Free The Prince by Vito Bruschini Page B

would be a good deal . . .
    â€œAll right, Manfredi: give me five thousand liras and consider the other thousand my personal gift to you to dig a well. You get a plot of land down in the Madonnuzza, in Sòllima, okay? Let’s shake on it.”
    Manfredi needed a few moments to realize that the prince had accepted his proposal, and for only five thousand liras! He responded with a big smile and devotedly shook the hand that Ferdinando Licata offered him, indicating a signed contract.
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    Adjacent to the Hall of Globes was a vestibule furnished with two massive cherry-wood armoires reaching to the ceiling, similar to those found in cathedral sacristies. The prince headed there after his meeting with Manfredi and removed his velvet jacket while his older sister, Lavinia, assisted by the maid, took several white lace-trimmed garments from one of the wardrobes. The ceremony that was about to begin was one that Ferdinando Licata himself had insisted on in recent years to make his presence felt by his most needy fellow townsmen. In actuality, it was an expedient that he had contrived to silence his sense of guilt or at least appease it for a few hours.
    The doors of the Hall of Globes were thrown open, and an eerie silence immediately descended within those ancient walls. All one hundred peasants looked toward the door, and soon, as in a miraculous apparition, the unmistakable figure of Prince Ferdinando Licata loomed before them, an image of extraordinary nobility, touching in its humanity. Instinctively all the peasants bowed their heads and upper bodies in reverence. The prince acknowledged this with an imperceptible nod of his head. Then, like a pope, he walked to the center of the hall, followed by two maids carrying several white cloth towels folded over their arms and by other servants bearing enameled basins and large pitchers of water. Bringing up the rear of the procession was the stern figure of Lavinia, who with precise signals directed the servants as they silently and efficiently prepared the staging for the rite of ablution.
    Among the group of farmers, the tension was palpable. They all stood in awe of the prince, and they weren’t able to fully understand this ceremony in which Ferdinando Licata washed their feet, much as Christ had washed the feet of his disciples at the Last Supper.
    At a sign from Lavinia, one of the maids took the arm of one of the peasants and led him to the chair, making him sit down. Meanwhile, the prince approached a basin, rolling up the sleeves of his linen gown. He bent down, dipped the farmer’s foot in the water and performed the ritual cleansing.
    When the ablution was completed, the farmer stood up, leaving the chair to another poor peasant. The ceremony was repeated, amid the commotion of the servants and the embarrassment of the peasants, until the last participant had his turn.
    Then everyone moved to the nearby dining room, where several tables had been laid with the finest dinnerware and where, with the help of his servants, the prince himself served his friends, until the final toast was made.
    The other noblemen in the area considered Ferdinando Licata eccentric to say the least for these practices of his. Moreover, they didn’t understand why he refused the title of “Don” from his fellow townsmen, given that he had a double right to it: both because he was of aristocratic ancestry and because there in Salemi he was the head of a great community, including blood relations and farmers. But Ferdinando preferred to have those under his protection call him u patri , because to them he was like a real father. And the people in the territory of Salemi reciprocated with respect for his authority and with a reverence that verged on the fanatical.
    Licata subjected himself to that mortifying ritual for a number of reasons, all well concealed and buried in the deep recesses of his conscience. From time to time, one of them presumptuously cropped up