Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part four, chapter 15

Violante's marriage had made Blasco silent, and on the wedding day, under a pretext, he had escaped from the company of Coriolano and the same woman Gabriella, leaving in the countryside, and did not return until Ash Wednesday, when the news spread throughout the city that Emanuele, from that young runaway who was, had spent the night in the house of the first woman of Saint Lucia.

He was disdained, but at the same time he could not conceal his own joy, and wanted to know from Coriolano the details that were in the public domain.

His joy increased when he learned that Violante had forbidden the bridegroom to enter his room.

"What are you going to do about it?" said Coriolano, smiling: "Emanuele was hungry, didn't find dinner in the house, and went out to dinner: is compatible, and I think he acted in spirit..."

"Well done!" said Blasco, who did not think of Emanuele's hunger; "but do you know that that girl has character? I wouldn't have guessed!... How happy I am!..."

"Sorry, what are you happy about? Character, if you like to call him, or strangles that barricaded the door?"

Blasco blushed slightly. Coriolano who looked at him with his serene and sweet eye, but at the same time investigator, said:

"It is an ephemeral consolation. These are sieges that always end with a surrender at discretion. If this state were to continue it would end up ridiculing the actors, and the ridiculous would also fall over the authors of this marriage. It is therefore natural that the branches fall, and the doors open..."

"Do you believe that?" said Blasco palening.

"God damn it!... But excuse me," Coriolano added, "why are you getting pale?"

"I?... but no..."

"But yes!... Tell me the truth, are you still in love with a Violent woman?"

Blasco made a gesture of denial with his boss; he dared not say no. Coriolano's words stirred too many memories and too many sleepy feelings to be able to affirm what was not.

But he didn't want to confess. He was no longer free of himself: He had tied his destiny to that of a woman Gabriella and seemed to him to be unworthy, a dishonorable cowardice, to fail the promise he had made at a critical, exceptional time. If until that day Gabriella had not become legally her wife, it was only because she did not want to.

"I want to be loved by you freely, out of every bond, out of every obligation that is not that of the heart... I fear, my friend, that on the day that I am your wife I will gain the right to go out to your arm without reproaching others, but I will lose your love, and I want your love."

These words had tied him to a woman Gabriella even more strongly than he would have done the blessing of a priest.

But in the meantime he felt that there was something in his heart that he could not give: There was something that would forbid him. He too, now, clearly saw him, had pushed the most placed rooms of his heart before woman Gabriella, because in those rooms he had closed the image of Violant with dreams, with hopes, with the pains of a lonely love.

Coriolano shook his head and murmured:

"Alas, you've changed so much! Where is my Blasco that I met one day on the Colonna road to you for you with the prince of Iraki?"

Blasco also smiled at this summoning, but with a sad smile. Truly it was no longer him; a turbid river had descended to flood the green fields of his carefreeness.

"I get old, my friend."

"At 30? You don't even think that... I know what your old age is like. But let's talk about something else."

A few days later, during the conversations, the news that the cause of annulment of Emanuele's marriage began and Coriolano communicated it to Blasco.

"How!" he exclaimed, enlightening himself with joy: "How? an annulment?"

"Of course. It's the best solution. Two hundred years will be lost and everyone will regain his freedom..."

"Oh, what are you telling me!"

Blasco could not conceal the deep emotion felt for that news; his face had resumed, as if by enchantment, the ancient joviality. Violante regained his freedom, Violante, still maiden, intact, pure!

"But you know," he said, "what's extraordinary?"

He didn't find any other words than these so silly, but What did he care? It was not already that he wanted to say something, he just wanted to hide under a sentence whatever anything he wanted to say instead.

Of course, he did not dare to nurture or formulate any hope, but the only idea that Emanuele would never possess the maiden, and would never have any right over her, was enough to make him happy.

Donna Gabriella to see him that day more expansive, more gay, almost feverish, as she had not seen him for a few days she was first amazed, then she looked at it and suspected the truth. Then it was her turn to become dark and closed. It was evident that if the news of Violante's separation filled him with joy, he still loved him: Those who had been until then suspected vague and indeterminate turned into reality and swelled her breasts with jealousy. He wondered if the conduct of the two spouses, on the first night of the wedding, had not been by chance the effect of the poison that she had spread in their souls; and exaggerating the scope of her words now accused herself of having provoked, for her craving for having wanted to exercise those small reprisals, that cause that would make free, desirable and again dangerous Violant.

She saw the star of her happiness pale. So was there anything fatal, ineluctable that took away from her all the possession of the beloved man? Or sooner or later would he not one day be dissolved from his arms, to follow the ghost of the dying soul? What, then, was needed to prevent this? To be able to destroy that cause of nullity, and to bring the spouses closer together!

The spring was that warm and serene year; in March it seemed to be in May. The walk in the Cassaro was frequented and also the one outside Porta Nuova, but there were carriages that went up to the marina, during the afternoon; as there were solitary souls that, leaving the noise of the major street of the city, preferred the tranquility of that vast square on the sea, in whose breadth the noise of the few carriages turned off. Also on the embankment that ran along the wall curtain between Porta Felice and the Palazzo Butera, with its terraces on the Walls of the Bad, so called because they offered a retreat to widows, you could see some figure hugged or some sedan with plumes, tendons, black fringes.

An after-dinner woman Gabriella, sad and turbid, was brought to the Walls of the Bad. She was still wearing the brown, but some of the signs of mourning had already disappeared from her carrier. In the middle of the embankment he stopped the sedan and went down to enjoy the beautiful spectacle of the ma re, which spread before his eyes in all the breadth of the gulf. On his right hand, the bulwark of Thunder, with its large iron artillery, stretched out as a spur; behind, at twenty steps, the long palace of the Palazzo Butera, with its terraces, stood up.

Donna Gabriella looked at it and went back; leaning on the parapet of the terrace she saw Violante, wrapped in a mantle, who also looked at the sea and the head of Saffron, and the small clouds similar to bouquets of roses and gigantic violets, spread in the sky that took a slight shade of amethyst.

He looked a little at the absorbed girl and seemed to draw her attention, because Violante looked down on her and made a gesture of astonishment; then he greeted her with his hand, sketching a smile.

He had made an effort to smile, with a heart full of bitterness, seeing it even more beautiful than before and in an attitude that, in the melancholy line, had a mysterious charm.

Violant seemed to marvel at that unexpected greeting, however, following the habits of education, he responded with a ceremonious and reserved bow.

For a moment they looked at each other. Donna Gabriella had her head oppressed by thoughts and plans that happened, they fought; she wanted and she disliked; a sudden burning was immediately opposed an invincible discouragement; jealousy burned her eyes, love tormented her, desires, hatred pulled her back, interest pushed her. Violant, for his part, looked at her as waiting for the reason for that greeting. They had not seen each other for a long time; Gabriella had not taken part in the wedding feasts, nor had she been disappointed or rejoiced at the girl's regained freedom; she had not even shown up with a greeting, with a nod. Why would he say hello to her now? She came to the Wicked Walls to see you? When she realized that Gabriella did not resolve to say anything, Violante, to avoid a situation that cost her some sacrifice, she gave her another reverence and returned to the house.

The Duchess had a bike of spite against herself and against the maiden. What she wanted and what her design was still not clear in her mind, but it seemed to her that the act of Violante took away the possibility of a good success.

He didn't dare return the next day; he also wished to see her again, with a vague hope that from one of his Bubbling with Violante would have managed something to win Blasco back again. After two or three days he returned to the Wicked Walls, but he didn't see Violante again. Instead, he saw Matteo Lo Vecchio, who greeted her deeply. The view of the birro made her disgust; he remembered that he had tried to poison Blasco in the castle of Messina and a sudden impetus suggested to her to have him arrested, even though five years had passed.

The birro reached the end of the embankment and went back, going back before the sedan, and bowing again, throwing a little look across the duchess, with an evil smile. He noticed the impatient glances that Gabriella turned to the terrace of the Palazzo Butera.

In the evening Emanuele knew.

"What the hell is he going to do under the terrace of Butera?" asked the young man.

That he went to see Violante did not even pass through his mind; he assumed that it was much more, and a deaf jealous anger warmed his blood. Mentally covered with insults and evil words the Duchess, to whom she had never forgiven the humiliations suffered, without even having had the satisfaction of kissing her; and on her she always caressed the idea of a noisy revenge and such as to make Gabriella woman the fairy tale of the city; covered her with insults and scoffing, believing that some new whim led her to that terrace. This only gave him pleasure because he brought onta to Blasco.

"For God's sake, that bastard of the devil has his own business! I like it. We'll put him under the protection of St. Pasquale! Ah, if I could have some proof, if I could know some indication!..."

"Matteo Lo Vecchio, I want to know what the Duchess goes to do on the Walls of Bad."

"Your Excellency will know."

A few days later, the birro came to tell him.

"Mrs. Duchess makes love."

"Ah! I said it..."

"Only he's not a man..."

"How?"

"Make love to stepdaughter."

"Woman Violante?"

"Exactly."

"You're kidding..."

"Me? I've never talked to anyone so crazy... I saw the Duchess talking to the Violante woman... the Duchess from the Bad Walls and the stepdaughter from the terrace of the Butera palace."

Emanuele was not persuaded; perhaps they had seen each other that time for any case, but certainly Gabriella would not have bothered to go there for the beautiful eyes of Violante, for whom she had never had sympathy. Matteo Lo Vecchio had not been noticed. We had to go back.

The birro bowed:

"If your Excellency commands me, I will obey you, but I assure you that the Duchess does not go any further..."

He reported the same thing after two or three more days. The Duchess asked her stepdaughter if she would return to the monastery, or if she would visit her aunts; she would want to see her closely, and talk to her about a thousand things...

Emanuele was surprised. But, then, were they on good terms? Then he remembered the heavenly dominion and its poisonous words: a fiction to prevent his entry into the wedding room, to provoke that scandal of annulment. It was a revenge of Gabriella woman. It seemed so clear to him, so logical, that he had no doubt about it.

"Ah! isn't Mrs. Duchess satisfied? Mrs. Duchess, after exposing me to ridicule, will you take my wife? So you're the author of everything that's happened to me? But she's okay, ma'am, she's okay! We will see if I will be good at giving you a lesson that will last you all your life... with all the protection of the Beati Paoli!..."

Matteo Lo Vecchio sharpened his ear: the protection of Beati Paoli? Was there something, then, that he did not know? Well, look at the Duchess, she's gonna be a close associate, too. Watch out, Matthew!

Emanuele walked, puffing; suddenly he stopped before the birro:

"What about you? What are you doing? I brought you Jerome Admired, I gave you white paper, but those cards... And now they'd be useful to me for that purple bitch!... You can melt them on her face, and you can tell her: "Your father was an evildoer, and I will make known to the four winds; I will infamous his memory and avenge my mother and me!" That's what I want to tell you!... What have you done? Where are the cards? I want to humiliate, shame those two women, I want to see them at my feet, have them, and throw them at the dogs!... Do you understand? I'll make you rich if I get revenge, but I'll have you killed if you deceive me... if you think you're playing me..."

Matteo Lo Vecchio let him vent, humbly listening to him but with a face that allowed him to see a slight singing nuance. When Emanuele was done, he said,

"Would Your Excellency allow me to speak?"

"What can you say?"

"That the cards will come. Be patient. You don't have to expose yourself to being taken for thieves: It would compromise everything, and especially your Excellency. Leave it to me. I too have an account to settle with the Beati Paoli, and avenging your Excellency, I also avenge myself."

He thought to himself: "The Duchess is protected by the Beati Paoli; affiliated, properly she will not be, but certainly this protection comes from the bastard; she must know many things about the sect of the devil. He must therefore know of the cards; and it may also be that he has them in store as a precious memory of his illustrious husband, that the devil has it in glory! It is therefore necessary to work the Duchess and to tear this secret from her. How? To make a woman in love what you want is nothing but jealousy. We're gonna make Mrs. Duchess jealous to the point of making her crazy. Let's see..."

The birro with a fecund fantasy developed a vast plan of vendetta, in which he wanted to draw Don Girolamo, Andrea, Blasco and Coriolano. Gabriella and Violante would also fall there, without any fault; but it was not such as to move or to worry Matteo Lo Vecchio. As for Emanuel, whether he came to humiliate, shame the two ladies, he did not care for a horn; whether he could or not take revenge he did not press; for him Emanuel was only a flag that was to protect him and that at the right time he would throw on the fire, if necessary.

It was a diabolical plan, which needed to be studied, but whose success he did not doubt.

While he reassured the Duke of Motta, he suggested some nice shots. Andrea, for example, was a man to entrust him with some nasty assignments. In broad daylight, from the corner of St. Anthony's alley, he had pulled a gunshot at Don Raimondo; then he had entered the Beati Paoli, and had been one of the architects of the Cabal against Don Raimondo. Oh, he knew him well! Handle the knife? There were few who could stand by him. He couldn't digest Blasco: He wanted to kill him once, and he was a man who could do it...

Emanuele listened and thought.

"Hell, why did I put it aside then? And if now..."

That hour was suspended in a reluctance with a thousand ideas.

"He's okay! he's okay!" said saying goodbye to Matteo Lo Vecchio.

Matteo Lo Vecchio met Andrea in the anteroom, and dragged him friendlyly down the hall, whispered in his ear:

"I have spoken of you to His Excellency. You will see that from now on he will recognize your merits."

Andrea thanked him. An observer eye would have seen in the face of the ancient servant of the house Albamonte an ironic distrust, but the birro with the tail of the eye observed Jerome Admirata, who stood on the threshold of a balcony in front of them, looking at him with the eye of those who want to understand what is said far from themselves; so he did not notice anything, and went away.

Don Girolamo went out almost at the same time and followed him, while Emanuele called Andrea to himself.