Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part four, chapter 4

Coriolano della Floresta had not seen Blasco for several days; at first he had assumed that he was held back by the necessities of war, but the prolonged silence made him suspect that something sinister had happened to him and had begun to investigate, but in those days it was not possible for him to enter the field, for the strict orders that had been given.

Only one security had, visiting hospitals, that Blasco was not injured; then he could also know that the first squadron of the Dragons of Numanzia had not moved from the camp.

There was only one sure way: Asking Marshal Lucchesi, who lived in the palace of his relatives, at Spasimo; but when he was ready to do so, he received the news that "one of the Cuncuma, ace of spathes of the deck of three choirs, was stuck in a cube." He did not doubt that it was Blasco, and he certainly went to visit the field marshal.

His first words, just named Blasco, amazed Coriolano.

"Does he lie to his name? How do you lie to him?"

The Marshal told him what he had heard about the accusations and testimonies of Matteo Lo Vecchio and the protest of Emanuele. Coriolano listened smilingly and said:

"I can assure your most illustrious lordship that the dragon, my old friend, is actually called Don Blasco Albamonte, and is the natural son of the duke Don Emanuele..."

"How? What does your lordship say?"

"The truth. I can bring you two other authoritative testimonies to confirm what I say and are the principles of Butera and Geraci..."

"So is that dragon a real gentleman?"

"That's right..."

"Oh, let me... If nothing else, until you see how that other ban thing goes, you have to give him a convenient prison. After all, he has committed nothing against the military honour and majesty of Philip V, our lord... These are old accusations and bans of the cease-of-government, which do not concern us..."

"Very good. Your lordship has put the matter in its true terms. And then, assure your Excellency that in the entire army you will not find another soldier, no officer who can be equal to Don Blasco Albamonte... They try it in a risky feat and they'll see."

"I am happy with what you tell me, and thank you for your visit."

On the evening of that day, while Blasco, squirming to make no noise, set himself to saw the iron, opened the prison door and the sergeant called him:

"Come on, dragon, let's change quarters... It has to be said that you have connections. Let's go!"

"Where?"

"In town..."

"Eh?..."

"Yes, sir.

Mr. Dragon will stay in the neighborhood of San Giacomo..."

Blasco believed that he was joking, but when he saw in front of the front door a porter surrounded by guards armed with muskets he feared that the joke was a fierce sarcasm.

"Who knows where they're taking me" he said anxiously and looked around to see if it was necessary to try the shot, but he calmed down, when he saw the tavern boy giving him significant hints with his eyes, as if to say: "go ahead and be quiet, it's our work."

Actually, the porter, traveled the external streets, entered the city from Porta Nuova and set out for the nearby Spanish neighborhood, named after St. James, where the officers' rooms and a good garrison were located. Next to the church there was a building, on the ground floor of which were the prisons for the soldiers and in the upper rooms those for the officers, in which the prisoner did not lack certain amenities that mitigated the rigor of segregation. Blasco was accompanied.

"Less bad, - he thought - here you are better and you will be able to see some face as a Christian."

He spent the night quietly, expecting some news and trusting in good luck.

Coriolano had visited the prince of Butera and that of Geraci, to whom he had exposed the case of Blasco; the prince of Geraci marveled at the passage taken by Emanuele without his knowledge and asked for explanations. The young man confirmed the fact.

"Do you think your lordship is compatible with my honor to allow an adventurer sought by justice who knows for what rascals to usurp the name of the Albamonte?"

"What if it doesn't usurp anything? What if he had the right to bear that name?"

"Is there any other Albamonte?"

"There is your brother, my boy; natural, I know, but always brother and older than you; and it is precisely Don Blasco, who nevertheless does not use his name to ask you, in memory of the father, the crumbs that fall from your table..."

Emanuele looked astounded at Grandpa: He would never have imagined the existence of this brother, but he felt no remorse or regret that he had gone to protest against him.

"Finally," he risked, "is not legitimate and cannot recognize himself with a true Albamonte, and he committed crimes."

"Shut up, you don't know what you're saying; you're an ungrateful man. You should learn something from your brother."

The old gentleman left the Viceroy using his quality as the Great of Spain to have the right not only to enter without making an anteroom, but also to hold the hat in front of the kings and testified in favor of Blasco. The Viceroy who had already received the first news from Marshal Lucchesi was impressed. He objected to:

"But there is the denunciation of that birro, The Old Man, if I'm not wrong, and there's a ban..."

"The ban," the prince remarked subtlely, "hit Blasco from Castiglione, not already Don Blasco Albamonte, who has the honour of serving in the army of his Majesty. And as for the birro Matteo Lo Vecchio it is my duty to warn your Excellency that he is struck by the excommunication of life..."

"How!" said the Marquis de Lede, "is he excommunicated by living? And I got it?"

"You see, Your Excellency? He cannot testify, he cannot swear, he cannot be admitted into the Christian community... And a matricolate rascal!"

The Viceroy, in his superstitious consciousness of fanatic Spanish, seemed strongly impressed by that news, which in his soul could more than the assurances in favor of Blasco.

"Thank you, Prince, thank you; I will give the appropriate orders; I had already made him change prison. I'll set him free and follow the Marshal's advice: I will send him to the assault of the Castle of Termini; if he is truly a valiant and will perform some fine gesture, he will gain the grace of all his faults; if he falls, there will be no more need to seek his past. The lot will have done justice. How about your Excellency?"

"I can only admire and praise his wisdom."

Thus ended the imprisonment of Blasco who, just outside, ran to embrace and thank Coriolano.

On the same day that he went out of prison, the castle, vigorously gunned down by the Spaniards and weakly defended, raised the white flag and had to surrender at his discretion; it was July 15, the first day of the feasts of St. Rosalia and the grace of Blasco coincided with two events that could seem the occasion.

The next day, during the ride that the lords did in Cassaro, in honor of the "Santa" with the intervention of the Viceroy, Matteo Lo Vecchio met with great amazement Blasco in the company of Coriolano and did not want to believe in his eyes.

"How? Free? Out? What does that mean?"

But his amazement grew when, running to seek Mr. Alonso Apuente, he was not received, and he felt that his Excellency, having known that he was excommunicated by life, had given orders that he was not received by anyone. Bite his hands for the great spite, the birro returned like a beaten dog, swearing in his heart that he would make him pay in another way.

"This is all the work of the knight of Floresta!" he thought. "We must begin with him. Is that what this is about? But we'll see!... Mr. Knight, we'll see..."

He felt strong for the support of the Junta elected by King Vittorio for the controversy with Rome, of which he had been the most ruthless and fierce executioner but that same day a decree of the Viceroy abolives the Junta, referring thus to a new orientation of ecclesiastical politics. This was a blow to Matteo Lo Vecchio. By now everyone turned to the new sun and seemed to try to make forget the services rendered to the Sabaudo monarch, to be acquitted of excommunication and to have grace and offices in the restored Spanish rule; and the birro felt that it remained alone, without support, without protection. There was nothing but to throw yourself firmly under the new flags: Which did not repugn him at all, for he, in his capacity as a birro, he, as well as the cops of all times and places, adapted well with any regime and with any policy; and he would infuriate against the members of the Junta with the same ferocity with which he had previously infuriated against the disobedient priests.

The Viceroy left on the 16th, with the army, to Messina, to expel that stronghold, giving his dispositions for the assault of the Castello di Termini, assigning among others the first squadron of the dragons of Numanzia and entrusting the command to the lieutenant general count of Montemar.

The departure of these troops would not have taken place until eight days and Blasco took advantage of it to relive a bit the life of that city, in which he had felt so many and so different emotions.

The city, free from all the noise of war, had resumed its ordinary appearance; in the evening the Navy promenade was filled with carriages and pedestals, and the musicians in the beautiful stage that had been erected there in 1681 played the pieces of the most popular works. Then the walk preserved the sumptuous decorations that had been made under the rule of the Vicere Count of St. Stephen, by the Prince of Valguarnera, Praetor, in 1687. From here and beyond the stage or "theatre" of the musicians, of a baroque not devoid of grace, there were two fountains, one of which made you rise by Vicerè Marcantonio Colonna, who in the fivota of Sirena had wanted to portray the beautiful woman Fufrosina Corbera, Baroness of the Misilindino, her lover; the other had been carried by the Fieravecchia. The curtain that stretched between Porta Felice and the bulwark of Thunder, which stood near Porta dei Greci, had been painted and there had been added a portico of marble columns, and under each arch a chiaroscuro statue, representing a virtue or a divinity, whose name was read at the feet. And there were thirty-nine: began with Prodigality and ended with the three theological virtues.

On the splendour of the curtain was built a stone balustrade, interrupted by plinths that served as base statues; and were twenty white limestone statues, representing twenty kings of Sicily from William II to Philip IV, excluding Ruggero II and William III and between one king and another a pyramid between two balls, surmounted by a smaller ball on top. Between the fountain of Marcantonio Colonna and Porta Felice had been raised the statue of Charles II, and perhaps there would have been raised also that of Vittorio Amedeo, if his kingdom had been longer and more prosperous.

Of course, this stretch between the beautiful monumental gate and the bulwark, so decorated and adorned, had to give an impression of magnificence on the side of the sea and those who had conceived it certainly did not think that the devastating fury of men, combined with that of the time, would without reason replace the paintings with a wall with stucco buns, would allow to consume all those statues and, transported elsewhere the fountain of Marcantonio Colonna, would then sell it for breach... He didn't think that he would take away his monumental and sumptuous character at the walk, which made it truly unique at that time.

In summer it was the most appreciated meeting place of the population of every class, which went, as it still goes, to enjoy the cool and the music; and in those days, almost to redefine the forced abstinence during the bombing of the Castle, it was more crowded than usual. Blasco had gone there and, stopped in front of the railing that surrounded the statue of Charles II, looked at the magnificent crews who, coming from Porta Felice to the Navy, passed before him. To the liveries of the flyers and lackeys, to the colors of the shields, he recognized who they belonged to; sometimes they were his acquaintances and he greeted them nicely, smiling at their astonishment in recognizing him under the remains of a Turkish dragon. Of the lords on horseback, followed by brackets, passed; Blasco named them one by one; there were ancient acquaintances among them, with which he had met in the large halls or at a play table at the time when he accompanied Gabriella woman; and that time, which seemed so far away, now flourished in his memory, with that sense of melancholy which is also one of the sweetnesses of life.

And he was thinking about his state. What was he? A poor soldier, without a future, without hope, who just dignified with a look. True it was that, because of his contracted habits, his uniform was not as tearful and filthy as that of the other soldiers, and that in the air, in the ways, he had something that distinguished him and that revealed his origin; but nevertheless he was always a soldier, nothing but a nameless soldier that those lords did not even look at.

He did not feel this, nor did he feel any envy, but he could not prevent a certain bitterness from going up to his mouth and feeling some sort of discontent with himself. Oh! he had been much happier before, when, ignoring his origin, neither having tasted the life of that rich and gallant society, he lived joyfully, like a bird that is looking for food in the fields; and he did not know what tears were! Now he had tried to return to being the former, but in vain; for a new layer of me died, of sorrows, of desires, of joys had superimposed itself on the ancient one, and so waterproof, that these did not come to break it, to redo or return the spirit to him.

The images that best associated with the show, which he attended, appeared to him in his mind.

Donna Gabriella!

Oh, the carriage walks, alone! And that running at night, on the outside streets, when she threw herself into his arms, throbbing with passion and craving!... But behind her appeared the thoughtful and grave face of Violante. He had never forgotten her, even trying not to think about her; and he could not remember her without regret. Sometimes he wondered what demon inspired him to propose and advocate Violante's marriage to Emanuele, instead of following the advice and idea of Coriolano della Floresta: Perhaps at that time he would not have been a Turkish dragon, alone, leaning on one of the spears of the inferriata; he would have been happy.

He remembered separating himself from the maiden without exchanging a word, without seeing her again, without even a greeting: She had to be 18 already, and she certainly had made herself a woman and more beautiful... Ah yes, it must have been more beautiful! A secret desire to see her again filled his soul with torments, but the law he had imposed forbade him to take a step to please his heart.

While his soul was in pain among these images, his eyes followed the way of the carriages and the porters; he would see someone: Coriolano, for example. Instead he saw the princess of Iraci passing, fatter, almost chubby, inside his carriage, with a young lady next door, for which perhaps he was with greater suspense. Then he saw even smaller, more spolito, with a Giamberghino spider and a stick in his hand, Michele Barabino and did not dare to call him, for the pity he aroused, so poor and dejected, being unable to give him any help. And almost at the same time he saw Emanuele, his brother. He went on horseback, with a fist on his side, his head high, his look superb, dressed in an elegant silk fabric, with rich laces in the sleeves, button gems, diamonds in the buckles of the shoes. The stalker who followed him on horseback wore the livery of the house Albamonte, green with gallons of gold on which the black and green quarts shield appeared in two opposite quarters, with alternating bands green and black in the other two.

If anger, sorrow, regret puffed up Blasco's heart to see him, he could not explain: It was an indefinite feeling, but love did not enter. He did not love that big boy, to whom he was bound no custom of life, no sweet remembrance, no obligation; he had defended him, had protected him, he had also prepared for him that happiness which he supposed to be insurmountable and insurmountable, the wedding with Violante, but more for an ideal of regard for the name, for a species, perhaps, of unconscious vanity than for love. Emanuele seemed disliked to him; he did not hate him, but felt a certain repulsion for him.

He followed a piece with his eyes, then lost sight of him, confused among the crowds, who, seen from that place, seemed thick and tumultuous.

The sky was gray, and Capo Saffron seemed to be covered with ashes. The water of the sea had taken a color of steel silk, with iridescent reflections. There was no longer a ray of sunshine in the air. The night was coming. Suddenly the bells of the Hail Mary rang, and from a hundred different and opposite points the chimes spread intertwined, so that the whole city seemed to be bowing down under those rings: And all that crowd stood on foot and on horseback, and all those carriages stood, and the heads were found, and bowed down, and a whisper of thousands of mouths reciting the salutation ran through the air; and it was an exchange of greetings: "Good night, holy night, bless me," and life, after that short break, resumed its agitated and tumultuous motion.

Already the musicians, who had done their duty (then the musical concert took place at sunset), returned home with the instruments under the arm and the crowd of the bourgeois and the people, having nothing more to hear, followed them pouring like a river in the narrow passage of Porta Felice, dispersed, rejected, often swayed by the voice of the steering wheels that preceded the carriages, and the carriages that with the noise of the huge wheels and ferrate seemed to say: "Breathe to the gentlemen!..."

Blasco didn't move: the shadow enveloped him and made him confused and uncertain the contours of his face; by the light of the torches of the flyers, which went on, and which he saw shaking over the crowd, he recognized the lords whom he had seen passing by; he saw the prince of Iraki, he saw his brother again, he saw everyone again; Michele Barabino passed by him almost, with his short step and with his appearance of poor resigned. And finally the great and beautiful street remained almost deserted, with its twenty kings, whitening on the curtain, in the dark sky, its murmuring fountains, the "theatre" of empty music. Then he also moved, but not to return to the city: He approached the sea, stood in front of the parapet in a seat, and looked at the waters, on which the moon, which appeared red behind Capo Saffron, dipped a beam in focus, mobile and wavy. And looking, without perhaps knowing why, Blasco asked himself:

"Why did I come back?..."