Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part two, chapter 17

Italiano

English

Blasco da Castiglione was not a little surprised, waking up, just before noon, to find on the table a letter, sealed with a mysterious imprint: a hand armed with dagger in the act of vibrating, and around the motto: Et iniguitates non prevalebrunt. He opened with curiosity and amazedly read these lines:

"Lord, you did not know, last night render a priceless service to the charity of an innocent man. Those who watch over him feel bound to you by an imperishable gratitude. Count on them."

No signature.

He turned and turned that letter still amazed: Then he sounded, and said to the flocked servant,

"Who brought this letter?"

"What letter, Your Excellency?"

"What I have here in my hand."

"No one, Your Excellency; here they brought no letter..."

"But I found it on the coffee table."

"I can assure you that for two or three days no letter has come here and that no one has entered his room during his absence and while he was sleeping..."

"God damn it, she didn't come alone. Have you ever seen the letters walking alone or flying?..."

"No, of course not."

"So..."

"What do you want me to say, Your Excellency? What I can say in the absolute way is that no one has come and no one has entered."

"He's fine. Go!... no, wait: Your master?..."

"And the house, is waiting for your Excellency to go to the table."

"I'll be right there. Go!"

He remained thoughtful. The mystery that he believed to thin with the news awaited by the servant, became infitiva, instead, and enveloped him. He hastened to reach Coriolano della Floresta, who was waiting for him in the dining room.

"In your house," he said, "can letters enter without anyone carrying them?"

"If they have wings, there is no need for anyone to carry them..."

"We're serious. Waking up I found a letter on the table and no one could tell me where it came from; the servant, on the contrary, assures that no one has brought it..."

"And a love letter? If it is of love, Cupid will have sent it with an arrow..."

"You look at her." He handed it to him. Coriolano took a look at the seal and went to return it, saying:

"With that weapon and that motto It's certainly not a love letter..."

"Read it: You know well that I have no secrets for you."

"If you'd like..." And Coriolano took a look at the writing.

"Well?" asked Blasco.

"Well," Coriolano said, returning the letter to him "here you are, therefore, in good relations with the Beati Paoli, to whom it seems that you have done a great service!"

"Me, the Beati Paoli? Oh!"

"It's clear."

"Who knew?"

"That doesn't take anything away from the fact..."

"Now I'll tell you." He told him everything that had happened last night and what he had done for an impulse he had not been able to resist and he is now grieving: not to have already saved those two from arrest, but to have made himself an accomplice, perhaps, of men who had committed some deavolity.

Coriolano listened to him in silence and without any emotion.

"Did you say," he said, "that the besieged house was in St. Cosmo's Square?"

"Yes..."

"So be quiet. That is the house of the rational Don Girolamo Admirata, who has not committed anything yet to deserve the reproach of the gentlemen..."

"So what?"

"You mean: Why did they want to arrest him? But... you gave him some other service..."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, when you beat the servants of the Duke of Motta who wanted to kill Don Girolamo's young nephew..."

"Oh!... is that admired, then?"

"He could be the innocent protected by the Beati Paoli..."

The conversation languished. Blasco thought of the singularity of the case that he, invoked almost by the Duke of Motta to defend him from the pitfalls of the Beati Paoli, was now almost an accomplice to them, against an act of justice. What somehow put him at peace with his conscience was the thought that that act of justice was in. Basically one of those many legal bullies with which he was fierce against the bourgeoisie and the people, and that the man saved by him was an innocent. This gave him the desire to penetrate into the secret of that mysterious society, of which everyone was afraid; but a word of Coriolano gave another course to his thoughts.

"What about your trip, Blasco?"

Ah, here's something that had almost been overwhelmed by those new thoughts. Yes, it was true; for he had determined to leave in the morning, and this time too the horse had remained in the stable waiting in vain. He also looked at Coriolano with some amazement; why did he ask him about the journey? Coriolano's face did not betray any secret intention, however, given his character, that call could also be considered an occult desire that Blasco strayed. Certainly not because he was tired of the hospitality given him. This idea did not even flash in Blasco's mind; instead he thought that Coriolano should have some secret reason to turn him away.

In a celiac tone he asked him:

"Do you have any interest in me leaving?"

Coriolano, with distracted and indifferent air, replied:

"Yeah, maybe... I think it would be good for you to change the air right now." Blasco opened his curious eyes:

"Why?"

"It wouldn't be useless to come closer to the beautiful woman Gabriella, Duchess of Motta."

"Oh!... what do you think!..."

"God damn it, something that can help you."

"Would that be?..."

"Do you believe that you are safe from the vengeance of justice after what you have done?"

"Who do you want me to know it was me?..."

"But justice will know, perhaps; indeed, at this hour it knows..."

"And then?"

"Afterwards, Mr. Duke of Motta, Vicar General with full powers, to whom you are not sympathetic point, will have you arrested and thrown into some secret of the Castle, as he did with Mrs. Francesca Admirata, so as not to let you out anymore: and I believe that this does not enter into your aspirations..."

"No, of course."

"Dying in a business, having sent a dozen to the other world, can tolerate itself, but in a secret, being buried alive, rotting slowly, witnessing one's agony in impotence... is that horrible, do you agree?"

"For God's sake, make my skin crawl!"

"And it was just to make her camp..."

Blasco stood a minute in silence, then said:

"I agree that if things are as you say, it would be more prudent to get away from me... But on the other hand you know well that danger exerts a kind of charm on me..."

"If you were to face a danger, from which you could free yourself with honor, I would not advise you to leave! After all, do as you please, I would not want my words to be misinterpreted badly..."

"Oh, no! and to give you proof of the esteem I have for you and of the account I make of your advice, I will follow them."

"Good."

"But I will not go to Messina, nor will I see the Duchess..."

"Why?

"For many reasons: I would not like to look like someone who has regretted having broken a relationship; I do not want to pretend feelings that I do not feel; I do not want to get any useful or advantage from a rapprochement; so much worse, finally, if this rapprochement is a fiction!..."

"Uh! too many scruples. I praise them, I admire them, I cannot advise you otherwise, but above all, my dear, do not exaggerate them... Sometimes it takes politics. And politics is a science, my dear, that doesn't look much for the subtle in the choice of means, but vice versa ensures an excellent end... If the end is honest, and if Gabriella brings you closer to the woman, then your safety will come, why do you want to let the scruples overcome you?"

But Blasco scowled the boss:

"No, no!... You won't be able to persuade me. I am not made for politics and especially for this policy. I'm made for the war. I recognize that you would be an excellent diplomat, and that the king should choose you for his ambassador, but I on this ground would render bad services."

Coriolan of Floresta smiled with unbelieving air:

"Every man, under certain conditions and in circumstances of life, is a good diplomat of himself... But do as you please... and excuse me for insisting. I looked only at your interest..."

The speech ended there. Blasco begged Coriolano della Floresta to have him prepare the horse and supplies for his journey and even, if he could, letters of presentation and recommendation for some master of his knowledge, in the lands that, during the journey, he would cross.

"I'll let you find everything in the morning. What time do you count on leaving?"

"At dawn."

"It will be difficult for us to see each other; so let me embrace you now and give you a good journey and goodbye."

He embraced Blasco with cordiality, wished him good evening and entered his rooms.

Blasco went out to see his father Bonaventura. How he thought he'd make that visit, he couldn't say: Perhaps for one of those latent associations, whose ideal bonds are not seen. The thought of his journey had drawn from the bottom of his memory the memories of his first youth and the image of the friar had leaped before his eyes. He rebuked himself for having abandoned that friar, to whom the most painful and most pitiful memories of his life were bound, and he delighted to visit him.

At that hour Father Bonaventura was to be in the choir and Blasco, who entered the concierge, was prepared to wait for the friars to finish, when the friar concierge told him:

"Does your Lordship come looking for Father Bonaventura? Oh, he's not here anymore."

"How isn't he here?"

"Eh, no; he was sent to the convent of Caccamo."

Blasco looked at the friar with the eyes of those who were suddenly faced with an unexpected and astonishing spectacle.

"To the convent of Caccamo?" he said.

"Mr. Yes... of Caccamo."

"Since when?"

"It's been three months..."

"And you didn't warn me?..."

"I don't know that..."

"But why did he leave?"

"And what do you want me to know? We friars do not ask why the higher orders. One day we find obedience, and that's it. Father Bonaventura probably did not have the time to warn your lordship; as today he found obedience and the next morning he left."

Blasco came out of the monastery Mogio Mogio, as one who returned from a defeat, thinking of that unexpected departure and more of the silence kept by the monk in those three months. Truly he no longer showed himself to his father Bonaventura and had almost forgotten him; he therefore had no right to regret if he had not been warned of that departure and had not received any letter; rather, he thought that the friar probably had to be grieved by his conduct. But he would have made a little diversion in his journey, following the coastal road to Trabia and from there to Caccamo, then, along the mountain paths between the Madonie, he would have reached the way of Catania.

This design seemed to put his conscience at peace, because he moved away from the convent with the most uplifted aspect and with a frank step. On the street he was wondering what fault Father Bonaventura could commit, to deserve that punishment: because the obedience with which a religious was removed from his convent was equivalent to a punishment, or at least it was the sign that the friar had become incompatible in that place. Now, that Father Bonaventura had to say or had come to the other friars of the convent of Palermo, it was not admissible, because they loved him all; therefore he must have come in collision with someone, outside the convent, and this someone had obtained from the provincial father that order of removal. He didn't find any other explanation for the fact. And who could it be?

He was thinking, when he felt good-bye:

"Most illustrious Mr. Knight, I kiss your hands..." He saw a little man sinking into bows, and looked around to see if he greeted others, not seeming to be the object of such respectful greetings. "Talk to me, good man?"

"How? So your Lordship no longer recognizes me? I'm Michele Barabino... Michele..."

"Ah; oh! is that you? I didn't recognize you!... And so dark..."

"And I must be unrecognizable, I know..."

"No, actually!... Why should you be unrecognizable?"

"So, Your Ladyship knows nothing?..."

"No. What has happened to you?"

"Woe out loud!... There's always bad people in this world. Or what do you say, if I tell you that they have denounced me to the captain of justice for having favored the Escape of your Lordship from the inn of Messinese?..."

"Well?"

"Well, I was arrested and locked up in Carbonera. And while I couldn't pay the rent because I was closed, they sold me the stuff, and now, coming out, you see Vossignoria? I am poor and naked as holy Job!..."

"An infamy!"

"Oh, poor Master Michele!... And because of me!"

"What does Vossignoria say!... because of the sad means, that they never lack!... And your lordship is okay? I see it, and I console it. I wanted to stop you for a minute to say hello; I'm sorry... I'm leaving now... If you ever need me... I can't tell her to look for me at home, because I don't have a home, but she can go to the church of San Bonomo... you know?"

Blasco suddenly saw the small church where Michele Barabino had hospitalized him and felt a sweet concussion to the memory, but he thought of the little real devil who was so atrociously serving his generosity.

"Don't offend yourself, Master Michael;" he said by putting two silver shields in his hand. "I think you can use these at such a critical time..."

Master Michele seemed reluctant, then accepted the sum by saying:

"Not for me, very illustrious; not for me, who in the end am a man, but for my family..."

"Your family? Where is your family?"

"Oh, don't talk about it... My wife is with her parents, my children are with her uncles. One here, one there; they found a roof and a piece of bread, but he will understand, it is not life... They do it with the heart, yes, they do not deny it, but when you are accustomed... Stop!... See? It makes me cry; and it's silly. Patience!... Good night, and I kiss her hands and God give her credit..."

Blasco moved away with a narrow heart from some sort of painful remorse. Here was a poor man, who had had his home, his family, his trade, and had lived quietly without harming anyone. An act of goodness exposed him to the arrogance of others, took everything away from him, threw him in the middle of the street only, miserable, abandoned! And who had exposed him, involuntarily, to the fierce and inhuman retaliation, it was he!... He gave him two shields... But could that small sum give back to the poor tailor how much he had lost? He should have put his shop back on... Here's your duty. Yeah, but he was poor too. Those two shields, against his purse, represented a crazy generosity.

He kept walking without direction, as he often did, a little sad and thoughtful, looking around. He met from time to time a sedan, surrounded by torches, that broke the darkness around her, and clothed her with splendors and flashes of gold, brought, preceded, followed by servants in silk liveries and inside saw a man, sometimes a monster, all shining, by the light of torches, of gold and gems, who allowed himself to be carried, with the air of those who exercised his right, and at whose passage the people made their way. Then she was another porter, all black, without torches, without procession, humble and dark, accompanied by a man with lantern: a doctor thought; later on another carrier, all black also, surrounded by soldiers with a bayonet in reed and preceded by a little walker with a lantern: An arrester who was taking to Vicaria or Castle!... And always, here and there on the street, on the corner of the alleys, standing and wandering, sitting on the steps or on the paracarriages of some gates, lying on the protruding counters of the shops or on the steps of the churches, he saw miserable, semi-naked, ruffled, men and women, and more boys and girls, that misery spread in the metropolis of the kingdom, in the streets where the great palaces were haughty in their docks. An old woman, in a song, sang a few stories with a singing voice: That of the godly knight:

And there was a knight, poor thing, there was a crippled mass of hands and feet...

The voice tried to rise beyond the noise of nightlife, to the houses, to solicit a begging.

Sant'Antonino appeared to him in his sleep.

Alas, the good Franciscan saint did not appear and did not console only in legend and did not concern that wretched worm who at night tingled in the city. Blasco sometimes saw turbid smurfs, in whose eyes the crime flashed, hiding almost in the shadow of the alleys, or lingering on the Door of some smoked tavern: or women without age, who could be young or old, on whose mouths the lascivious smile seemed a grin that put disgust. Furious, torn, barefoot or buried in slippers, they also believed that they still possessed some tempting virtues, and that they could excite the senses of passersby: ignoble and gruesome spectacle. Then, roaringly, as if it were proceeding between a burst of thunder, a carriage passed quickly and the torches of the flyers and the stirrups surrounded it with a halo, like the eye of a number. The bright light of the torches cast a glimmer upon that misery; emaciated faces appeared, broken hairs, robes in shreds, which almost immediately the shadow rewinded and concealed.

Further on, in the silence of the street, a little woman, standing in front of a newsstand, cried out:

"Devote, Our Lady is in the dark!..."

From a few windows a grain fell, to buy oil for the lamp of Our Lady.

Blasco observed every scene with a disposition of mind that inclined him to pity; all that misery was revealed to him in a new aspect, as the product of a society clearly divided into two great classes, one of privileged, on which heaven and earth had condensed all their favors, rich, powerful, bossy, arbitrary to do and undo, idle, unpunished: Olympus of gods, to whom all was granted: Love, joy, carefreeness, beautiful folly, throwing money, sending people to jail, making them beat, hanging them by their judges or killing by their own assassins, and to whom alms, harvests, bequests to convents and churches, kept, last privilege, paradise; the other, miserable, dark, overwhelmed, lost, rejection of heaven and earth.

A round passed by; the headwave to see Blasco was ridiculed respectfully; at the same time, having the lantern planted on the face of a rag approaching to ask perhaps for a grain, he kicked him, threatening him with a stick and accompanying the act with a rebuke:

"Forkboy, let the knight pass!"

It was the symbol of justice of those days.

Blasco wandered much of the night, as he wished to see in his reality the capital of the kingdom, not that which he had seen until then, and which had attracted him and dragged him among the great halls, between a society that had no feet on the earth of mortals, but that of the people, that of misery and invisible suffering and silence; that which knew nothing else of life but to obey and serve and which asked no more than a little bread of good weight and good price; that on which he weighed all the weight of the wealth of others. Each of those carriages and of those chariots glowing with gold and silk would have been enough to feed for a year one of those families of miserables, on which the rigors of the law and the ignominy and threats of the Church, the terrors of the underworld; all the people who were joining in the dark, humid alleys, between the heaped garbage, despite the bans, here and there in small heaps, between the stripes of the dirty water, which stagnated in the valleys of the badly cobbled ground: who lived without sun and air in the "catoji."

Lived among the mountains, on the sea, shepherd, sailor, corsair, slave, captain of arms, wanderer, courtier, lover; poor, well-off, in contrast with all the hardships of life; born noble, raised among the friars, lived in the people, returned among the nobility, had none of the prejudices of aristocratic society and none of the lownesses of the people; had tempered his spirit, had formed a free and frank conscience, which allowed him to live in full independence and to judge serenely, according to his own personal criterion.

The contrasts he had grasped walking had enticed him to penetrate the alleys: dark labyrinths, in which the minotaur of misery mooed and where none of his peers penetrated for fear and pride.

So wandering around he found himself without knowing it in the Cape Road, in front of the church of St. Cosmos.

"Toh!" he said to himself, "Here is Don Girolamo Ammirata's house. To think that at this hour that poor man would be in jail!"

The night was dark, with no moon and no stars. A little lamp hanging on the pediment of the church of S. Maruzza, in front of a small image, spread just a slight light on part of the facade and let the corner of the adjacent alley, which was lost in a deep darkness. The house of the Admirata was there, with the taxes closed, immersed in silence, with the appearance of empty houses; the irons of one of the balconies hung a twig, perhaps an abandoned handkerchief, which the night breeze had slightly waved.

Blasco spent a minute looking at that house. There was no soul in the square; only dogs and cats were wandering after each other at times, growling and blowing. Blasco saw on St. Cosmo's side a black shadow go shaving the wall and disappear into the alley adjacent to the church of Santa Maruzza. Shortly afterwards, another black shadow also walked the same road, in the same mysterious way; a few minutes later, a third shadow, on the opposite side, entered and scattered in the same alley; a fourth followed it.

"Where the hell are they going?" she asked herself.

Almost at the same time two shadows passed by him without seeing him; he went out, he seemed to recognize his pace. A suspect flashed at him and lit his face with joy. And he waited, and one after another passed, and other shadows went out into the alley; and they all looked the same, as friars and companions clothed in sackcloth. There was no doubt anymore; a great curiosity pricked him: that of being able to do so to follow in that dark nest from where those warnings, those punishments, those vengeances that in the conscience of the people were acts of justice!... to be able to surprise that coven in the fierce exercise of its punishing office, that is what his dream would have been!

He put himself behind the plagues of the last shadow; it was just a few steps from it, and he did not take his eyes off, but suddenly it disappeared, as if the wall had swallowed it. Surprised, he lengthened the step; at the wall he realized that there was a small door whose color was confused with that of the wall. The shadow could not have disappeared from there; he tried to push the usciolo, but it did not yield; he palpated the posts, the swing, imposed it long and wide, looking for a sign, a vestige of lock. There wasn't even a hole. But there was no doubt that that shadow must have entered from there; other doors at that point were not there; there was a little more on a doorway, but he was sure that the shadow had not arrived there. For a thorough examination, he also wanted to push his investigation; he had not yet arrived, who heard a deaf noise behind his shoulders. He turned abruptly: Two of those shadows, leaping out, didn't know where they were, standing next to him. They had their faces covered in the mask.

"Ah! ah!" thought Blasco: - Here we go."

"Lord," said one of the two shadows, "you are a gentleman, and you have done deeds for which we must be grateful. But what you do is not worthy of you. Don't think you've easily discovered a trace: We knew that you were spying from the square and we had no suggestion of being followed, to draw you here. We could make you disappear without any trace remaining of you. The night is deep; the solitary place. Above, below, around you is the mystery. One hundred hands, invisible to you, can make you disappear..."

Blasco looked around, shuddering.

"It is useless to look," continued the shadow; "you would never see the hands that would punish your audacity: how vain would be any attempt to act against us... We come to you to tell you this: "Abandon any idea of penetrating our secret; it is not something that belongs to you. It's nothing but curiosity for you. Go. A hair will not be wrong to you; we have no prevention against you; why do you want to become our enemy?.."

Blasco didn't know what to say: All this succeeded him so new and unexpected that he could not find any word to justify his curiosity. Why was he there? What did he want? What did he expect? With what right? The man was right, and his words had the effect of a rebuke, all the more bitter, the more polite the form was, in its severity, and hid almost a prayer. He also felt a sort of disrespect for the unexpected dissolution of his adventure: He would have preferred to take the risk of dying in a conflict with those mysterious characters, rather than supporting that reasoning that hurt him without giving him a chance to defend himself. He tried an answer.

"Bacchus, gentlemen, I had no idea I was standing in front of speakers!"

"Why, did you suppose you were surrounded by murderers?" "Oh, I'm not saying that, but..."

"But little by little... As you can see, instead, we use no other weapon than the word... And now good night, Mr. Blasco..."

But Blasco didn't move: He scratched his embarrassed ear and, smiling, said:

"What if, for example, I don't give up on your invitation to leave?" The shadow did not make any act of anger or amazement and answered in the same tone:

"We will send you away the same, and without you being able to resist..."

"Oh! oh!... would be the first case..."

"Not for us..."

"What if I wanted to try the test?..."

"We'd hate to resort to violence with you, sir. But please spare us a useless conversation: and as you must leave at dawn..."

"Who told you that?"

"You don't care, we know everything; it wouldn't be bad if you went to rest..."

Blasco was amazed. Who was that man? How did you know you were leaving? He took a step forward, as if to recognize from the lightning of the eyes and from the shape of the mouth the man who spoke to him, but had not yet moved, who suddenly found himself enveloped in a sort of hood or black mantle, which revolted him, shook him, jammed him; he remained caught there, powerless to react, to move; he seemed to have the members tied; he felt relieved, transported away, without seeing anything. Through that large cloth that wrapped him up and took away all freedom of movement, he did not feel the contact of any hand nor heard sounds of footsteps. He had the sense of movement and that of being freed into space, and nothing else. If he had been superstitious, he would have believed he was being transported by spirits.

How long did that trip last? He could not say it; he felt after some time that they carefully laid him on the ground. Were they tired? Did they get to the goal? He waited. And he heard the clocks of the churches, and no noise beside him; and it seemed once to him that he heard from a long innard, and as the warmth of a neighbouring mouth, which followed a groaning grumble, and a furious latrary, to whom they answered. other dogs, more or less close. Blasco was afraid of being bitten, without being able to defend himself; he tried to divide himself and the movement frightened the dog, who did not dare to approach, and not wanting to leave on the other hand that unknown and mysterious prey, he turned around, barking, and trying to vibrate some tusks. Blasco defended himself to the best, pushing his legs. The dog penetrated a flap of that wrapper and pulled it. A large tear was produced, which seemed to Blasco more than a point of salvation, a vulnerable side. He began to blaspheme, making desperate efforts, but at that point he heard a voice, threatening the dogs.

Blasco roared.

"Pass away!... What the hell is that?..."

"By the cross of Christ, remove me from this trouble, that I suffocate!"

"Oh, who did that to you?... Wait, don't move... What the hell... Look what a scam this is. It's like they put you in a net... Wait, I'm telling you... You are in a hurry!.."

"And for God's sake!... I think I'm right!..."

"Yes, I understand... But it takes patience here. That's it, piano. That's it..." Blasco jumped up with his face on fire, puffing, with his fists tight looking around him. The man who freed him from that net looked at him with great amazement:

"Your Ladyship?..."

Blasco looked at him; did he know him?...

"How come Vossignoria is wrapped in here like a bug in her cocoon? And they had enveloped him well, they had him!..."

Blasco stretched out his fist with a gesture of threat. He could have forgiven a blow of the sword, but that terrible joke, which covered him with ridicule in the eyes of a stranger, who, telling the case, would make the city laugh behind his back, filled his breast with anger; a fury all the more fierce, the more powerless. The shame of being recognized under such comical conditions was such that he also took away his conscience of the obligations he should have felt towards those who had freed him from embarrassment: In fact, he was able to hate him, seeing in him not a liberator, but a disturbing witness.

"Listen to me," he said; "I do not know who you are; you have taken me out of that fraud and I thank you, but you have been wronged to know me and this harms you... If you say a word of this adventure, word of honor, I will cut off your ears!..."

The man gave in a sound laugh, which shocked Blasco.

"Doesn't your Lordship know me?"

"Who are you?"

"I am the Messinese, the master of the inn who had the honor of staying in Vossignoria..."

"You?... In fact... God sent you!..."

"Your Ladyship can therefore rest assured that from my mouth no one will know the smallest thing... However, this recommendation should also be made to those who packed it in this way. Do you want me to accompany you?"

"Thank you, good man, you don't have to..."

"So, good day... It's dawn any minute. I'm going to Termini to buy some oil for my inn. I don't trust sansalos... If anything is needed at Vossignoria..."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

The Mexican gave him a great reverence and left in a hurry while Blasco, mortified, biting his lips for spite, took the way home: But instead of going up to the room and seeing Coriolano della Floresta, he entered the stable and saddled the horse.

It dawned, when the pavement of the Admiral's bridge rose under the ironed nail of his horse.

Before him he trotted a donkey.

"Toh!," said Blasco to himself; "there's the Messinese going to Termini."