Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part four, chapter 5

Italiano

English

Blasco went up Via Toledo, step by step, to return to the district of S. Giacomo and had just passed the Piano dei Bologna, when a group and shouts near the Palazzo Geraci drew his attention. He approached and saw two staffieri who, by bashing a poor devil, pushed him away with a fury of pushes. The poor man shouted:

"It's not charity... leave me alone!... it's not charity."

The people stopped to look, not knowing what it was; the seeing of the servants mistreating a poor man had nothing new and extraordinary in those times, it was almost a sign of the power of the lords; therefore no one took the sides of that poor little but bold man, who instead of running resisted in some way, passively, to the pushers and the fists of those galloned bullies.

"Get out of here! Mr. Duke doesn't want any pytokes!..."

"I tell you, keep your hands at home!"

"Oh, look how he protests!"

Blasco approached, but the indignation that had taken him at that sight, turned into anger in recognizing Michele Barabino as a little man who had been beaten. And he went forth, and arrested the two servants with his arm, and commanded them, saying, "Leave this man alone!..."

At the same time Michele Barabino and the servants looked at him surprised; the old tailor made a face of wonder, he crushed his eyes, cried out:

"Mr. Don Blasco!... Mr. Don Blasco!..."

And taking the young man's hand kissed him with transport, but the two servants squashed him haughtily from head to toe, said to him:

"Do you know who you're talking to? Go for your own business!... And as for you, you piece of shit."

But Blasco, holding by his arm the servant who was nearest, and burning him violently, said to him with his teeth closed:

"I don't have the habit of saying one thing twice. Leave him alone, and go away, you rascal!..."

And when they shouted, other servants came out of the palace, some armed with a staff; and the two men turned against Blascus, crying out,

"We are the home of the Duke of Motta and we will take away the pleasure of meddling in the things of the Palermon lords!..."

"Oh, yeah?" said Blasco; "well, this isn't the first time I've taught the creature to the servants of Motta's house!"

And quickly torn from the hands of Michele Barabino the stick, before the four or five servants could take the offensive, with a dizzying reel, caused them to fall a sibilant rain of wood. It was a good hazelnut wood, hard and hazel, which in Blasco's hands turned into a bat.

The servants, disbanded by the impetus of the assault, ashamed before the crowd of being beaten by one, being many, tightened, with sticks lifted; someone ran inside, had returned with a dagger, but Blasco, with wide legs, the left at his side to hold the sword, which by beating him between his legs could embarrass him, passing from one to the other, holding them in check, hit in the head, on his arms, with a lightning speed from which his opponents could not escape.

The crowd applauded and laughed. Departing for the poor distracted by the peasant bullying of the servants had immediately followed with sympathy the intervention of the dragon; and now, assured of its value, dragged by admiration, encouraged him with his applause, which, while infuriating them, discouraged the servants.

The shouts, the noise, attracted people to the balconies; from that of his palace, Emanuele, who was at that time in the company of two young lords, the prince of Iraci and the Count of Gisia, looked out to see what happened; the darkness did not allow him to recognize anyone, but the voices seemed to him to recognize one of his servants. When he returned immediately, he called to know what had happened, but hearing that they were truly his servants and that all the servants were indignant against that soldier, he was furious.

"Ah for God! to my house this affront?..."

And he went down hastily, followed by the two lords, and by other servants, with torches. And he cried unto the servants, saying,

"Poor, cowards!... Go! Go! We'll see you later!..."

Confused and dejected the servants withdrew; Blasco lowered the formidable hazelnut by returning it to Michele Barabino, who fucked his hands and repeated to his neighbors:

"What did I tell you, huh? What did I tell you?"

Emanuele approached Blasco, with his head high and his eyes flaming with anger.

"Who gave you the order to beat my servants, the servants of the house Albamonte?" cried to him.

Blasco, who had not been able to control a certain emotion when he saw him coming in front of him, raised his head to an arrogant tone and looked into his brother's eyes.

"Usually," he calmly replied, "I do not ask anyone permission to teach the bullies Christian charity towards the poor and the weak..."

"Do you know who I am?" splashed Emanuele enlivened by that calm.

"I know, you're the Duke of Motta..."

"Well, you will know that I do not suffer outrage from anyone..."

"Bravo! so I like you..."

"And thank your saint that you are not a gentleman of my rank, because I would teach you how to respect me!... But I will have your superiors beat you!..."

"That's... you're wrong, my boy!"

Not only Emanuele, but also the two lords who had come forward, got into a rage and invested Blasco, who had not paid attention to them.

"Malcreate and insolent!..."

But the prince of Iraci, seen by the light of the torches, cried with surprise not without an accent of hatred:

"Blasco da Castiglione!..."

"Ah! behold, a gentleman who knows me!" said Blasco, portraying the prince, and mockingly taking off his galloned hat and bowed down, he added: "Good night, Prince, are you all right?"

And Emanuel was stunned; and he looked upon the dragon in spite, and in anger repressed, saying,

"Blasco!... Blasco!..."

"Have you heard? The Lord knows me; we had the pleasure of seeing each other before, when I was not a dragon of His Majesty and you also saw me... What do you want, it seems that destiny obliges me to always beat the servants of the house Albamonte... and in these surroundings..."

Emanuele blushed, remembering that precisely in the Piano dei Bologna, six years earlier, Blasco had stolen him from Don Raimondo's brackets, as he now took away some other poor from his servants. The memory, bringing him back to a past that in his present state would have wished to forget, disturbed him. He wanted to pretend to ignore the blood relations that passed by. Between him and Blasco and, turning back the bitterness of memories, he said:

"What do you say, sir, I cannot tolerate an affront to my house... Unless you'd rather apologize to me..."

"Forgive me, I have not heard well; what have you said?" asked Blasco with a naive face.

"That you ask excuses!" said Rabbi Emanuele...

"You're right," said Blasco, and, turning around, he looked for Michele Barabino, took him by the hand, pulled him in the middle, and resumed: "Good man, Mr. Duke of Motta begs me to apologize in his name for what his servants have done to you."

A scream, a great laugh, a applause that shook the houses greeted the words of Blasco, to whom Michael Barabino trembling kissed his hand, saying:

"What does your Lordship say? What does it say!..."

Emanuele and the two friends felt all the ridicule of their situation; all three, poisoned, advanced threateningly against Blasco, shouting:

"Sir!..."

The Count of Gisia, more hasty than the others, drew his sword, puffing:

"It's time to finish it!..."

But Blasco, who had no reason to use regard to that newcomer, raised his voice also:

"Oh, dear lord, do you have a desire for a horse?"

"I will not tolerate this!" cried the Count, assaulting Blasco, who, without wasting time, throwing himself back, had once again ripped the hazel from Michele Barabino's hands, and warned himself, saying:

"Here I am, boy!"

The Count of Gisiah took a step back and lowered his sword, blushing with rage, among the laughter of the crowd:

"The stick?" he roared "the stick?... One of my peers does you the honor of fighting, and you wield a stick? To me this insult?... To me this shame?..."

"My God!" said Blasco with comic regret; "I didn't think you were sorry, my lord... I had the weapon that seemed most convenient... for you!... I don't usually bare my sword that for more serious things..."

The prince of Iraki and Emanuele stood up, pulled away the Count of Gisia, who wept with anger, convulsed, and tried to calm him.

"Let go is not worth it!..." said the prince, "it is a brawler, I know him; don't give him weight, come back... We're gonna let the servants smack him... he doesn't deserve anything else."

Emanuele comforted him, too.

"Come on, come on up... You run away... There will be no lack of opportunity and time to teach him the good creation...."

But the Count was fighting.

"The name! I want to know his name!" he snorted with his mouth full of foam.

"My name, sir? The lord Duke of Motta I think I know him, but if you like to hear him from my mouth, I serve you: I am Blasco Albamonte, dragon of the first Numanzia..."

"Albamonte!" exclaimed the prince of Iraci astounded.

"Surely; I understand that this is sorry to Mr. Emanuele, but it is not my fault that when I was born in the castle of Motta I received this name... Now that you know who I am and where I am, I greet you, gentlemen!..."

The Count of Gisia and the prince of Iraci turned to Emanuele who bit his lips, while Blasco went quietly, followed by the crowd, who commented on what happened and almost brought the young man into triumph.

"Is he a relative of yours, then?" asked the prince.

Emanuele did a scornful motorbike with his shoulders, and answered:

"Ohibo! He's a bastard..."

"Your uncle Don Raimondo?"

"No... of my father, apparently."

"Is that your brother?" they exclaimed with even greater amazement.

"So he says... But who can affirm it?..."

So, speaking, they had returned to the palace where the servants were still armed with daggers and guns, waiting for an order of the masters, to give on Blasco; but the three young lords did not even look at them, blind as they were to anger, mortification, to that revelation that disconcerted them.

Meanwhile, Blasco, drawing behind Michele Barabino, had crossed the crowd; and as some had put themselves on his ribs, he turned around and politely sent them away.

"Dear friends, do me now the courtesy of leaving me alone with this good old man. I'm not the Sacramento to come after me like this... Thank you, but..."

That "but", however courteous, could mean so many things so persuasive, that people disappeared from here and there and Blasco found himself the way clear. But he had not taken six steps, that he heard someone behind him and at the same time heard a well-known voice say to him:

"Bitch, you're always the same!"

"Toh! is it you, Coriolano?..."

"I saw everything. Good. I had lost you, I had lost my Blasco of old times and now finally I find it!..."

"Do you believe it?" said Blasco with a sense of bitterness; and he was going to say something else, but noticed Michael Barabino standing next to him, changed his speech and asked him: "What were you doing at the Geraci Palace?"

"Oh, very illustrious, what poor people like me do!... I'm asking for a little charity... that's it!..."

Blasco searched his pockets, found some bronze coins, and placed them in the hands of the old former tailor said to him in a voice:

"I have only these; for tonight you will be enough, in the morning come to the neighborhood... Now get out of here."

The poor old man kissed Blasco's hand, going deep in thanksgiving, and went away, exclaiming with emotion:

"What a heart! What a heart!... If all were like him!..."

For a short time Blasco and Coriolano walked in silence, one next to the other. Coriolano broke the silence first:

"Where are you going?"

"To the neighborhood, as you can see..."

"Is it compulsory to sleep in the neighborhood?"

"Required, you know that, no: in fact it is a little 'uncomfortable, because all the accommodations have been taken by the families of the soldiers and the employees...."

"And then come with me, damn it! I can't find the reason why you have to refuse my hospitality, or rather do not have to take back your old home... Come, we'll have dinner together..."

"But I invited Michele Barabino to the neighborhood in the morning."

"Oh, we'll let him come to my house..."

"How are we going to warn him?"

"Don't think about it... it'll be my thought... Let's go."

He took him in his arms and went back on the road, returning to the four Songs, going back to the Palazzo Geraci.

A carriage that came out of the Piano dei Bologna, pulled by two Frisian horses and preceded by two flyers with torches, forced them to stop. They looked inside, and Blasco could not hold back a surprise cry. There was a lady in whom he had recognized Gabriella, but she seemed not to notice the two friends.

"Perhaps it comes from the Palazzo Villafranca," said Coriolano.

Blasco did not answer; he had become sad under the wave of visions that had stirred in his memory with a rapidity of succession, which had formed a monstrous whole. Again they had fallen into silence. Coriolano broke it again.

"Well," he said, "what do you think? Come on! I don't want to see you like this funeral face; after dinner we'll go to "conversation."

"Oh, you think so? In this poor uniform?"

"But no, you almost have my complexion: Choose a dress from my wardrobe. It's settled. We will go from one of your acquaintances: from Butera. He has been interested in you and it is good to thank him... You'll probably meet other acquaintances and laugh at the face they'll make..."

After dinner, in fact, they went to the palace of the prince of Butera, who for some years had left his ancient abode behind St. Cita, to live the other, already of the Branciforti dukes, above the city walls at Porta Felice. It had a beautiful terrace on which it divided to build a theatre, but then, destined the rooms adjacent to other uses, transformed it until it later became part of the Trinacria Hotel. Then the palace was not as vast as it is now, and it did not have the same distribution. The terrace was adjacent to one of the reception halls, and the prince had transformed it into a kind of hanging garden with trees planted in huge vases, cut according to fashion, among whose fronds a large amount of lamps and lanterns spread a beautiful light. There was a fountain in the middle of it.

The prince received on the serene summer nights and, unless they liked to play, everyone preferred to stay on the terrace to enjoy the freshness of the sea air. The rank of first title of the Kingdom, the usual lordship and magnificence of the house Branciforti made his "conversations" very frequent, to which often intervened some virtuous, freshly exited from the conservatory of the Despairs or the Good Shepherd, of which great things were said. The prince of Butera greeted Blasco with affability, saying he was pleased that the opposition had ceased. Blasco thanked him, exchanged some other words, and was confused among them; invited together with Coriolano who, presenting him to his acquaintances with the name of Blasco Albamonte, excited curiosity. Then to be the natural children of a great lord, especially if recognized, and with the full right to bear his name, was not a title of infamy or shame: It was not uncommon in feudal successions that an illegitimate, in the absence of legitimate heirs, was invested in the feuds and rights of the house; nor were illustrious sponsals disdained with natural sons of high lineage. The most scrupulous asked Coriolano's ear if Blasco's mother was a lady, as this would naturally have greatly attenuated the original stain, possessing the young man all the qualities of noble. But Coriolano screened himself: She was not a great lady, however she was not a plebea; small provincial owners, owners of lands, not yet barons, but near little; such an answer was worth to attenuate the scruples and to make those lords less suspicious towards Blasco.

So, after four years of absence, he returned to that society from which he had detached himself, and perhaps he did not mind. The scene that took place two or three hours before had remained a little 'in his blood, in imperceptible vibrations, that gave him a certain desire to see those two young gentlemen, and perhaps his brother, who, if possible, would have come to the "conversation."

He bartered a few words with ancient knowledge that deigned to ask him where he had been, in which body he was militant, marveling that he had not at least asked for the command of a half squadron. - Vicende of life!... - he answered jokingly; but while he was talking at one of the large windows that entered on the terrace, under the curved leaves of a palmice, here came from the hall the prince of Iraki and the Count of Gisia, who at seeing Blasco stopped amazed, unable to hide their spite and their surprise. Blasco looked at them with supreme indifference, as if he had never known them, and the two young lords haughtily passed before him, throwing a look of haughty and hateful challenge at him.

A moment later, Gabriella also entered the hall, to come to the terrace, leaning slightly the tip of her fingers on the hand that gallantly bore her Emanuele.

Three or four lords rushed to meet her, bowing down and kissing her hand, which she regally stretched out to them. Black silk vest, which gave great prominence to its pale beauty, and made it enchanting. Those four years had given her face a certain serene austerity, and to her body a greater fullness, but not such as to remove that harmony and elegance that were particular to her and formed almost the essence, the scent of her femininity. Blasco was amazed, moved like a sudden and unexpected apparition and could not take his eyes off her, even though he dared not approach her to revere her as the others did.

Donna Gabriella didn't notice him and came with her quick and graceful step, answering her greetings; but when she came to the window and noticed Blasco she couldn't stop a cry of amazement, she paled and it was almost to faint. Two or three young men rushed to support her, asking her what she felt; someone pulled a bottle of salts out of the pocket of the undergarment and handed it to the lady; these cares were enough to give Gabriella the dominion over herself, or rather, to make herself strong and hide her emotion.

"It's nothing, thank you!" he said.

But his eyes returned to Blasco and of course were followed by the curious, who remembered in fact that Blasco had been for the farewell of the knight (and many also said the lover) of the Duchess. He felt that his condition at that time was extremely embarrassing and that it was necessary to leave as soon as possible in an honorable and courteous way; and then, detached from his place, he approached woman Gabriella and bowing down with devotion said, but not without a slight tremor in his hand:

"Miss Duchess gives me the grace to revere her?"

Donna Gabriella, without speaking, gave him her hand; she could hardly stutter:

"It's you!... Here!..."

He could not add anything else and, in order not to give in to the impetus of the thoughts and feelings that were tumultuous in them, passed over, greeting the Princess mistress of the house.

The incident was noticed, not in spite of the coldness of the words, and the brevity of the dialogue; the emotion was noticed and followed by malicious comments if not malicious..

But most amazed of all was Emanuele, who, ignoring the relationships between Blasco and the Duchess, did not know how they knew each other, nor why she was so moved. He did not address Blasco even a nod of his head. The two brothers looked coldly, not without wonder at those who had already known what blood ties were between the two young men. Someone asked Coriolano:

"Say a little: Doesn't the Duchin of Motta know his natural brother?"

Coriolano apologized for not knowing anything about it.

"They may know each other, but I don't know if they know they're brothers. Maybe not."

He lied, to remove Blasco from that humiliating situation that Emanuele's conduct would create and his lie seemed to please everyone, because the reality of those two brothers who did not know each other and who were together also had for them a tantalizing taste of novel or comedy. It was, after all, a good case!...

Emanuele had accompanied the Duchess and, after greeting the other ladies, had returned to the entrance hall with his two friends the Count of Gisia and the prince of Iraki: All three seemed to want to say something urgent and extraordinary, so agitated on their faces. Returning to the hall, in fact, and secluded in a corner, the Count of Gisiah said puffing:

"It is a provocation! even a provocation!..."

"Shut up! Let us not make scandals here," said the prince of Iraki. "We speak in a voice, so as not to show him that we take care of him. I know him well, I..."

"Do you know him?" asked Emanuele; "Have you known him for a long time?"

"Unhappily, yes... I met him four or five years ago when, I'm sorry, he was just an adventurer..."

"Does he know the Duchess of Motta from that time?"

"Eh! Don't you know?... They say that it was something more than a friend of woman Gabriella!..."

"What do you say?" exclaimed Emanuele pale and spiteful.

"What everyone knows, my dear!"

"But we are lost in things that do not interest us," the Count of Gisia observed; "of course this is not what worries us..."

"Worries? No..." corrected the prince of Iraci "all at most, can only stop our attention for a moment."

"It will be, I don't argue about words... What I say is that that gentleman came here to provoke us... and we must not let ourselves be overwhelmed like this. Forgive me, Duke, if he is your brother, but the thing is as I say..."

"Oh, don't worry about this kinship, to which, word of honor, I don't care at all! If my father had in his youth whims, it doesn't mean that I have obligations to the consequences of his whims. Isn't that right?"

He smiled at this wit of his, looking at the two friends as if to get their approval, but they contented themselves to make a slight nod with their heads, and they said:

"We need to challenge him."

"Since he is a gentleman, though illegitimate, we can well fight him."

"Let's form the challenge sign..." said Emanuele con sussiego:

"Although I have declared to you that I do not meddle with him, you will understand that for reasons of convenience I abstain from taking part in the compilation of the challenge sign... And I'm gonna step away for a moment..."

He lied; what was urgent inside him was to know that Blasco had been the lover of that Duchess of Motta, of that beautiful, desired Gabriella woman, who towards him was of almost disdainful coldness. The lady now appeared to him in another way, and it seemed to him that, in possession of that intimate detail, he could take advantage of it. It was not his, jealousy of love, but a lower and more vulgar feeling: That of his vanity as a beautiful young man, noble and rich, placed in front of a bastard. This feeling of Gabriella came to her when she saw Gabriella approaching Blasco and speaking to him.

She, in fact, after the first impression and regained her dominion, died from the desire to know what Blasco had come to do in Palermo, after so many years of distance, ignoring that he militated in the Spanish army. Not wanting to have the air to call him, nor, on the other hand, being able to resist the desire that tormented her, on the pretext of saying something, a greeting, a gracious word, approached the various groups of ladies who were scattered here and there for the terrace. She would have been forced to be near Blasco and the proximity would have done the rest. She was too expert in her arts as a beautiful woman and in pretending not to take care of what she was aiming for, to arrive there more surely, so that she could doubt the success of her move. So she found herself a stone's throw from Blasco, as behavior from chance, and when she turned her eyes distractedly they met in those of the young man, she pretended a new and so gracious surprise, to force Blasco to smile and say:

"So the Duchess is amazed at my presence?"

"My God! Yes; I never imagined to see you here after so long."

He approached them. Donna Gabriella, taking advantage that no one could hear her, quickly said to him:

"Free me, please, from that boring and petulant duke... your brother. When I leave, take me to my carriage..."

Blasco had no time to make any objection or question, which woman Gabriella had passed over. So he was busy, without being able and able to avoid what, he saw well, was an invitation. He went to see Coriolanus who was setting himself up to leave and told him what had happened.

"I assure you that I regret having to let you leave alone, but what to do? I'll come and join you at home."

"Go ahead, but look at yourselves. Do you know the fairy tale of Circe?..."

"I'll be Ulysses, don't be afraid."

They were about to leave when two young lords approached Blasco and, greeting him with a ceremonious gravity, said to him:

"If your lordship wanted to give us a minute's hearing, we'd have something to say to you, on behalf of the Count of Gisia."

"To me? Forgive their lordship, but I do not, I believe, have the pleasure of meeting the Count of Gisia, except that he is not a young man a little 'live..."

"We cannot allow, for our quality, any judgment on the account of our friend, who honored us with one of his duties..."

"Ah! have you honored them with an assignment? Well done; I rejoice with their lordships... They say..."

"We don't think this is the right place..."

"Too right... So, here's the thing: I implore my friend from Floresta to serve my role or, if they like it better, I commission him to receive the commission for which they are entrusted..."

And bowing down, he planted them there, while Coriolano smiled with his usual smile, he said:

"I am at the disposal of their lordships."