The Revolution of the Moon

by Andrea Camilleri

  “What drunkenness? Nobody was drunk,” said don Arcangelo Laferla, confused.

  “We were all drunk! All of us!” the prince retorted, raising his voice and getting all worked up. “We were drunk on donna Eleonora’s extraordinary beauty and didn’t know if we were coming or going! We practically put her on the altar and made her a saint!”

  “That’s true,” said don Cono Giallombardo. “But it was a spontaneous gesture, an homage, and—”

  “And if we’re not careful, it could cost us all very dearly,” the prince concluded.

  “In what sense?” the bishop asked cautiously, as he was thinking in dismay that the Grand Captain was showing himself to be less a fart of hot air than he’d previously thought.

  “In the sense that this woman, in the twinkling of an eye, could, if she wanted, reduce us to a bunch of puppets in her hands.”

  “Indeed . . . ” the bishop admitted, after a moment of thoughtful silence.

  “But what can we do to protect ourselves?” don Cono asked. “It is so enthralling to gaze at beauty! We can’t very well sit around at Council with our eyes closed!”

  The prince resumed speaking.

  “I’ll try to explain. Since I consider donna Eleonora a dangerous woman who has a very clear sense of what she wants to do, and since I do not think that what she wants to do is the same as what we want to do, I say that the first thing we must turn our thoughts to is how we might keep, under her rule, the same freedom of movement we seized when don Angel fell ill.”

  “But how will we ever say no to what she wants? Her will is law,” said don Severino Lomascio who, as Judge of the Monarchy, knew about such things.

  “It’ll take time, but we’ll manage. Meanwhile, the six of us must always be of the same mind in her presence,” said the prince. “I propose the following. Every Tuesday—in other words, the day before the Council—we must meet and discuss the matters to be deliberated the following day, and then show up at the Council already in agreement. And we must not budge one inch from our agreed positions. Which means that it may happen that a law will be passed only at the behest of donna Eleonora, and against the opinion of the entire Council.”

  “And what do we get out of that?” asked don Cono. “The law will pass just the same.”

  “But haven’t you noticed that the city is split in two between those who are for and those against having a woman as viceroy? We must take advantage of this situation. We must make it known to those against a woman viceroy that we Councillors are not in agreement with her. We need to get the entire population on our side.”

  “That won’t be easy,” said don Cono.

  “Why?”

  “Because, based on the impression I’ve been getting, the women of Palermo are dancing for joy at the idea that the person giving the orders is a woman.”

  “Not my wife,” said don Arcangelo. “When she found out how beautiful donna Eleonora is, she got jealous and made a scene.”

  “So did mine,” said don Severino Lomascio.

  The prince called them to order.

  “We’re talking about serious matters here, if you please. And so, given the situation, we shall propose that all our sessions must be open to the public.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then, after a fire here, a little insurrection there, and a few deaths thrown in for good measure, we can write a nice letter to His Majesty in Spain in which we’ll say that the situation here has become serious, and that donna Eleonora, through her stubbornness, is pushing it over the edge. What do you think?”

  “That makes sense to me,” said the bishop.

  The others were of the same opinion.

  “In the meantime, however, careful,” the prince resumed. “Donna Eleonora must be treated as she deserves.”

  “And how is that?” asked don Cono.

  “With respect, devotion, and admiration. She must have the impression that we are always kneeling before her. I’ve given instructions to the Chief of Ceremonies that at every meeting, starting tomorrow, there must be six large bouquets of flowers at the foot of the thronelet, one for each Councillor.”

  “And who’s going to pay for them?” asked don Severino Lomascio, who was a bit of a tightwad.

  “We’ll all take turns. By spending ten, we might earn a thousand,” said the prince.

  Half an hour later, the meeting ended.

  Though the Councillors didn’t notice anything, the moment they entered the great hall and sat down at their places, congratulating themselves on the wonderful flowers at the bottom of the three stairs, the palace was completely surrounded by armed Spanish soldiers, under a captain’s command. And nobody was allowed to enter.

  Then donna Eleonora appeared, and all present rose to their feet. She crossed the room as though flying a span above the ground, then stopped when she saw the flowers. She turned to look at the Councillors and smiled.

  The six Councillors all began to sway like treetops in the wind.

  “If she keeps smiling like that, we’re screwed,” don Cono thought.

  “Muchas gracias,” said donna Eleonora.

  What a voice! Heavenly music! A melody of angels!

  Donna Eleonora went and sat down on the thronelet, the seat of which had been made perfectly horizontal again.

  But before the protonotary asked permission to declare the session open, a strange thing happened.

  A sharp noise, like a shot from a rifle, came from the door. Everyone turned around. It had been made by the clicking heels of General Miguel Blasco de Timpa, commander of the Spanish forces in Sicily.

  The general stood stock-still, in military salute, staring at the thronelet with the frightening eyes of a warrior unaccustomed to showing pity or consideration for anyone.

  Donna Eleonora gestured to him to advance.

  The general came forward with a martial step, his cavalry sabre and decorations tinkling, and stopped at the foot of the three stairs, though slightly to one side.

  He planted himself there like a pole, legs spread and arms crossed.

  The Councillors looked at one another, a bit worried.

  What was going on? Never before had the commander of the army taken part in a Holy Royal Council. It wasn’t his place. So what could it mean?

  Donna Eleonora gave no explanation.

  Instead, without a word she pointed her index finger at the protonotary, who declared the session open. The secretary rose at once, but donna Eleonora raised a hand to stop him, saying that before anything else, she wanted to made a declaración de apertura.

  Speaking slowly, to avoid all misunderstanding, she asserted that she had good reason to believe that during the last Holy Royal Council, her late husband, for all practical purposes, had not been in any condition to understand what was happening around him.

  She pointed out that that same morning, after he’d woken up, don Angel had fainted twice, and his two personal manservants could attest to this.

  She added that she’d begged him to postpone the Council, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  For this reason she maintained that it was her duty to have all the measures taken at the last Council annulled, and that they should all be discussed anew in the present, just-opened session.

  The first to realize what donna Eleonora’s words meant were the bishop, don Cono, and don Severino.

  They shot to their feet and started yelling like madmen, saying that the measures taken had been approved by the viceroy and could not be reversed.

  “What’s done is done!” the bishop blurted out.

  “We are men of our word!” don Severino said, indignant.

  “There is no turning back!” don Cono fretted.

  The other Councillors, who finally understood, also rose to their feet and started raising hell. Then, without even realizing it, all s
ix started moving towards the thronelet. Of course they had no intention of laying their hands on donna Eleonora; they simply did it instinctively, perhaps to make themselves better heard.

  At this moment General Miguel Blasco de Timpa sprang into action. With two powerful kicks he sent the bouquets of flowers flying, giving himself more room to maneuver, and as his right hand was reaching for the hilt of his sabre, he stuck two fingers of his left hand in his mouth and let out a shepherd’s whistle that shattered the Councillors’ eardrums. At once twelve armed solders appeared and quickly placed themselves between the general and the Councillors.

  The latter, arms raised in terror as if to surrender, immediately ran back to their places without another word.

  Upon the general’s order, the soldiers went and took up position behind the king’s empty throne. At this point the secretary, trembling like a leaf, asked for permission to speak. When granted it, he said that a number of the measures taken had already been communicated, upon his instruction, to the people concerned, because he’d considered them valid. So how should he now proceed?

  Donna Eleonora, after thinking about this for a moment, said that the notifications, in her opinion, should be respected. Were the Councillors in agreement?

  “Aye,” the Councillors said in chorus.

  Therefore all that had to be reviewed, and reopened for discussion, were the measures not yet made public. Which were these?

  It turned out they were all those that had been taken after don Angel had died and everyone had pretended he hadn’t.

  The deliberations lasted three straight hours.

  All the measures that donna Eleonora opposed, the entire Council approved. What the prince of Ficarazzi had predicted was happening.

  However, since the will of donna Eleonora was sovereign, all the measures were annulled.

  At this point donna Eleonora proposed that the session be continued the following day.

  The bishop took exception to this, claiming that while he indeed had precise obligations to the Crown, he had higher ones to God and the Church, and the following morning he would be engaged in a service at the Cathedral.

  Since they had all decided the previous day that should make a show of unanimity at the Council, the prince of Ficarazzi decided this was a good moment to declare that he, likewise, could not be present at such a session, in as much he already had an engagement in Catania for that day. And quickly, with one excuse or another, the remaining Councillors all stated that it would be impossible to hold any sort of meeting the following day. And so donna Eleonora asked them how many days they could devote to the Council, aside from Wednesday. In the name of all the Councillors, the prince of Ficarazzi replied that Wednesday was the only day available.

  Donna Eleonora replied that this was not enough; there were too many other things to be done.

  The prince of Ficarazzi threw up his hands. Deep down he was relishing the difficulty he was creating for her.

  Donna Eleonora beseeched them to seriously reconsider their position. Could they find at least three days to devote to the Council?

  “No,” said the prince.

  “Ni siquiera dos?” asked donna Eleonora.

  “No,” said the prince.

  Donna Eleonora turned to the secretary and ordered him to put on the record that none of the Councillors had been willing to put himself entirely at the disposal of the Viceroy.

  Then she said:

  “La sesión ha terminado.”

  She rose and exited in haste, followed by the general and the soldiers. The Councillors sat there for a moment, perplexed. Then the prince went over to the protonotary, followed by the other Councillors.

  “Why did she have you enter into the record that we were not entirely at her disposal?” he asked.

  “Because in so doing, if you’ll forgive the expression, she stuck it straight up your asses,” was the unexpected reply.

  The Councillors were dumbstruck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It’s War between Donna Eleonora

  and the Councillors

  Why?” the Grand Captain asked as soon as he’d recovered, drenched in a cold sweat.

  “Why?” the others all asked in unison.

  Seeing all those anxious faces, don Gerlando Musumarra, the protonotary, was tickled pink.

  “Because, my illustrious lords, the law speaks clearly. Had you known it, you wouldn’t have got yourselves into such trouble. Those who accept the great honor of taking part in the Council must be always at the disposal of the viceroy, day and night.”

  “Really?” asked the prince.

  “Really. At his, or her, beck and call. Worse than a soldier. It is the fundamental requirement. And since you all declared you were not at her disposal, she now has the absolute power to replace you as she sees fit, whenever and however she wants. You’ve made a big—”

  He was interrupted by the Chief of Ceremonies.

  “Donna Eleonora wants to see you at once.”

  “Me?” the protonotary asked, surprised.

  “Yes, you.”

  “Please excuse me,” said don Gerlando, rushing off.

  “Let’s stay here another five minutes to discuss matters amongst ourselves,” said the bishop. “Because I have the impression the situation is much more serious than we thought.”

  “Agreed,” said the others.

  As soon as they had all sat down, a captain came in. He clicked his heels by way of salute, but didn’t look any of them in the eye.

  “What is it?” the prince asked him.

  “By order of the Viceroy, the entire palace, including the Hall of Council, must be vacated at once.”

  The Councillors began muttering to themselves, but it was no use protesting. They had no choice but to obey.

  They stood up slowly, purposely dragging their feet as they descended the stairs in silence, then reached the courtyard where their carriages were waiting for them.

  “This evening, an hour after sunset, we’ll meet at my place,” the Grand Captain said to the others under his breath, looking cautiously around, as they took leave of one another.

  The table was set for three.

  Donna Eleonora had wanted the protonotary and General de Timpa to stay and eat with her. Everything she said during the meal thrilled the general and scared the pants off the protonotary.

  Not that the marquesa had shown any intention to act against the law. On the contrary, she wanted to play by the rules at all cost. Before doing anything, she wanted to know from him whether it was legitimate or not. And yet—and this was what frightened the protonotary—there was no question that what donna Eleonora had in mind would have grave consequences, the outcome of which could not be foreseen.

  The general, on the other hand, could smell a battle in the air and was pawing the ground like a thoroughbred horse anxious for the race to begin. And he too was a bit taken by the marquesa. He had at last met a woman who, aside from having all the feminine attributes in the highest degree, also possessed a big pair of huevones.

  When they had finished, donna Eleonora thanked them, took her leave, and went into the private sitting room, where don Serafino, the court physician, was waiting for her impatiently, more besotted than ever.

  “Can I count on su confianza?” she asked the moment she entered.

  Don Serafino didn’t answer. But he couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to, since he was all choked up. He fell to his knees, eyes moist, took her hand, and kissed it.

  Donna Eleonora told him what she wanted from him. Don Serafino listened carefully and then promised that he would do everything she’d asked within the time allotted.

  An hour later he was dismissed, because the princess of Trabia, the highest ranking noblewoman in Palermo, had requested an audience. And donna Eleonora received her at once, because it was very impor
tant to have the support of at least part of the Palermo nobility in order to do what she had in mind to do.

  The last thing she expected, however, was to find before her such a decrepit old woman. The years had reduced the princess to a sort of featherless little bird. She was all dried up, shrunken, and hunched over. But in the middle of the mass of wrinkles that her face had become shone two eyes with a still razor-sharp gaze. She leaned on a cane to walk and took offense if anyone made any move to help her.

  She wore no jewelry. And to think that the jewels of the princes of Trabia were legendary.

  “You are even more beautiful than they say,” said the princess, sitting down. “And from what I hear you’re also an exception.”

  She had a clear, gentle but firm voice, typical of one accustomed to giving orders.

  “Por qué soy una excepción?”

  “Because beauty and intelligence do not always go hand in hand. And I can tell that you’re an intelligent girl. I am pleased for your sake, and for our country’s.”

  Donna Eleonora took her hand and squeezed it in her own. She realized that the princess was someone who spoke her mind, who had on her lips the same things as in her heart.

  “Was your grandmother by chance the Baroness Fabiana Contarello di Comiso, who later married the Marquis Ardigò di Nocita before they all picked up and moved to Spain?” asked the princess.

  “Yes.”

  “I knew your grandmother well, and for a few years we were close friends. Is she still alive?”

  “She died cuando yo tenía cinco años.”

  “Your grandmother Fabiana came to see me here in Palermo in forty-seven, the year the insurrection broke out. She was unable to return home and had to stay with me for a whole month.”

  All at once she started coughing violently. Donna Eleonora became afraid that the princess’s fragile chest might burst. She got up to send for some water, but the princess gestured for her to sit back down.

  “I wasn’t coughing, I was laughing.”

  “Por qué se ríe?”

  “I remembered something from a great many years ago.” Losing herself in her memories, for a moment the sparkle in her eyes faded a little. Then she resumed speaking.