The coffin of the Cav. between Mattarella and “Drive in”

In the end, the synthesis of everything is in the scene of the coffin that comes out of the Cathedral, and here the chorus of the curve rises. The AC Milan fans, songs and flags in a state funeral where – ceremonially – no one except the priest can speak. Marina Berlusconi had asked to speak, but they told her no, you can’t (but at least they made her read the text of the homily first). And so the only verb, as in Greek tragedies, at the end is the chorus: the constant murmur of joy and torment of fate. A flag graft in the rigor of a funeral with the President of the Republic seated in the front row, the cuirassiers guarding the coffin, the carabinieri in full uniform, the military trumpet sounding silence. Outside the choir and inside the looks, as silent as they are eloquent. Marta Fascina looks at Marina who looks at Pier Silvio. And there is something implacable in this exchange of glances, sweet and at the same time complicit. The Cavaliere’s two eldest sons, who are the real owners of the company and therefore of the house, and Marta, the unmarried wife who is the instrumentum regni in the fiefdom of politics, the one used to ward off the jackals and hyenas they had made herd beside the dying king’s remains. They kept the Cav. close to him, like a safe from which you can take whatever you want. Where is sitting Licia Ronzulli, the former powerful? “There is not”. “But yes there is. It’s down there, in the sixth row, at the end”. So that outside there is singing, while inside the church it is all a silent code, a communication through small gestures: Meloni who almost tries to disappear, Salvini who arrives first and strolls through the aisles hand in hand with his fiancée Francesca Verdini, Tajani in tears, Schlein in embarrassment, the ambassadors of France and Germany, the locomotive of Europe, who they let go for a moment and look like two happy brothers at the funeral of a distant relative.