Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part two, chapter 6

Coriolano della Floresta had gone to Palazzo Reale that evening, for his majesty King Vittorio Amedeo, using the feast of the Annunziata, protector of the Supreme Order, was worthy to admit the lords of the city to kiss his august hand.

There was therefore a reception at the Royal Palace and it was the only one given by the king in about six months of residence in Palermo, because Vittorio Amedeo seemed little inclined to entertainment and gallantry; and he also affected a certain support, born to him, perhaps, by the new royal dignity and this support, accompanied by almost austerity, had kept away from the Court the lords, who, instead, would not have wished to better than surround the throne of all the splendour of their luxury and magnificence.

The large gallery built by the Viceroy Duke of Maqueda, the adjoining rooms were illuminated by thousands of candles, which made the marbles and the gilding shine, and multiplied in the dark background of the mirrors; however, the nobility that crowded there, accustomed to the Spanish pump, found that under the viceroy that room had had a more magnificent appearance.

That evening at Palazzo Reale there was almost all the feudal patriotic of the kingdom that had abode in Palermo: there was the high judiciary, the high offices, the superior officers of the Piedmontese army. The smaller the number of ladies. The royal pragmatism that prohibited luxury and did not allow the ladies the use of trines of Venice or of other countries, gallons and embroidery of gold and silver, to have more than two pages and an armor; which still prohibited the use of those magnificent Frisian horses, which did with their legs so fracasso to remain proverbial, to spend to adorn the dresses more than thirty doble, to gild the carriages, the flying chairs, the sedans, the steering wheels, all this wounding the feminine vanity, and preventing the noble ladies to show off all the richness of their joys, truly gifts, removed them from the Court.

The most vicious said that His Majesty for fear that his court of small lords of Savoy and of the Alpine valleys would disfigure the comparison of the magnificent island nobility, had pretended to be scandalized and want to suppress luxury for a moral interest.

Nevertheless, there was a remarkable number of lords; the wives of the dignitaries of the kingdom, the ambitious ones who hoped to enter the Court, had not neglected the opportunity to show themselves.

Donna Gabriella wasn't missing. She had stood, leaning on the large marble slab that held one of the two magnificent bronze rams that adorned the left wall of the large hall.

These two rams came from Byzantium, brought by Maniace, general of the Greek empire and placed as an ornament of the fortress he erected in Syracuse, Alfonso the Magnanimo gave them to the most valiant Giovanni Ventimiglia, Marquis of Geraci, who at the head of the army had rendered great services to the liberal king and had tamed Syracuse rebellious; Antonio Ventimiglia his son, placed them on the tomb of his father in Castelbuono. Convicted by felony, and confiscated his possessions, the two rams became property of the crown that no longer wanted to return them, when the Geraci were reinstated into their fiefs. The Duke of Maqueda, built the salon, placed the two bronzes on marble shelves, illustrating them with special inscriptions; and there they stayed until Charles III of Bourbon, who took them to Naples, but immediately returned them because of the bad mood shown by the Palermo people. In 1848, the victorious, assaulted and captured plebs of the Royal Palace crushed the two masterpieces of Greek art; one was lost forever; the other could be happily rebuilt and today is one of the best ornaments of the national museum.

Then, those bronzes, witnesses of wars and claims of victories, appeared in the grand hall, the object of admiration and pride of the city.

The small and nervous figure of woman Gabriella, with her bust locked in the dress of amaranth silk, with her hips swollen by the puffs of the survive contrasted with the serious composition of that bronze: even at the same time there was a taste of beauty. Around her was formed a circle of Piedmontese and Palermon gentlemen to whom she stood with her spirit, and her air of dominion, with her safety as a victorious. In all those men he read the torment of desire and mutual jealousy, there was the instinct of the struggle for possession under the beautiful words and precious phrases that were fashionable in those times, he felt the sensual solicitations. And it seemed that a word of his might cause them to carry carpons before his All the men, who, among them, seeming to be ceremonious and gallant, looked with haughtiness and defiance; he could also throw the apple of discord and see the swords shining in them from the sheath of veils and from the handle of ivory or mother of pearl and gold.

Didn't he have any handsome knights who saw the sword for her?

For he had seen the prince of Iraki passing by, who had not been seen by her since that night, and perhaps out of shame. Even now, passing through the crowd, the prince had flaunted not to see it, to conceal the flame that had risen on his face. Donna Gabriella had followed him a little with her eyes, feeling within herself a certain pity for that young man in love and proud, who had suffered two bitter and unforgettable defeats in a time. The shame he felt in him made her smile, and he who smiles is not angry. He was about to instruct one of the knights to call her the prince, when at the end of the hall there was a movement and a whisper ran for all mouths.

"The King! The King!..."

From one of the great doors at the end of the hall two valets had come out, who had lifted from here and there the heavy curtains of crimson velvet, and the great master of ceremonies, coming out, had shouted:

"His majesty the King; His majesty the Queen!"

Twelve pages in the red livery, with the shield of Savoy, came out with the torches on and behind them the great squire and the almskeeper of the king; then Vittorio Amedeo and Anna of OrlÈans, followed by the gentlemen and the ladies of service.

Vittorio Amedeo in the pace and in the short gesture with which he responded to the greeting and deep bows of the lords who made him wing had something of the rough stiffness of the soldier, which contrasted with the French grace of the queen. He was clothed in white satin and wore the collar of the Annunziata. Both sat on the throne, erected between the two gates, under a canopy of crimson velvet, scattered with small black eagles with the shield of Savoy in the chest, teaches the new king of Sicily, adopted by Vittorio Amedeo and then became his own arms, even when he was no longer king of Sicily. He began the hand kissing according to the label and the countless privileges and prominences. The sovereigns had a kind word for everyone, without giving signs of fatigue and boredom, with that supreme self-control that often reduces royalty to an impassible automatism, in which every human feeling seems suppressed. That official part lasted for a long time: by hand the groups were reassembled: around the king and queen the circles were formed; of the valets they entered with large trays and silver basins full of jams and refreshments. Then the king began to wander through the large hall, lingering here and there.

Donna Gabriella had taken up her place next to the bronze ram and the court of worshipers had gathered around her. The king approached, passing by, and stopped to look at the pretty group that formed the beautiful lady with that bronze animal. Before the ruler, the knights moved away.

Vittorio Amedeo said with gallantry: "Verily, madam, if I saw the bronze ram beating, I would not be surprised. You infuse your life."

Donna Gabriella blushed with pleasure and bowed unanswered; the king said a few more words and passed on, but her words spread a little coldness on the knights, to whom it seemed that, with her compliment, her Majesty had almost placed before the lady the sign of prohibition of hunting. Nevertheless, the circle did not get thinner and the fiery ones, taking the royal compliment as a pretext, competed to find other gallant phrases of the same coin, which, however, did not seem to have much effect in the soul of the Duchess.

Donna Gabriella had become thoughtful; to the pleasure had followed a secret ambition that did not dare to confess, but from which she felt bitten. At that point Coriolano della Floresta, who, after having accomplished his duty, turned around the salon, with its impassioned and smiling appearance, approached; it was then that the Duchess found a diversion.

Through the knight of Floresta she saw Blasco da Castiglione and felt the anger and desires of unsatisfied vengeance reawakened.

"Well, knight, and your protÈgÈ?"

"My protÈgÈ? Do I have so much power that I can protect someone?"

"You like to subtlet. Then I'll tell you about the... the... You don't want me to call him your friend."

"But if you don't tell me who you're alluding to..."

"Go, don't pretend and don't make me angry!"

"Oh, I'd rather sink into the ground than see you angry at me, though I confess that even in anger you are adorable... But I don't know who you want to talk about..."

"But of that adventurer, Mr. Blasco..."

"Ah! And why shouldn't I call him my friend, if he was also your faithful knight and servant?"

Donna Gabriella looked at Coriolano with shining eyes of spite.

Coriolano added: "My friend Blasco from Castiglione is well; he is grieved to not be able, before leaving, to reconfirm his good servitude."

"Part!" exclaimed Gabriella woman: "For where? Are you going to go with the king?"

"That's what I'm talking about. I do not know... but I do not believe that he can follow His Majesty, since he has lost your grace."

He put in these last words a very slight tint of irony, which did not escape the woman Gabriella, who immediately responded in the same tone.

"He's earned your..."

"My God, am I not the one who earned his? And such a fine young man; mighty, courageous... You already know it: loyal, honest... In short, he is an appreciable man, whose friendship is to be desired."

"You amaze me, knight: what enthusiasm! Beware that you are not mute in a bitter disappointment..."

"Do you suppose?"

"Men are ungrateful."

"The reproach on your mouth is so pretty, I dare not defend my sex..."

Donna Gabriella was dying to know where Blasco went to Castiglione. Without answering the gallantries of Coriolano della Floresta, he asked with apparent indifference:

"And will this journey last long?"

"I'm sorry I can't answer that... because I don't know..."

"You know nothing then!" said Gabriella, a woman who was indispect.

"If I could have assumed that you wanted this news, I would have hastened to give it to you for the honor of bringing it to you..."

"Oh, no; I asked like that, to say... I have no interest in knowing the facts of that gentleman..."

Coriolano bowed. The conversation was over, and after he had said some gallant words, he turned away, with the same elegant calmness, leaving her more unsuspected.

At that moment, turning around, the eyes of the Duchess of Motta met with those of the prince of Iraki, who had stopped to hear the brief dialogue, without her noticing. Their gaze was like a flash of intelligence. Hate united them in the same desire.

She smiled and stretched out her hand softly; and then the prince, after that first moment of hesitation, approached her. At that moment the kings with the same ceremonial left the hall among the bows of the lords, who lined up at their passage. Donna Gabriella dragged the prince of Iraki after him, greeting the royals.

When Vittorio Amedeo passed before the Duchess, he smiled at her looking at her. She blushed.

Going down the stairs to go, leaning on the armrest, Don Raimondo, who went next to her, said in a very low voice:

"His Majesty the king has let me know that he would see you with pleasure in following the queen on the next journey."

A wave of pleasure placed Gabriella's face and her nostrils dilated.

"What did you answer?" she asked her husband.

"That the king's desires are orders that honor the subjects, damn it!...

After all, a Duchess of Motta may well be the lady of the Queen of Sicily."

" Especially if it's a La Grua," the Duchess added with a smile; and perhaps her brain conceived an ambitious thought that aimed further.

Throughout the journey from the Royal Palace to the "tower of Montalbano" nothing was said: each one followed the course of his thoughts.

Before the door of the palace a man waited; as soon as the carriage stopped, he removed himself from the pillar on which he sat and took off his hat.

"Is it you, Matthew?" asked the duke, recognizing the birro.

"I have some news from your Excellency... of the king's service..."

While the Duchess, accompanied by two stairs with torches climbed the stairs, Don Raimondo said to Matteo Lo Vecchio: "Well?"

"All done, Excellency."

"When?"

"An hour ago: before they confessed and communicated devoutly, it cannot be said that they did not end up as good Christians... Despite the times that run..."

"Who confessed to them?"

"I..."

Don Raimondo looked at him with surprise and not without a certain repugnance.

"You?... A sacrilege?..."

"But meanwhile..."

His face expressed this idea: "What things I have not known, and what services I can give you!"

Although the hour was late, Don Raimondo said to him: "Come... Tomorrow maybe I won't have time."

At that very hour Coriolano della Floresta, who left the Royal Palace, walked along the Cassaro to his home. At the Four Songs, a noise of people and a sudden flashlight of wind torches called his attention. He put his head out of the sedan, he saw that before one of the fountains, and precisely that of the Fall, they had raised a gallows to which the executioner and his helpers, guarded by guards, suspended by one foot two almost naked corpses, from whose neck hung a sign.

"Who are those wretches?" he asked.

"Two freshmen scoundrels, two of the Beati Paoli sect, Excellency. They were strangled in prison and now expose them."

Coriolano approached the gallows and a strange concussion alters his face. One of the jockeys who made him light, after looking closely at those embellished and counterfeit faces, he exclaimed:

"Look, it would be said that there is the sacristan of St. Matthew!"