The Viceroys (40 page)

Next day in fact he rushed all round the constituency, into voters' houses, urging the erection of voting-booths, interpreting an electoral law new to all, inciting people to place the name of Oragua in the urns. Meanwhile in Chiara's house, as if in sign of protest against this last madness of the duke's, were met all the pro-Bourbon Uzeda except for Don Blasco, who since the transactions by his nephews and nieces and the arrangement of Lucrezia's wedding and his brother's candidature, seemed to have gone really quite off his head.

Chiara was more or less re-established in health and taking her misfortune with some resignation. The marchese never left his wife's bedside and would lean over to talk in her ear. Neither
of the two listened to Donna Ferdinanda's ferocious remarks against her brother, or the cavaliere's historico-critical discourses to the young prince, who also came to visit his aunt together with the Prior and Fra' Carmelo. Chiara had sent for Ferdinando and was awaiting him impatiently. When he appeared she called him to her bedside and talked to him in a whisper for a long time. Then she called her maid, took a bunch of keys from beneath her pillow and gave them to him, ordering him amid the clatter of conversation:

‘You know the glass jar for lard in the store cupboard?… The big one?… Get it, empty it and wash it out … carefully, now. Better use hot water.'

When the jar was ready, Ferdinando went to see her.

‘All right,' he said. ‘Now we need spirit.'

Chiara ordered someone to go out and buy it. Then amid a circle of astounded relatives, the foetus, yellow like wax, was brought out, washed, dried and then introduced by Ferdinando into the glass jar which he filled with spirit and then corked up.

‘Is there some tallow … or clay?'

‘There's my ointment, if that's any use … said the marchese.

With the ointment, whose stink filled the room, Ferdinando stuck down the edges of the cork so that no air should enter the jar. Chiara followed the operation attentively. Consalvo, with eyes starting out of his head, looked at that piece of fat swimming in spirit. Suddenly he said to Don Lodovico:

‘Uncle, doesn't it look like the goat in the museum?'

In the Benedictines' museum there was another abortion, an animal's, a lump of flesh with paws, like a ghostly bladder with limbs; but Chiara's creature was more horrible still.

Don Lodovico did not answer; after a short visit to his sister he left. The others gradually went off too, leaving Chiara alone with her husband gazing almost contentedly at that lump of anatomy, latest product of the Viceroy's race.

The prince was in a hurry to get back to his uncle the duke and in order to please him took his son along, though it was the usual time for the boy to return to the monastery. Scarcely had the family reached the palace than confused sounds were heard in the distance; claps, shouts, trumpet-calls and bangs on a big drum. A citizens' demonstration of all classes with banners and
music, headed by the two Giulente, was on its way to acclaim the first deputy for the constituency, the notable patriot, Don Gaspare. The porter, seeing a yelling crowd drawing near, made to close the gates, but Baldassarre, sent down by the duke, told him to leave them wide open. The crowd was crying, ‘Long live the Duke of Oragua! Long live our deputy!' while the band played Garibaldi's Anthem and urchins did somersaults to the music. The Giulente, the Mayor, and another eight or ten of the most important citizens were parleying with Baldassarre and asking to go up and compliment the people's choice.

The duke was upstairs in the Yellow Drawing-room and there the major-domo led them. As soon as Benedetto Giulente entered he saw Lucrezia standing by the princess, still with her hat on. The duke came towards his fellow-citizens and shook everyone's hand, prodigal with thanks, while from the street came the din of shouts and applause. The prince, seeing a man with the reputation of the Evil Eye in the group, went pale and muttered, ‘Save us! Save us!' The newly elected deputy, meanwhile, was presenting Giulente to his nieces and nephews. The young man bowed and exclaimed, radiant:

‘Signora, princess, signorina, I am indeed happy and proud to present to you for the first time my homage on this happy day, which is an occasion of rejoicing for your family as it is for the entire city.'

‘Hurrah for Oragua!… Out with the duke!… Hurrah for the deputy!…' they were yelling below.

Benedetto flung open the balcony as if he were in his own house. Then the duke went even paler than his nephew; now he would have to talk to the crowd, finally open his mouth, say something. Clinging to Benedetto he stuttered:

‘What is it?… What shall I say?… Help me, I'm all confused …'

‘Say that you thank the people for this flattering demonstration … that you feel the responsibility of their mandate, that you will concentrate all your strength on carrying it out … animated by the trust, upheld by the …' Then as the shouts redoubled he pushed him towards the balcony.

As soon as the deputy appeared, a louder clamour than ever rose from the antshill of heads in the street. They were waving
hats, handkerchiefs, flags, and shouting ‘Evviva! Evviva!…' Yellow as a corpse, hanging on to the balustrade with both hands, grim-faced, rigid all over, the Honourable Member began:

‘Citizens …'

But his voice was lost in the vast and incessant tumult, the stunning chorus of applause; from the deputy's attitude they did not realise that he was about to talk. Benedetto raised an arm. And as if by magic obtained silence.

‘Citizens!' began the young man. ‘In the name of you all, in the name of the sovereign people, I have informed the illustrious patriot …' (‘Hurrah for Oracqua!… Hurrah for the duke!…') ‘of the superb, the unanimous affirmation of the whole constituency … To the many proofs of his self-sacrifice for his native city …' (‘Hurrah! Hurrah!…') ‘the Duke of Oragua now adds this: once again he bows to the wish of his fellow-citizens to represent them in that august assembly where for the first time there will meet the sons …'

But he could not finish. Acclamations and applause drowned his words. They were shouting, ‘Hurrah for Italian unity! Long live Victor Emmanuel! Long live Oracqua! Long live Garibaldi!…' Others added ‘Long live Giulente! Hurrah for the wounded hero of the Volturno!'

‘The enthusiasm which I see animating you,' he went on, ‘is the finest confirmation of the voting-urns' response … Those urns from which once more comes liberty … the sovereign will of a people who are now their own masters … Citizens! On the 18th February 1861, amid the representatives of our newly-arisen nation we shall have the supreme good-fortune of seeing the Duke of Oragua take his seat. Hurrah for our deputy! Hurrah for Italy!'

Out thundered a final crash of applause, and the crowd began to disperse. A second time, in a hoarse voice, with no gesture or movement, the duke began, ‘Citizens!…', but they did not hear him, did not understand he was about to speak. Then, turning towards those crowding the balcony, he said:

‘I just wanted to add a few words … but they're leaving … We can go inside …'

He was smiling, drawing breath at last, as if freed from a
nightmare, shaking everyone's hands, Benedetto's particularly hard as if trying to break it off.

‘Thanks!… Thanks!… I shall never forget this day …'

He guided the young man into the next room to make his farewells to the ladies, and then accompanied all to the top of the stairs. When he returned, the prince, also freed of the incubus of the Evil Eye, began complimenting him again and pointing him out to his son as an example.

‘D'you see? D'you see how much they respect your uncle? How the whole city is for him?'

The boy, stunned slightly by the din, asked:

‘What does “deputy” mean?'

‘Deputies,' explained his father, ‘are those who make laws in Parliament.'

‘Doesn't the King do that?'

‘The King and the deputies together. The King can't do everything, can he? D'you see what an honour your uncle is to the family? When there were Viceroys, we were Viceroys; now there is a Parliament, our uncle is a deputy!'

W
HEN
it was known in town that Count Raimondo had suddenly arrived at the Uzeda palace from Florence, unexpected, alone, baggage-less, with a grip in which he had just thrust a change of linen for the journey, the muttering and exchanging of comments and suppositions, of curious and insistent questions were enough for a grave public event. First mouth-to-mouth news said that the count had deserted his wife once and for all. The well-informed knew that after the revolution Donna Isabella Fersa had gone to Florence from Palermo. Was not that fact alone enough to explain all? The only doubt was if she had joined the count on her own initiative or by arrangement. Some said that she had gone on the mainland to amuse herself, and forgotten all about young Uzeda; but then why choose the very city where he was? She had very little to lose herself. What hope had she of being taken back by her husband after two years of separation? That was quite impossible while her mother-in-law was alive. Don Mario might of course be weak enough to forgive, as he still loved his wife and mourned her night and day more than if she were dead; but his mother was watching him.

So Donna Isabella risked nothing; in fact being so young and so unable to resist temptation it suited her better to return to her first lover rather than look for new ones: one mistake would be so much more easily forgiven … But for Raimondo things were different. There were his children, two innocent babes to be considered! And people pitied the countess, so gentle, so sweet, so devoted to her husband, yet condemned—such is the world!—to a life of anguish.

The servants in the Francalanza palace could talk of nothing else; they even forgot Benedetto Giulente's engagement to the Signorina Lucrezia. This event, although foreseen and long discussed, had already stirred up again the factions into which the prince's familiars were divided; and while Giuseppe the porter would doff his cap and bow at Benedetto's arrival, as if the master of the house, no less, were entering, Pasqualino Riso did not even touch his cap from under the arch of the second courtyard where he was lounging, and scarcely deigned to lower his pipe and turn aside if he felt like spitting.

Baldassarre alone kept his usual fine impartiality, did his job and treated the Signorina's future husband as he saw the prince treat him: very politely but aloofly. ‘Masters are masters,' the major-domo would say, and if he heard the lower orders of servants discuss too warmly their young mistress's choice he would send ostlers back to the stables and scullions to the kitchens with, ‘Suppose she was your own sister, animal?' What business was it of theirs if Donna Ferdinanda and Don Blasco, in agreement as always in spite of their mutual dislike, no longer came to the palace because they disapproved of the marriage?

Actually an Uzeda marrying a
lawyer
did rather worry Baldassarre, though the young man had studied for his own pleasure and not to carry on a profession. And although not a grandee he had been brought up a gentleman and called his father and mother ‘Excellency'; also on first coming to his bride's home he had tipped the servants in a proper manner. Perhaps his father and mother were a bit coarse, but the young couple would not have to share a house with them after all. For all these reasons Baldassarre would not allow his dependants to chatter criticisms, but gossip went on and only the young count's arrival turned it in another direction.

To the servants it was obvious that their young master Raimondo had not come on business as some tried to suggest; if he had he would have brought at least a trunk, not just that grip with a couple of shirts and pairs of socks and pants; nor would he have looked so preoccupied, he who was always in such good humour when away from his wife! Anyway if there had been business it would have been with his brother the prince; instead of which every day he visited his aunt Donna
Ferdinanda, who had served as cover in the early days of his relationship with Donna Isabella. And Donna Ferdinanda told everyone her own opinion frankly: things being as they were, considering the incompatibility of the husband and wife's characters, there was nothing for it but separation by agreement; put the girls in college, marry them off as soon as possible, and thereafter each go their own way.

The prince, on the other hand, never mentioned wife or children to his brother, never even asked if they were alive or dead. On his side Raimondo seemed to have left his tongue at home, and if he did open his mouth spoke distractedly whatever the topic, taking less interest than ever in family affairs. He had not said a word about the agreement with the legatees, or about Lucrezia's marriage, as things of no interest to him or about which he had already shown his own opinion. And he scarcely noticed his future brother-in-law Giulente at all.