Nor had the mania for smoking left him either. Attributing his nicotine-poisoning at the time of the revolution to the bad preparation of tobacco, he now tried real cigars and got more poisoned than before. On the master’s discovering this too it was decided to give him a heavy punishment and forbid him to go out for a week; then the week was reduced to three days, thanks to the nearness of Christmas.
Every year when this came round one of the novices had to give a sermon, receiving in reward an onza, almost thirteen lire in the new money, together with a box of chocolates and two live cockerels. The Christmas sermon that year of 1861 fell to Consalvo Uzeda. It had been written for him by the Father Librarian, a literary man, so that instead of the few pages of other years this filled a whole exercise book. Consalvo, having an iron memory and a brazen face, awaited the ceremony with a calm and confidence unknown to his companions, who paid for their presents with fifteen days af anxiety and one of panic. On the day of the function the Chapter-house, in which the monks had already settled into their stalls, was invaded by the usual crowd of male relatives; the women, because of the enclosure, remained next door in the sacristy, the doors of which were left wide open. Everybody was exclaiming in whispers:
‘What a fine lad! How frank and self-assured!’
Then the young prince, in a pleated white cotta climbed to the pulpit, gazed calmly down at the crowd of spectators and glanced at the sacristy, turning his little roll of manuscript in his hands and coughing a little before beginning. Under the Abbot’s stall, standing with the prince, the Duke of Oragua and Benedetto Giulente, Don Eugenio was saying:
‘What mastery! He might have been preaching for years!’ But the amazement was almost boundless when the boy opened the exercise book, gave it a glance, lowered it and recited from memory:
‘Reverend Fathers and beloved Brothers, it was a night of deepest winter when in a stall at Nazareth …’ and went on to the end without even a glance at the exercise book, gesticulating, pausing for effect, changing tone like a trained orator or an old actor on the stage. When he finished and went down again, he was nearly suffocated by all the embraces and kisses. The princess had tears in her eyes, even Donna Ferdinanda was moved, but although mute, the Deputy—whose throat tightened and sight dimmed at the mere thought of a crowd—was not the least admiring.
‘What presence of mind! What frankness!…’ And all the ladies drew him to them, hugged him, kissed him on the face. He let them, returning kisses on cheeks that were fresh and scented, wrinkling his nose at those that were flaccid and wrinkled. Apart from the monastery gifts he also put in his pockets the lire given him by his uncles and aunts. Most content at all was Fra’ Carmelo; he felt himself to be author of that triumph, to have a right to part of the applause, the congratulations, the ladies’ kisses. Had he not kept a guiding eye on that boy for the five years of novitiate? Had he not praised his intelligence, prophesied his success? The boy’s masters complained at his not loving study; well, was he going to be a lawyer, doctor or theologian? He was with the Benedictines to receive an education suitable to his birth; then he would go home and be Prince of Francalanza!
That was the day Consalvo was longing for. From impatience at its not coming fast enough he let himself go more and more, so as to get himself sent away, putting not only lay-brothers and servants, but even his own master with their backs to the wall.
During the revolution and immediately afterwards the parents nicknamed ‘Scabby’ had taken their son Michelino from the monastery, the Cùrcuma their Gasparino and the Cugnò their Luigi; and no new novices had entered except for Camillo Giulente, as there was a rumour of the Government suppressing the monasteries. The only ones to stay were those whom their families destined for the habit, among them Giovannino Radalì, the ‘madman’s son’. On his father’s death the duchess, from love of her eldest son, had destined her second to be a monk. Consalvo, who was not taking vows, wanted to leave as soon as possible, at once. Instead of which every time he asked his father, ‘When can I come home?’ the latter answered in his usual cold dry way admitting no reply, ‘I must think it over!’ He never did think it over.
The boy felt an aversion growing for this severe father from whom he had never heard a kind word. When he went home on holidays he would spend a moment with his mother, then go down to the courtyard and visit the horses and carriages, ask the names of all the harness in the stables. The monk’s habit bothered him as it prevented his getting up on to the box and learning to drive. He would have plenty of time for fun later, Orazio, the new coachman, would say to him. (Pasqualino had gone off to Florence in his uncle Raimondo’s service.) But Consalvo wanted to have fun at once, to get away from the monks’ tutelage, do what he liked. And at the idea of having to return to that monastic prison, he even envied the servants, and Donna Vanna’s son, Salvatore, who had entered service with the Uzeda as an ostler and now spent his whole blessed day on the box driving about town. Consalvo envied and admired him for his great and varied knowledge, for the curses he so freely used. And Fra’ Carmelo, when the time came to take him back to the monastery, had to talk himself hoarse before tearing him away from stalls and stables.
‘What have you been doing?’ his mother and aunt would ask him.
‘Nothing,’ he would reply, slightly red in the face.
He had been listening to Salvatore telling him about the habits of some of the Benedictine fathers.
‘At night they go out to visit their mistresses, and sometimes even they take them back with them into the monastery wrapped in cloaks. The porter pretends to take them for men! Surely Your Excellency who lives in there has seen them?’
He had never seen a thing himself, and these revelations all at one time astounded and disturbed him.
‘But isn’t it a sin?’
‘Eee!…’ exclaimed the retainer. ‘If they’d been the first to do it! But they’ve always done it, the monks have! Aren’t the lay-brothers nearly all sons of the old monks?’
‘Fra’ Carmelo too?’
‘Fra’ Carmelo? Fra’ Carmelo is another matter … He’s the bastard of Your Excellency’s grandfather, and Don Blasco’s spurious brother …’
‘So he’s my uncle?’
‘And Baldassarre is also … the prince’s bastard brother. Yes, they have their fun, do the Uzeda. And so will Your Excellency when you’ve grown up.’
Oh, how he longed to grow up! With what impatience and resentment against his father did he see the days, weeks, months, years pass in that prison! In what a state of mind did he now hear severe sermons by the monks, after knowing about their lives! Often he would discuss these secret matters with Giovannino, tell him what he would do as soon as he was outside the monastery, and Giovannino listened to him in utter amazement, as if he did not understand. This boy was like that, frenzied at times as a devil, at others inert as a loony. He too wanted to leave the monastery, and would go off on some days into terrible rages; then he would persuade himself that his mother the duchess was right, that all the family money belonged to his brother Michele, that he would live like a lord among other lords at San Nicola. Then he would be silent, no longer dream of escape, no longer envy Consalvo’s future liberty.
When the political agitation stopped it also lessened a great cause of quarrels in the Novitiate and among the monks; but another reason for quarrelling soon appeared. The rumours about the suppression of religious houses in the near future were confirmed from Rome; it could not be long before the usurpers’ government laid hands on Church property. Don Blasco had his say against the Liberals, turncoats, enemies of God and of themselves, who refused to listen to him. Now, however, it was not a question of shouting but of making some arrangements in view of that event. At San Nicola all the monastery’s income had been spent without a thought for the morrow in the certainty that their plenitude would last till the end of time, but with the world so upside-down and the danger of the Government really abolishing religious orders, would it not be wise to tak
e some thought, to draw in on expenses, so that the unprovided should not be left high and dry?
The Abbot, as always, had first taken counsel with the Prior. Don Lodovico had been too modest to make any pronouncement. ‘What can I say to Your Paternity? The future is in God’s hands. Anything might happen in these wicked times. The enemies of the Church are quite capable of this and more. I wouldn’t be surprised if they restarted the persecutions of that hellish year 1789!’ He was sincere in his bitterness towards the new order of things, which at first he had supported from self-interest to keep in with the new temporal powers. But the suppression of the monasteries destroyed all his dreams of revenge, of domination, of honours. What did he care now about the San Nicola budget, when the whole of his future, fruit of fifteen years of policy, was in danger, and he would now have to think of some new line on which to strike out, another aim towards which to direct his own activity? And this poor wretch of an Abbot was insisting on having his opinion about a few petty daily expenses!
‘Tell me how I’d best act! What would you do in my position?…’ For a moment Don Lodovico felt tempted to wash his hands of him but, bowing his head with greater humility than before, he replied:
‘Your Paternity is too good! Economies always seem to me praiseworthy. If the Lord does not allow his servants to be put to the proof, we will have more for good works …’
So the Abbot pronounced for economies by agreement with the Chapter. But the monks were all not of one mind. Among those who did not think suppression possible, among others who feared having to renounce luxuries which they had always enjoyed, the party for economies found a good deal of opposition. Between these two camps Don Blasco would not take either side, lashing out sometimes against one and sometimes against the other. He could not very well be against economies in the hope that the government would never come to pillaging as he had been prophesying this pillaging and throwing it in the face of Liberal ‘traitors’; and anyway economies which could eventually be divided among the monks in the case of dissolution were to his liking, as long as he got his own share when he left the monastery. But he did not want to renounce the comfort to which he was used; then the very fact that this party was led by the Abbot and his nephew the Prior and those of the Chapter made him take the opposite side and call them all ‘filthy ragamuffins’, and shout, ‘Let ’em go out and keep inns and shops! Let ’em start selling oil, wine and caciocavallo cheese! That’s the only thing they’re good for! Those are the jobs they were born for!…’ When on the other hand he heard the ‘patriot party’ lull themselves with the certainty that the government in any case would look after them whatever happened, he would come out with:
‘The government’ll kick you all out and put out its arse for you to kiss! Judas sold Christ but he did at least get thirty pieces of silver! You others will just get kicks in the backside.’
In his heart, though, at the idea of dividing the money and finally possessing something of his own, he was in favour of economies though struggling against them. Anyway the running expenses at San Nicola were huge, not so much from the value of things bought, as for the royal way of spending money and rewarding the smallest job of work, of letting almost anyone enjoy the rich goods heaped up in the monastery larders. With a little more order, by letting the cooks steal a little less and the lay-brothers in charge of the estates enrich themselves a little more slowly than usual, enough could be saved annually for quite a number of families to live in ease. But houses given to those protected by the monks must not be touched; Don Blasco was just waiting to see them try to lay hands on the Cigar-woman’s shop and apartment!
Neither he nor others had any intention of renouncing their rights; with free board and lodging each choir-monk had three rotoli of oil a month, a soma of coal, a salma of wine, all of which they handed over to their mistresses. Saving money was all very well, of course, but each expected his share.
The Abbot, willy-nilly, had to let them be. Anyway he shut an eye now as they had to be propitiated. Camillo Giulente, now twenty, had expressed a firm wish to pronounce vows and pass into the formal novitiate. A vote was needed for this and opposition against the intruder broke out more violently than ever, with shouts and loud threats to prevent the sanctioning of this outrage. But the Abbot insisted personally with all the monks and recommended the boy, stressing all his excellent qualities, how well he had done at his studies, his sad situation as a poor orphan.
He got the Bishop to talk to the leading monks, whom he also approached through their relatives, and anyone else who could exercise any influence on them; one or two had bowed, others given vague promises and in the end, in spite of all the shouting and plotting, Giulente had been admitted, but only by very few votes. The news caused great excitement. Jumped-up nobles of recent date rejoiced as if they had had some good luck themselves, recognising the influence of the new era, the unprejudiced action of the Liberal monks. But purists were still outraged.
Once the trial year was over, before the novice could pronounce his vows, the Chapter had to renew their scrutiny. The Abbot, though sure of the result, treated the matter with great care and entrusted himself to Don Lodovico, explaining the new reasons which should induce the monks to say ‘yes’. Was it possible after a first favourable vote to give a contrary one, if during all that time the young man had been a living example of respect, humility and religious zeal? Anyway if what was feared should really happen, if the government did suppress the monasteries, what bother would the new monk be to the old ones? It was a good thing, in fact, in these sad times to show persecutors of the Church that the monastic state answered a real social need, since, in spite of the dangers of enjoying no advantages from it, young men still asked to bear its yoke … The Abbot, assured by Don Lodovico that all would go as he wished, slept peacefully. When on the day of the voting the monks were put the question if they wanted Giulente among them, thirty in thirty-two voters replied no and only two agreed.
‘For once people here are using their heads!’ exclaimed Don Blasco, almost under His Paternity’s nose.
The plot had been secretly prepared for some time. At the first voting half the voters had bowed to authority, knowing well that their vote was not binding and that they would have to do it all over again, but once they had to give it seriously no one had hesitated at all. Pro-Bourbons and pro-Liberals, supporters and adversaries of the Abbot, those for economy and those for spending, all agreed in opposing the admission of a grandchild of notaries like Giulente among descendants of the conquerors of the kingdom and of Viceroys. To them it did not matter whether the end of their period of plenty was near or far, nor did setting an example in the interests of religion; it was a matter above all of upholding principle, of keeping ‘cattle in their places’, as Don Blasco put it. If the young man was an orphan and poor he would be given a place to sleep and eat as would any one of the many parasites who lived on the monastery, but to be allowed to don the noble Benedictine habit? To be called Your Paternity? To sit in their refectory?…
Throughout the whole clientele of the monastery went long whispers of approval; that was what should have been done from the beginning! It was a fine lesson for the Abbot!… The young man, from disappointment and shame, did not show his face for a month. When he reappeared, pale and red eyed, no one knew what to do with him. If the Fathers did not want him he could not be sent back among the novices at his age, particularly after that scandal, as it drew on the poor wretch jeers and insults from the young prince and his companions. So the Abbot had to assign him an out-of-the-way cell at the end of a deserted corridor; and Giulente exchanged the habit of St Benedict for the humble cassock of a priest, and spent all day studying the books which his protector sent him from the library. In the refectory, as neither the Fathers nor the novices wanted him with them, he ate at the second table in the company of lay-brothers.
Don Lodovico expressed his own regret to the Abbot for this persecution. He had been very careful to avoid doing any of the
propaganda with which His Paternity had charged him, first of all because his determined neutrality forbade him, then because he did not want Giulente in the monastery either. In spite of this he had been the only one to vote ‘yes’, to show his own loyalty to his Superior, while certain meanwhile of the other monks’ unanimous opposition. After the result of the scrutiny, he threw the blame on the deceitfulness of the monks who, after so many promises, had at the very last moment, from ‘stupid’ prejudice, gone back on their tracks.
So things went on, with the usual bickering between parties, the usual more or less stormy discussions, when one fine day the whole community was abuzz with the rumour of an event as extraordinary as any during the revolution.
Garibaldi was already in Sicily recruiting, why no one knew, or rather all knew well; to march against the Pope. As he advanced, an ill-repressed quiver went up all round, in town and country, while authorities wavered about what on earth to do, at one moment pretending to oppose him, then letting him through.
When he appeared before Catania the garrison which was supposed to stop him had evacuated the town, and the Prefect went down to the port to board a man-of-war. And the General marched in with his volunteers between two rows of applauding and frantically shouting population, amid a delirium of enthusiasm compared to which even demonstrations of 1860 seemed lukewarm and dim. From a balcony of the Workers’ Club, dominating the main street swollen as a torrent with people, he explained the aim of his new enterprise, and in his gentle voice gave out the call for the new war, ‘Rome or death!…’ And where should he go and set up his own headquarters then but at San Nicola!
The Viceroys Page 35
