Peppino

by Seth Coleman

  Pope Leo XIII entered the room first, followed by Elisabetta a few steps behind. He was dressed in his normal day-to-day attire: a white robe with a short, hooded cape adorned with a gold pectoral cross and red papal shoes and, topping it all, a white skullcap. It was impressive, even to Peppino.

  They all rose and then gently applauded, as is the custom. Nicola was the first to cross the room to greet him, genuflecting and then bowing to the pope’s outstretched hand for the traditional kiss of his golden ring. Engraved on it was the pope’s name and a raised image of the church’s first pope, Saint Peter, standing in a fishing boat. “It is an honor to see you again, Holy Father.” He then stepped aside as Peppino did the same, followed by the baroness.

  The pope then turned to place his arm around Elisabetta and bring her forward for her introduction. They all greeted her warmly with a handshake and smiled, but when it was Peppino’s turn, he was so smitten he could only manage the words, “Good evening.”

  She grinned and presented her hand. He stared at it for a moment too long, and as she started to retract it, he quickly grabbed for her finger and, bowing clumsily, kissed the back of her hand. He could feel his face blush and was sure everyone noticed. Yet he perceived she understood and enjoyed the embarrassing moment.

  “Let us all be seated and appreciate the fine dinner prepared for us. I can be sure the food will be good, because the Vatican chef accompanies me when I come to Villa Aldobrandini. That is not always the case, as some of my trips are a great distance, and when I am a guest, it is just rude to bring my own cook. But I consider this my vacation home and only invite very special guests to join me here. Peppino, I must admit that I have been looking forward to meeting you. I asked your abbot how he would describe you, and his answer was a single word, ‘colorful.’ I wonder what exactly he meant by that. Do you know, Peppino?”

  Peppino looked at him and shrugged, unable to think of a good answer.

  “He also added that you are a young man of passions. He has high hopes for you, Peppino. Did you know that?”

  “No, Your Holiness, I did not.”

  “Well, it is true. And what do you think? Do you have high hopes for yourself?”

  Peppino looked around the table at the faces waiting for his answer. He started to say something and then stopped, reconsidering. Then he looked squarely at the pope and replied, “My hope is in the Lord, Your Holiness; it is not my will I seek, but the will of the God who formed me and set me here for a purpose. I have been adopted into the family of a baroness”—he nodded to her—“and I do not consider that a coincidence, as I understand there is no coincidence in the Lord.”

  “That is well said, my son.”

  Peppino felt a sharp pang of guilt that he had made up something religious to say to the pope of all people. “I must admit that if that is the truth, I think the Lord must have made a mistake. I have met others at the monastery more worthy than I to be what everyone seems to expect from me.”

  “Ah, yes, Peppino. The abbot did mention to me that you were a humble young man. But the Lord does not make mistakes. You may feel that way now because you are only looking at a tiny slice of yourself, while the Lord sees your entire life right now, from the beginning to the end. So he knows what your capabilities are even though they might not seem so apparent to you at this time.”

  “To be honest, I do have the tendency to get into trouble. Were you told why I was sent to the monastery in the first place?”

  All ears were focused on the conversation, and even the servants hesitated to come into the room. The baroness sat quietly, pleading in prayer that he would not say the wrong thing, while Nicola smiled and Elisabetta just listened.

  “As a matter of fact, I have. I understand that you do not like the church’s choice for the bishop of Calabria, your illustrious monsignor. Is that an accurate assessment?”

  “Yes, that is the truth, Holy Father.”

  The baroness exhaled audibly, while Nicola stifled a laugh.

  “Well, Peppino, you shouldn’t be so bothered by that bloated sack of grunt.”

  “Luigi!” the baroness glanced at him and said in a horrified whisper.

  “Oh, Ippolita, this is nothing that they have not heard before and certainly something the both of them have thought.”

  “But it is so descriptive.”

  “Yes, you are right—for that I apologize to you and to Elisabetta. Peppino, the monsignor is now on a tether, especially since your friend here has told us of his exploits. But I cannot dismiss him from his position, as he is too well connected. You see, even the pope has limitations. Many times I must trust the will of the Lord even though I cannot see or understand it. I believe he is an evil man, but he is there for a reason. In some way the Lord is allowing him to remain despite my efforts to get rid of him, and I humbly acquiesce to our Lord’s wisdom.”

  “But how could there be any good reason for a man like that to remain a church leader? He who is a thief and hurts people?”

  “First of all, I believe that all true believers are completely protected by our gracious and forgiving Lord.”

  “That was not so for my friend Elena. She was shot while trying to save Nicola from him.”

  “Well then. I see that Nicola is here having dinner with me. Where is Elena now?”

  “She is in a convent near Naples, Holy Father,” Nicola said. “I have not had the time to mention this to Peppino yet. She is well, and I believe much better off where she is than when she was living in Bovalino.”

  “So you see, Peppino, who are we to understand the mind of our Lord? Many times what Satan intends for bad our gracious Father intends for ultimate good. My guess is that she is exactly where she is supposed to be. Now the second and most important point: Satan himself is on a tether, so to speak.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Do you know your Scriptures? What does it say about Satan?”

  “That he was originally called Lucifer and was an archangel of God until he thought himself to be equal with his creator.”

  “So there you have it, Peppino.”

  “There I have what?”

  “The answer to your own question; the devil is a created being, just like you and me. God made him and intended him for a good purpose, but he twisted all the glory that was given to him and turned it into sin. Call it weakness if you want, but the root of it is plain evil. He created it, and it has stained the soul of man since its inception. And, Peppino, do you know how many angels of the Lord he convinced to go with him, to become his disciples rather than God’s?”

  “One third?”

  “Yes, that is right. One third of the angels became demons. They have been given the right to inflict and even enter into man if allowed. And the terrible, disastrous effects of it will lead that man to the grave and to hell. That is the inheritance that all those who are against God will receive. Here on earth those who succumb to those evil workers, and there are many, may have a life of pleasure, but the time of their death will only be the beginning.”

  “So what does this have to say about the monsignor and the bishop, and what exactly do you intend to do about them?”

  “Who can discern the full intentions of the mind of God? Not I.” The pope cleared his throat. “That is a discussion for another time, dear boy. For now let us enjoy this delicious dinner.”

  The servants entered the room and started heaping a sumptuous feast onto each of their plates. The conversation turned light, and the delightful sound of laughter could be heard throughout the villa that evening.

  Peppino got caught several times during the dinner making eye contact with Elisabetta, he was sure of it. What he failed to see were the loving eyes that were upon him.

  **********************

  “These gardens are exquisite,” Elisabetta said, enjoying the moment. “It is hard to believe that this villa was built three hundred years ago and has been kept up so well.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Peppino, as t
hey climbed the steep bank of steps that led upward to the winding paths that roamed behind the villa. “It is quite beautiful. I cannot imagine how many gardeners it must take to keep it looking like this.” He did not tell her that his main duty at the monastery had been tending the prolific gardens.

  “I don’t think I have seen such beautiful fountains and statues. They are as perfect as those in the museums of Florence.” They stopped for a moment, and both turned to look behind them. They were higher than the roof of the villa and could see all of Rome from their vantage point. “Breathtaking.”

  “Are you really grandniece to the pope?” Peppino asked.

  “Yes,” Elisabetta smiled. “My father is a Pecci, and that is the surname of my uncle. He is my grandfather’s brother.” Elisabetta smiled and continued her thought. “And you, Peppino, your family history is one of the most famous in all of Europe. Every child studies the Renaissance, and it’s your ancestors’ history we study.”

  He nodded, somewhat embarrassed. “When I was at the monastery, I was surprised to find so many books written about them in the library. They were a very famous mixture of extremes, from the best to the worst.” He continued, “Most learn of Cosmo and Lorenzo, who loved the arts and led the Renaissance, but there were two Medici popes who were awful and two French queens, one who was responsible for the death of many men and the other banished to the Netherlands. Quite some heritage, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Elisabetta smiled. “I think it is interesting that one of the popes you mentioned has the same name as my uncle. Pope Leo X is yours, and mine is Pope Leo XIII.”

  “Yes, but that is where the comparison ends. There appears to be a vast difference between the two. From what I can tell, your uncle seems to be a good man fighting for the rights of people and against bad, but the Pope Leo who is my ancestor sold indulgences in exchange for forgiveness of sin. He had the poor people giving him money, believing they would go to heaven for it. I mean, I am not the most religious person, but I cannot understand how someone could possibly think God could be paid off. It would make him like the monsignor I spoke about last night.”

  “I do know that Leo X was the last non-priest to ever be made a pope,” Elisabetta said. “He was only a deacon, so there must have been others who agreed with you.”

  “Yes, until a few years later. Did you know that Pope Clement VII, another Medici, was a bastard and made a legitimate heir so that he could be pope? Worse, he was responsible for the Sack of Rome because of his weakness. It sounds like it was just about politics and social standing and nothing about God; just money and power.”

  “You did not mention Villa Aldobrandini.”

  “What about it?”

  “You do know that this villa is in your family history too, don’t you?”

  “Well, actually no, I didn’t,” admitted Peppino.

  “Pope Clement the VII was one of its first owners. He gave it to his nephew, and it stayed in the Aldobrandini family all of these years.”

  “So then the baroness is a rightful descendant. No wonder she appears to be so comfortable here.”

  “And you too are a descendant, Peppino.”

  “Yes, well, I guess I would be, as the son of the baroness. There are many things I do not know about my family. I do know they own much land in Calabria, and I am not interested in it at all. As far as I am concerned, they could section it off and give it to the poor who work it every day. As far as the baroness being my mother, that is another story.”

  “How so?”

  “That’s a story for another time.” Peppino smiled.

  Elisabetta dropped the subject that she most certainly would return to at the opportune time. “You know, it only proves that your family is made up of people who were both good and bad, just like every other Italian family. It is your decision the type of man who you will become. You are a baron, and my uncle clearly likes you. What kind of man will you be, Peppino?”

  “It’s funny. I have known I was a baron all of my life and despised the idea, but somehow hearing you say it makes it sound palatable.” He was pensive for a few moments, seriously considering the same question that was asked him at dinner last evening. “I want to be one who fights against corruption and for the rights of the people, like my friend Nicola. How about you, what is it that you want?”

  “Pretty much the same thing, I think. I have been told I am very passionate about helping people and have been unimpressed by titles since I was a child. Even yours,” she teased.

  “Really?”

  Elisabetta just smiled.

  “I think I am now beginning to see why the baroness and your uncle wanted me here. It was to meet you, wasn’t it?”

  She was not sure how to answer that question. “My uncle and your mother could never be married. She was a Medici and the wife of an old man who was the baron of Bologna, and my uncle, well, he was the son of a prominent businessman. I think his being made pope was a business move. Thankfully, he is a man who is worthy of the title. But to answer your question, I think they are making arrangements for you and me, but I do not think it is all because of their love for us. I think there are politics involved.”

  “Of course there is,” he said testily. “When the baroness is involved, it is always about either that or social standing.”

  “Did you know that I am to accompany you back to Calabria? The baroness has invited me to join you for the summer.”

  “That is a surprise. No, I did not know that. She did not mention it to me, but then we have not had much time to talk.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “I hate the idea of arranged marriages, if that is what you are asking. I think it stupid that two families would force their children to marry for business or social reasons. Many in my own family had no say in their choices, and from what I understand, that included the baroness. But I have never had intentions of doing such a thing myself.”

  “Whew,” Elisabetta mumbled audibly.

  “You do not like the idea either.”

  “No…Well, not exactly. I mean, I did not before I arrived with my uncle. I told him in the carriage that under no circumstances would I go along with something like that, and he was sadly mistaken if he thought that I would.”

  “I can’t believe you spoke to him that way. What did he say?”

  “He shushed me and told me to leave it in God’s hands, and we would talk about it after the weekend.”

  Peppino smiled broadly and took her hand in his own and began walking toward the nearest fountain. “I think it will be an interesting summer.”

  Chapter 15

  -August 1893-

  Elisabetta leaned over the railing as far as she could stretch to see the farmer working his crop below in the cool of the morning hours. She had never seen such a unique feat of architecture, an entire patio cantilevered over the edge of a giant bolder that extended off the kitchen. Her eyes scanned the horizon of the Ionian Sea, focusing on the tiny dots at the edge that would indicate ships headed to Greece or the eastern Mediterranean. She surveyed the countryside up to the edge of the beach, and as far as she could see in either direction, almost all the land was being cultivated. All this will belong to Peppino, she thought. The farmer below noticed her on the balcony and waved. Unbeknownst to him, she nodded in return.

  From the first day she arrived in Brancaleone with the baroness and Peppino, she was welcomed like a princess. Her comfortable beauty and fair demeanor ingratiated her quickly into the hearts of the peasants, some of whom would place a flower into her hand when they passed her on the street. One time, after climbing the path from the church to the villa, she returned with an entire bouquet. Antonia was quick to place them into a pot of fresh water, but she noticed the baroness only stood and observed, with her hands folded in front of her, saying nothing.

  The last few months had been a wonderful time in Elisabetta’s life. It was clear that this could be her destiny, but even with all the adulation of the childre
n, Antonia, and the townspeople, there was still something missing. She longed for her home and friends in Rome. Her life there had been of the higher sort: a constant stream of galas and formal balls; couture-designed apparel; and a treasure trove of handcrafted leather shoes in a variety of colors to match her parasols.

  She had grown to appreciate Antonia, but not to the extent of the others in the family. They treated her as a blood relative, and it was just not in her upbringing to treat a servant as such. She had always been kind and even generous to her attendants, but they all knew their position, and each fulfilled it well. Yet hers was the center of that attention, and it was as it should have been.

  Peppino was a mystery and created in her a maze of convoluted emotions. One minute he could be dashing and handsome, and another he could erupt in anger over some imagined offense from someone or another. While she admired his intense passion to help the poor and uneducated, she could not fathom the times he would be as one of them, even to the wrinkled pants and worn shoes. Somehow he could not separate his birthright from that of his friends. In fact, as much as she liked and admired Nicola, he was still a commoner and, because of his birth, would remain one throughout his life. It simply couldn’t be changed. As her uncle would attest, he was a champion of the poor, but in truth it was of slight value, as he was poor himself. She knew that was why Nicola needed Peppino, and she could not understand why Peppino was so blind to see it.

  She pondered many such thoughts but was able to keep them unnoticed from the family. She turned and leaned her back on the railing and looked at the hills that rose directly behind the villa. Bergamot trees dotted the bone-dry hills, having weathered the oppressive heat and humidity of the southern Italian summers. In Rome she rarely took a siesta in the afternoon, but here it was a necessity. The shutters of their bedchambers would be closed, and Antonia would leave a pot of water with a linen cloth to be dipped and then placed upon one’s body for cooling. At home one of her servants would have waved a palm frond to move the air, but it was not the custom here. Then again, not everyone in Brancaleone could afford such a luxury, but she could not imagine how they could stand the heat without it.