; what about you?"

"Very much. I fought."

"You? With whom?"

"With the prince of Iraki, finally..."

"With the prince of Iraki?... Are you serious?"

"I don't think I'm joking..."

"And where? When? Why?"

"Why? For a courtesy... including; when? two hours ago, I believe; where? just a few steps from the Albamonte palace."

"Ah!... So you!..."

"Do not go on; I imagine what you mean: that I am still in love; I was, my friend, I was, now I am fully healed, perfectly healed. And the proof is this, that being able to stab that idiot, I was happy to disarm him, out of gratitude. Without him I might still be in love: I owe him my healing. I couldn't sleep without telling you this great news. Now I feel like I'm freed from a great burden."

He told everything with simplicity" and without boasting, Coriolano listened with interest, then said:

"My friend, you have contracted a debt, which will not be repaid to you. Look at you."