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He rushed out. His first new recruit was Romolo Dibiagio. Romolo's khaki shorts were tucked high because he had sprinted to come to Socialist headquarters. Breathlessly he cried: "Is it true? A sports ground?" He was soon joined by others who had been playing football in the square with a ball made of rags, and had broken one of Arsoli's few street lamps. Dante Bruni, whose father was Arsoli's most prominent Fascist, assumed the old dictatorial line. Banging his fist on the table, he cried: "Unless I see that sports ground built, I'll start a local section of [NeoFascist] M.S.I.—Movemento Sociale Italiano. Said the prince: "But we are going to build it."
It turned out that the only suitable site for the sports field was next to the local school. The lay of the land is such that the field must embrace part of Vittorio's land, then, across a ditch, some land belonging to the Arsoli municipality, which has a Communist administration.
Unexpected opposition came from the village priest, for three reasons: 1) he thought the field might distract youths from church; 2) Saragattians had thought up the idea, and this would diminish the Demo-Christian hold on the non-Communist youth; 3) the Communist municipality, if it gave land, might claim some credit for the sports ground. From his pulpit, the priest thundered that the land would be wasted, although almost nothing grew on it except 25 olive trees.
There was muttering in church as the priest spoke. Even ardent Catholic Actionist Sigfrido Marcotullio, a sportsman as well as a Demo-Christian, asked: "Is that priest's talk? Is it in the Gospel?"
Other Demo-Christians were on the priest's side. Said pale, bookish Homero Giovannini: "I'm against the sports field. I hate football. If Arsoli youth needs exercise, they can race round the village square on bicycles."
"We Want to Belong." He ran into trouble immediately, however. His fiancee, slim Leonilde Nardoni, who had formerly been engaged to a sportsman, cried: "I'm your fiancee, so I have to agree with you, but remember that half of me is for the sports field. I may decide to throw in my lot for the sports field, after all." The threat shut bookish Homero's mouth.
Others were not ready to buckle under. In the dead of night small figures climbed over the gates of Massimo Castle, pattered through the garden and courtyard, climbed upstairs right into Vittorio's bedroom. They were choir boys and local Boy Scouts. One spoke for all, as the tousle-headed prince, rubbing sleepy eyes, sat up rn his canopied bed: "We have come to give you our support for the sports field. We want to belong to the Socialist Party. Only we don't want the priest to know."
The Priest Switches. Vittorio went ahead and measured out the sports field. He was worried when he had finished. It would entail cutting down at least 17 olive trees. Hungry Arsoli needed its oil.