The Viceroys

by Federico De Roberto

Her husband: Federico, Marchese of Villardita

  Don Ferdinando, of Pietra dell’Ovo

  Donna Lucrezia, later married to Benedetto Giulente

  Her in-laws: the brothers and sisters of her late husband

  Don Gaspare, Duke of Oragua

  Don Blasco (a Benedictine monk)

  Cavaliere Don Eugenio

  Donna Ferdinanda (spinster)

  Land in Sicily was measured by SALMA, equivalent to just under an acre. The main weight measurement was a ROTOLO, equivalent to about 2lb: these terms became officially disused after 1860.

  BOOK I

  GIUSEPPE was standing in front of the gates, dandling his baby, showing it the marble coat-of-arms on top of the arch, the arms-rack nailed to the vestibule wall where the prince’s men hung their pikes in olden times, when there came the sound, quickly growing louder, of a vehicle arriving at full tilt; and even before he had time to turn round, into the courtyard with a deafening clatter drove a curricle so dusty it looked as if it had been snowed on, its horse afroth with sweat. From the arch to the inner courtyard peered faces of servants and retainers; Baldassarre the major-domo opened a window on the second-floor loggia as Salvatore Cerra jumped from the vehicle with a letter in his hand.

  ‘Don Salvatore?… What’s up?… What’s new?’

  But the other gave a wave of despair and rushed up the stairs four at a time.

  Giuseppe stood there in amazement, not understanding, the baby still round his neck. But his wife and Baldassarre’s wife, and the washerwoman, and lots of other servants were already surrounding the carriage, and crossing themselves as they heard the coachman say between sobs: ‘The princess … dead of a stroke … This morning as I was washing the carriage …’

  ‘Jesus!… Jesus!…’

  ‘Orders to harness … Signor Marco rushing round … the Vicar-General and neighbours … Just time to get there …’

  ‘Jesus! Jesus!… But how?… Wasn’t she better? And Signor Marco?… No warning from him?…’

  ‘How should I know?… I’ve seen nothing; they called me … She was said to be well last night …’

  ‘Without one of her children!… In the hands of strangers!… Ill, yes she was ill; even so, all so suddenly!…’

  A shout from the top of the stairs interrupted the chatter.

  ‘Pasquale!… Pasquale!…’

  ‘Ehi, Baldassarre?’

  ‘A fresh horse, right away!’

  ‘At once.’

  While coachmen and henchmen worked to unharness the sweating, panting horse and put in another, all the other servants gathered in the courtyard, commenting on the news, passing it on to the clerks in the administrative offices leaning out of the first-floor windows, or even coming right down themselves.

  ‘How terrible!… Just can’t believe it!… Whoever’d thought it, like this …’

  The women were lamenting most:

  ‘Without a single child by her!… Without even time to call her children …’

  ‘The gates?… Why don’t you shut the gates,’ suggested Salemi, his pen still behind his ear.

  But the porter, having handed the baby over to his wife at last, and now beginning to understand something of what was going on, looked around at the others.

  ‘Should I?… What about Don Baldassarre?’

  ‘Ssh!… Ssh!…’

  ‘What’s up?’

  Talk died away again and all stiffened and took off their caps and lowered their pipes, for the prince in person was descending the stairs between Baldassarre and Salvatore. He had not even changed his clothes! He was leaving in the same suit, to reach his dead mother’s bedside as soon as possible! And he was white as a sheet, glancing impatiently at the ostlers not yet ready, and whispering orders meanwhile to Baldassarre, who bowed his bare gleaming head at each of his master’s words: ‘Yes, Excellency! Yes, Excellency!’ The coachman was still fixing the girths as his master jumped into the carriage with Salvatore on the box. Baldassarre hung on to the carriage door, still listening to orders, then ran beside the curricle beyond the gate to catch last instructions: ‘Yes, Excellency! Yes, Excellency!’

  ‘Baldassarre!… Don Baldassarre!…’ All besieged the major-domo now as, having finally left the carriage, which raced off, he re-entered the courtyard. ‘Baldassarre, what about it?… What do we do now?… Don Baldassarre, shall I shut up?…’

  But, with the serious air of solemn occasions, he was hurrying towards the stairs, freeing himself from the importunate with a gesture of the arm and an impatient ‘Coming!’

  The gates stayed wide open; a few passers-by, noticing the unusual movement in the courtyard, were asking the porter for news; the cabinet-maker, the baker, the vintner and the watchmaker, who had shops on the east front, also came to put in their heads, hear news of the great disaster, comment on the prince’s sudden departure:

  ‘And people said the master didn’t love his mother!… He looked like Christ down from the Cross, poor boy!…’

  The women were now thinking of Signorina Lucrezia and of the young princess; did they know nothing, or had the news been kept from them?… And Baldassarre, what the devil did Baldassarre think he was doing, not giving orders to shut all up? Don Gaspare, the head coachman, looking green as garlic, shrugged his shoulders:

  ‘Everything’s upside-down here.’

  But Pasqualino Riso, the second coachman, spat out right in his face:

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with it long.’

  Back came the other with:

  ‘You’re all right, being the master’s pimp!’

  Out came Pasqualino, quick as a flash, with:

  ‘As you were the young count’s …’

  On they went till Salemi, on his way back to the offices, called out:

  ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!’

  But Don Gaspare was so sure of losing his job that he had lost control of himself, and went on:

  ‘Ashamed? Of being in a house where mother and children are at each other’s throats!’

  And now many voices called out:

  ‘Silence!’

  But those who had sided too openly with the princess were feeling very small, sure as they were of being dismissed by her son. Giuseppe did not know what to do in all that confusion; he was longing to shut the gates for his mistress’s death, as seemed proper. Why ever didn’t Don Baldassarre give the order? And without Don Baldassarre’s order not a thing could be done. Why, not even the shutters were closed on the main floor. And as time passed and no order came, some down in the court began fearing or hoping that maybe the mistress wasn’t dead. ‘Who said she was dead?… The coachman!… But he never saw her!… He might have misunderstood!…’ Other arguments were produced in support of this idea: the prince would not have left in such a rush if she were dead, as there would have been nothing for him to do up there … And for some the doubt began to be a certainty; there must have been a misunderstanding, the princess was only on her deathbed …

  But eventually Baldassarre put his head out from above the loggia and shouted:

  ‘Giuseppe, the gates! You haven’t shut the gates! And close the stable and coachhouse windows. And tell ’em to shut the shops. Shut everything!’

  ‘No hurry!’ murmured Don Gaspare.

  And as, pushed by Giuseppe, the great gates turned at last on their hinges, passers-by began gathering in little groups. ‘Who’s dead?… The princess?… At the Belvedere?…’ Giuseppe, now quite beside himself, shrugged his shoulders. But questions and answers crossed confusedly in the crowd, ‘Was she in the country?… Ill for at least a year … Alone?… With none of her children!…’ The better informed explained, ‘She wanted no one with her, except her agent … she couldn’t bear them …’ Said an old man, shaking his head, ‘A mad lot, these Francalanza!’

  Meanwhile the retainers were barring up windows of stables and coachhouses; baker, vintner, cabinet-maker and watchmaker also put up their shutters. Another group of
curious passers-by had gathered by the service gates, which were still open, and looked at the confused coming and going of domestics in the courtyard, while from up on the loggia, like a ship’s captain, Baldassarre imparted order after order.

  Pasqualino, go to the Signora Marchesa and to the Benedictines … But give the news to the Signor Marchese and to Father Don Blasco, d’you understand?… Not to the Prior!… Now you, Filippo, go to Donna Ferdinanda’s … Donna Vincenza? Where’s Donna Vincenza?… Take your shawl and go off to the convent … Ask the Mother Abbess to prepare the nun for the news … Just a minute! First come up and see the princess, who wants a word with you … Salemi?… Giuseppe, only let in close relatives … Has Salemi come?… Drop everything. The prince and Signor Marco are expecting you up there, as they need help. Natale, you go to Donna Graziella and the duchess. Agostino, these wires to the Telegraph Office … and pass by the tailor’s …’

  As they got their commissions, the servants left and made their way through the crowd outside. They passed with the hurried air of military aides-de-camp, amid bystanders’ comments: ‘They’re off to tell the relatives … the sons and daughters, the in-laws, nieces and nephews, the dead woman’s cousins …’ The whole nobility would be in mourning, all the gates of noble palaces were now being closed or half closed according to degree of kinship. And the cabinet-maker explained:

  ‘Seven children, let’s count ’em; the Prince Giacomo and the Signorina Lucrezia, who lives at home with him, that’s two. The Prior of San Nicola and the nun of San Placido, that’s four. Donna Chiara, married to the Marchese of Villardita, that’s five. The Cavaliere Ferdinando up at Pietra dell’Ovo, six. And finally the young Count Raimondo, who married Baron Palmi’s daughter … Then come her four in-laws; the Duke of Oragua, the last prince’s brother; Don Blasco, also a Benedictine monk; the Cavaliere Don Eugenio; and Donna Ferdinanda the spinster …’

  Every time the wicket-gate opened to let a servant through, the watchers tried to look inside the courtyard. Giuseppe lost patience and exclaimed:

  ‘Away from here! What the devil d’you want? Waiting for lottery numbers?’

  But the crowd did not move and stared up at the windows, now shut, just as if they were waiting for the appearance of numbers on placards.

  The news was racing from mouth to mouth, like that of a public event. ‘Donna Teresa Uzeda is dead …’ the populace pronounced it ‘Auzeda’, ‘the Princess of Francalanza … She died this morning at dawn … Her son the prince was there … No, he left an hour ago.’ Meanwhile the cabinet-maker, amid a group of listeners as attentive as if he were telling legends from old chronicles, went on enumerating the other relations.’ There’s the Duke Don Mario Radalì, a loony, with two sons, Michele and Giovannino, by Donna Caterina Bonello; he belongs to a collateral branch, Radalì Uzeda; the Signora Donna Graziella, daughter of the princess’s dead sister and wife of the Cavaliere Carvano, and so a first cousin of all the dead woman’s children; the Baron Grazzeri, the young princess’s uncle with all their relations; then the more distant relatives, and connections, almost all the city nobility; the Costante, the Raimonti, the Cùrcuma, the Cugnò …’ Suddenly he interrupted himself to say:

  ‘Aha! Here come the parasites arriving before anyone else!’

  Don Mariano Grispo and Don Giacinto Gostantino were arriving, as they did every day at lunch-time, to pay court to the prince, and knew nothing. On noticing the crowd, and the shut gate, they stopped in their tracks.

  ‘Holy Faith! Good God of Love!…’

  Suddenly they increased their pace, and went in, questioning in consternation the porter as he gave them the first news. ‘It can’t be true!… A thunderbolt from a clear sky!…’ Then they went upstairs with Baldassarre, who was also just going up from the court, and moved before them murmuring:

  ‘Poor princess!… It was too much for her … And the Signor Prince left at once!’

  As they passed through a row of antechambers with gilt doors but almost bare of furniture, Don Giacinto exclaimed in a low voice, as if in church:

  ‘’Tis a disaster indeed!… A bigger one for this family than for any other …’

  And Don Mariano confirmed in as low a voice, with a shake of the head:

  ‘She led ’em all, kept the whole thing going!…’

  On entering the Yellow Drawing-room they stopped after a few steps, unable to make anything out in the dark. But they were guided by the Princess Margherita’s voice:

  ‘Don Mariano … Don Giacinto …’

  ‘Princess!… Ah, dear lady … How are you bearing up? And Lucrezia?… Consalvo?… The girl?’

  The little prince, sitting on a stool, with his legs dangling, was swinging them to and fro, staring in the air with his mouth open. In the corner of a sofa, apart, Lucrezia was crouched, dry-eyed.

  ‘But how did it happen, all so suddenly?’ Don Mariano kept on asking.

  The princess flung out her arms and said:

  ‘I don’t know … I don’t understand … Salvatore just came from the Belvedere with a note from Signor Marco … there on that table, look at it … Giacomino left at once.’ Then in a low voice, turning to Don Mariano as the other read the note, she added, ‘Lucrezia wanted to go too, but her brother said no … What could she have done there?’

  ‘Just made more confusion!… the prince was right …’

  ‘Not a thing!’ announced Don Giacinto, after reading the note, ‘it doesn’t explain a thing! Have the others been told?… Cables been sent?…’

  ‘I don’t know … Baldassarre …’

  ‘What a death, all alone, without a child or relation near her!’ exclaimed Don Mariano, unable to take it all in; but Don Giacinto continued:

  ‘It’s not their fault, poor things!… They’ve clear consciences.’

  ‘If she’d wanted us …’ began the princess timidly, in a lower voice. Then, almost as if frightened, she did not end the phrase.

  Don Mariano drew a sad sigh and went up to the girl.

  ‘Poor Lucrezia! What a tragedy!… You’re right!… But take heart! Courage!…’

  She, who was sitting staring at the floor and tapping a foot, raised her head with a bemused look as if not understanding. Then, a clatter was heard of carriages entering the courtyard, and Don Mariano and Don Giacinto began exclaiming in turns:

  ‘What an irreparable disaster!’

  In came the Marchesa Chiara with her husband, and also Cousin Graziella.

  ‘Lucrezia, your mama!… sister!… cousin!…’

  On their heels was Aunt Ferdinanda, whose hands the women kissed, murmuring:

  ‘Excellency!… You’ve heard?…’

  The gaunt old spinster nodded. Sobbing, Chiara embraced Lucrezia, the marchese gave the two hangers-on a subdued greeting; but Donna Graziella was most moved of all:

  ‘It just doesn’t seem true!… I just couldn’t believe it! To die like that!… What about poor Giacomo? They say he rushed straight off up there?… Poor cousin!… If only he’d been in time to close her eyes!… What sorrow for him not to have been in time to see her again!…’ Hearing Chiara sobbing on her sister Lucrezia’s bosom, she exclaimed, ‘That’s right, let yourself go, my poor child! One has only one mother!…’

  So sorrow-struck did she seem by her cousins’ tragedy as even to forget that the dead woman was her own mother’s sister. Proffering help to the princess, she drew her aside and said:

  ‘D’you need anything?… Would you like me to give a hand?… How’s my goddaughter?… What message did my cousin leave?…’

  ‘I don’t know … He gave Baldassarre orders …’

  Baldassarre in fact was rushing up and down, sending more messengers, seeing those returning from their commissions. All the relations were now told; only the messenger sent to the Benedictines came to say that Father Don Lodovico was about to arrive, but that Father Don Blasco was not in the monastery.

  ‘Go to the Cigar-woman’s … he’ll be with her at this time of day … Hur
ry up, tell ‘im his sister-in-law’s dead.’

  Don Lodovico arrived in the San Nicola carriage. In the Yellow Drawing-room all rose at the appearance of the Prior. Chiara and Lucrezia went towards him, each took one of his hands, and the marchesa fell on her knees and burst out with:

  ‘Lodovico!… Lodovico!… Our poor mama.’

  All were silent, looking at that group. Cousin Graziella with red eyes was murmuring:

  ‘It tears the heart-strings!’

  The Prior bent over his sister, raised her without looking her in the face, and in the general silence broken by short repressed sobs, said, raising dry eyes to heaven:

  ‘The Lord has called her to Him. Let us bow our heads before the decrees of Divine Providence …’ And as Chiara tried to kiss his hand, he withdrew it.

  ‘No, no, sister …’ And he drew her to his breast and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘’Tis our lot!…’ Don Giacinto exclaimed sadly in Don Mariano’s ear, but the latter shook his head and moved forward with a resolute air:

  ‘Enough now, please!… The dead are dead, and no weeping will bring them to life … Consider your health now, that’s the important thing …’

  ‘Yes, take courage, you poor dears!’ added Cousin Graziella, taking her cousins by the hand, and lovingly forcing them to sit down. Meanwhile the marchese was kissing his wife on the forehead, drying her eyes, whispering in her ear, and Donna Ferdinanda, not much given to scenes of pathos, took the little prince on her knees.

  Signor Marco’s note passed from hand to hand. The Prior now announced his intention of leaving for the Belvedere too, but the two hangers-on protested.

  ‘What for?… Torture yourself for no purpose?… If there were any help to be given …’

  ‘Let me go!’ added Cousin Graziella.

  ‘Let’s just wait,’ proposed the marchese. ‘Giacomo is bound to send some news …’

  The arrival of another carriage made people think that someone had in fact arrived from the Belvedere. But it was the Duchess Radalì. As her husband was mad and she never paid visits, her prompt arrival drew more tenderness than ever from Cousin Graziella, who called her ‘aunt’ though there was no relationship between them. But Donna Vincenza’s return from San Placido brought emotion to its climax. The serving-woman could find no words to express the nun’s sorrow, and clasped her hands with pity: