‘Lucrezia should think … should listen to those who talk to her for her own …’
‘Then you won’t listen, you little bitch?’ These words were shouted so loud that cousin and princess both pricked up their ears. A few minutes of deep silence followed; suddenly came the sound of a chair being turned over and immediately afterwards the sharp sound of a violent slap. The princess jumped to her feet with joined hands; her cousin ran to the door to listen. No more; neither voices nor sobs. Donna Ferdinanda reappeared alone, and came and sat down calmly next to her niece, rubbing the palm of a reddened hand. She talked of indifferent matters, asked what they had for dinner and for news of Teresina, who that day was at San Placido with her aunt the nun. Then she rose to leave; and the cousin went with her.
Meanwhile down in the estate-offices the delegates of the patriotic societies had been admitted into the duke’s presence and invited by him to sit down. Giulente the younger, speaking in his quality as orator, was saying:
‘My lord duke, in the name of the patriotic societies comprising the National Club, the Civic Union, the Workers’ League, Italy’s Redemption, the Sons of the Nation, whose representatives I present … we are here to bring you the mandate confided to us, to ask you to accept candidature to the parliament of Italy. Our city well knows it is asking a sacrifice of you, and no light one; but the patriotism of which you have given so many and such splendid proofs makes us hope that once again you will respond to your country’s call …’
The three or four working-men sat holding their caps tight in both hands as if someone wanted to take them away; uncle Giulente was looking at the floor. When the young man’s little speech was over the duke replied, seeking for words one after the other, his voice strangled:
‘Citizens, I am confused … and I thank you, truly I do … I have been happy … proud I should say … to have been able to contribute as much as I could to our national redemption … and to the great work of unifying the nation … But truly what you ask of me … is above my poor powers … it is a mandate … Allow me!’ He added in another tone of voice seeing them making gestures of denial, ‘which I should not know how to carry out … which calls for special talents that I do not possess … There is no lack of patriots who would do far better than me … being responsible for the interest … the tutelage of the interests … of our country!…’
‘Excuse me,’ came the young man’s reply, ‘we appreciate the delicate sentiment which makes you speak so; your modesty could dictate no other reply. But your capacity must be judged—forgive me—by the country itself. Had you other reasons for refusing, private or business, we would bow to them, being unable to allow your sacrifice to go too far. As your only objection is your incapacity, allow us to say that it is not for you to know whether you are capable or not!’
As Giulente was silent, Bellia, a tailor, of the Sons of the Nation, said, ‘Duke, the workers want Your Excellency … there are many who are canvassing for our votes, but in them we have no confidence. We want a good patriot and a gentleman like Your Excellency.’
Then turning to his companions the uncle Giulente said in a tone of jesting amiability, stroking his beard:
‘Don’t worry; the duke just wants to be entreated.’
‘To be entreated?’ exclaimed the candidate laughing. ‘What d’you take me for, an amateur pianist?’
All smiled and the ice was broken. Putting aside the grave dignity and flowery language of an official mission, everyone gave his own opinion, in dialect, in his own way, so as to induce the duke to accept. They were all agreed on his name; if he refused, their votes would be squandered among three or four people, and as that was the first election Sicily had ever had, a unanimous affirmation of the will of the constituency was necessary. This could only be obtained by the duke’s acceptance; for him all others would withdraw; his refusal would produce a pullulation of petty ambitious eleventh-hour patriots. At this insistence the duke exclaimed:
‘Gentlemen! You confuse me! You’re too good!… I do not know what to answer.’
‘Answer yes!… Accept … Is it so difficult?… We want it!’
‘But I’m not suitable … I feel the gravity of the responsibility towards the electorate … It’s no joking matter! It’s one thing to give some advice in the Town Hall, with all you supporters round me! It’s another thing to sit among representatives of Parliament!’
‘Gentlemen,’ suddenly exclaimed uncle Giulente, putting an end to this courteous squabbling, ‘D’you know what I say? Our commission has been done! The duke knows what all our wishes are; for the moment he does not say yes or no; let us leave him to sleep on it. Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, when he’s thought it over and taken advice from friends he will give us an answer, and let us hope it will be the desired one …’
‘Just so! Thank you, just so!…’ replied the duke, ‘Excellent! I promise you I’ll think it over and will do all I can … Meanwhile thank you all! Thank the workers’ societies for me; I will be going there to do my duty all the same …’
He kept them a little longer, talking of the news of the day, interesting himself in matters of public moment, touching passingly on what suggestions would have to be pressed with the Turin Government for the city’s good, and the better adjustment of the new regime. From a drawer in his desk he took a box of cigars, Havana cigars, golden-coloured, sweet and scented, and distributed them widely, shaking everyone’s hands, those of the two Giulente hardest of all.
Next morning Italia risorta bore a leading article by Benedetto on the imminent elections, which ran:
‘There are only two criteria to inspire voters; their choice’s fearless patriotism—which is an earnest of his truly Italian feelings; and his social prominence—which will allow him to carry out his mission with an independence that guarantees disinterest and sincerity. Now, when our city has the good fortune to possess a man responding to the name of Duke GASPARE UZEDA of ORAGUA, we think that all discussion is pointless, and that the votes of all citizens who have the public good at heart should concentrate on the name of that illustrious patrician!’
The great majority of the electorate were for him and in the chorus of consent discordant voices were stilled. Most fervent of all were the populace, the workers, the National Guard, the lowest orders which did not enjoy the vote but drew voters with them. If anyone put up arguments against that candidature, he was at once reduced to silence. The Uzeda were all pro-Bourbon to the eyebrows, were they? The more merit to the duke for having embraced Liberalism in spite of them! He hadn’t taken any part in ’48? But he had not betrayed as had so many others!…
Those voices had seemed more or less reduced to silence when they suddenly blew up again more insistently. Ever since that summer after the Neapolitans left there had been found now and then, stuck at street corners and circulating in cafés and chemists, anonymous leaflets with nasty bits of news, disquieting judgements and obscure threats. These had become rarer but now began circulating again, and contained, apart from gloomy prophecies on the future of the revolution, malicious allusions to persons in public view, particularly the duke. There were not many words about him, and usually in the form of questions, but someone always turned up to explain them. What had the Patriot done on the day of 31st May? He had hidden in San Nicola, said the comment. And what about that telescope in ’48? The one through which he had enjoyed gazing at the attack and the fire while surrounded by soldiers of Ferdinand II! And his visits to the Royal Intendant? To ensure he was on the winning side if the revolution was swept away in a whiff of grape-shot!…
The duke, from whom the Giulente had kept these attacks, even ordering the National Guard not to hand the leaflets over to their major when they took them off walls, now began to ask about them and to insist on seeing them. At reading his own name he went rather pale and glanced quickly over the phrases where he was mentioned, but said nothing.
‘Not to know from whose hand they come!’ exclaimed Benedetto. ‘Not to give
the rascals a good lesson!’
‘Oh, there’s nothing we can do about it!’ replied the offended party then. ‘They’re just the little inconveniences of revolution and liberty. But liberty corrects itself. Don’t give them another thought …’
As soon as the two had gone away, however, he put on his hat and went straight to San Nicola, where he asked for the Prior Don Lodovico.
‘Let me tell you,’ said he calmly, ‘that your uncle is playing a dirty game. The anonymous leaflets come from him and his gang. His attacking me is no matter; that only helps me by drawing more sympathy to me. But if he continues attacking everyone, scattering suspicions and lying news, he will get into trouble. I warn you because you who are close to him can pass it on. In the end everything comes out … Let him take care!’
To Don Blasco himself the Prior did not breathe a word, but reported the whole matter to the Abbot, for him to have a word with one of the monk’s friends. Father Galvagno was charged with the commission. On hearing the subject mentioned Don Blasco changed colour.
‘What’s this you’re saying?’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re mad, you and those who sent you. Let me tell you that if I want to say what I think, I say it right out in people’s faces, even if necessary in Francis II’s, whom God preserve!…’ and he gave a deep bow. ‘So imagine if I’m afraid of this gang of brigands and scavengers …’ and here he began rolling out an even worse litany than usual.
But from that day on the anonymous leaflets became rarer and gradually ceased. Don Blasco, the bile almost squirting from his eyes, let himself go at the prince’s—when the duke wasn’t there—saying appalling things against his brother, insulting him, defaming him, hurling brand-new epithets at him, compared to which the exchanges between porters and prostitutes were sweet complimentary nothings. His rage also had a closer and more direct target in his niece Lucrezia. The little bitch was still daring to think of that little rotter, was she? Had she been brought up to bite the hand that fed her, to filthy the name of Uzeda and make a mockery of it by marrying that little swine?
‘Oh, the putrid filthy race! Ah, pig of a Viceroy who created it … It would have been better …’ (to bring bastards into the world, was the idea expressed in his next unprintable words) ‘rather than generate this stinking crew …’
Those were fearful days for Lucrezia. Everyone was against her; either they did not say a word to her or loaded her with insults; Donna Ferdinanda seized her arm and gave her pinches that tore the skin off; one day Don Blasco nearly knocked her down. Pale and silent, she let the storm blow over, with eyes lowered. She did not weep, did not complain, confided in no-one, asked no help of the duke, whom she knew to be Benedetto’s friend and in favour of the match, said no word of her torments to Ferdinando, who came to the palace only to see her, leaving those animals of his that were either stuffed or waiting to be stuffed. Only when she shut herself in her room with Vanna to read the young man’s letters, did she say, with a faint cold smile:
‘It’s useless! I’ll marry him!…’
He, meanwhile, was continuing to support the duke’s election by speaking in clubs, writing in Italia risorta, and in leaflets with such titles as, Who is the Duke of Oragua?, A Patrician Patriot, and so on. ‘Since 1848 the distinguished gentleman has sided against the Government of King Bomba, with all the more merit as he had no wrongs against himself or his family to redress, but against the whole people of Sicily … During the long period of preparation we find him at Palermo, intimate with the most outstanding patriots and intent on contributing his activity and his substance to the national cause. No sooner has the movement for liberation started than he hurries home in order to participate in the sorrows and joys of his beloved fellow-citizens. Here he is generous with precious help to the Liberals, and the representatives of the execrated Bourbon already hear his condemning voice. He contributes to the formation of voluntary squads, subsidises those persecuted Liberals that are in want. When Francis’ minions retire, he is among the first to help regulate the city’s government and joins the ranks of the national militia, bulwark of liberty; for it he buys uniforms, ammunition and many a weapon. He opens his ancestral home to Bixio and Menotti and renders the honours of the city to the liberators. When asked to represent the first constituency in Parliament he modestly declines the offer, wishing to be first in sacrifice and last in honours. But his country wants him. Our sister Palermo envies us him. One bearing the name of DUKE OF ORAGUA cannot disappoint his country’s wishes. He will be our Deputy!’
On his part the duke spoke to the prince again about Lucrezia’s marriage, praised the young man and asserted that it was a match not to be missed, for the Giulente had that son only and to him would go all their fortune.
‘It is suitable for another reason too,’ he explained to his nephew, ‘they won’t worry about a dowry …’
‘Whether they worry or not it doesn’t affect me,’ replied the prince. ‘Lucrezia has her own money: does your Excellency think I wish to deny it to her?’
‘Whoever said such a thing? All I say is that they would be content with what she has.’
‘The matter has nothing to do with me. It would be odd for me to prevent my sister doing what she likes at her age! Maybe our mother’s wishes were for her to remain at home, but our mother is in the next world, and even if she were alive …’ He went on in this tone, repeating that his sister was free to take Giulente; but the words seemed to drop from his mouth, and he broke off as if there were other things he could say and was only keeping silent from prudence and propriety, in order not to appear stubborn. So much so that the duke one day asked him:
‘Talk clearly, can’t you! Are you against this marriage?’
‘Me?… If Your Excellency approves?’
‘Don’t you like Giulente?’
‘Must I like him?… He’s a decent young man; it’s enough to know him to be Your Excellency’s friend … Not badly off, either … I haven’t Aunt Ferdinanda’s and Don Blasco’s prejudices, times have changed … Your Excellency must know that if Lucrezia thinks she can be happy with him, I will not oppose it … But it’s only right that she should not seek a quarrel with me either!’
‘Why ever should she do that?’
‘Why?… Why?… Your Excellency knows nothing of it all, being in Palermo at that time!…’ And then he told of the pain caused him by his sister plotting with Chiara and the marchese and Ferdinando, by laying claims and interpreting the law in her own way, even accusing him of wanting to despoil her and all the others. ‘Now if she marries, she must put an end to all that once and for ever … Otherwise your Excellency will see that they will begin all over again!’
‘No, sir,’ replied the duke firmly, ‘the marriage will take place, but I guarantee that you will not be molested.’
Father Camillo had already talked in the same vein to the girl. He began by telling her that the union was opposed by the entire family not because they expected her to remain a spinster—not at all!—but because it was not a suitable match. Birth was certainly a matter of some importance; not so much for its own sake, as because of the upbringing, the moral and religious principles involved.
Giulente might well be an excellent young man—he did not wish to defame without knowing him—but he professed dangerous doctrines and sided with the enemies of social order, legitimate power, and Holy Church; and he did so not only in words but in action too. And would an Uzeda, ‘descendant of Blessed Ximena, daughter of a Prince of Francalanza,’ marry such a man as that? What basis of understanding could they have? Could love and accord reign between them? And then apart from that could Giulente, though prosperous, maintain her in the style to which she had been accustomed? Had he any notion of noble habits?
Thus the family was not opposed from caprice but for grave and valid reasons. But, said he, she herself must be the best judge of all that; maybe she felt herself animated with love enough to cope with the material disadvantages of such an existence and hope enough to conver
t the young man too. Most praiseworthy and admirable; but the chief and only question really was that without the approval, acceptance, blessing of those representing her late lamented father and mother, she could have no hope of prosperity and peace.
So far Lucrezia had not said a syllable.
When the confessor was silent she said, ‘What must I do to have their permission to marry him? Let them say what it is; I will do whatever they like.’
‘I was sure of that!’ exclaimed the Dominican in a tone of joyful triumph, ‘I was sure that a good girl like you would give no other reply. And the prince, who loves you, will support you! Agree, and always keep together; such is your mutual interest and the joy of those looking down on you from above.’
And so when the duke, who had not yet mentioned Giulente’s request to his niece, told her of it and said at the same time that Giacomo, before giving a reply, wanted to come to a settlement with her, Lucrezia declared herself ready. The prince, who had been holding many a confabulation with Signor Marco and spent days shut up in his study, now asked, in his brother the co-heir’s name too, that this settlement be based on the division made by his mother, demonstrating the justice of this with great heaps of documents and figures; these also showed that their father’s part had never existed outside the imagination of their uncle Don Blasco. There were, though, the I.O.U.’s that he had paid; his sister must pay her proportionate part in these.
When all this was settled not more than 8,000 onze would be due to her. Lucrezia accepted this sum. Her mother’s Will laid down that the prince should pay her five per cent interest; but then in the five years since their mother’s death had he not maintained his sister entirely, providing her with home, food, service, clothes, use of carriage, etc. etc.? Was he to sustain all these expenses himself? Had his sister been in need, he would of course have kept her in his home from affection for her and because she was of the same blood. But she had her own money; so it was not right for her brother to keep her for five years nor could she herself allow it. When the accounts were gone over again it was found that the interest of the 8,000 onze represented exactly the expenses of maintenance; so all that was due to her was the capital. Again Lucrezia said yes. So everything seemed arranged; but at the last moment the prince put up a new condition to his uncle the duke:
The Viceroys Page 29
