“I no remember,” donna Eleonora said drily.
For a moment he felt like dropping everything and leaving, but he managed to bear up.
“It was a biannual subsidy that—”
“Is the marquis in need?” donna Eleonora interrupted him.
“No, not personally, no.”
“Who, then?”
She seemed impatient.
“The subsidy is not for him, but for a charitable . . . ”
The marquesa stopped him by raising a lovely, very long hand that spoke more eloquently than any mouth. The index finger remained extended with the others folded, then moved left to right and right to left, gently and harmoniously but still signifying “no.”
“I am very sorry, pero no puedo ayudarle. I cannot turn back. .”
Desperate, don Alterio closed his eyes, reopened them, sucked air into his lungs, and summoned the strength to react. The voice that came out sounded vexed, halfway between indignant and moved.
“But then twenty-five orphan girls will find themselves thrown out on the street, without a roof over their heads, with nothing to eat, defenseless, prey to every sort of danger . . . ”
Donna Eleonora looked at him questioningly.
“Por qué habla de orphan girls?”
“Because the refuge that don Simone Trecca founded—at his own expense, mind you, moved only by compassion and Christian charity—is devoted to saving the bodies and souls of young orphan girls who would otherwise be destined for ruin! They’re all endangered virgins, as don Simone calls them, and he has spent his own inheritance to rescue them.”
Don Alterio congratulated himself.
Indeed he’d noticed that the marquesa was looking at him intently. She’d become quite attentive, in fact. Apparently the subject was of interest to her.
“I didn’t realize this,” she said thoughtfully after a pause, as though reproaching herself.
Don Alterio had to make a great effort not to start dancing. He struck the iron while it was still hot.
“If he’s denied the subsidy, don Simone not only will have to give up rescuing other orphan girls, as he has in mind to do, but he’ll be forced, as I’ve said, to close the refuge. And what will happen to those poor girls then?”
At this point the marquesa, after another silent pause, said something he would never have expected.
“I want to see.”
“Don Simone? Even today I can—”
“No. I want to visit esto refugio.”
Don Alterio felt his heart sink.
If the woman set foot in the little palace she would immediately realize that the endangered virgins had already long succombed to the danger. And she would throw both him and don Simone in jail.
He broke into a cold sweat and didn’t know what to say.
But donna Eleonora herself came to his rescue. She said she wanted to go to the Refuge alla hora de comer—at mealtime. Don Alterio would have to meet her the following day in the courtyard before midday. She would use the carriage she normally did when she went out of the palace anonymously. Don Alterio would act as her guide.
Once outside, the duke of Batticani dashed to don Simone’s house and, panting heavily from having run, told him what he had done and of the dangerous decision that Eleonora had made.
Unlike the fretting don Alterio, however, the marquis didn’t become the least bit discouraged.
“Thank for your ever so generous concern. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, at midday,” he said.
Don Alterio looked at him in shock.
“But don’t you realize the woman will immediately figure out what’s going on? How can you be so—”
“Have no fear. Leave it to me.”
Don Alterio gave up. He felt dead tired.
The first thing don Simone did was race to the workshop of a master marble-cutter and gave him a commission. The job had to be finished no later eight o’clock following morning.
“But that means I’ll have to work all night!” the master marble-cutter protested.
“Then work all night. I’ll pay you well.”
Afterwards, he went and spoke to Matre Teresa, the abbess of the convent of Santa Lucia, who was one of the people who would call to his attention any needy orphan girls, endowed, however, with those attributes he was looking for. Knowing full well how the girls ended up, she was paid in hard cash.
“I can give you eighteen,” said the abbess.
“But I also need four nuns, who mustn’t ask any questions, however.”
“None of the nuns here ask any questions.”
“And can I see these eighteen girls?”
“Please follow me.”
The eighteen orphan girls in the convent’s care were much to don Simone’s satisfaction.
Another seven were made available by Patre Aglianò, who maintained a shelter for retarded and crippled girls. These even exceeded don Simone’s expectations.
After dark the twenty-five girls living in the palazzetto were packed, along with their attendants and chambermaids, into six carriages and sent to don Simone’s country house. The orphans would have to make do and sleep on the floor for a night. They were young, after all, and it wouldn’t be too hard on them.
Their cells were then occupied by the twenty-five orphan girls provided by the abbess and Patre Aglianò.
The four nuns installed themselves on the top floor, where only the master seamstress remained.
The following morning, after a great general clean-up of the premises, don Simone conducted a dress rehearsal of the performance they would have to give for donna Eleonora. In the kitchen, meanwhile, three cooks brought in just for the occasion were preparing dishes fit for a king.
The first thing don Alterio noticed upon arrival was the inscription carved into the marble slab hung outside the great door:
Holy Refuge Of Endangered Virgins
“What an honor! What an honor!” don Simone kept repeating as he walked and hopped like a cricket while leading donna Eleonora and don Alterio towards the refectory.
“The girls are eating now . . . ”
They went in. The orphan girls rose to their feet and started singing, under the direction of a nun.
Long live Lady Eleanor!
You grace us coming through our door!
We are but poor orphan girls
but wish you the best in the world!
Long live our lady Viceroy!
We wish you peace and love and joy!
Don Alterio looked on spellbound as they sang.
But what had happened to all the beautiful girls he’d seen sleeping? Before him he saw only twenty-five wretched creatures—young girls, yes, but one was toothless, another a dwarf, another was over six and a half feet tall, a fourth was crosseyed, a fifth was missing an arm, a sixth drooled like a crone, a seventh had the tremors, an eighth had snot running down her nose . . .
One couldn’t really look at them long without a feeling of disgust, and yet donna Eleonora was clearly moved to pity. After the song, she wanted to taste the soup from the dish of an orphan girl, and found it excellent.
She went into the kitchen anyway, and then she visited the chapel, the sewing room, all the cells, and even the top floor.
When it came time to leave, she said to don Simone that she was satisfied and would take the necessary measures. He knelt down before her as though worshiping the Blessed Virgin herself, and tried to take her hand and kiss it, but donna Eleonora was quick to put it behind her back.
When she was back in her carriage with don Alterio, she sat for a while in silence. Finally, as they were pulling into the courtyard of the palace, she said only:
“Muchas gracias. Wednesday, at Council, I shall order el subsidio para el marqués de la Trigonella to be reinstated.”
Don Alterio, for excess of joy, very nearly had a heart attack.
But before he made a move to step down from the carriage, she said something else.
“I shall expect you in two hours.”
Good God! Don Alterio immediately fell from heaven into hell.
What did the woman want in exchange?
“I would like to know la situación actual del public treasury and how much dinero there is personally available to the viceroy.”
Don Alterio heaved a sigh of relief. She merely wanted information that he, as Chief Treasurer, could give her. So much the better, since the matter wouldn’t take up much of his time.
* * *
Two hours later, after donna Eleonora had received don Alterio’s report and the duke had immediately withdrawn, she gave the order to admit the protonotary into the viceroy’s study, which she had made into her own office.
She explained to him in great detail what she intended to say to the Council on Wednesday. The protonotary limited himself to making a few observations.
But when she came to the proposal that she reverse her annulment of the subsidy for the marquis of La Trigonella, the protonotary twisted his mouth visibly.
“No está de acuerdo?”
“With all due respect, no.”
“No está de acuerdo sobre el subsidio o sobre la procedura?”
“I should point out that I know nothing about this Refuge and I don’t know the marquis personally. But it is my duty to warn you that the procedure could prove dangerous.”
“Por qué?”
“First of all, because the annulment has already been written into the record, and no revision would be considered legal or serious. Secondly because in that case all the other Councillors could demand, quite rightly, that you do the same for them and their requests.”
He was right, of course. Donna Eleonora made a disappointed face, like a little girl who’d been denied a piece of candy.
“Pero, I want to help el marqués!”
Seeing her make that face, the protonotary felt his blood stir. He had to do something to make her happy again. He thought about this for a moment, and then said there was surely a solution to the problem.
Donna Eleonora asked what that might be. The protonotary replied that the only solution was for her to take the money for the subsidy from that set aside for her personal expenses and receptions. In addition, this had to be done through a motion made motu proprio, because in that case she would be obliged only to make it known to the Council, without having to ask for its approval.
Donna Eleonora smiled. She’d anticipated the protonotary’s reply, and that was why she’d wanted to know from the Chief Treasurer how much there was available.
There was plenty of money, because during his two-year reign as viceroy, don Angel had spent hardly anything.
The princess of Trabia would be pleased when she learned what donna Eleonora had done for the orphan girls.
Meanwhile, there was another idea that had been percolating in donna Eleonora’s head. She would discuss it with don Serafino when he came for his usual evening visit.
The protonotary had just left when the Chief of Ceremonies handed her a letter that had arrived from Spain bearing the royal seal.
She had so hoped it would come soon, and now here it was, in her hand.
After expressing his condolences and confirming the will and testament of her husband, His Majesty informed her that, in response to don Angel’s request, which she’d renewed, and ignoring the rule dictating that a Royal Visitor should come to Sicily every six years, he’d decided to send don Francisco Peyró as Royal Visitor General, who would be landing at Palermo on the following Thursday.
He was just the right man for the task at hand.
Donna Eleonora felt her heart fill with joy and started singing quietly to herself.
Don Francisco Peyró had already been to Palermo four years earlier, as Royal Visitor General, and the memory of what he’d done was still alive and still inspired fear.
He was a man of about fifty of grey countenance and a bit shabby in appearance, quiet and melancholy. He looked like a third-rate clerk of no importance, whereas he’d proved to be a very dangerous man—honest, conscientious, scrupulous, and implacable.
Every Royal Visitor General took orders from His Majesty alone, answering for his actions only to him, and had full power over every authority except for the Viceroy. For that reason every door had to be open to him, every register ready for examination, every account made available for his scrutiny.
Availing himself of his powers, don Francisco had wanted to inspect everything, even the accounts of the Holy Inquisition, and spent days and days doing so, and in the end, fearing no one, he had punished all those who had strayed even a little.
Thus, without a second thought, he’d sent to jail the all-powerful, untouchable don Federico Abbatellis, count of Cammarata and Grand Harbormaster, proving that he’d used a great deal of the Crown’s money for his own gain.
And he’d demanded the resignation of don Vincenzo Nicolò Leofante, another untouchable, from his post as Chief Treasurer, accusing him of being too open-handed with his friends.
In short, he’d done more damage than a wild beast, and by the time he returned to Spain, some fifty people, including high officials, vicars, tax collectors, and accountants, had ended up behind bars.
* * *
Don Serafino showed up with a small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked with his own two hands and handed it to donna Eleonora without saying a word.
She thanked him and blushed slightly.
Seeing her blush, don Serafina, who was already red himself from the strong emotions he was feeling, began to turn purple.
Then donna Eleonora said:
“Estoy un poco cansada.”
She was tired? These words had the same effect on don Serafino as if she’d said she felt she was on death’s doorstep. He leapt to his feet and started asking:
“What’s wrong? What do you feel? A headache? Chest pains? Leg pains? Would you like to lie down? Would you like me to leave?”
Donna Eleonora smiled.
“Calm down. Estoy sólo un poco cansada. Don’t leave. Su presencia me da consuelo.”
Don Serafino sat back down. Donna Eleonora closed her eyes, and he watched her, mesmerized. If he died at that moment, he thought, he would die happy.
She reopened her eyes and asked:
“Did you meet with that person?”
“Yes.”
He was so spellbound he had trouble speaking.
“Do you speak with him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he accept?”
“Yes.”
“Cómo se llama?”
“Don Valerio Montano.”
“Tomorrow I would like to meet him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Donna Eleonora Fires the Cannon
and Wins the War
At about four o’clock in the afternoon of the same day, at the little palace that had by now become the official headquarters of the Holy Refuge of Endangered Virgins, everything returned to the way it had been before. The twenty-five borrowed orphan girls were sent back to their convent and shelter, the twenty-five original girls retook possession of their cells, and the guardians and chambermaids moved back into their rooms. And one hour after sunset, don Alterio arrived.
Between the nervous tension he’d suffered and his no longer containable desire for Cilistina, he was now pale in the face, with dark bags under his eyes and an unkempt beard. He even felt a touch of fever. He’d told his wife he had to attend an important meeting and wouldn’t be back until the wee hours of the morning. This time he could take all the time he wanted.
“Are you unwell?” was the first thing don Simone asked him when he saw him.
&nb
sp; “I feel quite well, thank you,” he said.
And he would be feeling a lot better in a few minutes. He could only hope don Simone didn’t start in with his usual rituals of politeness. The marquis looked at him and smiled.
“Would you be so kind as to come into my office for a moment?”
Good God, what a tremendous bore! But he had to resign himself.
“All right.”
“This time I’ll have a little glass of rosolio myself. We must toast to the success of the Holy Refuge!”
Don Alterio had no choice but to swallow the liqueur.
“You’ve done a very great thing,” said don Simone. “I hadn’t expected as much, I assure you. And now you’re in command here, I mean it. What can I do to repay you?”
“You know what to do.”
Don Simone gave him a sly look.
“Do you still want Cilistina? Or would you rather change? Perhaps just this once?”
“I want Cilistina.”
“I was expecting that. And you know what I say to you? You can have her,” said don Simone. “She’s my gift to you. She’s yours.”
He dug a key out of his pocket and handed it to him.
“I found it. It’s the one to Cilistina’s cell. I am a man of my word. You can keep it. That way you can come and go as you like, even when I’m not here.”
Don Alterio couldn’t hold himself back any longer.
“Can I go upstairs?”
“Didn’t I say you’re in command here?”
Don Alterio climbed the stairs two by two.
And he was so busy that night that he didn’t hear all the traffic around him.
Indeed, the Marquis Pullara, the Marquis Bendicò, the Baron Torregrossa, and Canon Bonsignore—all people who had been frequenting the Holy Refuge since its foundation—had come to celebrate the event.
But as he was putting his clothes back on in the first light of day and getting ready to leave, Cilistina, who was lying on the bed, watching him, softly said something he didn’t understand.
The Revolution of the Moon Page 7
