Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part three, chapter 26

Italiano

English

After laying Blasco on the ground, in the gardens lying on the bed of the ancient marsh of Papireto, Coriolano, Don Girolamo and Andrea strayed through the plants, and turning for a long time they succeeded on the tree-lined road outside Porta Nuova. They lined the walls up to Porta Termini and lingered until dawn to wait for the door to open, and, in combination with the vehicles coming from Messina, to enter unnoticed. Coriolano had not taken off the mask; when it was time to enter the city he exchanged a few words underneath with Don Girolamo, who, making a slight nod with his head, said to Andrea:

"Pass through the house of Nino Bucolaro, give him the sign and wait for me with him in front of St. Michael the Archangel..."

As soon as Andrea left, Coriolano took off his mask.

At Fieravecchia he separated from Don Girolamo, and went home; Don Girolamo went to St. Michael the Archangel and found Andrea there alone.

"Well?" he asked.

"I have given the sign three times, I have also knocked, but I have not had an answer; in fact no one has shown up..."

Don Girolamo got dark.

"The bad guy," he said, "doesn't have to be in the house. Where did he go?"

Slowly they went to St. Cosmos, ignoring and not assuming that the square was, as it were, in a siege, but when they came down from Guilla to the windows, on the doors people looked intrigued towards the square, and at the outlet at the church they saw guards and soldiers, they stopped and were afraid.

"God damn it!" said Fr Girolamo; "the matter is serious. Let's go to the Piazza del Monte."

They put the road under the arch of S. Isidoro, and from Piazza del Monte, on the road of the Lettighieri - now known as the Flying Chairs - returned to St. Cosmos, but there was also a sprawl of soldiers behind them who were curious. Don Girolamo and Andrea mixed between them and took a look at the square, in which there was still a few flashlights in the wind, whose light faded to the light of the day. They saw the alley of the Orphans, the church of the Canceddi, the outlet of the road S. Cosmo and Porta Carini, watched by soldiers; it seemed that all the garrison had come: officers, algozini, went and came from one place to another; in the middle of the square there was the captain of the city, very angry, who vented to anyone.

Don Girolamo collected the impressions, the comments, the rumors of the crowd.

"They found the Beati Paoli!"

"But what, they didn't find a horn!"

"I'll tell you!..."

"You know nothing."

"They entered the cave!..."

"Really?"

"Where's the cave?"

"They didn't have it. Under the nose!"

"In the alley of the Orphans..."

"But no; under the house of Judge Baldi."

"He's here in the alley!"

"It says there are two entrances!..."

"Who would have thought?"

"Jesus! Jesus! And did they find them?"

"Have you heard the cracks?"

"A battle!..."

"Poor mother's children!..."

"You can't imagine the scare. I slept, when suddenly boom! boom!; I woke up and wanted to go out; my wife says to me: But no, Peppe, do not move; they will be thieves... the balls have no eyes, you know!..."

"And are there dead?"

"Who knows!..."

"Someone's been snitching, of course!"

"The traitors didn't even look at God!"

"If they find out, they'll throw him the party..."

"You can expect that..."

"But can't you pass?"

"Mr Corporal, excuse me, will you pass?"

"Nice story, the captain's order! What if I lived that way?"

"What an order of Egypt!..."

In the meantime, Ortolani with domes loaded with "zimmili" full of cauliflowers and salads, cartoons followed by mules; the churches sounded for mass; from the houses of the square the people went out for chores; the soldiers' cords were, without anyone having ordered it, dismembered, and the square was filled with people who came and went. The comments began to sink and certainly not favorable to the city captain who was that year the Duke Don Luigi Gaetani.

"Beautiful figure they made us!"

"But did they think they were busy with guys?..."

"Beati Paoli are like spirits; they see, feel and never catch themselves!..."

The Beati Paoli had the sympathy of that people inclined to admire all that they had of the wonderful or that it was a sign of rebellion to the authorities, of which it knew nothing but the rigors and violence. In his eyes, the sect exercised a vengeful justice office in favor of the weak, and it was therefore his natural and self-defense. It was clear, then, that the general satisfaction in learning that the public force had made a great fiasco and that, if he had found the stable, the oxen had escaped; and the pleasure of ridiculing the ignorance of the leaders and the captain.

"What a bad figure!..."

The exclamation, repeated between songs and ironic laughter, and the futility of every search, advised the captain to order the withdrawal of the soldiers. He left pickets at the two entrances of the cave and abandoned that glorious field of his failure.

Don Girolamo and Andrea went up to the house, where Mrs. Francesca was in great apprehension. She had not gone to bed, waiting for her husband; she had heard the shots of a rifle and had run scared to the balcony, from whence she had seen by the light of the torches in the wind that swarm of soldiers, and trembling she had set herself to pray, recommending herself to the saints and not removing herself from the balcony, fearing to see her husband come out of the alley at any moment or killed or arrested among the soldiers. And he had between last night in this painful anxiety, bouncing at every noise, spying on every group, trying to guess what was going on.

A first sense of relief felt in seeing the guards and soldiers leave between the laughs and the bays of the crowd, but when she saw her husband she felt crying for joy.

"What was that? What has happened."

"Nothing, nothing at all. Emanuele?"

"I think he's asleep... I didn't mind. I had your head. That's scary... But how'd it go?"

"Who knows? Someone had to lead justice..."

"Has there been any misfortune?"

"Nobody."

"Praise be to God..."

Mrs. Francesca ignored what had happened that night in the court of the Beati Paoli. Although she knew the part that her husband had and knew some secrets, especially concerning Emanuele, yet Don Girolamo never confided to her the matters that the court was dealing with in his sessions, nor had he ever told her who his companions were. She hardly knew that Antonino Bucolaro and Andrea were of the sect. The presence of Andrea, unusual at that time and the appearance of him and her husband were enough to make her realize that there had to be great things, but, accustomed not to intrigue, subject to her husband, she dared not ask anything and she was placed by a good housewife to clean up the house.

"My task can now be said to be exhausted," said Andrea; "what I swore to myself I achieved and now that I can kiss the hand of my master, even if he caught a lightning strike or sent me on the gallows I would die happy..."

"We are not afraid to die on the gallows."

"We got away beautiful... And, I'm sorry, now that we have that act, what are we gonna do?"

"Bacchus... will take him to the Viceroy or to the great civil court... I don't know; that's what the chief will see. He knows everything..."

"I have nothing but a fever; to see the master in his palace, to drive out the intruders..."

Don Girolamo shook the boss.

"Who knows? Don't forget there's the bastard..."

"Ah, if it weren't blood of my master's good soul, at this hour I would have rid the ground! What do you want? What do you expect? You've seen How did he defend that rascal? It takes courage..."

"Baccalio!"

"You're right."

Don Girolamo got up and went to Emanuele's room.

But at the same time as he entered it, his voice was heard astounded to say:

"Francesca, where's Emanuele?"

"How, where is it," replied Mrs. Francesca; "in her sleeping room..."

"There's no..."

"How? How?"

And the good woman, leaving out her work, ran to see her too. The bed was empty with the blankets messy.

Don Girolamo frowned on the eyebrows, looked around and noticed that the windows of the balcony, although they seemed closed, were not locked with irons; he opened and looked at them. That little balcony gave in an inner terrace, which formed the bottom of a sort of well of light, on which the windows of the upper floor opened and there was a staircase with piers, which was used to climb into a loft of the kitchen. Don Girolamo saw that the staircase was leaning under a window of the terrace and that the last piers were not so far from the window that a young man of the stature of Emanuele did not reach with the chest to the windowsill. He sensed everything.

"Now," he cried, "I will take him, and, word of honor, I will teach him a lesson."

He came back and took a key, opened a small door and threw himself up a wooden ladder, amidst the astonishment of his wife and Andrea. Shortly afterward a noisy footsteps came down almost at a precipice and there appeared Emanuele red of anger and spite followed by Don Girolamo shouting:

"I forbade you, for God's sake!... I forbade you... it's unworthy... I'll lock you in a convent!..."

Andrea's sight, instead of mortifying the young man, excited him.

"Who?... Who are you closing?... But finish it once!..."

"Ah, uncreated!"

"Beware of you!" cried Emanuele to him with proud anger; "beware of you!..."

"Minacci?..." exclaimed Don Girolamo with amazement and anger together. "Do you dare that too?"

"I don't threaten, but finally you have to stand in your place..."

"Do you talk like that? Is that how you talk to me?... I'll give you the place!..."

He removed a ferula from the wall and moved to whip Emanuele, but Andrea stood up with a resolute attitude of defense, exclaiming:

"Not this!... I won't let you!..."

"You?... You guys get out of here, for God's sake! Who are you? Get out of the way!..."

"Get out of the way!" he added with a superb attitude Emanuele; "I don't need you!... Let him come, if he has a heart."

Don Girolamo was squirting fire:

"God's Body! As long as you're under my roof you're still my adopted son and I'll beat you up!..."

He raised his hand, but Andrew tried to grab his arm:

"Don Girolamo, don't hit!..."

"Ah! for Christ! Do you therefore want me to vent on you?... Get out, get out! Here I am the master!... get out or I regret what I have done!"

Mrs. Francesca stepped in trying to calm her husband down.

"You are right, Don Girolamo, but forgive him; he does not know what he says, and you will see that he will be asleep..."

"Me? Far from it!" interrupted Emanuele with a grin. "I have nothing to grieve about!..."

"You hear it... but you lose my name if..."

He pushed Andrea aside and vibrated a blow that Andrea was eager to cover with the elbow, grasping at the same time the ferula, to prevent Don Girolamo from beating the young man. Mrs. Francesca, with a cry, threw herself in the middle. However, Emanuele held a challenging attitude. Don Girolamo had almost lost the light of his eyes; now he was venting, with Andrea.

"Get out!" shouted, "Get out!... get out of here!"

"Don Girolamo!" begged his wife.

"I will go out, yes;" answered Andrea "but not only... For God's sake, are you crazy?"

"Yes! I'll do crazy things!... This ungrateful thing, this viper that I have nourished in my chest!..."

"If you have fed me, do not be afraid: I will be able to pay your expenses as soon as you put me in possession of my assets!"

To these superb words of Emanuel, Fr Jerome alluded: His anger remained as overwhelmed by the unexpected; there was in that pompous and cruel response a whole revelation.

"What? Heritage?... What did he say?..."

Mrs. Francesca disappeared; Andrea, perhaps believing more than she was, exclaimed:

"How? So he knows!"

"Yes," said Emanuele in a tone of triumph: "I know that if I grew up in this house, humbly, I also know that I am a lord and expect another state. And I know you have to respect me, and if anyone has to command, it's me!"

"Ah! finally!" cried Andrea with joy; "finally I can take off the weight of this secret! O Excellency, my master!"

He kneeled before Emanuele and, taking a hand, kissed her with respect, between the emotion of pleasure and wonder of the young man and the astonishment of Don Girolamo who repeated again:

"How do you know?... Who told you that?"

Mrs. Francesca was shaking. Emanuele, who knew nothing more than what Mrs. Francesca had told him, died from the desire to know what Andrea and Don Girolamo imagined that he already knew. That Andrew who kissed his hand, and gave him excellence and called him master, who seemed to be won by a great concussion, now offered himself to the gaze as the solver of the riddle that, however, could decipher. But in the meantime the astonishment by Don Girolamo, Andrea's words and gesture, confirming to him that he was to be the descendant and heir of a great family, increased that burbanza, that boredom, that vanity, which made him almost obnoxious.

Don Girolamo collected himself.

"Ah! pay me!" he said bitterly; "your lordship will pay me what I have spent?... But if you gave me all your assets, all your titles, you'd never get to pay what I did for you, what risks, what dangers I've run and how many times I've exposed my life... But not even your life would pay me back!... Go! Your blood doesn't lie; I can see it. And you're right; you alone have the right to command... We are, it is true, those who saved you and fought not to let you strip yours, but, however, we are poor people and it is up to us to obey!... it is right. Tomorrow. I will accompany you to your mother's relatives; I have nothing more to do for you. And when you get out, I'm gonna close that door, so that you never get tempted to come in... Your money? Puh! If I wanted to have bags full of them so I would have given you... to whom I know, that he would have bought you by weight of gold."

"Don Girolamo!" again begged Mrs. Francesca.

"Don Girolamo," Andrea added, in a tone between prayer and resentment, "I don't see any discourse worthy of you..."

"Let me talk, at least!... His money! Would he have if I hadn't stolen him from death? What if I didn't hide it and face the dangers I ran? But keep them to yourself!... Who wants some? They'd burn me... Today here, tomorrow elsewhere, and if I meet you I'll see that I don't know you!... But as long as you're here, you're gonna obey me. If your relatives want to give you a trash man's daughter as your wife, I don't care. happy to them, happy to all; but that I put a hand to cheat you with any one, don't even think about it!... And I'll tell your relatives everything; I don't want any scruples... In the meantime, you're staying here in this room... You'll see that your relatives will raise you these crickets. In a convent! there or a few months in a castle, and you know how it is!"

Mouth: His mouth was bitter and his chest was full of pain and anger. The others, too, were silent, overwhelmed by the rightness of the one I sit; only Emanuel was troubled, angry, haughty, as if he had sustained a great effort to tolerate those words. After a moment he said coldly:

"Why don't you take me to my relatives soon? In the end, it's been too long since I've been here; you should have done it before..."

"Do you hear him?" said Fr Girolamo; "Do you hear him, that you nursed him, Francesca? You who didn't want to leave him, when I wanted to take him to the prince of Geraci..."

"Ah!" cried Emanuele with a rush of pleasure: "So am I the son of the prince of Geraci?..."

"You?... But how? Do you not know whose son you are?..."

"Don't you know?" said Andrea with amazement; "but then..."

"But your words?..."

"No, I don't know everything, but now you're gonna tell me... Finally, I need to know. You will tell me," the young man added, imperiously addressing Andrea.

"Excellency, yes."

"No, Andrea, not yet;" said Fr.Jerome astute.

"Why? I don't think we should keep him quiet. And then he's my master and I can't disobey him... Your Excellency is the son of the ever blessed memory of my master Don Emanuele Albamonte, Duke of Motta."

"Albamonte!" exclaimed Emanuele, with amazement in which there was a certain regret that he was not a prince. "I'm an Albamonte then!"

He remembered Don Raimondo, his lackeys, the torture inflicted on him in the Castle, and his nostrils, swelled with hatred and a desire for revenge. How was that man duke? How had he usurped his name, state, wealth?... If the duke was him, Emanuele, as a legitimate heir, Don Raimondo had to leave the palace, hand over the estate to him and return to the shadows like a private!... This was evident; and he would enjoy the magnificent vengeance of having the man cast out from the servants themselves who had previously served him! This thought filled him with so much joy that he no longer gave him cause to be a duke instead of a prince.

"Ah! I am therefore the Duke of Motta!"

His eyes shone with joy, and he looked around with haughty disdain, marveling that he had been able to live in that poor house, among the lower people who had given him of you. He had been silenced around him, and it seemed that a great distance had immediately interposed between Emanuele and those three people who risked their lives for him. The difference in rank had broken all ties and raised a great barrier between them. Each one regained consciousness of his rank and felt that the ancient relationships had ended there, with that name and with that title.

Emanuele said coldly to Don Girolamo:

"I hope you've warned my relatives of my existence..."

Don Girolamo indicated no. He was a little embarrassed, not knowing what forms he was going to use for his old adoptive son, and resorting to signs that did not require label formulas.

Emanuele filmed:

"I think we need to let him know now."

He had taken, not without display, the manners of a great lord and ordered as if that family had been obliged to raise him, to keep him, and now to obey him. But the embarrassment of Don Girolamo could not last long; he resumed his soul, and he rudely replied:

"I'll do it when it's time to do it. Meanwhile your most illustrious lordship will gladly continue to be what you have been; and your Lord Andrew, since he has nothing to do here, will do me the favor of leaving and not coming to this house anymore, except when I tell him..."

Emanuel was reddened for spite and shame; Andrew was mortified.

"Do you drive me out, Don Girolamo?..."

"Take it your way!..."

"But I want to be served by my servants!" cried Emanuele to take a revenge.

"And that we have been and that we are, if not your humble servants?" ironically said Don Girolamo; "there is no need to have others in the house..."

Andrea took the hat, turned it into her hands like a man who couldn't solve himself, and then, chewing on the words, she took his leave:

"Enough... I'll do as you like... You're in your house and I can't talk.... Goodbye. It means we'll see each other... And your Excellency do not doubt that as I served to the last, faithfully, the blessed memory of the duke his father, I will also serve her. I kiss her hand."

"Be patient, I beg you;" said Don Jerome, "and as for Emanuele, do not doubt... I had him as a son!..."

Emanuele could not hold Andrew; he followed him with his eyes, and when he saw him disappear he felt part of his boldness missing. He looked at Don Girolamo, almost waiting for him to speak, but the rational threw the ferula on the table and said:

"This is no longer necessary, but in the meantime you enter my room. You'll sleep there... And don't say a word... I'm the boss for now. Go!..."

The young man felt his face blazing; he would have wanted to react, but the appearance of Don Girolamo was such, that it caused him to use caution. Without giving up his master's air, and more as a man who does a favor than as a boy who obeys, he entered the room. Don Girolamo locked it in your pocket. Then, as he was dressed, he went to the young man's bed and fell asleep.