Anyway, even with the revolution and liberty and Victor Emmanuel and abolition of superfine bread, at San Nicola there was no joking about privileges. In those very days the Giulente family had recommended to the Abbot a distant cousin of theirs, a young man who had been orphaned at Syracuse and come to Catania to become a Benedictine. This Luigi was a complete contrast to his cousin Benedetto. Not only was he against the revolution, but he had true fear of God and a great vocation for the monastic state. The Abbot, considering the nobility of his family proved, had taken him under his own protection and entered him in the Novitiate. There his noble companions, without distinction of party, made fun of him, jeered at him, played all sorts of tricks on him, considering him unworthy of being among them. And the monks, even the liberal Fathers, turned up their noses; Victor Emmanuel was all right; annexation and constitution even better; but to renounce their privileges and be quite indiscriminate, that was really a bit too much!
The annexation question and how to vote on it was agitating public opinion then; some wanted to confide the mandate to an elected assembly, others were for direct suffrage. Every day with the Governor of the city and Don Lorenzo Giulente and the Liberal leaders, the duke upheld a plebiscite. ‘The people must be left free to pronounce. Their own fate is in question! You see what’s been done in the rest of Italy!…’ This advice increased his popularity a thousandfold, but drew on him, more violently than ever, Don Blasco and Donna Ferdinanda’s hatred and even Don Eugenio’s criticism.
The cavaliere, having lost hope of excavating Massa Annunziata, had thought up a new idea: to get himself nominated university professor. Were there not a number of nobles in such posts, which were both decorous and gentlemanly? He had his eye particularly on the chair of history. His archaeological knowledge, his little work on A Sicilian Pompeii, were surely titles enough. To have an even better one, he was now writing: A Chronological History of the Uzeda Viceroys, Lieutenants-General of the Aragonese Kings in the Trinacria. Being a Gentleman of the Bedchamber, he did not show himself around much, but, sure that the revolution would be crushed at any moment, he too inveighed against the duke.
‘What’s all this about the people! If only the Viceroys could return from the next world! If they heard these heresies, saw one of their descendants join the mob!’
Don Cono, Don Giacinto, Don Mariano, all the parasites shook their heads in sorrow at such a degeneration, but they also tried to placate the just anger of purists by suggesting that the duke’s liberalism was just for show, a political necessity of the moment; it was impossible that, in his heart, a son of a Prince of Francalanza, one of those Uzeda, who owed everything to legitimate dynasties, should support anarchy and usurpation!
‘So much the worse!’ screamed Don Blasco. ‘I can understand a resolute turn-coat, one who has the courage of his convictions! But if the Neapolitans return he’ll go and kiss their arses! You’ll see when they return!…’
But they did not return. Instead there arrived the news, in rapid succession, of Francis II’s departure from Naples, Garibaldi’s triumphal entry, the Piedmontese advance to meet the volunteers. At the Belvedere, where the prince returned at the end of September for his autumn visit, Lucrezia read bulletins of the Volturno battle mentioning Benedetto Giulente among the wounded. She did not cry, but shut herself in her room refusing food, deaf to the comforts of Vanna, who promised her that she would try to get news from his family. But the Governor had already applied to the army command and the Director of the Military Hospital at Naples, and the reply, which came before any more bulletins, was made public in a Communiqué put up on the Town Hall: Volunteer Giulente was wounded by steel in the right leg and was in Caserta Hospital; his state was satisfactory and his recovery assured.
He arrived a fortnight later, on the eve of the plebiscite, with other Sicilian volunteers from the Volturno. His uncle Lorenzo, the Duke of Oragua, the Governor and the National Guard went to meet them. The young man was leaning on a stick, and waving a handkerchief with his left hand in reply to the greetings of the crowd. His father and mother wept with emotion; the duke gently violated their wishes and took the wounded man into his own carriage, which moved off towards the Town Hall amid waves of popular acclamation. From the balcony of the Town Hall, crowded with National Guards, returned exiles, patriots, notabilities, Benedetto glanced down over the square where not a grain of millet could have fallen, then raised his left hand. He already had an established fame as an orator; at that gesture they were silent.
‘Citizens!’ he began in a clear, firm voice, ‘we cannot and we should not thank you for this trumphal greeting, knowing that your applause is not directed to our persons, but to the sublime ideal which guided the Dictator from Quarto to Marsala.’ A hurricane of applause broke out, in the midst of which the orator’s voice was lost ‘… dream of Dante and Machiavelli, yearning of Petrarch and Leopardi, throb of twenty centuries … to her, to our great common land … to our reborn nation … to united Italy … go the hurrahs, the applause, the triumph …’ At his every phrase rose a great clamour from the square; those on the balcony waved their handkerchiefs, the duke exclaimed in his neighbours’ ears, ‘How well he talks!… What a brilliant young man!…’
‘We have done our duty,’ went on the orator, ‘as you have done yours. ’Tis not a few drops of blood but life itself we should have liked to offer for the great cause … worthy of envy, but not of regret, are those who can say as they die “The life which thou my native land gavest me I render back to thee …” Honour to the strong who fell!… With you lies no less proud a duty: to give admiring Europe the example of a people which, having broken its chains and being left to its own devices, is already showing itself worthy of those free institutions which were its ancient heritage … which an abhorred and perjured power dared to cancel … and which will now be more resplendent than ever!… Citizens! Applaud yourselves … Applaud your rulers … Applaud these warlike brethren who were unable to bare the sword as their duty was to look after your interests at home … Applaud this noble patrician who has added to the glories of his ancestral name that of the purest of patriots!…’
He pointed to the duke, majestic and martial in his major’s uniform. But the latter, at the idea of having to reply, suddenly felt his tongue go dry, saw the square transformed into a terrible swirling sea with waves all darting looks up at him; such was his spasm of terror that he had to hold tight to the balustrade. But Giulente swept on into his final peroration, amid stunning applause. ‘Citizens! Prodigious is the road we have covered in five months; but a last step remains to us … The enthusiasm with which I see you animated gives me confidence that it will be done … The sun of tomorrow greets Sicily united for ever to the constitutional monarchy of Victor Emmanuel!’
Already ‘Yes’ was traced in huge letters on walls, doors, ground; at the palace gates the duke had had a colossal ‘Yes’ written up in chalk; next day, in city and countryside, clusters of people wore it in their hats, printed on cardboard of every size and colour. At the Belvedere, Donna Ferdinanda noticed peasants had put the letters upside down being unable to read and exclaimed:
‘Yes, yes,’ pronouncing it chis, chis, the sound people made to chase cats away, and commented:
‘They’re not saying “Yes, yes”; they say “chis! chis!… Out, chis!” ’
Lucrezia was in high excitement at the news of Giulente’s triumph, impatient to return to town in order to see him again, irritated by her aunt’s sallies.
The prince had also ordered a big ‘Yes’ to be traced on the wall of the villa as a precaution, and the crowd of peasants on strike in the lanes clapped hands and cried, ‘Long live the Prince of Francalanza!…’ while inside Don Eugenio was demonstrating how throughout history Sicily was one nation and Italy another; and Donna Ferdinanda shouted herself hoarse with:
‘Ah, if Francis gets back!’
‘Aunt, he won’t get back …’ Lucrezia exclaimed eventually.
The old spinst
er looked as if she was going to eat her up alive.
‘You too, you silly little thing? Listen to who’s talking now! Don’t you know the name you bear, you little idiot? Do you also believe these jailbirds are heroes? Or vulgar chattering ragamuffins?’
This last remark was directed against Giulente; Lucrezia got up and went out, banging the doors. But Donna Ferdinanda’s fury passed all bounds when, on going to the window at a louder burst of applause, she saw Benedictine novices from Nicolosi pass by astride donkeys, each with a big ‘Yes’ on their tricorns. So loud were her shouts at this outrage that the prince hurried towards her.
‘Aunt, please! D’you want to get us all killed?’
‘It’s that Jesuit Lodovico!’ breathed the spinster, through clenched teeth as if biting him. ‘The boys too! Consalvo too!’ And when the young prince came up for a moment to greet his family she pulled the piece of paper out of his hat and tore it into a thousand pieces. ‘Like this!…’
‘LOVELY!… Lovely! How pretty these bibs are! Tiny socks and shoes; you’ve thought of everything!’
Piece by piece, under Chiara and the marchese’s eyes, Cousin Graziella was examining the layette for the baby’s birth; six big baskets full of enough clothes for an entire hospice of new-born babes. She had words of admiration for all the diapers, all the bonnets, all the little vests, but every now and again she stopped, drew in her breath sharply and passed her tongue over her lips, also pregnant with something she wanted to say but which neither the marchese nor Chiara seemed to be asking her.
‘The little frocks now, you’ve not seen those yet, have you? Look, do just look at them!’
‘Oh, how lovely!… Where did you find that lace?… Lovely, all of them, lovely!… Particularly the white one with those little blue ribbons! Adorable!… Did Lucrezia work on them?’
‘No, no-one; I wanted to do it all with my own hands.’
‘What you must have spent!… May the Lord bless you!… You have waited a long time, and now that your happiness is assured … You do love each other so much!… Such a delight for me to see a family so united … That’s how I’d like to see Lucrezia. Don’t you know?’
‘What?’
She lowered her voice a little, to say with an air of mystery:
‘Giulente has asked the duke for her hand!’
But Chiara went on folding the baby-linen on her knees, as if she had not heard or understood that this concerned her sister. Only the marchese asked, distractedly, as he put things carefully back into their baskets:
‘Who told you?’
At this Cousin Graziella let herself go:
‘My husband told me last night; it’s sure and certain as we are here! The matter was brought up by Don Lorenzo in a friendly way. The duke wants to be a deputy, and the young man is supporting his election by writing in Italia risorta and making speeches every night at the National Club in his favour, as he’s now got his lawyer’s degree. The group Nazione Italiana are putting forward against him Bernardella the lawyer, who’s been in prison; what we’re reduced to!… But Giulente fights like a lion … for his future uncle … D’you see?… Lucrezia is beside herself with delight but Don Blasco and Donna Ferdinanda and Don Eugenio will make trouble … and Cousin Giacomo too … A Giulente to marry an Uzeda? It takes a revolution and a world upside down for such a thing to happen! Our uncle the duke, I am sorry to say, has quite lost his head ever since he went into politics; his brothers are right!… What do you think of it all?’
Chiara went on handling the pretty white, fine and scented baby things, and the marchese, fearing this movement might exhaust her if she went on too long, said:
‘That’s enough now … leave it to me … Well, cousin, what can I say? There’s nothing I can say; such things don’t concern me. My brother-in-law is free to give his sister to whomever he likes … I don’t meddle in other people’s affairs.’
‘If Lucrezia wants him,’ chimed in Chiara, ‘let her take him! After all it’s not us who are marrying him, is it?’ she asked Federico with a laugh.
‘Of course not!… I, my dear cousin, have always respected my wife’s family, as you know. If they say yes and Lucrezia’s content that’s all right with me! For myself, I thank the Lord that I am finally to be granted such a great joy; for the rest, let them do whatever they want …’
Cousin Graziella looked quite put out, having banked on an outbreak of indignation. Twisting her mouth as if to swallow down a bitter mouthful, she exclaimed:
‘Of course! Such matters regard his conscience only! And Lucrezia’s too! As long as she is pleased! That’s just what I say!’
There was nothing else to be got out of those two, both living in another world because of their child’s birth, now very close. Their cousin, who never failed to show a ceaseless interest in the Uzeda, hurried straight to the prince’s. At the gates she met a group of ten or twelve people, among them the two Giulente, uncle and nephew, asking for the duke. She stopped, smiled at Don Lorenzo and Benedetto, and beckoned them with a hand.
‘What are you plotting, all you revolutionaries? To set fire to the palace?’
‘We’ve come to offer candidature to the duke,’ replied Don Lorenzo, ‘in the name of our patriotic societies.’
‘Bravo! Congratulations on your choice!’
The commission was about to mount the great stairs when Baldassarre appeared from the second courtyard. He let Donna Graziella through, then warned, ‘No, sirs … Please come this way …’
The prince, in fact, while approving his uncle’s liberalism and enjoying the advantages of his popularity, could not allow all the scarecrows surrounding him to enter the great reception rooms, the Yellow and Red Drawing-rooms, so he had set apart two rooms in the estate offices to the right of the entrance for the duke to receive his boot-lickers if he felt like it. Thus while the delegates were going around by the stables, Donna Graziella pompously mounted the grandiose stairs and was introduced into the princess’s room. The prince was with his wife and shouting something at her, but at his cousin’s appearance fell silent at once.
‘Don’t you know there are visitors?’ said she as she entered. ‘A commission from the patriotic societies … to offer candidature to the duke … just play-acting, as it was all arranged beforehand … The Giulente are the only ones I’ve ever seen before; the rest of them … such faces!…’
‘My uncle is free to receive whomever he likes,’ replied the prince. ‘Times have changed now and one can’t make so many difficulties. That’s what I was just saying to my wife …’ and turning on his heels he was about to go when the voice of Donna Ferdinanda, arriving, made him stop. The spinster was yellower in the face than usual, exuding gall, with a harsh frowning look that was really terrifying.
‘So it’s true?’ she asked through set teeth, without even noticing Donna Graziella.
‘He told me so himself,’ replied the prince. ‘We can talk it over before our cousin … He thinks it an excellent thing, an advantageous match, a windfall.…’
‘And you said nothing?’
‘Me? I told him our mother would turn in her grave at hearing such a thing! And at seeing what happens in this house! And how her wishes are respected! That’s what I told him; but I might as well have been talking to the wall. Your Excellency knows how we are in the family … But it’s not our uncle’s fault. Had Lucrezia not listened to that ragamuffin, does Your Excellency believe that things would have got to such a pitch? But the Giulente have always been presumptuous, have always had a mania for acting as everyone’s equals; even so such an idea as this would never have entered their heads without my sister’s fixation …’
The princess did not breathe a word. Donna Graziella did not speak either, but kept looking now at the prince or at Donna Ferdinanda then shaking her head as if to say that was just the way it was, just so indeed. The spinster chewed her thin lips, twisting her snout and sniffing the air through flaring nostrils.
‘If my sister were not quite w
ild,’ went on the prince, ‘she would not think of marrying, with her health as it is. She would not listen to that young nuisance who says he loves her out of pure vanity, while playing the republican. If she, on the other hand, respected our mother’s advice she would not be giving us reason for worry and preparing so many disappointments for herself … And so let us hope that she comes to herself, and that our uncle will change his mind, for if this marriage does take place, the first to suffer would be her!… Does she think she will find in those people’s house what she has in her own? Do you think they can ever agree, with so much difference in their upbringing and their …’
At that moment Lucrezia appeared. The prince was silent as by magic; the princess made herself still smaller in her chair, Cousin Graziella kept eyes and ears even wider open.
‘Good day, aunt …’ began the girl, but Donna Ferdinanda got up from her chair, took her by the hand and said shortly:
‘Come with me.’
She went into the next room and shut the door. Cousin Graziella, who had been following them with her gaze, when she turned saw that the prince had vanished in another direction. Then as she sat there alone with the princess, she began wriggling in her chair. She would have gone to listen at the keyhole if she could, had she dared suggest it; instead of which she had to contain herself and chatter away, while now and then Donna Ferdinanda’s voice rose so much that she could make out entire words, “I want? I want? You’ll die first!… A lawyer?… You’ll die first!…’
‘Oh, dear God, I’m so sorry about this … ’Tis something, cousin, that …’
‘We’ll just see, I tell you!’ shouted Donna Ferdinanda. Immediately after this her voice stopped, and Cousin Graziella went on:
The Viceroys Page 28
