In the cemetery of Catania, a beautiful girl lies in a crystal coffin covered in flowers, still wearing the same wedding gown and hairstyle she wore 100 years ago. She is a mummy, known locally as La Bella Addormentata—the Sleeping Beauty—much like Rosalia in Palermo. Angelina was born on November 10, 1891, and died on April 20, 1911, after jumping from the tower of a castle her father was building as her wedding gift. It was not her dream wedding or partner; it was an arranged marriage to a lawyer twenty years older. She tried to stop the marriage, and when she realized she could not, she made a fatal decision.

Angelina grew up in the high society of southern Italy—her father owned one of Europe’s largest hide-tanning factories. Their mansion sat in the heart of the city, where Angelina, always accompanied by her mother and sisters, walked past the most exclusive boutiques. Despite privilege, many things were forbidden to her. While her brothers attended school, Angelina and her sisters received only basic home lessons—reading and household bookkeeping—along with long sessions of sewing and instruction in manners, grace, and obedience. Her father often called these the goals of a “good education for women.”

At sixteen, Angelina was finally allowed evening visits with her parents—to friends, relatives, or the theater. Before that age, southern girls were required to remain at home under servants’ supervision. That same year, a major event took place in Catania—the Universal Expo of 1907. Italian nobility attended the inauguration, following King Vittorio Emanuele. Angelina was present because her father was among the organizers—and among the noble guests who kissed her hand was the lawyer already promised to her by her father, unbeknownst to her.

Unaware of the promise made on her behalf, Angelina lived lightly, with the dreams typical of young women her age. One day, a distant cousin of her mother arrived with her son, Alfio, and Angelina was immediately smitten—shy and excited, a sensation she had never felt before. The next day, her mother spoke of their misfortune: Alfio had left university after his father’s death and was scrambling to support her. “We can help,” Angelina cried, trying to contain emotions she feared might be visible.

Her mother’s reply was firm. She would not embarrass her cousin with their lifestyle, and said the cousin’s “low marriage” had consequences—love does not feed a son. Angelina lost hope of seeing Alfio again. But months later, her father hired the boy as an accountant in the family factory. Ecstatic, Angelina found reasons to visit her father’s office, running small errands just to see him. Her feelings were mutual, and their affection quickly grew into something serious.

Soon, Alfio promised to ask for her hand in marriage, confident after the praises he received at work. Two years passed in handwritten notes and sweet promises of a life together—until the day Angelina turned eighteen. Unbeknownst to her, Salvatore—the lawyer now in his forties—had been waiting patiently for this day. Like those who never understood love, he never questioned whether the girl was happy.

He and Angelina’s father discussed the dowry, the money, the house—and the deal was made. Angelina cried night after night, until she found the courage to confess her love for Alfio to her mother. Her mother silenced her, commanding she never dare tell her father. Devastated, Angelina clung to one hope—that Alfio would speak to her father and ask for her hand.

Perhaps it would have happened if circumstances had been different. But the wedding announcement took place in front of the entire factory. It was painful for Angelina, who didn’t understand the necessity of work and survival; her heart knew only love. Dress fittings began, with the seamstress constantly narrowing the waist and chest—Angelina had stopped eating.

Meanwhile, the castle rose, and her father proudly called it “the envy of all people.” The fairytale would never happen there. One ordinary day, at nineteen, Angelina climbed the tower and jumped—for love and for protest. After her death, she was trapped again by her father’s will—this time in a body destined to remain young forever.

Her father ordered her embalmed and dressed as a bride, with the wedding gown and hairstyle she was to wear. He had her placed inside a crystal coffin, transported secretly into the family mausoleum at the cemetery. No one in the city was to know—her death was considered a dishonor. They told people she died of a sudden illness, and to keep the secret, a wooden panel was placed in front of the coffin, lifted only during family visits.

Years passed into decades. Forever young, Angelina—the Sleeping Beauty—watched everyone age but herself. After her parents died, she was forgotten. Her siblings felt talking about their aunt would stain the family name or set a bad example for children. Nearly a century passed. The world changed, and so did Catania—cats and horses gave way to cars, and women began working and driving. Perhaps it was the right time for Angelina to “wake.”

[Music] One night, grave robbers entered the mausoleum looking for treasures and broke the wooden panel. The mummy hidden for so long was now visible to anyone walking through the cemetery. Her father’s will was finally broken. People began bringing flowers or simple dolls to the Sleeping Beauty, as they called her.

The city learned her true story and loved her for who she was—not who her father wanted her to be. And she did not wake as in the fairytale—she did something more important. She stirred the conscience of the people and became a symbol of women’s strong will. For Angelina, the desire for self-determination was more valuable than her life.

She was a precursor of a new culture where women shape their own lives and destiny. In the crystal tomb, adorned with flowers, Angelina remains forever young. But in the city beyond, her legacy grew older, wiser, and braver. The Sleeping Beauty of Catania did not return to life—she helped others claim theirs.