Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part three, chapter 6

English

Blasco waited for the night to return to the city: And he went over into the palace of Floresta, where he was received by the bondmen with very lively signs of joy.

"The master is not there," said the master of the house; "but he will be glad to know... Has Your Excellency had a good trip?"

Blasco went to his room and said to the waiter:

"When the master comes, do me a favor and warn me."

"Would Your Excellency like to have dinner?"

"No."

He wasn't hungry. All day had been overwhelmed by the scene between him and woman Gabriella, but more by the image of Violante, than in the clothes of peasant, a bit clumsy and clumsy, he looked delicious. He thought of that night spent next to the maiden; that night she would remain unique and unforgettable in her life, and still felt vibrating within her soul the sweet and deep sensations felt, hearing the sweet breath of the maiden and seeing her sleeping there, under her gaze, so beautiful and serene, in the confused unawareness of sleep. He thought of that night of desires, of dreams, of thrills, of renunciations, so chaste, so pure, and meanwhile so intense of emotions, so vibrant of passion, in which he had, you can say, lived a hundred lives and had felt raised in an atmosphere different from that in which the realities of life held him.

But who was he?

Oh, he knew well that nourishing a hope was madness and that he, poor and nameless, was destined to spend his life without joy; but who could prevent his heart from beating, his brain from dreaming?

He jumped on the bed to abandon himself to his fantasies, but little by little the sleep won him and did not raise that when a hand hit at his door, and a voice said:

"Are you awake, my friend?"

He leaped up and ran to the door with his arms open, shouting:

"Oh, Coriolano, my friend!..."

He was in fact the knight of Floresta.

Their first words were of course the ones that make it possible to exchange two friends that haven't been seen for a long time. Coriolano wanted to know everything Blasco had done and Blasco told him about his travel adventures, the meeting with the abbot, his arrival in Messina, the adventure with the king's guards, the arrest, the attempt to poison, the intervention of the Duchess.

"Do you see?" Coriolano interrupted: "Do you see if I was right to advise you to go to Messina?"

"Yes, it is true, and I am truly grateful for it. But I haven't told you everything yet. There are now the adventures of return, the last especially, that you will not even suspect!.. Dear friend, I am led to believe that the case is the great authorising officer of human facts and that the philosophers, who struggle to teach us to act in this or in that way, to achieve this or that effect, are real charlatans. Life is the unexpected. Listen, then."

And he told him how he had liberated Violante, kidnapped by masked men, who were certainly emissaries or affiliates of the sect.

Coriolano listened to him without giving signs of amazement, as if it had been an ordinary event of life. He stood up and said:

"Now rest, I have come to disturb you, but I wanted to embrace you again. Don't leave the house. The Viceroy has put himself with all his might to prosecute and arrest those who are rightly or unjustly affected by the ban. You could be recognized and not escape. Remember Matthew the Old."

"Ah, if that rascal comes into my hands!"

"Would you raise him to the honor of making him your opponent?"

"Oh, no!..."

"So kill him?"

"Do you think I'm capable of this?"

"Not a chance... That is what I said to show you the voidness of certain purposes. Let go, and keep yourselves hidden..."

"But I need to see Father Serafino."

"You will see it, you understand, but with caution, and when you are sure that no one can find out. I am in charge of this."

"I've got it. Always said that you are a priceless man!"

"Good night."

In the morning, while awakening, Blasco saw a letter on the table next to the bed; he did not delay to recognize that it was of the same type as the other one received many months earlier.

"Oh! oh!" he said; "What will be there again?"

The letter was conceived as follows:

"You are a man of courage; but you are wrong to prevent a work of righteousness. Wait at midnight in front of the palace door. A man, passing by, will tell you: Do you have bait? You will answer: Give me the flashlight; and follow the man. Do not be afraid, and trust."

No signature, but the known seal of the armed hand, in the act of striking. Blasco smiled.

"But yes, for a kiss! from one adventure to another, and that makes life passably amused. Curious cotesti Beati Paoli, who instead of throwing me a shot of rifle or stabbing me, write me about these cards, which could exchange for letters of love appointments!"

He wondered if it was appropriate to advise with his friend Coriolano, but resolved no. Show him that note, it was like putting it aside from a secret that didn't belong to him. He kept silent and waited for the night, with the same anxiety with which the children are waiting for the promised prize. At midnight, he stood in front of the door, leaning on one of the pillars that flanked him: two short guns and a dagger in the belt, in the fear that he could not use the sword, had it been necessary to defend himself. As confident as he is, he could not prevent a certain trepidation, for that unknown to which he went, for that mystery which he might have penetrated.

The man passed, peeked at him, gave the word. He answered how it was agreed and kept behind him. They walked a piece. At the turning of the road of St. Cosmos the man pulled a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and said to him:

"Forgive your Lordship, but you must let yourself be blindfolded and promise not to take it off."

"Go ahead; I promise."

When he was blindfolded, the man took him by the hand and led him. Blasco realized that in order to disorient him, they made turns and turns around a point, and then he felt that the road was on the slope. Suddenly he was stopped. He heard the screaming of a key and felt a funny humid air in his face that smelled closed.

"Come with me."

Behind him the door closed. He was now passing through a goddess, then he felt like he was going out in the open. In fact, the andite put in a small courtyard in which a tree spread its branches. With Chief Blasco he touched a frond and assumed to cross a small garden. Then he went down again and was stopped again. He felt a hand disarming him quickly of the sword, accompanying the act with an excuse:

"Forgive me, Your Ladyship, it is necessary."

Under the blindfold Blasco frowned his eyebrows with a bike of spite: But he thought that he was in the seat of that dark society, and that at last what for others was a mystery, for him became a reality. He had no fear of it; in addition to his bravery, he had confidence in the letters of the Beati Paoli. When they wanted to get rid of someone, they killed him at night with a shot of rifle, because they wanted their punishments not to have any publicity, to succeed exemplary.

Blasco heard a whispered whisper, after which the same voice said to him:

"Enter."

He felt that the air was warmer and his senses gave him the impression of being among people pressing him closely. A voice that made him cheat said to him:

"Sit down, sir."

Two hands gently pushed him over a chair; the same voice ordered:

"Blind him."

Blasco was forced to close his eyes to the abrupt passage from the darkest darkness to the living light of four burning torches, fixed on the walls of the room where he was; this prevented him from immediately recognizing where and among whom he was. Opened his eyes he saw that it was in a kind of roundabout, evidently an ancient crypt excavated in the rock from which two corridors departed, losing in the infinite darkness. Here and there on the walls were recessed niches. In the middle it was a sort of small stone altar, with a Christ on it, between two candles, and the Gospel opened; behind the altar on a scavenged man; on its sides two other men also masked. Around, along the walls other men sat and all had a mask on their faces. Blasco looked at his hips behind him; four men seemed to be watching him, and they were also masked. Everyone was dressed in a long black robe, similar to a lot of penance, but in the belt the blade of a long dagger flashed.

A grave and solemn silence loomed over everything: Blasco saw his eyes shining behind the masks and heard all the looks on him: He was amazed and curious, and waited. The chief said:

"Blasco da Castiglione, you are before the court of the Beati Paoli. Your curiosity, which we were once forced to prevent you from satisfying, is now satisfied; but we, sir, have the right to ask you why you want to hinder our work."

Blasco made a gesture as if to speak, but the boss prevented him:

"Wait; this is not the time to speak, now you must listen. This tribunal has given you more than a proof of benevolence; it has saved you from an assassination; it has punished your enemy by killing him with ridicule; you, without will and without knowing it, have prevented the arrest of two of our faithful companions, but in the meantime you have prevented this court from performing an act of justice..."

Blasco corrected.

A threatening whisper went through the crypt; the head said grievously, without being offended:

"From justice! You don't know what you're saying..."

"I know that a poor girl, without defense, was in the power of armed men, who dragged her away, threatening her with death; and I know that using force and violence against the weak is the greatest of the villains..."

"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!... This is written in the holy books: and popular wisdom hears "the tree sins and the branch receives." A woman was killed and her child, born a few days ago, is saved by miracle: It grows in the shadows, poor and nameless, because its name, its wealth and its future have been usurped. He lives in the shadows, he doesn't know who he is, because if he took his name back, if he asked society for his place, the man who killed his mother and usurped his name and state, would take his life. This scumbag, discovered, one at a time, killed the witnesses of his crimes: who died of poison, who died on the forks, who was murdered; who persecutes others to death: The generous woman who collected the persecuted child was thrown into the dungeons of the Holy Office, that child, now a young man, moans in the basement of the Castle. The executioner staffed that blameless woman to public shame; he scrambled that young man to death.

To prevent that young man from dying in the dungeon, that he might live and take up his name, his wealth, his rank; to do this work of justice and piety, there was but one means: holding that man's daughter hostage, forcing him, for the sake of his blood, to cease from a fierce, ungodly persecution and to open the doors of the prison to his victims! Blasco from Castiglione, you have prevented this act of justice, and you have made yourselves an accomplice to an evildoer!... Blasco da Castiglione, Don Raimondo della Motta accused you of being one of the leaders of this society; he had you arrested in Messina, tried to make you die poisoned and you lend him your arm, your value, so that he may continue his bloody work... Blasco from Castiglione, you loyal and generous heart, have placed the keys in the dark and deadly antro in which he moans Emanuele Albamonte, true Duke of Motta! You have placed these locks on behalf of a thief, a murderer, a shame and shame of mankind. Blasco from Castiglione, you are guilty and the court will begin to judge your work..."

"Do you have anything else to say to me?" asked Blasco.

Everything the chief had said about Don Raimondo could not amaze Blasco, who had read the famous documents taken from Matteo Lo Vecchio; while the head was speaking, he thought to himself, with an inner smile: "If they knew that the trial they collected, I have it here with me!..."

What he ignored was the torture inflicted on Emanuele and Mrs. Francesca and that they were still languishing in horrible secrets. He did not know the wife of the admirer and had a pale remembrance of the young man, but this did not take away that knowledge innocent victims of cruel acts, did not excite his indignation and did not make him hateful the appearance of complicity that the head reproached him.

"Do you have anything else to say to me?" he said: "Let me therefore say that it is not lawful for you to accuse me of complicity with the Duke of Motta. I am not his accomplice, more than I was yours, when I prevented them from arresting Jerome Admired. You can do what you want with me, but leave my mind and conscience intact... And now tell me if you invited me to hear your fatherly retributions..."

"Blasco da Castiglione," said the chief, "don't joke. Nobody laughs here..."

"I'll start..."

"And you will end!"

Blasco saw some hands running to the handle of the dagger and many eyes turning to the head, almost to ask him what was to be done. But the chief didn't make any gestures and continued: "Blasco from Castiglione, we ask you not to stand in our way..."

Behind that imposition, made in a meaningful tone, Blasco quickly saw the threat hanging over the head of Violante; he saw a new danger, which perhaps she could not and could not escape and seemed to him that her duty, at that hour, was not to abandon the girl. He raised his head proudly and said:

"What if I put myself in it? What if I tried, with my strength, to oppose your reprisals?"

"We would be forced to prevent it even by violence."

"So, kill me; for I swear to you on the memory of my mother that you will not get to put your hands on Violante della Motta, except by passing over mine Dead body!..."

The boss laughed.

He made a sign. In a flash Blasco saw twenty arms stretching out with one gesture; twenty blades pinning against his chest. He paled slightly, but did not move, nor did a single gesture of fear. The chief continued:

"I should only say a word and you would fall here, riddled with wounds,! no one would know anything: Your body wouldn't embarrass us, because even if we didn't want to bury him in here, we could find him on some country road, with great pleasure of the justice that seeks you. But your death does not concern our cause; we are interested in your absolute neutrality... Do you want to promise?"

Blasco always saw Violante at the top of his thoughts; he replied:

"I don't promise what I can't keep."

"I blaspheme from Castiglione, beware; even without killing you, I could put you in a position to do nothing; I could leave you here, from whence you did not know or could go out. Why do you want to force me to do this?"

"Do; I prefer to stay here, closed, than out, free, but condemned to impotence by an oath."

"Is that your last word?"

"Yes..."

"Think that, locked in here, you will never again be able to defend or protect those who care about you..."

Blasco didn't answer.

The chief then said:

"You can never accuse us of being intolerant and violent. Brothers, shut him down in "reflection."

In a flash Blasco saw himself enveloped in a kind of hood, which reduced it to impotence, he was lifted of weight by strong arms, transported, deposed. He heard a door shut, even before he could distangle himself from that hood. He was in a profoundly dark place, of which he could not recognize the form and use; he moved some steps far and wide to measure its size; from here, when he had taken two steps, he struck with his chest and face against a rough and humid wall; from the opposite side, his arms dogged a piece in the darkness; then they touched a wooden surface, which he recognized by the door. But he felt long, there was no trace of a lock; therefore it had to be locked from the outside, with locks and locks. He searched for the crack of the clipboard, and drew the dagger out of it, thinking that he could make it flow to recognize where the keyholes were, but the blade could not penetrate. He thought he would use it to open, suck a hole in the boards and see; he went to work, but shortly afterwards he felt the tip squealing against a metal surface. The door was outside covered with iron sheet. So he was in a real prison, from which he could not get out. Walking could not, because not being sure of the ground and not knowing the environment, could not venture in the dark. Sitting on the ground repugnant him, he did not feel seats or chairs around him, no matter how he turned and turned carefully looking for them.

So he was reduced to impotence, as the head had told him. He thought of Violante. Who would now watch over the maiden? She remained at the mercy of the sect, whose intentions she could no longer doubt. He also thought of the Duchess; he thought of that revelation of jealousy, which had filled him with astonishment and apprehension. The Duchess was jealous of Violante and a woman like her, and in her condition, jealous, she was no less fearsome than Beati Paoli. The poor girl was therefore exposed to two fires, without a pitiful hand that could take it away; the duke his father, the only one who could defend it on at least one side, was so far away that there was no reliance on him. Why, then, had he stubbornly not promised neutrality when his obstinacy was of no benefit? Wouldn't it have been better to compromise a little, make a promise with one of those mental restrictions, which weren't not recommended by the morality of the times? Would not the honest and holy end justify failure to fulfill his promise? And a promise torn away in those conditions, with violence, was such as to really commit it? He rebuked himself, he insulted himself. His fantasy colored him with the darkest colors of the dangers that Violante was running and imagined others. Violante paid for Emanuele, for this other innocent young life buried in a secret, doomed to die: both burnt offerings sacrificed to the ambition and greed of a man, of Don Raimondo.

And he thought of those terrible documents, of which he had come into possession, trembling at the idea that they could be taken away from him by the Beati Paoli, now that he was in their care. That man was the father of Violante; and this girl so pure, innocent and confident ignored who her father was and at what an infamous and unholy price she had acquired the wealth of which she was the heir! What would you have said the day they revealed that terrible secret to you? And wasn't it pitiful to hide everything from her?

He was immersed in these thoughts, when he heard the gnashing of the locks and saw the door open and the bright light of a lantern spread in the cave where he was locked up, and that the light suddenly revealed to his eye. The lantern moved and stood in a wall; Blascus saw that there were niches here and there. horizontal that the shadow made more black and mysterious. From the cone of shadow, in which it had been hidden, one of the masked men was shown in the light, in the midst of which he had found himself a moment before.

For a moment they stood in front of each other looking in silence. Blasco had crossed his arms on his chest, still holding the dagger whose blade sparkled in the light of the lantern. The masked man had closed the door behind him: He was alone, and he had no weapon in his hand. He saw the whaling of that blade and interpreted it in his own way.

"Do not be afraid; you will not be wrong with a hair. If we wanted to get rid of you, we would have done it: I'll tell you again."

Blasco recognized the voice that he was the boss. He tossed the dagger without answering. The chief filmed:

"Have you thought about it? Have you understood that you are in our power? Why don't you give in?"

In a spirit of contradiction, out of spite, perhaps, or for his own sake, seeming to him that giving up now was a sign of fear, Blasco replied:

"I only have one word. It's no use tempting me."

"But you will not get out of here until our work is done..."

The young man shuddered, but didn't show his concussion; he said dryly as one who was annoyed:

"Do as you please!..."

Another brief silence interposed between them. The head resumed in a tone of voice that betrayed the inner sadness.

"You are wrong and let yourself be guided more by a false self-love than by reason. Do you not realize that I am interested in you and that I want to avoid the danger to which you expose yourself unnecessarily? Whatever effort you may make, whatever your value, you will never succeed in subtracting Don Raimondo della Motta from our punishment..."

"What do I care about him?" said Blasco.

"And why then have you hindered our work?"

"But not for him; she is innocent. Why persecute those who have not hurt you or others?"

"It's a means..."

"Bad and disgusting. You had the Duke of Motta in your way for a long time, why didn't you kill him?"