Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part four, chapter 23

English

A few days passed as if of slow agony. Blasco was always assiduous, thoughtful, caring, full of tenderness, but to woman Gabriella seemed to see in all this an effort to conceal the truth that she read clearly.

One morning, knowing that Blasco was held by the Count of Montemar, he sent to pray to Coriolano to visit her. The knight hastened to rush.

"I have received a gracious order, and I have noticed; but let me ask you what afflicts you, because your beautiful face has an expression of pain that dismays me..."

Donna Gabriella smiled slowly and her eyes moistened:

"I need you, your help, your advice..."

"Say, I'm at your command, happy if I can help you..."

They were sitting in the shadow of a large and quiet room, she on a canapÈ, Coriolano in a high chair, turning her back to the light, so as to leave her face in the shade and see clearly that of the Duchess. Donna Gabriella seemed to gather to find a word, a form, then she said:

"You are intimate with Blasco and you know its most thoughtful thoughts..."

"In fact, he does me the honour of granting me his trust and confidence, as much as I do not solicit him and maintain that restraint and discretion that friendship imposes."

"So you... Excuse me, knight, if I enter your soul and perhaps force you to reveal a secret..."

Coriolano smiled:

"Of the violations?"

"Don't smile; the violation, if you want to call the confidence that I ask of you, could be someone's happiness..."

"What if it's not?"

"It will be. The pain of one can, indeed almost always is the joy of another..."

"Say. If I can, without lacking the duties of friendship, prevent pain I will not fortify myself in silence..."

From Floresta, Blasco doesn't love me...

"Oh!"

"Blasco loves another woman."

"I'm surprised! What can you suppose?"

"Suppose? I'm sure..."

"Well; what can this security give you?..."

"Have you ever loved deeply and entirely?"

"I? thank heaven neither deeply nor superficially!... I am refractory..."

"Then you cannot understand me, you cannot understand what small, light, imperceptible signs reveal to a woman who is no longer loved. He hears it, he hears it in the tone of his voice, in the smile, in the flash of his eyes, in the handshake, in the gentle caress... in everything!... Blasco doesn't love me anymore, I tell you,... and you know it!"

"Me?"

"You, yes; you are the depositary of his secrets..."

"I am, but I assure you, Duchess, that Blasco never told me anything that could cause me to believe that he has some other passion..."

"But you guessed it."

"Oh, forgive me..."

"Don't say no; I can see it in your eyes. He is no longer playing like before, he is oppressed by a thought that I know, that I surprised... And you know it, yes, you know it!... Oh, other times I, sure of my strength, wouldn't have cried, wouldn't have bowed, wouldn't have begged like now... I would've avenged myself... But now... now I can't!... I don't know! I don't want..."

Coriolano looked at her with amazement. Donna Gabriella wringed her hands; her eyes shone, but they had no tears, her lips were dead and dry.

"Knight of Floresta, I do not want any help from you, I do not want you to strengthen Blasco's heart. When love is over, you don't start again. The wood consumed doesn't burn, the ash doesn't burn... No; don't tell him anything, but at least tell me that I don't deceive myself, give me the certainty that mine is not a supposition, that everything is over for me, everything!..."

"Why do you want to grieve?" said Coriolano, moved, but dominating and without failing in that smiling calm that was customary to him. "Why are you tormenting yourself? Let us admit that it is as you say; well? Are there everlasting things in the world? You have to prepare yourself for what seems to you to be the dissolution. You said that the wood consumed does not burn: Well, love is a burning wood; you burned it too soon.... Look, I follow your speech, I don't say, because I have no elements to say, as I don't have to deny... Have the patience to redo the story of this love and you will see in it the reasons for its end... I will say better, of its changing into tender conjugal friendship... You've become intoxicated, and like all drunkenness, even that of love fades away... Be strong; from the burning of love rises the spirit of sincere, devoted friendship, which can fill your life and give you concussions and joys, perhaps not more intense, but more serene and lasting than those of love..."

Did Donna Gabriella listen to you? So it seemed, but instead she said inside, in an exaltation of all her being: "So it's true, it's true: He doesn't love me anymore, he loves Violante; now it's over, it's over forever!..."

Coriolano continued, calm and insinuating:

"You are a woman of spirit, Duchess; a superior woman. You think Blasco doesn't love you anymore? Do not try to resuscitate the flame; the streaks it would give would not raise you even the illusion of love and would create you greater disappointments, greater pains; do not try to resurrect the lover, but be content with the friend: It'll be better for you and him.

They say that true love, deep love is dedication, self-denial, sacrifice; well, if you love her so deeply, as I read in your pain, have the strength to sacrifice some illusion, some desire, some dream, and in sacrifice you will find joy."

Those words evoked to the mind of woman Gabriella the image of Violante. She asked herself:

"So he loves her more than I do? She has the power of self-denial and self-sacrifice that I don't have, because she loves her more... More?"

The maiden appeared to her a willing martyr on the altar of what she believed Blasco's happiness and yet she had to say only one word, that stretched out her hand, to be happy. Comparing himself to her, without will, Gabriella woman felt inferior; that her querule pain, he abandoned her to the desperation, it seemed to her a sign of cowardice; worse still, she defiled her great love.

"Is it possible then," he asked, "that this love of mine which consumes me, which kills me, should not be as strong as that of Violante?"

He closed himself in his thought, gloomily, fixed himself in that idea of sacrifice.

"Will I appear greater and more worthy of love, if I have the strength to renounce his caresses?..."

After a little silence he stretched out his hand to the knight of Floresta.

"Thank you!" he said; "Do not tell Blasco anything about what I have confided to you... Your words have not fallen in vain... Thank you, my friend!"

Coriolano held her hand gently in her, looking into her eyes, as if to read inside that mysterious and manifold soul.

"Can I believe, then, that you will be strong?" she asked gently.

"I promise you," he answered with a gloomy voice, as if responding to an occult thought.

"Will I come and see you?"

"Yes... tonight... come and get a sorbet... You will see that I will be good..."

When Coriolano left, Gabriella took her head into her hands and was absorbed, until, suddenly, with a resolution that kindled her eyes strangely, she stood up and ordered her carriage.

The evening came.

Donna Gabriella had been agitated, impatient, dark all day long, but when she heard the Hail Hail, a quiver ran for the person; she shook her beautiful head and seemed to drive away the murky thoughts that had agitated her.

That night he lit all the candles in the little baroque hall, where she received her friends. His face had taken a pretty expression, full of bliss and festivity, in which an acute eye would discover something feverish.

The stopping of a carriage made her cheat: He ran to the door to receive the prince of Butera and Violante. She took the maiden's hands and drew it to herself, saying to her with vivacity:

"Oh, how grateful I am for coming!..."

But Violante was impressed by a great sorrowful admiration and could not help but exclaim:

"How beautiful she is tonight, madam!..."

And really woman Gabriella seemed to have collected all the seductions of clothing and all the charming graces of the person, to be that wonderfully beautiful and enchanting evening. He replied with joy:

"O my daughter, who can be so beautiful as to win you?..."

The prince gave her another compliment, then added:

"I'll leave it to you; I'll come back later to take it back; I'd gladly accept a sorbet or a cup of your coffee... I know you use it too, but I'm forced to go to the Royal Palace... Give me a license."

She gallantly kissed her hand and left.

"Come," said Gabriella to Violante, leading her towards a small canapÈ, "we will pass whatever now together... I have so much to tell you... before leaving!..."

"Part?" asked Violante not without emotion.

"Yes..."

"For a long time?"

"Very... maybe I won't come back. This is like a farewell night."

Violante had become pale; she thought within herself: "Sure he's going with Don Blasco." A living suffering tormented her heart, but the severe and rigid mask of her face did not betray the inner emotion. Donna Gabriella continued:

"I'm not sorry, you know. Everything here has become horrible, gloomy, full of tears, groaning, torment... Isn't that right? Say, isn't it?"

Violante lifted his eyes up and, sighing, said with a slight trembling of voice:

"We need to be able to endure..."

"Yes," Gabriella approved with a dark accent. Then suddenly, he resumed his playfulness, sat before the small painted cymbal of heaven, florams, fluttering, and flowing his nerve fingers. The instrument vibrated some julive notes that then went out in a moaning sway.

"You don't know any piece of Purple? Like Berenice?"

"No, ma'am."

"Oh yeah; you're a monachella... I forgot..."

He saw the maiden pale and wavered, and turned; on the threshold of the door were Blasco and Coriolano; Blasco had stopped, preying to a lively emotion, amazed and like not believing in his eyes, to see in that house Violante, alone with a woman Gabriella. He didn't understand; it was such an unpredictable thing, that he didn't know if he should believe it to be a miracle or an illusion. Violante! the girl whom he had no longer seen, had no longer sought, had almost escaped; Violante, whom he always carried in the depths of his heart, jealously guarded, and whose name he dared not even mentally pronounce; Violante, of whom he had always avoided speaking so as not to arouse the jealousy of Gabriella woman, fearing her impetuousness and violence; Violante was there, before his eyes, alive, throbbing, moved; there, next to woman Gabriella, offered to him by woman Gabriella herself!... All of this was so superior to his intelligence, that he felt lost and could not resolve to enter.

Coriolano was also surprised. He had noticed the fascinating and singular clothing of Gabriella woman, the unusual lighting, the presence of Violante and had said to himself: "What does this mean? Evidently it exaggerates."

Donna Gabriella, after enjoying their amazement, gaily approached them and invited them in.

"Well, gentlemen, do you want to stay at the door?"

Blasco then collected and kissed Gabriella's hand, not without amazement in seeing her more beautiful and more fascinating than usual and with a splendor in the singular and strange eyes. He entered like a drunkard, with his mind clouded, greeting Violante with a reverberation that was poorly concealed from embarrassment.

Coriolano, who had regained his dominion, said some compliments that broke the ice of that moment and started the conversation. However, as was his custom, he observed, surveyed, analyzed and could offer nothing as much study as those three souls tormented and forced to conceal their suffering.

Violent was suffering. But he did not expect to meet Blasco, who had always avoided; and not only to see him again, but to meet him there, in the house of his stepmother, of those who had torn the heart of the young man, of those who had broken his dream, the only, the first, the last dream of a girl, gave her an inexpressible anguish. Oh why didn't Grandpa come, to escape, to take refuge in his room, to vent you not seeing the ambassador tearing her soul?... And he could no longer impose that rigid and statuary immobility, under which he had always concealed deep emotions; the spasm altered her face.

Blasco kept quiet: a silence full of inexpressible pains. All the visions of the past, all the dreams lost on the way of life, all his illusions, all the weight of the fatality hanging over his head, all the soul was upset; it was an intimate martyrdom, but no less fearful and anguish than that which tormented the girl.

But the impetuous hurricane with all its massacres, with all its upheavals, with all its terrible, horrible, frightening weapons of destruction, was in the heart of woman Gabriella; Coriolano surprised him in the nervous gesture, in the convulsive motion of his hands, in the feverish liveliness of the word, in the lightning of the eyes that seemed those of a hallucinated. While she sounded, Coriolano surprised her body suddenly. Sure woman Gabriella seemed to explain a great power of dominion, but there was something in her that was insane, that caused a dismay, a suspicious anxiety and full of terrors of the unknown.

She sounded, spoke gaily, more often with Coriolano, more rarely with Blasco and Violante.

"Don't you say anything, my girl?"

No; he couldn't say anything; it was too strong for her!...

"And you, Don Blasco, have lost your word? At least say something nice to Violante!"

How bitter, how much poison there was in the smile with which Donna Gabriella said these words!...

Then he sounded the bell, and said to the lackey on the threshold,

"Serve."

A minute later the lackey entered with a silver tray on which were placed four small fine porcelain floors with sorbets in the form of fruit and spoons of silver chiseled and laid it on a small table; then it returned with two other smaller trays: One full of cookies, the other with two bottles and small glasses, and apostles on the table stood on the threshold.

"Go," Gabriella ordered him, passing the handkerchief on his face to dry his sweat.

She herself served the sorbets; Coriolano, who followed all her movements, saw that her face had taken a frightening expression and that her voice was altered, while she spoke with greater liveliness and festivity.

Then Gabriella chose a bottle:

"This," he said, "is for the ladies..."

She filled two glasses and approached Violante. Coriolano took a step, staring at Donna Gabriella; he had become pale, a horrible suspicion had enlightened him; he saw the hands of Donna Gabriella, who offered one of the glasses to Violante, agitated by a slight tremor; he saw her face transform, heard her hoarse and gloomy voice say:

"Drink, Violante, to our joy..."

Violant took the glass. At that time, Donna Gabriella raised her eyes; Coriolano was before her with glowing eyes, like a severe, inflexible, fearsome judge. Those eyes penetrated her at the bottom of the soul like two blades, like two rays; they pierced it and illuminated its frightening sides. Violante carried the glass to his lips.

Coriolano's eyes became more terrible.

Donna Gabriella had a whisper; with a sudden gesture she dropped the glass from the Violante's hand shouting: "No!"

And she emptied hers in a breath."

"Disgrateful!" cried Coriolano.

Blasco, who had remained as absorbed in a song, shook:

"What is it?..."

He looked at Violante and saw her motionless, pale, as struck by something incredible; he looked at Donna Gabriella; he saw her passing her hands on her face, tottering, tossing over a chair!

"Gabriella! Gabriella!" screamed scared!

"My God... What happens then?..."

Coriolano took the bottle, hid it quickly and stood in the anteroom, shouted:

"A doctor!... run for a doctor."

Donna Gabriella had fallen with her head back on top of a chair and Blasco had just had time to stop her from freaking out on the floor. By raising her head with her arm, by taking her hand, she shook it, questioning her anxiously:

"What's wrong with you?... What did you do? Talk!... My God! Speak!..."

Violante with her hands joined, with his eyes dilated by fear, she could not speak a word; she looked at Gabriella, Blasco, and Coriolano, with a mad terror, while Coriolano said a few words of comfort. A cry received her, gave her the exact perception of the tragedy.

"Coriolano!... Coriolano!... She dies!..."

Then Violante burst into tears, and falling to her knees exclaimed:

"God... God...! Have mercy on her!"

Donna Gabriella raised her head; her eyes wandered looking, they sat on Blasco, over Violante, then filled with tears; her lips murmured:

"Forgive me!... Farewell!..."

"Gabriella!... Gabriella! No! no!" shouted like a madman Blasco.

"Ma'am! ma'am!..." he was sobbing Violante.

Donna Gabriella made an effort, raised her arms, searched for the head of Violante and laid a hand there; she looked for Blasco's and for a minute her cold hands, crossed by a thrill of death, lingered on those two curved and convulsive leaders. She repeated in a breath:

"At least... remember me..."

A guizzo waved his body; a scream tore his chest...

And she lifted up the head of Blascus, and his lips sought him, and whispered,

"Goodbye!... kiss me!..."

Blasco kissed her crying, repeating:

"What did you do?... What did you do? Why?..."

"It was necessary!" she said.

They were her last words; her limbs wrinkled in a spasm, her lips wounded, her eyes faded; one last streak of the body and then nothing.

Blasco bent on his knees, looked at her face, shouted again.

Violante's gasps covered his voice. They remained knees, leaning upon that body that was half an hour before vibrating with life and beauty.

Coriolano wiped with a piece the lips that no longer smiled, closed the eyes that no longer saw, and laid a kiss on the forehead from which they had fled and forever dreams, thoughts and pains.