Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part four, chapter 12

Italiano

English

The citadel of Messina had been given to the Spaniards on September 29 and throughout the kingdom the fact aroused great joy; however, some fortified places remained in the power of the Savoiards, of no small importance, such as Syracuse and Milazzo and it was convenient to immediately eject this last city, to have freed the whole line between the two major centers of the island.

The vicerè marquis de Lede, therefore, concentrated all available forces against Milazzo, around which already since July had been arranged a blockade, impotent for the tenuity of the forces to prevent the city from supplying itself with new defenders.

In early October the Spanish army moved on Milazzo at successive stages and at various intervals; from the sea side, more German reinforcements came to the garrison, so that it seemed that Milazzo had to decide the fate of the kingdom.

The Spanish began to build batteries, which would certainly have damaged the fort if they could get into action. This recognized the commanders of the Savoyard and German troops, who decided to attack the Spaniards and destroy their batteries.

Milazzo's garrison could no longer be said to be Savoiard, for the Savoiards were a small fraction. Of eleven infantry regiments, ten were Germanic. Under the pretext of helping King Vittorio Amedeo and maintaining the pacts of the Treaty of Utrecht, the emperor Charles VI, who was already master of Naples, aimed to take over and extend his dominion also over Sicily.

At dawn on October 14th, the eleven regiments of Austro-Savoiard infantry, and six squadrons of cavalry, under the orders of General Caraffa, came out of Milazzo to attack the Spanish trenches on the left, defended by less than four thousand men.

The inferiority of the Spaniards was remarkable. They had to abandon the trenches, even though they withdrew neatly, and did not cease to fight; when there was a rapid movement in the ranks, and as if a torrent broke the banks, bursting everything into its fury, the Spaniards saw themselves being pushed back into the offensive.

The Marquis de Lede came into battle with seven battalions of footmen and two regiments of horses.

The Marquis de Lede had left Messina on 13 and had placed the camp at St. Peter's. He heard the cannonization of four prisons in Naples that supported the move of the German troops and intuiting the fight, moved quickly, and came to invigorate the Spaniards, stop the retreat, resume the offensive.

The fight became very harsh and terrible.

A squadron of Alemanna cavalry, leaning on the Susa Piedmontese regiment, made great massacres of the Spaniards, from the right. The Marquis de Lede then ordered that two squadrons of Numanzia reject the German cavalry and try to bypass the infantry.

The two squadrons jumped into the assault with swords on high, tight, heavy, formidable.

Blasco was in the front row at the end.

With his nostrils dilated, curved on the horse's neck, he chose the place to attack.

The Alemanna cavalry was galloping across the street. The impact was terrible. Blasco was transported from his impetus beyond the line of enemy knights, and was rugged surrounded by three or four Germanic knights. I landed one with a gunshot, another with a stash. Two dragons ran to his aid. At that end the squad became gay and deadly: men and horses seemed to be invaded by a fierce spirit of destruction; the blows of the sword alternated with the shots; with the smoke that surrounded everything, a flash of blades, a flash of flames, a burst of horses and knights, and shouts and groans...

The beaten German squadron, decimated, folded back, but the Piedmontese infantry with its fire arrested and dismayed the dragons for a moment. Blasco said to himself: "I'll earn my captain's scarf here, or I'll die."

He unraveled. One ball wounded his horse; he was quick to jump off the saddle, while the animal ended up on the ground; another disassembled horse passed through him, grabbed him by the bite, mounted there with a jump and resumed the race. The whole squadron, after that first moment of hesitation, had jumped at the infantry.

Blasco had pushed towards the flag, around which a group of defenders, footmen and knights had formed and the fight was harsher and fiercer than ever. Pesto, wounded, tormented, bloodied, he led the sword with a fury that would smash and open the way for him.

The infantry yielded; only a group of knights and officers resisted. Blasco saw a Savoy officer, surrounded by some dragons, defending himself desperately and valiantly. He was wounded in several parts; a little more and would be killed.

"Castellamonte!" shouted amazed, sneaking among the dragons.

He was in fact the ancient royal guard, now captain of a company of footmen. The knight of Castellamonte lifted his head up loudly and looked at Blasco, who had stood before him. He seemed to recognize him, and then he handed him the sword and surrendered.

"Bring him to the camp, and have all respect for him; he is a valiant and loyal knight..."

He went further: The flag was his goal...

After four hours of struggle, the Germans and the Piedmontese, defeated, rejected even under the walls, took refuge in Milazzo; the Spaniards resumed the trenches. Blasco was brought to St. Peter on an improvised stretcher, but he held the flag torn from the Piedmontese bishop.

He had his body crossed by two stockings and a ball in the calf of his right leg.

Fascinated to the best was with the other wounded transported to Barcelona, where Gabriella woman, warned, ran to assist him.

Either for the season, or for the very nature of the wounds, the healing was slow, and the long convalescence. Blasco had at the same time his patent as lieutenant of the Dragons of Numanzia, and an unlimited leave to heal himself completely.

He took advantage of it to return to Palermo in early February of the following year, while his squadron was still under Milazzo, who, supplied with strength and food, still resisted, despite being besieged for more than five months.

During the acute period of the wounds, fearing to die, he had manifested to woman Gabriella's desire to keep her promise, but she refused.

"No, not now;" he said to him, "I don't want our wedding to be blessed in sadness. We'll wait for you to heal..."

"What if I die?..."

"Oh you're not gonna die! No! I can feel it, I'm sure of it."

For this reason, when they landed from the feluca, which had brought them to Palermo from Messina, Gabriella woman landed first and left, alone in her carriage, at home; Blasco a half hour later, received by Coriolano who was waiting for him in his carriage. When he arrived at the Floresta palace, though tired, he felt the overwhelming need to tell his friend all his adventures. He had for woman Gabriella a sweet tenderness and a great gratitude that was very close to love, but he did not feel that I do not know that between the dream and oblivion of himself and everything, that kind of sublimation of the spirit, that mysterious melancholy and that sweetness of rapture of all the person who are the essence and poetry of love.

Coriolano listened not without satisfaction. Unrepentant scapolo, he did not mean certain mysteries of the human heart. When Blasco finished, he smiled:

"You can't believe how happy I am to know you're happy! I must also be grateful to Mrs Duchess, to whom I ask you to present my respects... And all the happier, as I am sure that some news of the day you will learn it without a concussion."

"What news?"

"One you should expect..."

"What do you mean?"

"Emanuele's wedding..."

"So it happened?" Blasco suddenly paled.

"Oh, no; but it will happen in days, the last Sunday of carnival, which falls on the 19th of this month."

Blasco said nothing; a cloud of melancholy had fallen on his eyes.

"They should have got married before, for the feast of Our Lady, but Emanuele came back from Rome with an illness... that prevented him from getting married... I don't even know if he can do it now, without danger..."

"What disease?" asked Blasco, just to say something, but without any interest.

Coriolano told him.

"In Rome nothing easier; it is the most corrupt city in Italy. I think Emanuele didn't spare himself. According to the rumor, he beat the shit out of Rome. Courtesy, game, duels... it was closed twice at Castel Sant'Angelo... The Prince of Geraci had to open the bag several times and finally had to call his nephew back to Palermo. He has arrived in such conditions of health, that it was not necessary to resort to rigors, that moreover could not have had much effectiveness, because Emanuele is already of age..."

"Oh, yeah?..."

"The prince gave him the accounts and put it, as they say, in possession of the estate..."

"He is now the head of the house of Albamonte," said Blasco, not without a slight bitterness.

"In fact!..."

A moment of silence passed; then Blasco asked not without a slight concussion:

"Is Violante happy with this wedding?"

"If I said yes, I'd lie."

"Poor girl!" murmured Blasco.

"You're right!..."

And yet another curtain of silence spread between the two friends and also: this time Blasco was the first to break it.

"Oh, Coriolano... I think when I defended Violante, even against Emanuele, I wasn't wrong... Your strict justice has protected a rascal and made a victim..."

"Who could have expected that that young orphan, rejected, stripped, persecuted, threatened by death, would be unworthy of all our protection?... And on the other hand, does justice measure the law with the balance of dignity?.. Justice doesn't see people, but facts, and where there's a violation of law, it intervenes to protect and defend... It can be wrong and it can also protect a man like Emanuele; this does not mean that tomorrow the protector of today can fall under his rigor..."

"But in the meantime the victim remains..."

"It's a fatality. You can be sure, though, that I watch over her..."

And he added a little later smiling:

"You will not be jealous if I take over from you in this vigilance."

"Jelly? Why?" said Blasco bitterly. "It's all over now. Fate has marked each one his way; I walk my way; I do not regret it, because I would be an ungrateful to a woman who with a life of devotion and passion has almost redeemed herself in my eyes, and to whom I am now bound, more than by a promise, by gratitude and affection. Of course, that wasn't my dream... But I poor bastard jumped to the wind, I couldn't and shouldn't have dreams!... Now, you will understand well for what feelings of delicacy I must refrain from explaining any action in favor of Violant; rather, I must be grateful for what you will do for Violant."

"Take it easy!... I give you my word..."

All that day Blasco was sad and thoughtful. The image of Violante, dragged to those weddings, in the arms of that vicious and corrupt youngster in the soul and body, stood before him tormenting. Donna Gabriella noticed that sadness and did not dare to investigate. She also felt like a shadow around her and had something that weighed on her and did not dare to say.

She had heard the news of the next wedding of Violante, who, in her capacity as widow of Don Raimondo Albamonte, had almost the obligation to intervene. That news had upset her, recalling the image of Violante, whom she had not forgotten. During the four years of her widowhood, she had gone to visit her stepdaughter only on solemn feasts, more for the eye of the world, than by affection. Since she had approached Blasco, since she had begun her new life of love, she had no longer seen it, neither for the mid-August feast, nor for the Immaculate, nor for Christmas or New Year's Eve. The distance had been able to excuse her absence, but she had returned to Palermo and certainly could not fail to perform an act of duty. His abstention could give to the eye and be interpreted leftly.

In truth, she in her heart was satisfied that Violante was married, and even more satisfied that she married Emanuele. In this satisfaction he entered a little 'of malice, because he knew that the two young people did not love each other, and that Emanuele was already a half-unmade man and that that marriage was, for one and the other, an unbearable yoke. So she took revenge without soliciting her, rather than looking for her.

However, despite this selfish and malicious satisfaction, she was disturbed: and the sad silence of Blasco increased his disturbance and put in her soul a certain trepidation.

Their dinner that night was silent; Blasco's arms did not look for her with the same fever as the other times, and she felt her eyes filled with tears.

"Why are you sad?" he asked.

"No, I'm not sad," said Blasco, "maybe I'm tired..."

Donna Gabriella didn't insist. He sat on his knees, girded his neck with his arms with that gesture of abandonment and tenderness that made her charming and put his head on his shoulder, sobbing.

"You don't love me!"

Those days passed early and the last Sunday of carnival was next. Donna Gabriella had received a printed card, framed in a frieze, which said:

"With the very grateful occasion of the wedding that will be closed between Mr. Duke of Motta and Miss Woman Violante Albamonte and Branciforti, Sunday 10 February, the goodness of her is prayed to increase the pump with her presence and declare themselves to her obedience."

That printed invitation took her out of the way. She immediately responded by expressing her appreciation for the graceful invitation, but saying she was sorry that her health conditions did not allow her to manifest "presently" the "his affections of duty" and "painting the honour of the most precious commands" she "repelled most devoted and most obliged".

When he sent this letter he felt lighter as if a great weight had been removed from his chest, because, in truth, the intervention at those weddings would also embarrass others, being no longer a mystery to anyone what had passed between her and Emanuele.

He didn't say anything to Blasco: She had read to him in the depths of her soul, had surprised an ill-fated agitation, and her lover's heart had guessed the reasons for it. He guarded him suspiciously by shutting himself in pain, but sometimes his eyes flashed with ancient flames and a thought of hatred and vengeance obscured her reason.

Those days passed in a state of anguish, hiding one from the other, and avoiding to wonder why their melancholy and eloquent silence, as fearful of hearing the revelation of what they meant.

Sunday came.

Donna Gabriella was feverish.

"When she is married, he can no longer think of her," he said to himself, "you must forget her. And then it will be mine, all mine!..." But as she thought so, a painful voice answered her inside:

"No, no, no! He will never be entirely yours, never!..."

And under this dark and secret voice, which she alone heard, her heart was freezing, and her sobbing went up to her throat.

He attacked his carriage, as if to go for a walk or to enjoy the spectacle of masks, which that day roamed the Cassaro, but actually to find out some news of the marriage.

The Cassaro was full of people waiting for the masked wagons. Insinuating funny masks, provoking laughter and noise, were insinuated among the crowds: They were running, jumping on other people's shoulders. A cadence roller of Drums turned heads one way. A man dressed in the Spanish fashion of the sixteenth century, with a feathered velvet cap on his head, with a hood on his shoulders, a wooden sword in his hand, mounted on a ladder, quickly, with a thousand ridiculous faces and rushed among the mad laughter of the crowd; it was the "master of the field," one of the oldest and most loved masks to the people, who had forgotten its historical origin. The "master of field" was the advance of a ridiculous representation of the loves of old Bernardo Cabrera, Count of Modica and great executioner of the kingdom, and proper of the episode very well known of the climb to the castle to kidnap the beautiful and young Queen White.

Other drums and pipes burst from another road into the Cassaro and the crowd hit, opened to leave the field to an army of new species, jockeys not known which era, dressed in armor and helmets of silver paper, armed with ferules, commanded by generals. They split into two groups, beating each other and chasing each other with an angry noise.

Further on he was a "ball of slaves" with a face paved with black smoke and oil, who, while dancing, ran on this and that, to kiss him and leave the black imprint somewhere in his face; so that a run from here and there to avoid those hugs, a generation of comedy episodes, which aroused a noisy and violent joy.

But even more alive was the joy excited by "Mom Lucie," men disguised in the costume of the courtesans, who went dancing, with diminutions of even or gestures lubrici, hugging now this, now that other, and provoking motteggi, gestures, licentious comments, that made the multitude laugh woefully.

And everywhere it was a rolling of drums in cadence, a screaming of pipers, a bursting of nacchere, an indiavolate noise, in the midst of which they flew on one side and on the other oranges, torsos, eggs full of powder or chalk. Sometimes a stick would rise, shout, people would wander, a hundred voices would mix in one voice, a head reddened with blood, a wounded person would be taken away and space closed, the fizz of crazy and carefree joy would pass over it; the carnival would take away, overwhelmed, dispersed that episode of blood.

The carriage of woman Gabriella was forced to stop from time to time, for the great resistance of the people. The masks took advantage of it, they looked out at the door with the freedom that a piece of paper or silk on the face confers, and they disbanded some of the carnival mottos:

Egg of wheat

dressed you look like a dove to me

my eye you are, the heart deceives!

Flower of linen

A little torture with blue eyes

They lack the licks in the spine.

Donna Gabriella stood at the bottom of the carriage, while her steering wheels tried to drive away the troublemakers who, leaving the mistress, attached themselves to them and occasionally blew up a swollen bladder of air behind their backs.

The carriage could hardly walk the Cassaro to the hospital of St. Bartholomew near Porta Felice; there he stopped next to the church of St. Nicholas now destroyed and woman Gabriella, protruding a bit 'the head from the door, looked at the bottom of the street Butera, to see something.

He saw the road full of carriages and pedestals, and a flame of pleasure came upon her face.

"Ah!," he said to himself, "they are evidently getting married now!... That's a good thing."

At that moment he would have liked to be in a corner of the palace to see the spouses; and there was in his desire an evil pleasure of vengeance, for he imagined that never wedding had been so sad and funeral, as those that united those two lives.

He ordered him to go up to the Cassaro, when he saw a chariot coming that looked like a ship, with the tree in the middle, the lowered sail and a dozen sailors, richly dressed in Turkish clothes, on the bridge, from where they threw on the crowds manatas of confetti, and threw on the balconies fine jams, revolted in golden cartoons. A mob of brats contended for the fallen confetti and wrestled desperate fights, between the laughs and the shouts of all.

Donna Gabriella hid at the bottom of the carriage so as not to be seen, but she noticed with astonishment that the fake ship, instead of turning off to go up the Cassaro, or Toledo, bent right, on the Butera road.

"Where are you going?" he asked himself.

The ship stopped under the balconies of the Palazzo Butera; musicians who were hidden in the bottom of the ship plastered an air to the sound of violins and guitars, who called people to the balcony. But while the musicians sang and sounded, the Turks jumped off the ship with drawn chimitars, and climbed up the staircase covered with rich carpets.

Donna Gabriella had a pleasant surprise, but when she saw from carriages and carried them down ladies and knights in masks, she realized that the prince was giving a feast in costume, following the whims of her vibrant and new fantasy A thought flashed to her mind, which made her smile, and ordered the coachman to return home immediately, avoiding the crowd, to make it sooner.

Three quarters of an hour later, from a rich sedan, he disassembled at the foot of the staircase a lady, in heavenly dominoes, with a large white ribbon on his shoulder and his face covered by a black mask, which left the mouth pink and delicious.

She went up quickly, quickly, but when she came into the great hall, she stopped a little timidly and unsolved. The prince went to meet her, handing her hand. The gloved hands and dominoes had revealed to him a lady of quality, but the legitimate curiosity of the landlord made him look at the dominoes with insistence, as if to recognize who he was.

"Your lordship," said the dominion, "will allow me to keep the unknown, even with you..."

"Neither I, beautiful mask, dare unveil it. On the other hand you feel that you must be one of the most adorable ladies in our city and that's enough...."

She thanked him with a gesture, and threw herself among the crowd of guests who crowded the halls, in one of whom she danced.

Violante was there, in his wedding dress, white, with a long veil pinned on his head by a wreath of gems. His face was whiter than the veil and the robe, and only black eyes, deep in the bruise of the shiners, put a dark spot in such whiteness, and gave his appearance something ghostly.

Next to her, Emanuele, also dressed in white satin embroidered with gold and gems, was impetpted by it, in an artificial and flaunted attitude; but his face was red, as if the collar, tightening his throat, congested him. In his appearance there was a craving, a hateful spite, a desire to use bullying and reprisals, to take revenge on something, to vent: and no flash of joy, no flash of sensuality.

The bride and groom had finished dancing then, and had retired at the end of the salon. They had danced, because it was up to them to open the dances, but without genius, without enthusiasm, without pleasure: In fact, it was not time for both of us to retire. It seemed that the cadences of the violins put on their nerves an indefinable sense of harassment.

The masks were left to a sparkling joy, like a sparkling wine, mottling ladies and knights, dancing, jumping, laughing, dispensing jams and frizzi. They targeted the newlyweds and especially Emanuele, to whom they whispered in the ear of funny things or double senses or a little free recommendations.

Emanuele had defended himself, but little by little, not to think ridiculous with his suspense, he had allowed himself to be carried away, and responded with frizzi, poking also him, even for his outlet.

Then, asked permission to Violante, who did not wish for better, he also mixed at the tumult of the feast, not to have fun, but to escape that disgusting and embarrassing position, next to a bride who had not until then shown to notice him.

The dominoes came to Violante; he split it from head to foot, and twitching her head he said quietly with a voice of falsehood:

"Poor baby!... I pity you!"

Violante cheated. So there was someone who would guess or read inside his heart. That domino was the first one who, instead of whispering a compliment or one of the usual wishes, regretted it. The dominoes came closer to her and, lowering her voice even lower, murmured them almost in her ear:

"You have to thank two people for this wedding: your father, may God forgive him, and don Blasco from Castiglione..."

This name raised a sudden and fleeting reddish on the cheeks of Violante who collected it all, looked keenly at the domino as if to guess from the eyes flashing under the mask the rest of the face. What did you know? How could he say that? How did you know Blasco?

Not only curiosity, but a need of his heart animated his face. The statue seemed interwoven by a breath of life, the heart, which seemed closed, suddenly opened to a pile of feelings. He wanted to ask, and he didn't dare. Who was that heavenly dominion?... Why did he tell you those words? The dominoes looked at her. It could not be said what perverse feeling had prompted him to speak, because his appearance was impenetrable and it took a great finesse of observation, to discover in the curve of the mouth a smile of cruel pleasure.

"Do you wonder?" he whispered to her with an insinuating voice, in which there was some trembling; "but it is as I say to you: without the sins of your father, and without the generosity of Mr. Blasco, who arranged this marriage, you would be happy..."

These words were even darker than the first ones, but they also locked Violante's heart into a cold grip. The heavenly dominion, sure that he threw the dismay into her heart, turned away. Violant, however, held him back.

"Wait... listen to me..."

But the domino made a gesture of denial with the head and chased himself among the living, leaving her amazed, agitated, anxious. Blasco had done that. Marriage? Why did he throw it into Emanuele's arms? So what interest did he have?... She knew Blasco was an Albamonte. One thought crossed her mind: Weren't those weddings a rotten service from the bastard to the rightful brother, for a reward? Was it then the man whom she had loved with all the poetry of the first youth such a vile being? And Emanuele? She sucked; that man had never appeared so disgusting to her as at that time.

The heavenly dominoes had sought and faced Emanuele, while some of his friends teased him.

"Let him be, gentlemen; Mr. Duke is at this very moment worried."

"Really? Worried about what? Dear mask, we want to know why he's worried..."

"Oh, this is not, gentlemen! This is a secret, which I cannot betray..."

Emanuele, smiling with an effort, asked:

"Not even I'll know?..."

"You?... You want to know from me? But the secret is yours. Ah! ah! ah!..."

He left laughing. Emanuele, who understood nothing, was bewildered, but this astonishment of his was interpreted as an implicit confession that he had a secret and then surrounded him, pricked him, poked him. They wanted to know the secret.

He freed himself rudely to reach the heavenly dominion, and stopped him when he saw Coriolano della Floresta passing, saying to him:

"Offer me your arm, sir, and defend me from Mr. Duke of Motta..."

Emanuele sketched a smile and said:

"Lovely mask, I am not aggressor of beautiful and kind ladies..."

"Eh!" interrupted the domino with intention. "Are you sure you can't be denied?"

Emanuele bit his lips.

"Who are you?" he asked. "You make me curious to die of..."

But the domino eludes the question:

"My God, how can you leave your lovely bride alone? See? Your distance pains you so much, that it looks deadly! Go and console her... I don't want to steal her groom..."

"Oh, don't be afraid..."

"He could get jealous..."

"Don't think about it..."

"So is she not jealous of you?"

"No!"

"No? Then he doesn't love you? Ah, poor duke!... How sorry I am to you!... Take a good look: She is the daughter of Don Raimondo... Ask Jerome Admired who killed your mother..."

"Who are you?" insisted Emanuele, not dominating anger and spite, and a sense of fear.

But the domino pushed the knight of Floresta and went away once again to return to Violante. The knight of Floresta had heard the last words and could not dominate a sense of surprise. He looked at the mouth and hands of the heavenly dominion, and a suspect crossed his mind. He bowed down and said with a voice just audible:

"Take care, Duchess: it could be recognized."

He moved to the dominoes with an air of dismay.

"Shut up!"

She had come to Violante.

"Goodbye, bride, you won't see me again, but I want to give you a warning."

And he leaned to her ear, and whispered to her,

"Look above all at the loves there... and remember that your father was killed."

More than leaving, he fled leaving Violante with the signs of an anguish, and the vision of his father, agonizing in the bed.

Emanuel, who followed her with his eyes, when he saw her coming out, called a servant:

"Ten shields for you, if you follow that dominion, and tell me who it is."

Half an hour later, the servant was back. Emanuele, who was waiting impatiently for him, moved to meet him.

"Well?"

"Excellency, this is Mrs. Duchess Widow of Motta..."

"Donna Gabriella! She!" exclaimed Emanuele with an accent in which hatred, anger, shame, the spirit of revenge and revenge merged, like whirlwinds in an organ.