Erika Project
I arrived with my suitcases at the central station of Palermo, and took leave of my family, embracing them wholeheartedly.
A voice announced:
“The express train to Roma Termini is departing on platform three.”
The noise of the rails contrasted with the landscape of the Sicilian coast, with its rugged coastline, the beaches and the beautiful sea, not to mention the vegetation that here and there dotted the fertile land. It was a very pleasant view to be seen.
In Rome, I got off at the Termini station. My former classmate was waiting for me. He was a tall, slender young man, elegantly dressed, who greeted me with a hug, then helped me with the bags.
His house was a prestigious villa on the outskirts of Rome.
“As you can see this is my home, so make this your home, too. Come, I’ll show you the guest room. “
A woman with long blond hair joined us. She had big green eyes and held hands with a big man dressed in army uniform that had several medals pinned to the front of the jacket.
“Welcome,” James waved. “Mom, dad! My friend and former classmate, Robert, has just arrived from Palermo and will stay here with us for a while.” Then turning to me, “Robert, this is my mother, Erica, and my father, General Massimo Maggi.”
After the introductions, Mrs. Erica invited me for dinner.
While we were eating the dessert, Mrs. Erica turned to her son.
“James,” she said, “your friend seems to be a good guy. Take him around to get to know Rome, and as soon as he is settled in a bit, come to the lab and introduce him to the Erika Project.”
“How come I’ve never heard of it?”
“The project is top secret. The Erika project was built for military purposes. It was found that the lie detector currently in use in some states is not totally reliable. Erika uses highly sophisticated systems, a computer built so that it is able to read the human memory, to digitally recreate events that have occurred in the past, both of men and inanimate objects. This way we could really find out who is responsible for a homicide, or the real author of a theft, without the use of “hearsay,” false testimonies or even long and painful torture. The real criminal will pay his penalty, and the honest man can continue to lead his own life. At present, unfortunately, it is not yet fully operational, but I’ll explain more when we get to the lab.”
We drove for about twenty minutes outside the city. The car pulled up near what seemed to be the bluff of a hill coming down steeply to the street.
“We’ve arrived,” he said.
I looked at the landscape in astonishment. You couldn’t see anything beyond land full of greenery, trees and plantations that stretched for miles. He rolled the car window down, put his hand on a sensor that could recognize his fingerprints, and turned the engine off. He waited silently.
“But how?” I asked, surprised. “There doesn’t seem to be anybody here!”
“That’s the great thing about this confidential project. It doesn’t seem to exist because it has good camouflage. Important electronic discoveries are hidden right under your feet. Soon you will see some of the wonders of modern technology.”
The car went slowly down until it disappeared, a metal plate of the same color as the road covering the hole the car had left as it vanished.
A policeman was in a small reception area with a simple table and a computer.
“For you to enter you must fill out a form which will include your personal information, stating that everything you see is a military secret, and that you will keep the findings and purposes of this project completely confidential.”
The policeman offered me a form to fill in. I signed the document and gave it to him.
“Thank you and welcome to the Project Erika.”
“My thanks to you.”
James took me for a walk through a long corridor lined with something similar to white marble. The four corners were lit with lines of fluorescent blue lights, and plate glass signaled the end of the passage.
An electronic voice said, “Before you can access, you are asked to do a blood test. Please put a finger in the slot just below the red light. The operation is painless. Some micro-needles will penetrate into your skin, and sensors will automatically make the diagnosis. “
“What does that mean?”
“The blood test is used to check that there are no traces, in the last 24 hours, of alcohol, medicines or psychotropic drugs. These substances, if taken, can cause mental dysfunction, and those who used them might cause trouble. We don’t want any damage to our equipment that has cost us several million euros.”
I nodded to show that I understood his message.
A heavily armored glass door, like that of a safe deposit box, opened slowly.
A digital voice said, “Thank you for your cooperation. Please have a seat.”
“Come on,” said James. “I’ll go first. Thirty seconds later you can come – one at a time.”
The lab was a large room, white like the corridor. Around the walls I recognized things similar to computers and other electronic equipment I had never seen before. Some people were occupied with moving folders. Others were busy soldering electrical wires onto something like the motherboard of a computer.
James gave me some indication as to where we were. “All around us there are computers. They don’t have a normal keyboard or a screen, like we’re used to, but they have digital keyboards. Come here so you can see one of them more closely. Do you see this thing that looks like a piece of dark glass put here by accident? It’s actually an ultra flat keyboard that rests on the desk.”
“I don’t see any keys. How is it possible?”
“The keys appear only when the computer is turned on. Letters and symbols automatically vary depending on the operator who uses the computer at that moment. “
“What do you mean?”
“It depends on the language of the person using the computer at the time. There are excellent scientists from all parts of the world working on this project. They collaborate from the United States, Russia, from Asia and from Europe. They cooperate in this fantastic project, but not all speak Italian or English perfectly. So we allow them to work, each one in their own language. Then our translators will do the rest. “
He suspended his hand in the air and a green light beam struck it. The computer automatically lit up and blue laser beams gave shape to a keyboard with an Italian layout, and to other keyboards at a slightly higher level, on an apparent piece of clear glass of about half an inch thick.
The screen connected to the keyboard displayed these words:
‘Doctor James Maggi, Erika Project, is ready at your disposal.’
“The computer, using a sensor, recognizes the operator from his fingerprints, and the data it has in its memory allows it to do everything else.
“That looks really awesome!”
He snapped his hands twice.
“Erika, please: the screen.”
A digital screen slowly descended from the ceiling.
“Erika Project has a satellite connection with all radio and television stations in the world, a system that is designed to help operators put more and more data into the computer’s memory. But till now it has been mostly used to offer recreational activities to our employees.”
Speaking to Erika, James said, “Music, please.” A music video came on, and the sweet notes of a band were heard. But my attention had been caught by a construction in the center of the room, a small square block within which a large black tower dominated the laboratory. At its foot there were some pieces of special equipment such as I had never seen before.
Some of the technicians were busy with mechanical parts, and other operators were working on a computer.
“What is all this stuff?” I asked, signaling towards the tower.
“The tower is Erika’s memory, and all these good people help to input the data. The world police send us information about the criminals – and not only that, practically every ‘honest’ citizen is present on our records. The largest state investigative agencies such as the American FBI and the Russian KGB/FSB exchange data with us and work together, at least in part, on our project.”
The square beyond the tower housed a raised platform, on which a suit similar to a diver’s suit was held with thin metal wires.
Thare was also larger helmet. The idea that I had of it was of a device straight out of a science fiction movie.
“It’s very advanced equipment that mainly comes from Japan. The computer will send and receive any information from you to its memory, and vice versa.”
“I can’t wait to try.”
“Erika is able to even artificially create more than thirty human perceptions that go beyond what you studied in school. Probably there are others but we don’t know them. Right now it is able to reproduce only thirty-five from the pressure of the body, the heart rate, fluid within it, the perceptions of movement, as well as some of the best known emotions, from joy to sadness, from boredom to pain, apathy, anger, and so on.”
“How is it possible?”
“Using this information, Erika can and does do stunning things. There was a lot of hard research work, the greatest engineering minds, scientific, educational, and many different sectors have been working for us for several years and now we are at the point of gathering the first results.”
“This is wonderful.”
“Come, let me show you some other things.” We approached the ‘battlefield.’ Nearby there was a big transparent glass table, screens and a dozen operators.
“Mr. Marconi, please give our guest a demonstration.”
“Okay.”
The man took from one of the drawers a knife enclosed in a transparent plastic bag. Then he put on some gloves and took out the knife and he laid it on a silver platter.
“Boy, you are going to observe Erika in action.
“You’ll see, in fact, how an inanimate object found on the scene of a crime, a theft or whatever, can help our system find out the facts of the crime. We started on the principle that everything has its own memory. Erika can read it, but it is a very long and inaccurate process. In general it uses a complex system of satellites that has been sent around the planet for our purpose. That knife, for example, has been used for a theft; the satellite has captured a video recording. Just enter on the computer the location of the place and the specific time in which the act occurred.”
The man, after pressing a few keys and moving two levers, began a projection of images. From the monitor I saw the scene of someone with a thick dark beard that had used the knife to force the window of a cottage. He had sneaked into a bedroom, lit his way with a flashlight, and stole all the jewelry he could find — rings, necklaces and earrings. Moreover, in a drawer he found some banknotes he put in his pockets. With his loot he ran out, closing the window behind him.
“As you just saw, that was our first case solved, thanks to Erika.”
The next day, a man with a white coat was wearing the helmet while five other employees were helping him to set it up. The man in the coat, seeing that I had come in, took off his helmet and headed toward me. He handed it to me with these words:
“Doctor, this is for you, and welcome to Erika project. I am Mr. Marco Pala, the technical head of the project. I will be the one following and helping you in subsequent experiments we will do. I hope you’re ready, because we should start now. You can get changed in that closet. To wear our suit you will need to take off your clothes. You can, of course, keep your underwear on.”
One of the technicians helped me put the suit on and took me into the ‘battlefield.’
Moving the buttons and levers of a control panel carefully, one of the technicians started the program.
James was there by my side to encourage me.
“Relax, my friend. Everything is under control. Now you’ll have one of the greatest experiences of your life. I hope you’ll have fun. Enter a date at random, so we can see a part of your past. Then you’ll have to confirm whether the information we get will be correct or not. Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
He made the sign of the cross: “Good luck to us!”
He took the new helmet that I held in my hands, and put it on my head.
Erika was put into operation and for a brief moment everything around me appeared dark and vibrating.
My eyelids became heavy. I heard a sudden buzz in my ears, and fell into a sort of coma.
I felt once again as a boy, during a walk on a warm December afternoon. Casually, in one of the city’s parks, in Palermo, I saw a lonely girl. She was enjoying herself on the swings and happily watching the trees, grass and daisies of the park.
Maybe she was seven years old or so. She had reddish brown hair, amber-colored complexion and blue eyes, the same color as the cloudless sky above us.
I approached her, and we started talking. “What’s your name?” she asked me in Italian with a French accent.
“I’m Robert. What’s your name?” I answered.
“I’m Nathalie. I speak just a bit of Italian because my father is French and my mother is Italian.”
I felt a sudden and sincere feeling of deep friendship to her, borne of nothing.
“Could you please push the swing?” she asked.
“Sure, my pleasure,” I answered.
I pushed the swing gently.
“You know I’m here with my family on vacation. My father loves Italy,” Nathalie said.
I looked at her and she smiled happily.
“I wish that everyone was as happy as I am now, and there were no more wars. You know my grandfather died fighting during the Second World War, and because of that I never met him. My mother often talks to me about him, saying he was a great man. He had good manners, and was an excellent educator and a very brave man. Then the dirty war took him and carried him away.”
She looked at her watch and said, “Robert, it’s late and I have to go.”
“When will I see you again?” I asked
“I don’t know. I‘ll soon be returning to Paris. My holidays are over. But don’t worry, sooner or later we shall meet again,” she answered.
The ‘curtain’ went down.
“Son, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my father.
It was a spring evening. The fragrance of the first flowers enriched the air with a delicate natural scent.
The whole family was there, sitting around the table in the courtyard of a restaurant to celebrate my tenth birthday: my father and I, my mother and my three-year-old sister Teresa.
“I want to be a lawyer,” I said, “to give some justice to this world.”
The faces of my parents grew pale.
“Father, I know I’m still young and I don’t know a lot about life, but the little I know I worry about. There is crime, ignorance and so much injustice.”
My father, an authoritarian man, was silent again as he cut his steak into small pieces.
I continued, “I want to help people. I want peace and brotherhood. I want to work for tolerance and love among people, and I think the most effective way to do this is as a lawyer. So, I will become a lawyer! “
“Lawyer?!” my father said, interrupting the mouthful he was swallowing.
“Yes, I will become a lawyer.”
He remained surprised, as he could not tell if he was talking to a kid or a mature man of his own age. Or was there a man hidden inside the boy’s body?
“My son, if that’s what you really want to do, I’m sure you will succeed. And whenever possible, in my own little way, I will try to help you.”
One of the waiters came up and, putting an end to our conversation, distracted us by placing a very tasty cake on the table which displayed the words “Happy Birthday” and, below, with bigger letters, “Robert.”
When I was twenty-one years old I found myself among the ranks of undergraduates receiving congratulations from university professors at graduation. My parents were there, proud of their son. After all, I succeeded in graduating a year ahead of schedule, and even Teresa, who meanwhile had grown up, hugged me in congratulation.
During the celebration ball, Monica, my former classmate, came close to the table where I was with my family.
“Robert, for once in your life dance with me!” she said. “I’d like to, but it’s best to avoid it,” I said.
My mother, more sensitive than I, encouraged me.
“Robert, sweetie, we’re celebrating your success. You shouldn’t refuse to dance.” She paused, then continued. “Now it’s time for you to relax and have some fun.”
So, for the first time in my life, I danced with a woman who was not my mother. At the end of the evening, when the guests were gone, I found myself alone in her arms, dancing a slow dance. She smiled, and from her eyes I understood her intentions.
“I’m sorry but now I have to run, it’s really late.”
“But Robert . . . I was expecting a kiss from you and maybe . .”.
“Forgive me, but you’re not the type of girl I’m looking for. You’re very beautiful and I love to dance with you, but . . . I’ve always been under the impression that there was a girl, somewhere, waiting for me. And even more absurd, I’ve had the strange feeling that she lives in France. In the end I’ll find this French girl and one day I’ll marry her. I hope you can understand me. However it’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself so much. Thanks a lot for that.”
“Thank you for the evening,” she replied. I gave her a kiss on the forehead and left.
A few days later I found a job in one of the best-known law offices of my city, Palermo.
“Sir,” I said to the judge I was working for, “you have a lot of experience in the field of law and justice. Please teach me everything you know because I want to learn all I can. I know that only with dedication can I do a good job to make sure human rights are respected.”
He said, “Okay, I’ll teach you everything I can.”
Under his direction, I did traineeship and a lot of practice, much more than my law school had ever been able to offer me.
Those days were very educational. I was present in the courtroom, listened to the sentences and medical examinations, and watched the movements and emotional reactions of the defendants and plaintiffs.
I took the helmet off, and I was back in the laboratory.
James and the technicians were there.
“Did you see what I saw?” I asked.
“Sure,” James answered.
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“Come,” said James, “I’ll show you.”
He showed me a circular platform in a corner of the room I had not noticed before.
“What does this round table mean?” I asked.
“Look carefully at the pictures you see on the table and tell me if they are the same as the images you just saw while experiencing part of your past.”
I looked at some three-dimensional images on the table. They were clearly visible, projected and built by the clever co-ordination of light and color. They faithfully reproduced what I had just experienced.
“It’s . . . simply amazing! Every image is the same as what I experienced,” I said.
“Well, you just observed what I have called ‘The Theatre of Memories,’ or, more briefly, The Theatre.”
Turning to his technicians, James said:
“We’re on track, guys! Tomorrow we will start it again. Now let’s get everything on file and send the report to Erika project as soon as possible.”
“All right, chief,” one of the technicians said, going back to work immediately.
The next day in the lab I wore the helmet again. Erika’s program began, and the world turned upside down for me.
It seemed that everything was rotating around me, with an ever-increasing speed. Suddenly everything stopped and I collapsed.
I got up and found myself lying on a lawn. I could smell freshly cut grass, heard birdsong and saw several tree-lined avenues. The castle that dominated the scene was before my eyes; it was tall and huge. The beauty of the place was amazing. There were statues of some French kings to greet us at the castle gates. Magically I found myself in an eighteenth-century environment.
Was it a joke?
I had never been in such a place, and yet nothing seemed quite new to me. In my mind some images arose, as if they were the product of a historical archive carefully furnished with data and photographs.
“This is my castle!” I thought, recognizing it.
The sentry at the entrance wore the uniform of the military Special Forces for the protection of the French kings. When he saw me passing, he saluted. I gave him a nod. The gate was opened, I entered and almost straightaway I climbed the one hundred and eleven steps of the highest tower.
From the top of the tower, panting a little from the climb, I gazed at the landscape rich in vegetation on one side, while on the other side was the city of Paris with the River Seine flowing like a vein. The palace of Louis XVI was not more than a few hundred meters away.
I went down into a room, and looked curiously at my reflection in the mirror, which showed a satisfied kid with a slender but strong looking body.
I was only 14 years.
The Erika machine stopped. I took off the helmet. My forehead was sweating. I was amazed to see the lab still there. James and his technicians were waiting for me. They were anxious to see me after I had relived my past life.
“Robert, Robert,” James ran to my rescue. “How are you?”
“Have you been playing a little joke on me!? Some clever joke! That’s what you’ve done to me!” I said furiously.
“Believe me, Robert, no one here wants to play a dirty trick on you. We’re all as amazed as you are.
I don’t exactly know what happened. It was maybe a short circuit that caused a very distant date in the past to be programmed.”
“Wow! We’re talking about a small oversight of at least two hundred years! What year was that?” I asked.
“Around the year 1777. The display on the machine was not precise.”
“I still don’t believe a word of what you’re saying!” I said angrily.
I began to take the suit off. “I really think I’ve had enough. I’m going home!” I added.
“Robert, it’s difficult for us to believe this whole story. It’s only you who can say if the things you’ve seen, heard or experienced are true or not. “
“I really have no idea. Nor can I remember such a distant past,” I said.
“You have to know that I have no words, I have never believed in past lives.” General Maggi said.
“Good. Now we know it exists! I’ll have to go on with the experiment and find out what happened,” I said.
“Will you have courage enough for it, my friend?” The general asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The period that you want to review coincides with the start of the internal revolts in France, before the French Revolution. That was a very disastrous period for the nobility and the clergy of that time.” General Maggi added.
“I couldn’t change the past, whatever it is, because I can’t change history. I don’t think that’s possible. But at least I can learn from my own mistakes and have a better future,” I said.
“Do you agree to continue the experiment?” General Maggi asked me.
“Of course I do. I’ll continue to the end — and beyond if necessary,” I said.
The next day the general was present when Erika project was put to work. This time the digital screen marked the year 1779.
After putting on the helmet, I was catapulted back to the castle where, during dinner, my father the brother of the king of France, received an unexpected visit from one of his merchants.
“Sire, please forgive my interrupting your dinner at this time, but there is urgent news.”
“I hope that it is something serious, because you know how much I hate being disturbed during my dinner, especially when I’m here with my sweet wife...”
The merchant said, “Tomorrow morning I’ve got to go to the city of Pisa for the silk trade. I urgently need a traveling companion, as my colleague became seriously ill and I can’t continue the journey alone. I just want to say, my lord, that if we don’t go ahead with the trip, we may lose a lot of money. Sire, you know how important it is, at this time, that we have a good relationship with that city — otherwise . . .”
This was the opportunity I was waiting for.
“Father, I want to help you. May I go with this gentleman?” I said
“No, son, you can’t go on this trip. You’re still too young,” my father answered.
“Father, you know that I’m a man already, I’m sixteen years old and therefore I’m able to travel outside France.”
Thinking this over, he then said, “Okay, my son. I agree. I’m proud of you.”
Once in Pisa, in a local square we agreed to sell our merchandise to a small, very friendly man with a long red beard. He shook hands with us vigorously and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow to complete the deal.”
“Yes, see you tomorrow. Same time and place as today,” the merchant said.
“You’ll find me here, don’t worry,” the man answered.
“We have to find accommodation for the night. Follow me,” my companion told me.
We were given a dingy room with simple beds of straw thrown on the floor.
“Well, sir, now we have lodging and a whole day to enjoy ourselves a bit. Where shall we go?” I asked.
I’m not going anywhere, I’m dead tired,” my companion said.
So saying, he went to bed and immediately fell asleep.
I was curious to see what the city was like. Tiredness alone was not enough to keep me at the hotel. So I went for a walk in the streets of Pisa. It was already evening. During the walk, I met a cheerful group of girls who was coming in the opposite direction.
I looked at one of them. She was just fantastic, of medium height with beautiful blue eyes, a penetrating gaze, light brown hair nearly blond, and a smile that would have brought new life to a dead man.
“I’m sixteen, I’m a woman now . . .” I heard her saying to one of her friends. I stared at her as you might gaze at a beautiful landscape. She noticed this and looked at me curiously, interrupting her conversation.
Her friends, who understood the situation, left us alone.
“Beatrice is my name, and what is yours?” she asked.
“Luc. Did you just say that you’re just sixteen?” I asked.
“Yes, correct,” she replied.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked.
“I help my parents, serving in the inn,” she replied.
“Now that your friends are gone, may I take you to your place?”
“I don’t know. You’re a stranger and I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said.
“Trust me, I’m a gentleman,” I answered. Then we walked together.
That night, under the moonlight, I gave her my first kiss.
“In any situation in which we might find ourselves, promise me that you will always be close to me,” she said.
“No, I can’t promise you because I don’t know if I will ever marry you.”
“I want to marry you. Don’t you feel the same?”
“Yes! Of course I do, but I’m afraid that it may not be possible. “
Her face fell.
I took courage and hastened to clarify the situation. “Beatrice, you should know that, unfortunately, I am a noble.”
“A noble?!”
“Yes, a nobleman. My clothes don’t show it, but I am. “
“What are you doing here?”
“I came under the pretext of trade to find out a little about the world, but I think the real reason I’m here was to meet you.”
“So you do not love me as you have just said!”
“Yes, I love you! I love you madly. “
“Maybe I’m crazy, but for an hour I lost my heart because of the beautiful light in your eyes.
Please take me with you. Living in a palace or in a hut for me would make no difference. Your love will enrich my days; your words will color my life with poetry. You and I together forever!” Her trembling hands caught hold of mine. “We will then have to change the rules if necessary. You will be my husband and I your wife, whatever it costs.” She stopped a moment as she hugged me.
Her luggage was one small trunk. The carriage was loaded with everything needed for a long trip, including precious fabrics, gold candlesticks and jewelry. The journey wasn’t relaxing at all. The wheels of the carriage occasionally fell into a rut and struck stones found along the road, causing her to continuously bounce about.
Once in the palace, skilled local tailors took her measurements in order to make beautiful dresses worthy of a noblewoman.
After a night of sleep, some maidservants came into her room and opened the drapes around her bed, waking her up. Then they got Beatrice ready to be presented to my father.
I waited for her anxiously, pacing up and down in my room. When she came out, the heels of her shoes, slightly higher than those she was used to wearing, made her walk in a funny way. When I saw her, I was thunderstruck. I didn’t remember that I had ever seen her so beautiful as at that moment. Yet I had seen her just the night before. Now she was well dressed and adorned with face powder. Her hair was prepared in the most fashionable style. She came over and hugged me. I indicated with my finger for her to turn around — and she did so, beautifully, adding a little curtsy.
“You look wonderful, my dear,” I said.
“Are you serious?” she asked me.
“Of course I am!” I added.
“I’d like to see myself,” she said.
I called a servant. “A mirror. Please, bring me a mirror immediately. “
She was amazed to look at herself, so beautiful and elegant.
“What have they done to me?” she asked in a wonder, letting out a little chuckle. “If my mother saw me now, she wouldn’t recognize me. I love the way I look. I love the clothes I’m wearing. Everything is fascinating!” she said.
Pier came running, out of breath.
“Good morning, sir.” Then, turning to Beatrice, he kissed her hand. “Good morning, my lady. You must be Beatrice. It’s very nice to meet you – and welcome! My noble lord, who is your host, has spoken of you with great praise,” he added.
She curtsied and thanked him with a smile.
“I am Pier and I have the task of taking you to the school for young ladies, where you can learn courtly manners and get to know our customs. You’ll also learn to dance, and when you’ve finished you’ll be ready to be presented in high society and at court.”
“My dear, this is the only solution,” I added. “If you wish to be a noble lady you have to train yourself. Anyone who has good practical sense would notice at a glance that you lack the manners that you’ll soon learn. Many of the French nobles put on airs. They are a bit arrogant, and seeing someone close to them who is not of the same rank as theirs, well — you would be ostracized.”
Pier urged her: “Come, we should be going soon. Let’s get started on our way to the school.”
Pier helped her up, offering his hand. Then with quick steps he turned and took his place next to her.
The coachman urged the two horses on with a shout and the whip, and Beatrice waved a white handkerchief from the window, as a gesture of farewell. I followed her with my eyes until the carriage became an indefinite dot on a small hill.
Meanwhile, I spent time doing exercises with a little pistol, with a gun or a sword, and with a knife.
I was learning the art of self-defense in the event of attack, or to protect someone else.
In general, I struggled. My instructor used to repeat to me, “Come on, you can do it. Even I succeeded, clumsy as I am at everything.” I tried it again, and he’d say, “No, not like that.” He’d shout, “You have to concentrate! Be focused and everything will be easy.” Then he added in a more friendly tone. “Let’s do it again, let’s continue! We have no time to lose.”
A few months later…
One morning, at dawn, Pier came to my room while I was in a deep sleep. He woke me and said, “Sorry to wake you up, my lord, but you must get up now. You have to get dressed quickly. You’ll have a surprise soon.”
Half awake, I said, “What’s happening Pier? Let me get some more sleep.”
And I buried my head in the pillow again.
Pier told me promptly, “My lord, please get up now! She’s coming!”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
“Beatrice. Who else could I be talking about?” Pier said.
“What?” I jumped out of bed and said, “Please help me get dressed quickly.”
He helped me the best he could. Once dressed, I got out of my room and ran outside the building where I was staying. Pier struggled to follow me. I looked around for Beatrice. There was only the usual large flat green yard and the empty street in front of the building, but she wasn’t there.
“Where is she?” I asked Pier. “Tell me where she is.”
“I told you. She’s coming. Do you see that carriage far away? “
“Yes I do. Is she inside?” I asked.
“Yes, my lord, she’s in there,” Pier said. “But now, please, set yourself up. You’ll certainly want to impress her,” Pier added.
The carriage arrived. A servant opened the door and put the steps. A young lady, dressed with a silk cloth with golden filaments, came slowly down the steps. She had a proud look, blue sparkling eyes like sunlight reflected on the sea, her hair skillfully coifed atop her head. All of these combined to give her an aristocratic air.
Now her features were more mature. She possessed elegant and sophisticated ways. Her face, made up with a cream or white powder, gave her a singular sense of mystery.
“My prince!” she said serenely. “Do you not recognize me?”
“Is it really you, or am I still dreaming?”
“It is I, Beatrice, your future wife.”
“You are very beautiful!”
I approached her with open arms. We embraced and we kissed each other.
Finally the day we’d been anxiously waiting for had arrived — our wedding day, and for this important event a big party was organized.
The French King Louis XVI and his wife, Archduchess of Austria Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, and thousands of guests came for the feast.
The king himself announced our marriage to the wedding guests and to the crowd that had gathered in front of my father’s castle, with these words:
“Ladies and gentlemen, you represent the aristocracy and the people of France. You have the honor to attend the wedding of my nephew, Count Luc, and beautiful Beatrice, Countess of Pisa. Even before meeting my nephew Luc, Beatrice had already learned to speak French. The two newlyweds met in Pisa and they soon fell in love with each other.”
Beatrice curtsied in front of the king. I lowered my head as a sign of approval. The same gestures were repeated immediately by the people who listened respectfully to the king’s words.
“Beatrice is a young lady of a well-respected family and a person of great generosity. Luc is a great soldier and army commander. God bless these young newlyweds!” the king said.
People applauded and shouted for joy.
“And now let the young couple kiss each other with my blessing,” the king said.
Again people clapped their hands and enthusiastically shouted, “Long live the newlyweds! Long live the newlyweds!”
After our kiss the king ordered, “Let the party begin!”
Enthusiastic cries of joy went up to the sky.
One morning when we woke up and while we were still in bed, she told me she was feeling nausea, and dizziness and then she added, “You know, these things happen to pregnant women.”
“Do you mean you’re pregnant?” I asked.
“I think so. I might be three weeks pregnant now,” she said.
I embraced her, kissed her and said, “This is wonderful news!”
A few days later, with a carriage full of trunks, we went to Uncle Leon’s house that was on a hill surrounded by thick and wild vegetation.
About ten servants were at our disposal. They helped us get our house arranged properly.
The child was born without a lot of crying. We called her Louise. Our home was a place of joy and happiness for the whole family. My wife, my daughter and I spent happy days there. The baby began to take her first steps in the house and started to call me Daddy.
Time was passing quickly. Little Louise used to run on the grass chasing butterflies. Her hair was gathered in two small straw-colored braids, and she had blue eyes like her mother. She was carefree, always running about.
I was not involved in any royal duties. I used to spend my day hunting at dawn, and in the afternoon repairing wooden walls, which needed minor adjustments, using chisel, plane and a saw. I sometimes went fishing in the lake. I would carry Louise in one arm and in the other one a fishing rod.
“Look, Louise, we’ve caught something!”
She nodded and smiled. I pulled up a fish with my rod, and she looked at it with screams of joy.
During a gloomy, cold and sad day the king’s messenger came galloping up on a white horse.
He knocked on the door frantically until Beatrice opened it. The messenger came in, drenched and shivering. I helped him take off his wet jacket.
“Quick, please get a blanket for him,” I said to Beatrice.
She fetched one and wrapped it around the messenger who sat near the fireplace. Louise was asleep on the sofa nearby.
“Do you have a message for me from our king?” I asked.
“Yes, I have an urgent message for you,” he replied.
“Then tell me what it is,” I said.
Beatrice arrived with a steaming cup of mulled wine and gave it to our guest.
“Drink this wine, it will do you good,” she said.
“Thank you, madam,” he answered.
He took a sip and regained color on his face.
“The financial crisis of France has recreated serious problems,” he told us, “and internal revolts have already had to be suppressed. The situation is a big worry for the king, who thinks that riots even more menacing will happen very soon. Therefore the king would like to speak to you personally.”
“Please be my guest tonight,” I said. “Tomorrow morning at dawn we’ll leave together.”
“Alberto,” I shouted to the butler, who was silently awaiting instructions. “Get a room ready for the night.”
Alberto asked the messenger to follow him.
Beatrice and I remained seated at the table. That night the light of the candles appeared strangely far more radiant than the light of Beatrice’s eyes.
“Beatrice, my dear,” I said, “I don’t know what’s going on at the French court or in the kingdom. It has been at least three years now that we’ve been here in this oasis of peace and happiness. But I was forgetting the problems of our nation. The king needs me. The country needs my help. I can’t refuse it.”
“The worst thing that could happen is for us to be separated.” she said.
“Beatrice, my dear, the kingdom is not mine just because the King is my uncle. I belong to the kingdom because I live in it. What can be better in life than seeing the smile of somebody who hasn’t smiled for a long time? I’m convinced that helping others is the greatest thing a man can do in life.” I said.
“I see. But I’m afraid . . . I may lose you,” she said.
“I’m scared too,” I said.
There was a long silence. Maybe it was not so long, but it appeared so to me.
“If it is true that love can work miracles, I promise that I will come to you and that . . .” I said.
“What if they kill you?” she interrupted.
“In that case, you must go to Pier. He will take care of you and Louise. He will be like a father for her and a husband for you,” I said.
She nodded, sad and silent.
“Anyway,” I continued, “We have to create a better nation here in France, where people trust each other, and where there are no more wars or madness. If you want to help me in this project, well . . I will love you even more,” I said.
“Yes, I want to,” she answered.
She took my hands and squeezed them in hers. Then she continued. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. From being a poor innkeeper you’ve transformed me into a noblewoman, and you’ve made me happy,” she said.
“Why are you talking as if this was a farewell?” I asked.
A tear slid down her face.
“The cause of my good fortune, I’m afraid, may become the cause of my bad luck. If we have another life, please promise me that you’ll look for me then,” she said.
“In the next life, and the one after that, I will always look for you and will marry you, again and again, a thousand times and still a thousand more if necessary,” I said.
“That’s what I’ll do too. I shall be strong, I’ll find you and I’ll help you in your plans whatever they are. I love people the way you love them. I don’t know if one day I’ll be bold enough to sacrifice my life to save a hundred or just ten, but if we need to I’ll do it.”
The next day the messenger and I went riding.
I went back to the messenger and we galloped off. Finally we arrived at the king’s castle. The guards introduced us to the king. He looked tired and seemed to be ten years older then when I met him last time I was at the castle. He sat on a bench under a tree that protected him from the pale sun.
I bowed my head. The king took my hand and told me,
“Nephew you’ve been brave to come here. However, despite your courage, and given the current financial crisis, I don’t think you’ll be able to do much, unfortunately. There are riots in the streets. Noble families are arguing with the working people and among themselves, desperately trying to grab as much power and gold as possible. The behavior of the aristocracy puts the lives of its own members at risk. However, the aristocracy itself doesn’t care about that any more.
The clergy, in turn, is losing power and claims its land rights, rather than its spiritual rights.
The clergy wants to regain small lands lost after the recent riots and especially the financing it was receiving by the central government that was cut recently.
The clergy doesn’t produce anything and doesn’t deserve to receive finances from the kingdom. In the past, the priesthood played an educational function but now all it wants is to have the same power and wealth for the aristocracy.
Then the last social class, the working people, also wanted to have equal rights like the other social classes: the aristocracy and the clergy. Working people do anything in order to be treated equally. In fact, it is the working class that sustains the nobility and the clergy with its work and the taxes it pays. That’s why it is rebelling, to have the same rights as the other two classes. I support the working class. Many times I proposed laws that were going to improve their economies. For some years the working class was on my side but now I can’t help them in their requests and that’s why they are rebelling against me,” the king said.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe you could tell the truth to the working people. They must know that the king is on their side,” the king said.
“I understand,” I said. “I’ll do this,” I said.
I rode my horse up hill and down dale, in search of whoever was instigating the crowds against the king so I could inform them of the truth.
Once, on a mule path, a man was shouting loudly, “The king is the reason for our troubles. We should fight against him.”
A small group of people, hearing his words, got together.
Then I said, “Gentlemen, please listen. The king is on your side but the clergy and the aristocracy are the classes that have created a dangerous situation in France. They caused the financial crisis.”
“Who are you? Are you a protector of the king?” the man who was provoking the crowd said.
“No,” I said, “but I know a little about the political affairs of France and, believe me, the king doesn’t want to harm the working people. He’s doing everything he can to help them but, unfortunately, he has opponents even within his own court.”
After I said that, I left without much influence on the crowd.
In short, I spent months on this mission to give new hope to the working people. I tried to smooth ruffled feathers in different situations, to prevent riots and small uprisings. However the political situation precipitated.
The summer of 1789 was the turn of the peasant revolution.
The Comte d’Artois, my father and other noblemen, left the country. One after another, most of them passed under the protection of the Emperor Leopold II of Hapsburg, brother of Queen Marie Antoinette in the Austrian kingdom.
In the city and in the countryside a tricolor flag, red, blue and white, replaced the white banner of the royal family monarchy.
The city seemed crazy. The blood of the people bathed the streets, and those of the noble bloodied the squares where they were guillotined.
The people angrily besieged the Versailles Palace. The royal family was fortunately able to find refuge in Paris.
My family and I, given the prospectives, decided to leave for Italy. We also brought with us my friend Pier. My wife went back to her parents’ home.
The royal family tried to leave France but it was caught in Varennes.
Finally, on January 15th, 1793 the proposal to prosecute Louis XVI for treason was passed. The king was found guilty and guillotined on January 21. This entertained thousands of spectators who were gathered together in the square of death.
Even the king’s wife, Marie Antoinette, had a similar fate. In the end the only difference was that, during the execution, the crowd was noisier and more caustic.
We let time go by to calm things down. Then my wife and I left the child in the capable hands of her maternal grandparents and decided to return to Paris. The hoped for scenario should have been different, somehow “better,” but I was wrong. Several protesters filled the squares in the general discontent, one head after another was cut by the guillotine in public executions. I observed one of these executions, and horrified, I shouted, “No!” just before the heavy blade cut the head of a condemned. This didn’t stop the action. On the contrary it attracted the attention of some soldiers. One of them recognized me, and began to shout and attract the attention of other people.
“You are the grandson of the king. I recognize you!”
A group of men without uniforms came up to me. I tried to get away. Striking one of the men with an elbow, I freed myself from the grip of the man who had grabbed me, and by two others with shovels and picks, but all that was useless.
They captured me and soon I became a prisoner.
Two gendarmes came to take me, led me to a heated room, and a man was waiting for me.
The good priest followed me like my shadow. Would I be able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, thanks to his intonations? Would God accept me more easily with his recommendation?
At the end of the dimly lit corridor a door barred the way, as it was opened a noise rose, and the crowd made itself heard like a deafening cold and penetrating wave.
“He’s coming out! There he is!” The crowd chanted thirstily for blood.
My courage and strength were gone, and the priest, realizing that I was going to faint, came to support me with his bony hands.
“Come on, son!”
I would like to see him give courage if he was heading to the gallows!
However, I listened to his advice and I walked with a decided pace.
The multitude of onlookers crowded, pushed and jostled each other to ensure front row seats to the ‘show,’ as they laughed and jumped expectantly for joy.
What an attraction I had become. I advanced this way to the foot of the scaffold.
As if attracted by a strong light I found, in this huge crowd, my wife. I recognized her, and saw her sad eyes as she silenty watched the execution. She watched it until the end.
Imprisoned with hands and neck inside the mechanisms of the tool of death, I deleted from my eyes the sight of the many excited spectators. I canceled the surrounding noise of joy and screams of excitement from the crowd. In an apparent silence, I said goodbye to my country that was condemning me to death.
As a last farewell, my wife looked at me with a face devoid of emotion, two eyes without tears, tears held back for fear of being recognized. Finally, I said farewell to life that was leaving me.
