The Prince Read Free Page A

palazzi, and the people passing by. “You see all this? Here in Sicily, this is by no means reality. It is only a facade. The real world—who controls things and who makes the important decisions—remains underground. Invisible. Like in Tocco . The one who decides things is the boss’s helper, who only seems to be under the boss but is the real one calling the shots.”

Chapter 3
    â€“ 1920 –
    B ack in 1920, the Italian population was experiencing a period of intense crisis, with discontent among all social classes contributing to levels of extreme intolerance. The harvest that year produced the most disastrous yield farmers could remember, forcing the government to buy two-thirds of the country’s required wheat abroad, at a price much higher than what the average Italian could afford to pay. In many cities, clashes between protesters and police became commonplace, with numerous strikes by the working classes, professional groups, and even government employees and teachers.
    The situation was not as dramatic in Sicily as in the rest of Italy, because the farmers’ discontent lacked the crucial backing of the masses of workers in large industries; but even there, the common people managed to make their voices heard violently, supported by socialist and popular fronts.
    For these reasons, the great feudal landowners of western Sicily chose to meet in a secret assembly to chart the course of Sicily’s economy in such a way that they would not lose control of power.
    The meeting took place in the heart of Palermo on October 14, 1920, in the rooms of Palazzo Cesarò, whose proprietors were the Count and Countess Colonna, descendents of a branch of a famous Roman family that had arrived in Sicily in the thirteenth century. Invitations were distributed secretly to thirty-eight large-estate owners, as well as representatives of the clergy, politicians, and members of the press. Thirty-four turned up at the meeting: all of them men. Wives and lovers were excluded from the assembly, with the exception of the Countess Paola Colonna—in fact, the originator of the conspiracy—who acted as hostess.
    Ferdinando Licata, who had recently turned forty, was among the last guests to arrive. He kissed the countess’s hand before addressing her. “Donna Paola, it is an honor for me to meet you. I must admit that what they say about your charm is inadequate to convey what is felt in person.”
    The noblewoman, advanced in years, was flattered by the prince’s words and impressed by his elegant appearance. “Prince Licata, when a woman is young, she is said to be ‘beautiful,’ but when she is on in years, the best thing that can be said of her is that she is ‘charming.’ I would like to be remembered for my brain.”
    Licata smiled. “Men are frightened of a woman who is beautiful and also endowed with intelligence. Your husband has indeed been fortunate.”
    The countess gave him a smile of complicity, and, with that, let him know that he could consider himself free to move on.
    Ferdinando Licata knew most of those present, and the few whom he had not yet had the pleasure of meeting were introduced to him by the host, Don Calogero Colonna himself.
    Almost all of the attendees were noblemen who had inherited feudal estates that they held by the grace of God and the king. Among the political figures invited were the liberal Antonio Grassa, the republican parliamentarians Vito Bonanno and Ninì Rizzo. There was even a delegation of journalists with Raffaele Grassini, the official spokesman of the Agrarian Party, and in addition, there was a representative of the Church, Don Antonio Albamonte, who was also a member of the island’s nobility.
    At that time a simple parish priest of the Cathedral of Salemi, Don Antonio was the youngest of three brothers. Due to family arrangements, he had been forced by his father to embrace an ecclesiastical career.