Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part three, chapter 24

Italiano

English

Truly, the news of the assassination of Don Raimondo della Motta had filled the city with extraordinary amazement, also due to the circumstances that accompanied it. The mystery of that well, in which one did not know whence and how it had penetrated, was so inexplicable that to the astonishment was added an indefinite sense of dismay.

Gabriella and Violante were the first to rush. Donna Gabriella didn't actually feel a deep pain, she didn't cry, she didn't despair; she had a kind of stupor, but she didn't doubt where the blow came from. The sight of her inert, pale husband, still shriveled with blood, deadly, inspired her a certain compassion mixed with terror. She seemed to see the armed hand that had struck her husband, rising up and hanging, threatening, over the other heads of the family.

But Violante shouted loudly, burst into tears and had to turn her away from her father's bed: her cries annoyed the Duchess, as if in her soul they had raised reproaches or remorse.

"Shut up!" cried she, "Shut up! It is not time to shout, your cries disturb..."

They were called two doctors and both studied the wounds, scorching the boss.

At the fury of aromatic waters and other exciting ones they could shake the hibernation in which Don Raimondo lay, who had regained consciousness, and began to look with a great fear in the still tarnished eyes; then he had closed them and now moaned softly, while the two men of art, after anointing certain balsams on the parades, cured him and bandaged him.

Meanwhile, lords and officers of the government came; the captain of justice who was to bring him the news of the capture of the Beati Paoli, and who had not dared to go and confess his defeat, He had rushed, now that he had learned what had happened and was running, to gather the first details; and shortly afterwards the captain of the Alabarders of the Viceroy had arrived, who had been surprised and not only for the victim, but also for the audacity of the murderers.

The Branciforti, the La Grua, the Ventimiglia, all the great houses related to the Albamontes were moved by them; the palace was filled with people.

They wanted to know as a woman Gabriella some news, a trace, a clue to have the key to the mystery and to discover the murderers. But Gabriella was perplexed, fearing the consequences of those revelations she might have made. At that moment she did not think of revenge or reprisals. The wounded man, dying, was finally her husband, and she had a duty to defend him and defend in him the name she had received.

Several times the name of the Beati Paoli had surfaced on her mouth, but how would she explain this indication?

He revealed nothing and declared that he had no suspicions, but his silence was in vain. The first investigations themselves revealed three very important indications in which the magistrate found the thread: the name of Blasco da Castiglione, who "knew" and the circumstance that he had first guided the servants to the two entrances of that underground which was now known to be the seat of the Beati Paoli. So the blow was made by the sect and Blasco by Castiglione must have been present and know the places; third circumstance: the cave of the Beati Paoli had to extend until under the palace Albamonte and have some outlet, that from where the mysterious sectarians had disappeared.

It was necessary to have Blasco in the hands of Castiglione, but here the difficulties began, because, being struck by ban, he certainly kept hidden. Another fact was added that complicated things, intuiting a connection between it and the circumstances of that night.

Captain Mangialocchi, returning at night to Palermo, because shameful of the fiasco, had reported that Blasco, escaped the arrest, had stumbled Matteo Lo Vecchio and killed a comrade of arms. Blasco, therefore, escaped justice, had entered Palermo and had found himself at that meeting, where the Duke of Motta, who had ordered his arrest, had been murdered. So it was Blasco's revenge? Then why would he save him? Here was the riddle that justice could not solve.

The Viceroy commissioned Fr Francesco Cavallaro, judge of the Grand Court, to instruct the trial and the first thing was the confirmation of the ban on Blasco da Castiglione, with a large size for those who had delivered him alive or had indicated his hiding place.

Captains, algozins, guards, rural companies were set in motion; the cave of the Beati Paoli searched from all sides, without however it was discovered the secret passage; and for any eventuality it was ordered that in the same day, to prevent the encumbering of curious, the two entrances were walled solidly.

Blasco knew nothing about this. But coming down with the favor of the night from the convent of the Capuchins towards the city, he had been able to pass the Gate of Ossuna undisturbed by the gabellotes, who occupied time playing cards and drinking, and never looked under the nose the gentlemen; and, walking along the road of St. Augustine, he was collecting by flight here and there from the speeches of the crocuses that lingered around the Albamonte palace some news that concerned him.

He stopped in the square of Mercè, looking at the palace, behind whose illuminated windows he saw wandering great shadows of people. He didn't think it was safe to come in. Why else would he come in? With what title? And for what purpose? Indeed, he found it almost unlikely that he had gone to that palace, where he had nothing to do. But in the shadow the figure of Violante appeared before his eyes and his heart fell down from so many concussions was softened. He waited long; he saw the coming out of the palace and some carriage; in the colors of the liveries he recognized who they belonged to. A simpler sedan, and carried by "segmentaries" of the square, pointed to him a doctor; and then he approached and protruding his head inside he asked:

"Forgive me, Your Ladyship, will you give me news of the illustrious Mr. Duke?"

"Ah, serious, serious! Let us hope that the Lord will send it to him!"

So death had not occurred yet and the doctor had not despaired. He waited again. The night enveloped everything, but from here and beyond from the door of the palace they had for that circumstance set on the wall two torches in the wind, to illuminate that stretch of road and Blasco without being seen could to that light see who entered and who went out. The shadows behind the windows gradually decreased, and now they rarely saw each other; even the pedestals and the carriages had wandered away; then none came out. Perhaps in the palace there were just a few relatives of the nearest, some friends, to keep the women company.

A servant came out, with a bottle, perhaps to go to the next aromatizer, as then They called the pharmacists; Blasco recognized him and called him.

"Oh! "Your Ladyship?" exclaimed the frightened servant.

"I, yes; I came to inform myself. I heard from the doctor... Are there people on top?..."

"There's Mr. Marquis of Regalmici, brother of Mrs. Duchess."

"Ah, well, do me a favor, dear, to tell Mrs. Duchess if she is pleased to accept my visit."

"Now, but..."

"What?"

"Does your lordship know the ban?"

"What ban?"

"I don't know... I don't mean..."

"Go ahead, without awe."

"Let there be a ban and a big bounty against your lordship... look at yourself; if anyone sees it..."

"Thank you. Don't worry; you will not betray me..."

"Me?..."

The servant reassembled the stairs of the palace, and returned shortly afterwards.

"Mrs. Duchess is waiting for you..."

"What did he say when he received the embassy?"

"She's pale and she seemed to me at first that she wanted to say no..."

"Is there anyone with you?..."

"She's alone right now..."

"She's fine, thank you."

He left the servant and slipped in the door; he saw in the haste that from the square of the Cape came to the palace a porter, preceded by two flyers with torches in the wind. Entering the room where Gabriella received the visits, she could not dominate a deep emotion. Donna Gabriella was standing there at a high chair, beautiful among the different and opposite emotions that passed on her face, like clouds pushed by the wind on the blue sky. Pain, anger, hatred, jealousy, desire, altered for a moment the beautiful face, but it resumed a harsh gravity convenient to the circumstance, but did not hand Blasco, standing in an attitude full of dignity and pain, which for a moment embarrassed the young man. Before he could find a word, Gabriella said to him:

"I know it is due to you the discovery of this black crime and I am grateful for it, even though you still do not explain to me how you knew that the duke had been murdered."

Blasco, struck by the cold tone and the veiled sting of the last words, felt refreshed, because nothing was worth taking him away from embarrassment, as much as having to take a stab attitude. He answered with the same coldness:

"I had only come to inform me of your husband's condition, and to express my condolences, not to receive thanks, nor to give explanations, which, forgive me, at least at this moment I am out of place; I also came to see if Mr. Duke was assisted by his family... that I knew missing..."

Donna Gabriella bit her lower lip, with a bike of spite.

"You see, sir," he said, "that I am in my place."

He accentuated that "me" in a meaningful way as if to say: - "and it's useless for you to ask about other people." There was between one and the other like a deaf and latent hostility braking barely; violent rebukes went up in their mouths and the storm seemed to thicken in their chest and close to bursting, when a lackey announced:

"Mr. Knight of Floresta wishes to kiss the hands of your Excellency."

Blasco made a gesture of great astonishment, but Gabriella made a nod of assent with her head and shortly after Coriolano entered with his coldly serene appearance, his fine and courteous smile, his perfect manners, with a stick with a long bow in the hand that held the hat. He approached the Duchess, gallantly kissed her hand and greeted Blasco with a friendly and confidential nod, who looked at him with an astonishment full of indignation and anger.

"Believe me, Mrs. Duchess," said the knight of Floresta with a gentle voice, "that I was terribly surprised and saddened by the misfortune that happened to Mr. Duke... is an unheard-of thing, that struck the whole city!..."

Donna Gabriella sat down and showed Coriolano a chair. Blasco stood, with one hand on his side; pale, threatening, barely contained his anger and tightened his jaws so as not to leave room for the words that flowed on his lips, and to contain the hurricane that swelled his chest.

Coriolano informed himself of the conditions of the wounded.

"Three wounds!" exclaimed with visible horror, "but it's a horrible thing!... What doctor did you call?"

"Don Francesco Pignocco, the protomedician of the kingdom..."

"Have you done well; and does he give hope?"

"Few..."

"My God! To think that they could have cooled it!... and that without Mr. Blasco's miraculous intervention from Castiglione the poor duke would be dead by now..."

Blasco squeezed his fists into the flesh; under the apparent emotion, he understood in the last words a slight tint of irony, which escaped entirely from woman Gabriella. She murmured with bitter conviction:

"In fact, it is."

"And have there been any suspicions?" asked Coriolano.

"Justice seems to be on the trail..."

"Yes? I'm pleased."

In saying these words, the knight of Floresta glanced at Blasco who, divining perhaps the thought of Coriolano, corrupted his eyebrows with an expression of anger and contempt. There was a moment of silence, in which woman Gabriella had the ease to realize that Blasco and Coriolano, who knew very close friends, did not look at each other except with great coldness and confidentiality. This discovery gave her a certain pleasure, not already because she responded to her interests, but because of malice. Without this friendship, Blasco would have remained alone, without any protection at that time dangerous for his freedom and his life. She whispered to her a treacherous idea: to send for the captain of justice secretly and hand over the young man to him, but he did not move. To the instinct of revenge happened the sense of repugnance for a cowardly action, and also - why deny it? - that vague intimate desire to possess the young man, not already because he loved him, but out of spite and jealousy. Coriolano took the hat again, said some other words of convenience, with the same manorous and impeccable courtesy, kissed the hand of woman Gabriella and set out to go out; but, greeting Blasco with a nod, said to him:

"I've been told you're leaving, sir. Is that true?"

The form was a question, but with a hidden sense, that Blasco perfectly understood: It was almost an order to leave. Blasco replied:

"Not yet, sir, I still have some other office to do here..."

"Ah!... it's right: You cannot abandon your good work as a savior. I sincerely hope that your efforts will be crowned with the happiest success, but... look at you, because justice is upon your steps."

"I'm not afraid of her."

Coriolano went out. Blasco then approached Gabriella and quickly said to her:

"Let me come back... I'll tell you why, but I warn you that the life of the duke is in the way."

The Duchess made a gesture of fear.

"Do not be afraid of anything... I'll be right back..."

He went out, before Gabriella had time to say a few words; he crossed the anteroom and asked the servants if the knight of Floresta had already left.

"Very illustrious, no; he entered Mr. Duke's room to see him..."

"Ah!"

Blasco, more than entering, jumped into the room where the duke had been placed: a large room simple and almost austere, in the middle of which they had placed a bed. Don Raimondo lay still, with his head bandaged, his eyes barred, fixed on the ceiling, pale: It seemed rather like a wax statue, than a living being. At that moment at his bedside there were the Marquis of Regalmici and the rational of the house, as well as two lackeys, straight before the door, waiting for orders. Coriolano approached the bed, looking coldly at the body on which the sickle of death seemed to hang; his face did not betray the slightest emotion.

Blasco, whose voice sounded like a roar: "Lord," he murmured next to him, "sir, don't you think it's time to leave the wounded quiet?"

Coriolano made the views not to understand the meaning of that observation, and answered with apparent tranquillity:

"In fact... There are too many of us here..."

Even his words had a hidden sense that Blasco seemed to understand.

"I'll accompany you," he said.

They went out; but when they came to the Blasco gate, being unable to stop, he said to his teeth,

"Lord, your conduct is infamous!..."

"Do you believe that?" Coriolano replied coldly.

"And if I have a pain, a remorse, a shame in my life is to have known you and to have held your hand!"

"What would that mean?..."

"That that little square is lonely, the deep night, and two people of good will can be beaten..."

"A duel?... With you?... Here?... But if you want to fight with me, let at least, according to the good custom, choose the place and the time. For now, I'm busy... Goodbye, Mr. Blasco..."

"You will not leave, for God's sake!..."

"Listen to me, Blasco from Castiglione; I want to give you some more proof of my tolerance and friendship, that you say... You don't know what you're doing; take good care, though -- (and it kept your voice down) that you're doomed, and you know why... and if you're here, you owe it to the luck that assists you and the interest that I have for you. You want to fight me? I'll be happy, and I'll wait for you tomorrow at 22 hours at Colonna Rotta, in the garden where you were at dawn. But be on guard, because from the Albamonte palace to the mannaja of the Navy floor you are closer than you think; and put in your head that neither duel nor anything else you can do will arrest the course of justice!... See you tomorrow, Blasco da Castiglione; see you tomorrow..."

Blasco was about to answer, but Coriolano, stretched out his finger at the corner of the Cape, from where he saw himself dancing a lantern, said.

"Look at: Here's the round! Go, if you don't want to be taken as a mouse."

And, taking advantage of Blasco's instinctively retreating into the shadows, he entered the sedan and left quickly. Blasco shouted to him:

"Tomorrow, I will not fail, of course!" and he returned to the palace, in time not to be seen by the round which, at the passage of time and beating the spades on the pebbles pulled forward, towards the Novitiate.

Blasco went back to the room where Gabriella was still surprised and curious.

"Mrs. Duchess," she said, "let me spend the night here and watch over your husband..."

"Why? Aren't we enough? Isn't servitude enough?..."

"Maybe not. Let me watch... I won't bother you... It may be, indeed, that I do you some service..."

"You scare me. What's new?"

"Nothing, but is not my desire to complete the work begun legitimate?"

Donna Gabriella did not seem satisfied with the answer; certainly Blasco's desire and insistence had a hidden meaning, which instilled a sense of terror. Then a suspect flashed in her mind: Violant. It was his fixed idea, his torment: The wave of jealousy overcame the terror of the unknown, passed over her face, filled her mouth with bitterness, and her eyes with lust.

"Then," he said, "I will watch with you."

"Why do you want to get tired?..."

"Why would you want to be left alone?..."

The answer revealed to Blasco what suspicions crossed the heart of the Duchess: She smiled sadly and with a voice in which the pain trembled, she said:

"Why do you want to be tormented? So do you think I am capable of taking advantage of misfortune, to satisfy a desire, if I had one? I assumed, instead, that I had shown you disinterest and know how to renounce even the joys of life, in the face of a great duty... Go get some rest and be more just... When you know, and perhaps the day will not be far away, the terrible secret of last night and why your husband lies on that bed, and why I saved him, and what I proposed to me, oh! then, Gabriella woman, you will render me justice and recognize that here, under this chest, there is an honest and selfless heart, and above all lover of justice... even against himself, indeed against himself more than against others..."

He remained silent for a moment and closed his face in his hands, as if not to let his pain shine, or to gather; then he raised his beautiful head and, shaking his thick hair, he resumed with a bitter smile.

"Do you know who I am? Do you know if you owe me anything here, besides the feeling of humanity... Perhaps the Duke of Motta kept him quiet; but why let him ignore you?... What is the point of keeping a secret, which is not so for others?... I'm surprised you never looked at the portrait of Don Emanuele, the dead duke... Remember... and look at me, Gabriella woman!..."

The Duchess looked at him and then, for the first time, seemed to grasp the signs of resemblance with the great portrait; the astonishment opened her eyes and mouth and murmured:

"How?... Maybe you?..."

"Does it surprise you? In fact, no one would have suspected that this nameless Blasco had in his veins, for a whim of the noble Mr. Duke Don Emanuele, the blood of the Albamonte. I didn't suspect it myself until a few months ago... A bastard, yes! This is what I am, but, since my birth faith does not keep my father's name, and it gives me the right - if I will, - to bear the name of the Albamontes, you will recognize in me the duty to watch and defend this house..."

Donna Gabriella was still not amazed; she kept murmuring:

"You?... In fact, it's true!... The same face... the same look!... Oh, God!"

"Yes, my father, in fact, wanted to give me a pledge of his love, of his foresight, leaving me in a legacy his appearances... so that, going around them, they reveal to the world the shame brought to a poor girl and the shame of my birth!... And you fear... you attribute ambitious aims to me! What ambitions do you want me to have? What dreams can I caress?... Love, wealth, power? They belong to the young man, legitimate son of Don Emanuele della Motta, his heir, the heir of his title and his fortune!"

"What?" cried Gabriella woman leaping up with an even greater amazement. "What do you say?... Little Emanuele... the missing one?... Does he live?" "Where?... How?..."

"Live!..." "It's a long story. What's it to you? It is full of blood and pain; he lived and perhaps still lives in the mystery and ignorance of his state, but tomorrow he, led by those who raised him, will enter here, with his name, with his title as Duke of Motta..."

The Duchess, pale and trembling with terror, looked at Blasco struck by that unexpected revelation, whose gaps had quickly filled with half confessions received from her husband, which appeared to her in memory under a left light. The missing young man still lived, and the man in the next room lying motionless and blindfolded was a usurper and had come to usurp through the crime... So he was not the victim of hatred, but the one struck by divine justice, infallible and inexorable.

Therefore, out of the darkness came the child stripped of his mother's wretched, devoid of his name; the seed of Don Emanuele came out to cry out the crime committed by his uncle!... Behold, from the bottom of oblivion a whole story of unholyness, and overwhelm him that was before the day before the arbiter of the city! How many victims did she not see getting out of the dark corners of that building, stretching her relentless hands on that man's bed?

He was scared. Certainly not for himself that did not enter at all in the past of Don Raimondo, but of all the unknown threatening and terrible that weighed on the house and of which he saw there, in the next room, one of the first frightening demonstrations. What about that bastard? What did he want? Did the rightful brother precede him, or did he plant himself against him?

So it seemed; but why, instead of clinging to him, did he approach and take a stand as a defender of the man who would instead have to abhor? Interested in Don Raimondo? Oh, no, of course! About her? She was strange and her life and her dowry could not suffer contempt. Violant then?... Yes! He saw it, he felt it in the silence of Blasco himself, in the constant effort not to name it. Here, then, his jealousy resumed it; his emotional soul passed from one feeling to another, with the same impetus of passion. What mattered to the existence of the young legitimate son of the Duke of Motta; what mattered if the new lord would come to take possession of his palace and drive out the usurpers? Perhaps all this could prevent Blasco from loving Violante, from aspiring to possess it? And were those events not of benefit to this aspiration? Violant alone, orphan, exposed to threats, dangerous, wouldn't she, even out of necessity, throw herself into the arms of her cousin who appeared to her as her natural defender?

He felt his throat tightened by a knot. He looked at Blasco and with a strangled voice said to him:

"You, however, are not here for him... for Don Raimondo, nor for your brother... confess him..."

"No; I'm not here for them..."

"Neither for me..."

Blasco did not respond immediately; his loyalty had suggested to him the word that convenience and delicacy prevented him from saying. With a round of words he softened the answer:

"If I knew you were exposed to danger, I wouldn't fail to offer you my arm and my life..."

"It is therefore... for Violante!..."

"Yes; why should I deny it? Don Raimondo expiates the death of woman Aloisia; I tried to save him not for himself, but for his daughter. Violent will remain alone... and perhaps infamous by fatherly memory. It is necessary that she ignores who she had as her father, that she is not crushed by the house where she was born, that she remains Duchess of Motta..."

Donna Gabriella looked at him amazed.

"What do you mean?"

Blasco continued:

"You are wrong, Gabriella woman; you should join me to prevent the poor girl from continuing the atonement of her father's guilt."

The Duchess raised her shoulders with a gesture of carelessness. What did he care? Those words did not attenuate his torment.

"You love her!" murmured with a gloomy voice, filled with hatred and pain "you love her!... Here's the truth!... You want to make her the Duchess of Motta! And what does that mean? Will it prevent you from making her your lover?..."

"Oh, woman Gabriella!..."

Their gazes met, and one read in the other many memories of the past. Blasco filmed with a lower and more painful voice:

"In three or four days I will leave... and forever!... Your suspicion is therefore unjust."

"Do you leave?"

"What do you want me to do?..."

Donna Gabriella threw a quick look into Don Raimondo's room, and perhaps a treacherous thought crossed her mind. A brief silence surrounded them: Then, as she answered herself, she murmured: "Only I will be alone and abandoned!..."

There was a feeling of such pain within these words, that Blasco felt moved by it, but he did not respond. He bowed his head sighing, perhaps with a regret of the past and with a discouragement of the present. After a moment he got up and approached Don Raimondo's room; the servants slept on the chairs, the rational had thrown himself over a canapè and slept also, with a slight snoring. The wounded man had his eyes closed and his appearance so frightening, that Blasco feared a catastrophe and rushed to the bed to observe him. As he lifted up, with a reassured soul, his eyes lay on the window, and he seemed to see through the glass a shadow that quickly wandered away. He ran and opened it; the window gave to the court. In the darkness he seemed to see that shadow sink into the earth. He retracted, closed the window and opened all the doors and windows.

Donna Gabriella saw him return with a pale face and a sweaty forehead.

"What is it?" asked frightened.

"Nothing!..."

"The Duke..."

"Stop. Go to bed, please. I'll watch."

But Gabriella asked him gently:

"Don't you even want me to stay next to you in this hour? Have I become so obnoxious to you?..."

Blasco could not refuse; he sat at a coffee table in the middle of the room, from where through the open door you could see the bed of Don Raimondo and woman Gabriella sat next to him in a chair with arms, silently looking at him. Then he murmured lowly and humble, as if speaking to herself: "If you leave, I'll follow you."