Читать книгу ELEONORA AND JOSEPH - Julieta Almeida Rodrigues - Страница 4

Kingdom of Naples, Naples, August 17, 1799

This might well be the last entry of my memoir. I, Eleonora Fonseca Pimentel, am standing before the Giunta di Stato—the High Court of State—of King Ferdinando and Queen Carolina, the Kingdom of Naples’s Bourbon sovereigns. The session is taking place at the Convento di Santa Maria di Monte Oliveto. It is hot, and the sky is overcast. I have three judges in front of me; there is no scribe in the room to take notes of the proceedings. It will be easy, one day, to erase the historical record of my trial. My hands are tied up in the back. Eyes wide open, I see only three colors: black, white, and gray. I am wearing a black, dirty dress with holes at the seams. The walls are white. The judges wear black robes decorated with white jabots. Their powdered wigs are white. Their expressions are gray—like the iron crucifix behind them. They sit at a long, wooden table. Royalist soldiers fill the room, guard the entrance door, and surround my fellow literati waiting outside to be sentenced.

We’re the defeated revolutionaries of the Neapolitan Republic of 1799.

“Answer me!” the judge sitting next to the window yells. “Why do you want a republic in Naples fashioned after France?”

“The Republic comes from Plato, not France.” I lower my gaze as I reply.

“You think so? We confiscated books of French authors in your home.”

Defiant, I choose not to reply.

“Do you believe in the French Republic?”

“A republic brings liberty to all because its laws protect the citizens.”

“You disregard our established order. You don’t believe in God the Almighty.”

“I respect the will of the people,” I say, my gaze still low. “My only enemy is tyranny.”

“You’re still a Freemason,” the judge concludes as he assembles scattered papers into one single pile.

The judge opposite the window speaks now. “From Sant’Elmo’s fort, you helped the French Army enter Naples last December. You befriended the republican government. You edited the republican newspaper Il Monitore Napoletano. Why?”

“The citizens of a nation, if educated, have a duty to help those less fortunate rise above their lot.”

“You disagree with King Ferdinando, who says the three Fs should rule Naples: forca, festa, e farina—gallows, festivities, and grain.”

“I believe our sovereign can do better,” I answer in a neutral tone. My composure adds to my bravery.

“You’re a damn liar. The people just acclaimed the king upon his return from exile. You’re only a woman, and a reckless one at that.”

“Women should be given the chance to express themselves.”

“Express themselves like you?” The judge laughs while looking at his colleagues. “La repubblica è sporca! Any republic is dirty.”

The judge next to the window leans forward as he resumes his interrogation. “I want to know why you betrayed Queen Carolina.”

“I did not betray the queen.” I stop. The less I say, the better. “Yes, you did!”

“No. I read books and my ideas changed.”

“What’s your view of the friendship between Queen Carolina and Lady Emma Hamilton, the wife of the British ambassador?”

“The matter doesn’t concern me.” My voice quivers as I say this.

“It doesn’t? Your indictment says you stated their friendship imperils the Kingdom of Naples.”

“I never said that.” But the reference is clear, Carolina demands my doom. All along, I dreaded her power over my trial. My hands are in back of me, I cannot see them. Neither can the judges. But my fingers quiver as much as my voice.

“You were once the queen’s librarian. You paid back the privilege by slapping her majesty’s face with treachery.” I suddenly see red spots in the judge’s face. They show on the visible part of his neck, too.

“I never intended deceit, I trust reason over perfidy.” I think to myself, let these high bureaucrats figure out why I am a daughter of the Enlightenment.

“Don’t pretend to be who you are not. We know you incited the people to rebellion.”

I do not reply, afraid my words might bring my doom.

It is the middle judge’s turn to question me. He seems to be the one presiding over my trial. “Do you regret the decapitation of Marie Antoinette, our queen’s beloved sister?”

I look at him as an equal, my gaze is locked with his. A hyena stands before me, ready to devour its prey. I remain silent.

“I accuse you of treason. Women’s heads are rolling. Yours might be next.” As he speaks, the judge adjusts his voluminous wig with both hands, as if caressing it.

“If I am to perish, I request to be beheaded.” I speak slowly, my breathing is uneven, and my mouth dry. I feel on fire now.

“This court decides, not you. You’re Portuguese. Naples received you as a daughter, but you weren’t born here.”

“In 1778, King Ferdinando granted to my father, a titled aristocrat in Portugal, the same prerogatives given to the Neapolitan nobility.”

“Those prerogatives no longer apply to you.”

“My request isn’t unusual. I respectfully ask that you honor it. It’s customary for aristocrats to be beheaded, not hanged.” The judges know this, but I state it anyway.

“We only grant our own nobles the dignity of being beheaded.”

“I have the right to die under the blade.”

“The monarchy has been reinstated, we have jurisdiction over you!” The judge appears in a hurry now. “We might hang you in the scaffold as an example. So that you’ll die like a plebeian, like the criminal you are. The people of Naples, those you claim to love so much, might enjoy the spectacle.”

I kneel; my heart is broken. I’m not wearing undergarments, they are long gone. If I’m hanged, my body will rise in the gallows and everybody will see my private parts. Nothing matters from now on. So I scream loud and clear, “If I die, I’ll die a citizen. Whereas you, the three of you, will die vassals, servants of a tyrant.”

The judge jots down a few notes. Then, not losing a second, he stands and tells the soldier by the door to escort me out. And bring in the next “reo di stato,” the next state prisoner, without delay. “

My trial is short. It couldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes. The loneliness I feel is astounding.