The Viceroys (88 page)

Containing his laughter, Consalvo entered. As soon as she saw him, Lucrezia got up.

‘Well, goodbye, I've things to do,' she said to her niece. And without looking at him, as if she had not noticed him, but raising her voice and passing by him with a haughty stiff air, she repeated, ‘He laughs best who laughs last!'

Consalvo burst into a roar of laughter.

‘That mad-woman has it in for me!… What the devil did she expect? What wrong has she been done?'

‘Poor thing, don't talk ill of her,' replied Teresa with pitying indulgence.

‘Anyway it's lucky you don't agree with her! Does she want me to renounce my own future just for the sake of her husband? Now all of a sudden she's afire with love for the husband whom she did nothing but revile before …'

Teresa made no reply, but gave a gesture of deep compassion.

‘And what did she want from you? Was she talking to you about the election?'

‘Yes.'

‘She wanted your vote, ha ha.'

‘No, she thought I could help them.'

‘And what did you reply?'

‘That I can do nothing.'

‘For me either?' added Consalvo quickly.

‘For no-one, brother. I take no part in such things.'

‘What about your Monsignori?' he exclaimed with a smile.

‘Neither they nor I speak of such things.'

‘What do you speak of then, tell me?'

At Consalvo's slightly mocking tone Teresa shut her eyes a moment, as if gathering strength to meet contradictions, as if praying for the unbeliever.

‘We have been talking in these last few days of a great miracle permitted by the Lord. Have you heard no mention of the Servant of God?'

He knew something, vaguely, about an alleged miracle that had occurred to a peasant woman of Belpasso. But Teresa went on without awaiting his reply:

‘She's a humble peasant girl who lives in a hut with her father and mother, out in the country at Belpasso. She's always been very religious, but signs of Grace have shown in her recently. Every Friday, after she's been on her knees three hours, there appear on her body Our Lord's stigmata; she exhales an odour of sweet incense and from her lips …'

‘Is that what you call signs of Grace? They're hysterical phenomena!'

Teresa was silent a little, with the expression of indulgence one accords to poor ignorant sinners.

‘If they were hysterical phenomena, doctors would be able to cure her. Instead of which none of those who've seen her have been able to explain these manifestations, and all the remedies they've tried have been useless.'

‘Then they've merely called in stupid doctors.'

‘No, the most reputable!… On her forehead appears a red mark in the form of a cross, and on her side one in the shape
of a lily …' In a low voice she added, ‘His Lordship the Bishop is about to visit her.'

‘Will he visit her side?'

She drew back with a look of contemptuous reproof.

‘Consalvo! You know that you grieve me by talking like that …'

‘Oh nonsense! Can't one make a joke?… But you seriously believe it, do you?'

‘I believe it,' she replied shortly.

He considered her a little. What he wanted to say was, ‘Who d'you think you're talking to?… Are you off your head like all the rest of our family?' But he had not come for that.

‘So you never talk of the elections, you say?'

‘No. I don't understand such things; and then the Church takes no part in these struggles.'

‘Neither elected nor electors, eh? And yet your spiritual Fathers are making a great deal of fuss about a certain lawyer …'

‘The Holy Father has ordered Catholics not to vote
as a party
 …'

‘Aha … Then you know there's a distinction between an organised party and single citizens?'

‘It's not difficult to understand that.'

‘All right, all right! And as single citizens, what are Catholics doing?'

‘They sometimes support whoever is closest to them.'

‘That being?'

‘Whoever believes.'

The two words meant, ‘You're not among them and that's why I can do nothing for you.' But Consalvo pretended to be ingenuous and replied:

‘Whoever believes in what?'

‘In the eternal principles of truth, first of all!'

‘And then?'

‘In the Church's triumph.'

‘Do you too?…' began Consalvo, on the point of protesting, of saying what he thought to this silly woman. But he held himself in once more. What did such nonsense matter? The important
thing was to know if he had any chance at all of her intercession. ‘Oh, fine!…' he went on in a different tone. ‘The Church's triumph … Over whom is it to triumph, may I ask?'

‘Over its enemies and persecutors.'

‘And who are they? Where are they? In Italy? In France? Go on, tell us. What must we do? Restore Rome to the Pope, eh? Give him all Italy, all the world? Let's hear, let's have an explanation once and for all, so I know where I am and see how far we can agree …'

She said, seriously:

‘It's useless for you to take that tone. Sooner or later right will triumph.'

‘How? When? Where?'

She raised her head and half shut her eyes, as if inspired.

‘There will be born,' she said, ‘a great monarch, in direct descent from St Louis of France, who will be called Charles. He will make seven kingdoms in Europe, and put the Holy Father back on the Chair of Peter …'

This time Consalvo could not restrain his laughter.

‘Ha ha ha … So he's to be called Charles, is he? Why not Philip, or Ignatius, or Epaminondas? Where the devil d'you get such nonsense from?'

‘If it's nonsense why bother about it? I'm sorry you laugh at such things … I've told you many times that we each have our own convictions …'

‘Yes, yes … But where d'you get this one from? Where have you heard that all these nice things are going to happen?'

She stretched out an arm towards a shelf full of books and took down a small volume bound in black leather with gilt edges. Consalvo read on the frontispiece,
‘Liberated Europe, or The Triumph of the Church of J.C. over all Usurpers and Heretics. Echo of the Prophets and the Fathers
 …' Suddenly she turned her head, hearing a lackey announce from the threshold as he drew back the door curtains:

‘Father Gentile, Excellency.'

In came a tall, thin, priest, with strong glasses on a beaked nose.

‘My brother, the Prince of Francalanza,' Teresa introduced, ‘Father Antonio Gentile …'

The priest gave a deep bow. Consalvo looked him over from top to toe. Another one! This house was becoming a positive sacristy!

‘Father,' added Teresa, turning to her brother, ‘is good enough to direct my children's education …'

‘I am very happy,' replied the ecclesiastic, ‘to be able to serve the duchess.'

‘You're not a Sicilian, are you?' asked Consalvo, to say something, so as not to seem to be leaving at once, but impatient to get away since realising he had already wasted too much time.

‘No, sir, I am Roman,' replied the Father.

‘You've been here some time?'

‘Only a few months.'

‘Such a pleasure …' muttered the prince, getting to his feet.

The priest rose and bowed a second time. Teresa excused herself and accompanied her brother.

‘Well?' insisted Consalvo. ‘What must one do to obtain the duchess's support?'

‘But I'm worth nothing!' protested Teresa with a quiet smile.

‘Must one swear loyalty to Charles, to the Great Monarch? Is there no other way? But he's still to come, isn't he? Anyway, goodbye for now … And this one here, where did you fish him from? Who is he?'

‘One of the most cultivated priests of the Society of Jesus.'

‘Time wasted! Time wasted!… There's nothing to be done with these Uzeda! The best, those who seem the wisest, suddenly show they're mad as the others! Now this one is calling Jesuits into her home, believing in silly prophecies and alleged miracles, and becoming a blind instrument of priests! Where was the girl of once upon a time, so graceful and sweet, gentle and poetic, pious but not bigoted, believing but not blinded? Even physically she had lost her elegance of carriage, was growing fatter, unrecognisable. Madness was gaining on her too, taking a religious form, becoming mystical hysteria! All the same, the lot of them!' He alone esteemed himself wise, strong, prudent, immune from hereditary taint, master and judge of himself and others … And when the decree closing the Parliamentary
session appeared in the
Official Gazette
, he flung himself head first into the struggle.

Night and day his home became like a public square, a public market, where delegates called from the rural wards and town electors came and went, discussing, bartering, yelling, with hats on their heads and staffs in their hands. On his instructions, his canvassers dragged up to the palace, luring them with marsala, cigars, and curiosity at entering the Viceroys' palace, individuals of all classes, puffed up with sudden importance, shopkeepers, clerks, ushers, innkeepers, barbers, and people humbler still, servants, scullions, all the scum who, by writing a signature before a notary, now held in their hands a fraction of sovereign power. He shook all their hands, greeted them all with a ‘thanks for your support', called everyone
lei.
They went off enchanted, alight with enthusiasm, protesting, ‘And they called him proud! Such an easy-going gentleman!…'

One evening as Consalvo was going round the rooms he saw a new face which seemed very like … like whose?… Like Baldassarre, their former major-domo! But the mutton-chop whiskers had vanished, and instead on his former servant's shaven lips now grew a great pair of dyed moustachios the hue of riding-boots.

‘Thanks for your support,' said Consalvo to him, shaking his hand.

‘Not at all!… Duty …' stuttered Baldassarre.

On leaving the prince's the major-domo had gone into politics, embraced the democratic faith, and now presided over a workers' mutual aid society. Since the young prince—Baldassarre still adopted the diminutive for his former young master—was presenting himself on a democratic programme, he had induced his fellow members to support him. Thus he re-entered the palace which he had left a servant, with all the importance of a bearer of a big block of votes. Seated on one of those satin chairs which once he had moved forward for the gentry, he looked around and listened with the gravity of a former major-domo, more serious and imposing than most others there. A country mayor sitting beside him said to him:

‘With us it's a foregone conclusion. And how do things go here, professor?'

‘Excellently!' said Baldassarre with a nod of the head. That evening members of the committee were giving the names of friendly electors whom they had induced to write their names on lists. The farmer servant went up to Consalvo.

‘Prince'—from democratic reasons he no longer used the
‘Excellency'
—‘our society has fifty electors' names written down. They're all ours!'

‘Thank you. I don't know how to thank you.'

‘Not at all, please, my duty! We're sure to win! Victory is ours!'

‘Thank you with all my heart for your good wishes.'

Baldassarre, forgetting the wrong done to him by the dead prince, now made such efforts to ensure the young prince's triumph that in a short time he became one of his chief lieutenants. He reported to Consalvo, received his instructions, sometimes gave him advice. Master and servant vanished, they sat side by side at the same table, the prince passed pen and paper to his former dependant, and they called each other
lei
like two diplomats drafting a treaty.

Meanwhile the struggle was sharpening. Consalvo made tentative approaches to the clerical leaders, but the latter replied that his alliance with Lisi and Giardona ruled out any accord. Giulente was gasping for breath. To save the Town Council he had been forced to impose new taxes, increase old ones, dismiss employees, stop public works not yet finished, reduce all expenses; and complaint was unanimous against him for unpopular taxation and systematic meanness. That long aspiration of his to the old duke's political inheritance, even his liver complaint were thought a bit ridiculous: his wife completed his ruin by vaunting his patriotism after having derided it. ‘He nearly lost a leg on the Volturno!…' and by asking everyone she saw, shop assistants, hawkers, ‘Aren't you an elector?… Then go and write your name …' And she had finally handed over the accounts of her administration, in worse confusion than the Town Council's.

The other candidates however did not admit defeat, the ones with the least chance being the most stubborn, falling back on every available means, bargaining for votes and loosing violent accusations against their luckier rivals, particularly the prince.
‘
We
have no nephews being educated by Jesuits, or uncles who are Cardinals of Holy Church, or reactionary relations.
We
don't rely on support from all classes, nobles to mob …' Consalvo ignored them, hurried into the country, returned to town, enlarged his circle of adherents.

Baldassarre's agents, on their side, went about preaching the prince's democracy in taverns, buying drinks for all who promised a vote. One night, though, there was a nasty discussion between the prince's supporters and opponents who called him ‘Demagogue, Jesuit and traitor'. Words turned to blows, chairs and bottles flew, knives gleamed, serious threats were uttered. Then Consalvo fell back on his former companions
in
revelry, on those with whom he had once gadded in taverns and brothels. Cut-throat faces, pallid pimps with scar-marked visages, kept guard on his palace and person. They spread around in places of ill repute, threatened, warned … ‘Francis II's candidate has loosed the Mafia in the constituency to terrorise honest citizens,' denounced opposition news-sheets. But in the heat of battle even the most ferocious accusations had lost all reality, were attributed to partisan hatred, to bitterness by those feeling ground giving way beneath their feet. The name of Francalanza was on all mouths, no one doubted the prince's election now. He began preparing his electoral speech.