Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part four, chapter 3

Italiano

English

After eight days of resistance, the Savoy garrison of the Castle surrendered at discretion and the city remained then all in the power of the Marquis de Lede, who had already made his solemn entry from Vicerè, in the carriage of the Senate, among the salvage of muskets and artillery and had reorganized the government. The Savoiards had concentrated in the strong cities, such as Termini, Messina, Castel Mola, Syracuse, where Count Mattei had been reduced after a thousand peripeces.

The feasts of St. Rosalia, fallen in that return, however, had nothing unusual and were rather reduced by a furious rain that prevented the procession, and also because of the bandict. The struggle between the pontifical curia and the monarchy of Sicily, in fact, had become so acute during those four years, that much of the clergy, who sided for the pope, against every right was banned. Maybe never the motto that a small spark arouses a great fire was more appropriate and that hand of chickpeas that the bishop of Lipari did not want to pay to the masters of the square was due to a war of reprisals and persecutions that lasted about eight years. Since, not in spite of having been returned the two grains of chickpea to the bishop - not for his right, but for the sake of peace, he, as he narrated that the civil authority asked him for formal apologies and recognized a non-existent right; and having not been this bent, and having been the bishop, for his restlessness, admonished by the Viceroy - who had the power to do so for the rights inherent in the crown of Sicilian, was born an open rebellion. The curia, taking the pretext to meddle in Sicily, backed the bishop and sent instructions, which were disseminated, without the proper permission of the secular power, by some bishops, and from this measures against the bishop of Catania, then that of Girgenti; interdict and excommuniche, which extended to all Sicily.

Except for a few exceptions, the clergy, very different from the one of the past, perhaps hated the new regime, partied for the pope; the pope sent out excommunications and short and bubbles that abolished secular privileges of the monarchy and then the State armed itself to defend itself; the king instituted a Junta of which were men distinguished by doctrine and inflexible character and the Junta imposed on the clergy or submission to civil authority or exile. Buying the palm of martyrdom with a relatively light punishment, or in any case incredibly, seemed a beautiful and easy thing; the most part, in order not to incur canonical punishment, preferred exile. Tool of the Junta was mainly Matteo Lo Vecchio.

The birro, cured by Blasco's blow on the Misilmeri road, had returned to Palermo in February 1715 and had found none of the characters he had been busy with. Don Raimondo was dead, Blasco party, Don Girolamo party, Andrea passed to the services of the heir of Motta, and then in the shadow of a doubly powerful family. Antonino Bucolaro himself had eclipsed and no longer knew where he was; the Beati Paoli seemed scattered, neither of them felt anything anymore; only Coriolano della Floresta led his irreproachable and unsuspectable life.

Matthew the Elder therefore saw every hope of riches torn away, and the secret of which he had become possessor was perfectly useless to him: Emanuele had been recognized, Don Raimondo had died, Gabriella didn't care much. Only one person could care that Don Raimondo's memory did not suffer tooth, and was Violante; but she was in the monastery, she was still a girl, so she could not have money to buy the silence of the birro and was also engaged to Emanuele.

Angry at these adversities, the birro fell headlong into the discord between the State and the Church. No one was more skilled than him in finding priests who, in order not to incur excommunication, refused religious service; he had made lists of all priests, of all the friars; he informed himself if they went to the choir, if they intervened in the processions. As the processions were very frequent, it was easy to notice those who were absent; then he would come into their homes, like a sparrow, threatening to arrest them; if they, to live quietly and without harassment, gave him so much money to please him, he went away; if they refused to bring exile to them, arrested them, led them away into the most populous streets, and forced them to remain in a tartan or outside the gates of the city. Often those who had bought peace were the next day arrested and suffered a double loss.

Matteo Lo Vecchio always had his pockets full of orders of eviction, arrest, imprisonment and was widely used by finding in the lawsuits, in the complaints of his victims a satisfaction for his spirit. And in the meantime, he was making money and skiing.

The arrival of the Spanish army, the capitulation of Palermo, the establishment of the new government had cut off his successful career. The Junta had been dissolved by the new Viceroy and persecution had ceased; Matteo Lo Vecchio returned to his office of algozino losing not only the source of his illicit gains, but also the degree of power to which he had come with the terror of violence. He therefore hated the return of Spanish rule, from which he held himself as damaged, but did not dare to oppose him, nor to show himself a partisan of the Savoy king. He devoted himself to his office apathically and by habit, waiting for luck to pass by him to catch it, and find in the new order of things a source of new gains.

Meanwhile, by habit and not to lose sight of his characters, he spied on the life of Emanuele, of Gabriella woman, of Andrea, of Coriolano della Floresta. On the day of the entrance of the Viceroy Don Giovanni Francesco Sette marquis de Lede, Matteo Lo Vecchio had a great deal to do and was for reasons of service at Porta Nuova, when the procession entered, at whose head he rode a dragon drapple on horseback with bare swords, on which, of course, the first curiosity of the crowd was brought. Matteo Lo Vecchio saw and recognized, to his great astonishment, Blasco in the dragon at the end of the first line, which passed him almost hit him with the tip of the foot.

"Toh, toh!... Who will see you again!... Ah, you're back, my man?.. Now we're gonna do the math. I want to give you back the gift you gave me... Hell, these are obligations that have to be paid!..."

He informed himself that they were soldiers and knew that they were from the first squadron of the Dragons of Numanzia.

"There are six squadrons of Numanzia, six of Lusitania, three of Batavia, three of Tarragona..."

"Enough, thank you!" interrupted Matthew, frightened by the detailed listing of the squadrons, which his informant did to him. "Your lordship knows how the army is made, apparently..."

"Eh! eh! I know: thirty-five infantry battalions, including eight guards, one artillery, twenty-four cavalry squadrons, twenty-four dragons, a company of four hundred gunmen and bombers, one of miners, one of teachers, and fifty engineers..."

"Mercy!... how do you know all these things?"

"Eh! eh!... How do I know? I am the scribe of the rational master of the army..."

"Ah!... And... and do you know the soldiers? Do you know them all?"

"Everyone? It takes more; it is thirty thousand! The bosses do, those I know well..."

"But foreigners, for example... those of other nationalities... won't be many..."

"Oh, there's... Even Sicilians. The illustrious Mr. Domenico Lucchesi, Field Marshal, isn't he Palermo?"

"Yes, it is true... but soldiers?..."

"There'll be about 50 for sure."

"Even in dragons? I thought I recognized one..."

"In dragons, too. The first right, which has passed now, is from Palermo, and his name is Mr. Blasco Albamonte..."

"Albamonte?" said Matteo Lo Vecchio astounded, "Albamonte? But I know him by another name..."

"What do you say?" asked the scribe.

"Just as I say..."

"What name?"

"Oh, you'll understand..."

"So is he extradited?"

"Eh! eh!..."

"Excuse me; you say eh! eh! with some air...."

"What air?" asked Matteo Lo Vecchio, making a naive face, but cutting in flight the advantage he could draw from the fold taken by dialogue.

"An air of those who know many things and want to hide them..."

"Me?... But I don't know anything, dear Mr...

"Alfonso Apuente, to serve you; and you?"

"Matthew the Elder, Corporal of the Algozins, at your commands..." answered the birro with a malicious smile.

"Benone!... Here, then, you must know many things. My dear, when it comes to His Majesty's service, to God's eyes, we must not be silent... It could be some mischief sought by justice..."

"No, that's not it, but... I mean, dear Mr. Alonso, those are not things I can say to you..."

"You can tell her, indeed you must tell her Excellency..."

"Yes, yes, it will be seen following; you keep it or keep an eye on it, you never know... He must have practices; he must certainly have practices... I hope it's from me, don't doubt it. You inform yourselves of all that he does, and if necessary we will go to his Excellency; you will get me a special hearing... And do not be afraid, that I will be thankful... Hell, when it is possible to earn honestly, in the service of the king, that God preserves and prospers, it is blessed money. Isn't that right, Mr. Alonso?"

"Very true. Tell me where you live, to come visit..."

"To the Hotel. Ask of me and they will tell you immediately."

"So farewell, Mr. Matthew."

"Goodbye, Mr. Alonso."

Matteo Lo Vecchio, when the writer of the rational master had left, gave himself a handy frigate, to the satisfaction, and started behind the procession to enjoy the function, apparently, but actually to see Blasco again. He knew that the Viceroy had to go to the cathedral to take possession and swear the observance of the constitutions of the kingdom, of the chapters and privileges of the city, as they wanted the same constitutions and the rite; so that he would hurry, not to remain behind the crowds that grew and thickened in the plan of the cathedral, behind the row of infantry, which kept clear the passage to the carriage of the If born, in which the Viceroy stood, and to the procession. He came to the very point where, at the time that the Viceroy swore, the soldiers fired blanks and from the bastions of the Royal Palace fired the artillery; and from all the bulwarks of the belt and from the vessels of the team, they answered away the rescues filling the air of a Terrible noise.

Matteo Lo Vecchio leaned on the corner of Cassaro, so as to dominate the road of the archbishopric and the main gate of the Duomo; Blasco had to come in front of him and pass by him; and he would see him at ease. The procession in fact moved with its squadron of dragons to the head. Blasco was on the front line: he was or seemed very distracted, and his eyes, though they saw Matthew the Elder, did not recognize him or had no perfect conscience for him.

The birro wanted to enjoy it.

"Ah," he said to himself, "so vossignoria changes her name, and dresses the turquoise uniform of the dragons of her majesty, and has the courage to come to Palermo, like nothing else, without thinking that here she would find this little nail, ready to do that service; but well! The mountains don't meet, but men do... I'll set you up. First of all you have to take off that name, which doesn't belong to you, and we'll think about it right away!... We'll think about the rest later... Do not doubt; here is Matteo Lo Vecchio who has heads and arms for everyone. Blessed be God! Finally here's a fun hunt!... I'll kill you? Never again! Killing a soldier of his Catholic Majesty, whom the devil brings, is the same as getting shot in these times of war."

So speaking, Matteo Lo Vecchio, let pass the wave of the people who followed, acclaiming, the Viceroy at the Royal Palace for the official reception, descended to the Cassaro, up to the Bologna floor, where was the palace of the prince of Geraci.

The prince, the prince and the grandson, that is, Father Emanuele Albamonte, had gone to kiss his Excellency's hands, and they would not have delayed much, because it took a few minutes to the Avemaria.

"I will therefore wait for them to come... I wish to speak to the illustrious Prince... that is his concern."

He leaned on a pillar, because still the palace did not have the noblest appearance it had in the last years of the century, and waited. He played the Hail Hail; he dug his hat, marked himself, and recited godly angelic salutation, as the passers-by did. Shortly after a magnificent carriage, preceded by flyers and stirrups and followed by two dead slaves, he entered the gate. Matthew greeted deeply and, given the time for the lords to come up and do their comfort, asked permission to revere the Prince and to tell him something very important.

"To me?" said the prince; "right to me? What does this excommunication want? Or do you not know that you have to deal with him in the canonical punishments? I don't get it."

The refusal of the prince of Geraci was motivated by the fact that, for the active part explained in the vexations against the clergy, Matteo Lo Vecchio had been struck by the excommunication of life, for which he was forbidden to every faithful to have any trait with excommunicated, incurring the same spiritual punishments.

Matteo Lo Vecchio suspected himself of rejection, but on the outside he kept his meek and humble appearance and said:

"Be as his most illustrious lordship commands... But tell him that I came to give him a great service, to protect the honor of his relative, and especially of his nephew Don Emanuele."

He left very angry, but not renouncing his plan to move the prince of Geraci against Blasco, for the usurpation of the surname of Albamonte, and to corroborate his denuncies with the authority of a character as illustrious as the patrician of Palermo. Didn't the prince get it out of fear of excommunication? Good: He would have approached the Duchin of Motta on the way, on a walk, to the argument of Villafranca, wherever he would have told him; and the Duchin would have thought of him to arouse the resentment and the wrath of his grandfather and the protests to the Viceroy.

With this idea on his mind, he went home that day.

Blasco was far from assuming that something was organized and plotted against him, and it was not without surprise that the next day he saw himself for three times, now on a pretext, now with another, stopped by Mr. Alonso Apuente, scribe of the rational master of the army who kept buzzing around him; and even more so when the captain of his squadron asked him if he had relatives in Palermo.

"Neighbors?... no... All in the glory of God!"

"Friends, at least, or acquaintances..."

"Maybe I'll have... if they have any anywhere... I'll have some in Palermo."

"So make sure that someone who knows you comes to the camp." "Why?"

"There's no need to tell you. You are a soldier; obey."

Blasco didn't say anything anymore. He militarily greeted and went under his tent, where some comrade asked him what had happened.

"Nothing... They wanted to promote me as a sergeant."

"What about you?"

"I refused, for chumps!..."

"Oh! oh!"

"If I had accepted, I could not have played the usual game of calabresella with you! It is clear."

They realized he didn't want to talk and they started playing cards on a drum, but Blasco would come back to those questions from time to time. Why would the captain want an acquaintance of his? That was... something new. Did he need to be presented or did they recognize him and denounce him as an extradited person? Sure, there was something going on. You had to be on guard. Knowledgeables could give as many as they wanted and all quality people. He listed them mentally: Prince of Butera, Prince of Geraci, Coriolano, woman Gabriella... 100 other gentlemen: But he really had to make someone sick, not knowing what he wanted, and if the reason was behaviorable with his dignity?

The next day the captain sent for him and asked him if he had warned any friends.

"Listen, Captain," replied Blasco respectfully, but firmly; "I am as good a gentleman as any other knight, who also militates with high degrees in the militia of His Majesty; and if I had had the necessary amount, instead of hiring me as a mere dragon, I would have bought a company or a squadron, and I would be your equal... Now precisely for this, I say to you, with all the respect that I owe you, that I will not disturb any acquaintance or friend, unless I know what is required of them that regard me."

The captain looked at him with frown.

"Do you know," he said, "that your answer would force me to put you under arrest for insubordination?"

"I could only suffer the punishment in silence, Captain, but not remove myself from my party..."

"It is well; return to your tent and for today you will not leave the camp. Go."

Blasco returned to the tent, where his curious companions renewed his questions.

"Well, did they still want to promote you sergeant?"

"Obie! Sergeant? Captain, my dears, even Captain!"

"And you refused this time again?"

"Sure, I should have treated my comrades as inferiors! What do you think?"

Towards evening, not having rooms suitable for prisons, Blasco was placed in stocks, under the tent itself, and watched by a watchman armed with musket; which surprised a little all the squadron, who loved Blasco for his joviality, for his courage and for two or three blows of sword distributed in the first days of his enlistment, to make himself known by his companions. That sudden arrest succeeded inexplicable; they assumed that Blasco had made some big ones with the captain, but, in time of war, to deprive himself of a good soldier like him, away! it was too strict.

Blasco took the thing philosophically; since he was not forbidden to drink, to play as he could, to read and to write, he had brought a cup of wine, a deck of cards and the necessities to write; and he drank, he had a bit of fun to draw lots with the cards as he had learned from a gypsy and then wrote a note to Coriolano della Floresta, to tell him that he apologized if he didn't show up, because by higher order he had been attacked by a singular podagra that prevented him from walking.

The watchman was a poor Catalan, briar and helpful who had looked with a lover's eye at the mug, and had felt his heart pressed to see it empty. To attack the speech, he asked Blasco:

"Do you write to love, señor hidalgo?"

"Yes." "hermosa?"

"Beautiful."

"Bueno!... I imagine you drank to his health..."

"It's true, and I forgot to invite you... You have to drink in two, really..."

"Yeah, actually, it's so... But you can start again..."

"Here's an idea. Bravo! Come therefore to drink, that there is more..."

"Words."

Blasco offered him the mug, which was over half full.

"Do I drink it all?" asked the Catalan.

"Yeah, what the hell!"

The soldier drank, making the wine gurgle in his throat, until the last drop; then, laying down the mug, sighing with satisfaction, he snuffed his mouth with the back of his hand and thanked.

"Good wine!" he said, bursting his lips. Blasco let him enjoy a little and said,

"When will you dismount on guard?"

"It's been an hour."

"He's okay; you're gonna do me a favor..."

"Two, señor hidalgo..."

"You will take this letter to his address..."

"Letter to Love?"

"What love! He is a man."

"Your relative?"

"No."

"Your friend then?"

"No."

"Devil! neither relative nor friend; what the hell will it be?"

"One I don't know, but he's my creditor."

"Do you want me to stick it?"

"All the more, darling. He is a person worthy of all respect."

"Then it's something else. Give here the letter... Where is this gentleman?"

"That's hard to tell you: you don't know Palermo..."

"Toh! And was I not of the third of Sicily, before Savoy took the kingdom? I know the city."

"Then it's done soon. Everyone will show you the Floresta palace, on the New Street, towards St. Antoninus..."

"I know. Don't doubt it. Should I wait for an answer?"

"I don't know; he could give it to you. Ask him..."

After less than an hour the Catalan disassembled; with a gesture of his head and a smile he reassured Blasco that he would execute the commission and Blasco, to deceive the idleness, began to draw fate with the cards.

He was far from imagining that that day Emanuele himself had come to the general district to honor the Marquis de Lede, and to complain that someone usurped the name of the Albamonte, which belonged only to him. Those who disguised themselves under that name may have had their own reasons, but he certainly did not have that to attribute himself a name illustrious in the patrician, and that his father had brought beautifully into the service of the majesty of Philip IV and Charles II.

The Marquis de Lede recognized the young man's legitimate resentment; he promised that he would investigate and acquiesce Emanuele who left inflating the Goths and passing through the soldiers with his fist on his side, with the air of a sovereign in anger; he sent to the offices that we would say today of intention, if there was, among the Sicilians who served in the army, one called Albamonte.

Mr. Alonso Apuente, then, believed he had to show his zeal, and asked permission to bring him personally the news that his Excellency required. And he went there. He told the Marquis de Lede what he had learned from the mouth of Matthew the Elder: It was not much, but enough to suspect; hence the arrest order.

"You will find this Matthew the Old," the Viceroy ordered, "and you will bring it to me. I want to question him."

Blasco, after having fantasized a piece about that arrest, finding that due to a somewhat frivolous disobedience the stumps were too serious a punishment, ended up falling asleep deeply with his disregard for the dangers, which had something heroic. He forgot the stumps, and only when, in his sleep, he changed his position, did he realize that his legs were imprisoned but he immediately fell asleep, following the images he gladly evoked in silence and solitude.

Ever since Coriolano had given him all that information about the characters who had entered his life, he thought of Violante who was reclused in the monastery or of Emanuele; and no matter how much he himself proposed and advocated those weddings, even the idea of their event alone he felt his heart held tight, and he thought bitterly of his condition. Quick thoughts and bitterness rushed back immediately.

"Do you become an idiot, then?" he wondered, trying to think of anything else and to fall asleep.

The next day the Catalan showed himself on the entrance of the tent, with a compact face, which on all other occasions would make Blasco laugh.

"Well?" he asked him.

"Sorry, señor hidalgo... but I don't remember if you gave me a letter or not..."

"How? Did I give it to you? Of course!"

"Right?..."

"That's right, for chumps!..."

The Catalan made a smile and shook the chief.

"If you say so, it must be true... So where the hell did I put the letter?"

"Didn't you bring her?"

"Since I'm not sure I had it, it means I didn't bring anything... It doesn't take much to understand!"

"Ah, brigante! thank your saint that I can't throw these stumps on your head..."

"Don't bother, señor hidalgo. Of course I didn't do it on purpose... But the host had a cursed wine..."

"What host?"

"Excuse me! I went for a drink, because I had a dry throat: And, look, the more I drank, the more... it dries... If I had the letter, I must have lost it... Can't you do it again?"

"Go away; I don't need you. When they lift my fetters I will cut off your ears! Get out!..."

The Catalan left grunting, while Blasco, yielding to spite, was angry with his bad star.

"You'll have to look for someone less briar," he thought.

But shortly after noon, instead of finding a good friend, he saw a sergeant enter into the tent, who took away his fetters without saying a word.

"Ah, finally!" exclaimed Blasco, curling his legs numb in immobility, and standing up; "I assure you that it is not very comfortable that position!..."

"Excuse me," said the sergeant, pulling a chain with two rings out of a pocket, "but instead of legs, I have orders to tie your hands..."

"To me?..."

"That's right. Look."

He indicated to him the entrance of the tent, and only then did Blasco notice a picket with alabards, waiting outside.

"Am I under arrest?"

"It sounds like... This is your Excellency's order. So what have you done?"

"Me? If I knew!..."

"Go! Who are you going to give it to?"

"When I tell you I don't know, you have to believe me, for God's sake..."

"If you will, I will believe you... but something has to be there, because a soldier is not arrested for nothing, body of a bomb!"

In saying this, he had firmly tied his wrists to him and, holding a head of the chain, he added:

"Come on, come on! and don't resist..."

But Blasco was so stunned by that arrest, that he changed the strains into a fully-fledged prison, that he had anything but a resistance for the end. Perhaps if he had found himself alone with the sergeant and four men in some lonely street, he wouldn't have thought twice about it, and he wouldn't have had the handcuffs placed; but, in the middle of the camp, the escape would have been impossible, and tempting a real madness. We had to. obey, even to have the key to the mystery.

He saw him leading to the Sperlinga mess, where the general command was.

"The Viceroy, -- he thought maybe he'd want to question me."

But he was deceived; instead they locked him in a room on the ground floor, which had a window on the house, equipped with large iron bars.

"I am therefore in prison," he said to himself, "but at least I knew why!... Not bad, though, because I can, if nothing else, walk..."

And he walked far and wide in the room, which was not very big, humming, and looking out of the window, when in the walk, he turned that way. At one of these times he saw figures behind the railing of the window, and stopped; but his face hardly expressed the greatest wonder, indeed amazement, an astonishment, as at the sight of what not only unexpected, but also incredible. They were the captain of the squadron, Mr. Alonso Apuente and Matteo Lo Vecchio, whom he believed dead.

"He!" he exclaimed; "he!..."

The captain asked the birro:

"Do you know that soldier?"

"Very illustrious, yes: is a certain Blasco from Castiglione, on which he weighs a size, as affiliated to the sect of the Beati Paoli, and for several committed crimes..."

"Ah dog!" cried Blasco, to whom those words revealed everything, but immediately burst into a laugh that shocked the captain and Matteo Lo Vecchio "Ah! ah! ah!... Blasco da Castiglione? affiliated et cetera et cetera!..."

"Shut up!" ordered the captain, "and think of your cases. What do you have to say against it?..."

"Nothing, Mr. Captain, except this: I am Don Blasco Albamonte, of the Dukes of Motta, and he is a robber to whom the fork itself would be of great honor..."

"We'll see who's gonna kick the wind, my friend!" said the birro stuffed with iron and the captain's presence. But the captain pushed him back, threatening him harshly:

"Shut up, scumbag; after all he is for now a soldier of his majesty. Go!"

They left, leaving Blasco amidst amazement, anger and spite. He explained everything: The birro had met him and denounced him, and he had to expect a judgment with all its consequences, if some powerful help did not come timely. Certainly the prospect of dying at the hands of the executioner had nothing that attracted him and could exalt him.

He passed that day hoping to be questioned to defend himself, and first of all to clarify the misunderstanding; but, save the watchman, who heard walking behind the door and the soldier who brought him the desinare, he did not see others. You had to get out of that mess. More than once he had come to his head to grab the soldier, gag him, tie him up, lift his key, open the door, throw himself on the watchman and disarm her, and flee the country, but as it was in wartime, it seemed to him that he could dishonor him and reject the temptation.

"We're still waiting!" he said to himself.

It seemed that they had forgotten it and probably the Viceroy, occupied as it was for the siege of the Castle that still went for the long and the news coming from Caltanissetta and Girgenti, no longer thought of Blasco. All he had to do was take over him, and the rest would have been thought of later. The one who always thought about it was Mr. Alonso Apuente, who wanted to earn his bounty.

He purposely went to find the captain to find out if the prisoner had been questioned and to insinuate suspicions and dangers. He had heard so many stories about that Beati Paoli sect, that he would not have wondered if one day they had found the room empty. It was better to run the process; what was the need to wait? The testimony of the Algozino, who was an officer of justice, had to suffice; and then it was not and was the ban?...

But the captain did not listen to him; indeed one day he told him clearly and roundly that he had annoyed him and that he meddled on another; reason why the worthy Mr Alonso thought to replace the magistrate, and to begin on his behalf to collect the elements of the trial, with the hope of making a precise and detailed accusation. And he returned to the prison in Blasco, from the window, with the appearance of those who are taken by a keen interest and regret.

"Good day, Mr. Dragon; well, what do we do?"

It was a silly question, but he couldn't find better to attack speech. Blasco was walking at that time; suddenly turned around and recognized the scribe of rational, he said:

"You see it: I'm walking."

"Poor young man!... You can't imagine when I'm sorry to see you like this!..."

Blasco raised his shoulders and thought that Mr Alonso had to know something, because he had come with Matteo Lo Vecchio; without answering the condolences, he asked Evasively at what point was the siege.

"The batteries are being planted at Porta S. Giorgio, to beat the Castle up close, but that's not what should press you. Do you know you've made it big?"

"What?" asked Blasco. "Do you know that? I don't know."

"Let's go; lying the name is not by whim; and then, did you hear? Beati Paoli, ban, cut... there's enough to get you shot!... We should find a way to save you, Holy Virgin of Pilar!..."

"And who says I lie to my name?..."

"You didn't hear that? That algozino... He knows your true name; and then, did not the Duchin of Motta come to protest that there are no other Albamonte outside of him?..."

"Ah! the duke?..."

"Surely!... You see, therefore, that everything lays down against you..."

Blasco didn't answer him; his heart was tight: So his brother had come to confess it, perhaps without knowing it, without knowing what his protest meant. The disappointment was so bitter that for a moment he remained silent, cogitabondo and sad: which Mr. Alonso, who believed he possessed a great acumen, interpreted as the loss of those who were caught in a foul. He was satisfied with this and recaptured:

"They will give you torture to know what crimes you committed... A horrible thing! You could avoid it by willingly confessing... Forgive me if I dare to give you advice, but it is for the interest that inspires me."

"Thank you, if it's the case, I'll take advantage of it, but..."

"But?"

"You're a good friend, aren't you?"

"You don't have to doubt it."

"Good. So you should tell me a little bit about what you accuse me of... knowing how to be regular, not for anything else..."

"Eh!... actually... precise accusations I couldn't tell you. You have heard them; the Algozino claims that you have resisted justice and tried to kill him..."

"Ah, you're good. Thanks, man."

"Is it true?"

"What?"

"What the Algozino said."

"And you want to know from me?"

"Who the hell do you want me to know? I don't know either. Go!..."

"It's like I say..."

Mr. Alonso realized there was nothing to be done about it.

"If you need anything," he said, "speak freely."

"Nothing, thank you... I mean, yes, for example if there were any taverns here near I would like to desinare in my way and with my taste."

"You can do that... At the camp there are at least half a dozen who built barracks... you've seen them."

"It's true. Then, with the permission of the Captain, do me a favor and bring me a host, the first one to appear cleaner..."

"You will be served. May God look at you, Mr. Dragon."

"God accompany you, Mr. Scribe."

A few hours later, a Spanish soldier entered with a young man, whose apron twisted around his hips immediately revealed the craft. The soldier said in Spanish:

"Have you asked for an innkeeper?... there you go..."

Blasco looked at the young man with curiosity and made an imperceptible gesture with his eyes, while touching his forehead. He seemed to have some impression of the young man, and then asked him:

"What neighborhood are you from?"

"Del Capo..."

"Ah?... and, who's there "too puortu?"

The young man made a stunned face, and answered:

"Calia. Where was your mother born?"

"To Concuma?"

"So, let's say: A good plate of macaroni... and go to the Guardian... a slice of beef... you'll tell him that there's one of the attached link... of cheese, peaches and good wine... but soon, and bread with muzzica surda."

"Your Ladyship will be served as she deserves."

When the young man went away, Blasco, who was left alone, jumped and wrinkled his hands; the noise called the attention of the watchman behind the door, who, not knowing what it was, called the sergeant: The sergeant opened and, surprised that Blasco was so cheerful, asked him:

"What was that? What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, Sergeant; I try a dance, a new country dance, surprising and graceful, you will judge yourself..."

"You're crazy!"

When the boy returned shortly after noon with a basket, from which an appetizing fragrance was released, he took a look to understand himself with Blasco, who waited for the soldier and the boyfriend to leave to take, before all else, the bread and break it. Inside it was ingeniously hidden, a small triangular file, which he went to hide behind the straw. Satisfied and happy he ate with the greatest appetite, waiting for the commission entrusted to the boy.

"We will see how it will end; but, in any case, dear Mr. Vicerè, Blasco will not let himself be hanged either by you or by others."