The shouting and confusion among the monks there also left the demonstrations of ’48 and ’60 far behind. Don Blasco became a fanatic. The things he said about the ‘Piedmontese’ for not shooting Garibaldi, and about Garibaldi for not sweeping away the ‘Piedmontese’, would have made an infidel’s ears burn. This was his main hope, his sustaining faith; that the two parties would exterminate each other, the brigands from Basilicata give the last tip of the whole affair, and then come a cataclysm, a universal deluge no longer of water but of fire and iron so that the world would rise purified from its own ashes. Those fools of Liberal monks, ‘those milk-sops’, were still daring to clap hands while the revolution was threatening final ruin to the last most august, most sacred representative of legitimacy; the Holy Father! They were clapping hands with the agitators, the down-and-outs in search of a hand-out, the escaped galley slaves who made up the new bands! They were waggling hips fattened at the expense of San Nicola, rubbing hands which that idle life of theirs still let them keep white and smooth as women’s!
‘You bunch of cadgers, d’you think you’ve won a lottery? Don’t you understand that the sooner heresy triumphs, the sooner they’ll have you flung out in the street? What have you to be so gay about, who are worse traitors than Judas! Don’t you realise you’ve everything to lose and nothing to gain?’
‘Well?’
‘What d’you mean—well?’
‘Well, we’ll get some liberty too …’ When the monk was given this reply he went pale, then all the blood mounted to his head and his eyes seemed about to start from their sockets.
‘Oh so that’s what you lack, is it?’ he hissed. ‘It’s liberty you lack, is it?… So you’re locked into a prison, you poor wretches, are you?… What’s the liberty you lack then, to booze like wineskins? To guzzle yourselves to death? To keep your sluts? Why, don’t you know what people call you …?’ And he spat out in their faces the nickname by which they were known all over the town, ‘Hogs of Christ!’
Amid this flurry of discussions threatening to end in blows the poor Abbot was like a chick lost in stubble, not knowing what to do, not wanting to lend a hand or in any way to speed the collapse of good principles, but unable to oppose the Garibaldini’s coming. Nevertheless he clung to the Prior, put himself in his hands, never left him for a second. Don Lodovico, complaining of the sad times, imploring the Lord to ease those hard trials, took over control of the monastery and prepared for Garibaldi’s reception. He ordered the royal apartments to be aired, straw and forage to be got in, cellars and larders emptied. When the General arrived, he went to meet him at the very bottom of the stairs, accompanied his staff to their rooms, and presided over the Redshirts’ dinner, apologising for the absence of the Abbot kept to his bed by a slight indisposition.
Don Blasco, yellow as a lemon, no longer able to shout at the Garibaldini’s coming, had shut himself into the Novitiate again. Almost all the boys had gone, taken away by their respective families getting to safety for fear of disturbances. Only the young prince, Giovannino Radalì and two or three others remained, while the Uzeda had all escaped to the Belvedere, except for Ferdinando, shut up as always at Pietra dell’Ovo, and Lucrezia with Benedetto, who during those agitated days took his place among the few authorities and rare notabilities that remained. He would have volunteered to go through the new campaign with old comrades-in-arms had he not felt it his duty to remain with his wife. The day after Garibaldi’s arrival he went to the monastery to pay his respects to the General, who recognised him at once, shook hands and talked to him for a time in spite of the coming and going of deputations, representatives of all kinds hurrying to greet the former Dictator. Uncertainty and disquiet, hopes and fears about what would happen next were universal. What plans had Garibaldi? What were the orders of representatives of authority? Would the struggle, if there was to be one, break out in Catania? What would the National Guard do?…
No one knew a thing. Some said that the Government was secretly in league with Garibaldi and only pretending to obstruct him so as to throw dust in the eyes of the great powers. Benedetto, who had begun republishing his newspaper Italia risorta, upheld this view, and the silence of the Duke of Oragua, to whom he had written letter after letter begging him to return to Sicily, as his presence might become necessary, tended to confirm it. However, he assured the Dictator of the unanimous support of the entire town. After taking leave he was just about to go out into the town again when he heard his name called.
‘Excellency! Excellency …’
It was Fra’ Carmelo behind him, who when he got up to him whispered in his ear with an air of mystery, ‘Your Uncle Don Blasco wants to talk to you.’
Skulking in the farthest room of the farthest corridors in the Novitiate, Don Blasco insisted on hearing his nephew’s voice twice before opening. Then he locked the door in the lay-brother’s face.
‘Now have you gone off your head too, you swine?’ said he to Benedetto.
The latter had scarcely muttered a timid submissive ‘why?’ when the monk started again with renewed violence.
‘How d’you mean, “why”? You have the face to ask that? With civil war about to break out? The town shelled? The streets running with blood? Decent folk persecuted … And you ask me “why” …?’
‘It’s not any fault of …’
‘It’s not any fault of yours? Whose then? Mine? Oh, of course! I was the one to start things off, wasn’t I? I know that game! Put the blame on decent people who’re guilty of sticking to their principles. I’m surprised they haven’t come to arrest me! Let ’em, let ’em!…’ And his eyes glittered like a lion’s.
‘Calm yourself, Your Excellency …’ stuttered Giulente.
‘So I must calm myself too, must I? While my country is threatened with final ruin? When I see a creature like you clapping hands with the others, instead of working to avoid this inferno …’
‘In what way though?’
‘In what way though? By making ’em leave! Let ’em cut each other’s throats, in the country, out at sea, wherever they like and not inside a city like ours, where the damage could be incalculable, involving women, old people, children, decent … They can go and do it where they like; the world’s a big place!… That’s the way!…’
Giulente stood perplexed, not daring to contradict his uncle, but not wanting either to contradict himself within half an hour.
‘But what can be done? The whole town’s for the General.’
‘The whole town? First of all you’re a fool! Who in the town? Madmen like you? And all the more reason! If the town is for him, if he’s entered it to triumph, what’s to be done about it? If it was a strong-point I’d understand; but a city open to the four winds? If he must start a battle, let him do it elsewhere! Let him take with him whoever and whatever he likes and good journey to him!’
The monk was gradually becoming calmer and said the last words almost in the tone of any other human being. But as soon as Benedetto observed:
‘And who’s to persuade him of that?’
‘Oh, by the blood of Mahomet!’ shouted the monk as loudly as before, with a gesture of fury. ‘Am I talking to an animal or a reasonable being? Who’s to persuade him? You people around him! Isn’t there a National Guard? Isn’t there any kind of authority? You, what the devil are you? A captain, a good citizen, and all that, aren’t you? It’s up to people like you to speak up frankly and clearly, after those Piedmontese rabbits of yours have beaten a retreat, leaving us in the soup! Or d’you think maybe I ought to get involved with those assassins, brigands, galley slaves, pimps …’
But at the sound of a step in the corridor, Don Blasco went silent as if by magic. He gulped as if his throat was itching, took a step or two through the room, paused a moment to listen; and then when the noise stopped he declared:
‘If you can get that in your head, all the better; if not get this, that as far as I’m concerned I don’t care a fig for you or Garibaldi or Victor Emmanuel or any of
you.’
Giulente went home thoughtful and worried. As soon as he entered his wife’s room he saw Lucrezia sitting in a corner, staring at the floor with red eyes.
‘What’s wrong with you?… What’s happened?…’
‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me.’
‘But you’ve been crying, Lucrezia! Tell me, now! Tell me what’s wrong?’
She denied it, without looking him in the face, her mouth obstinately shut, and had Vanna not come in Benedetto would have been unable to know anything.
‘The mistress doesn’t want to stay in town,’ declared the maid. ‘All her relations have gone, even the poor are getting to safety, why should she be the only one to remain in danger?’
‘What danger? Lucrezia, is that what’s bothering you? But there’s no danger at all! What are you afraid of? Am I not here? They won’t do anything to me, in any case! If there was even the remotest danger, would I keep you here? We’ll leave if things look bad; do I have to promise you that?’
After he had gone on talking for a quarter of an hour she muttered:
‘I want to go away to my relations.’
‘But Holy God, why? You were so calm this morning! What on earth can have happened?’
This is what had happened; the wife of Orazio, the prince’s coachman, had visited her former young mistress and announced, panting through her teeth, that she too was escaping to the Belvedere.
‘One can’t stay here, Excellency. Don’t you know what happened today? The Piedmontese soldiers still in hospital marched off to join the other troops in the fort, the Garibaldini tried to make them prisoners. And then, oh Jesus and Mary, the lieutenant ordered bayonets to be fixed! I was just passing with my babies … I’m still atremble with the terror of it! I’ve made a bundle of some clothes, and tonight I’m off …’
If the coachman’s wife was going away, was she, the prince’s sister, less than the coachman’s wife? This idea had not come into her head suddenly. When struggling to marry Giulente, she had sworn she would never have anything more to do with the Uzeda; all the reasons given by them for denigrating Benedetto and his family had only confirmed her more in her determination. But once she had triumphed over opposition and began to think over, in the long hours of idleness and inertia, those arguments used by her Aunt Ferdinanda, by Giacomo, by the confessor, a conviction that she had come down in the world by marrying Benedetto struggled for a little with her former obstinacy. Having quarrelled with her brother, the torture of being unable to enter the house of the Viceroys any more, of feeling herself almost exiled by her relations, had gradually begun to preoccupy her while she still went on inveighing against them. At the beginning of the public disturbances the general flight of nobles and rich had filled her cup of misery to the brim, and now she had even forgotten what she had said against Giacomo, the coldness that had grown up between them, her firmness and determination not to give way; she wanted to go off to the Belvedere if even the coachman’s wife had gone …
Giulente was still trying to persuade her when the post arrived. Among the newspapers there was a letter from the duke at last. The duke said that he had received no more letters which, particularly in these moments of agitation, he was awaiting with impatience. The news from Sicily had made him quite feverish and he felt like packing his bags at once, but unfortunately he was prevented by many and serious matters ‘all of interest to the constituency and to Sicily.’ He particularly wanted to be among his fellow-citizens so as to warn them not to let themselves be drawn along by Garibaldi. ‘So I tell this to you who can get the hotheads to understand; the more insistence there is on Utopian principles the surer becomes a shipwreck. Anyway the Government is firmly decided to oppose such aberrations in every way. And I think they’re quite right; in fact they’ve been losing time about it. Garibaldi should be stopped by force; one cannot allow a nation of twenty-seven million to be put in turmoil by a man who has distinct merits of course but seems sworn to get them forgotten by conduct which …’ And here came two whole pages against Garibaldi. ‘And anyway, let’s face it, even the Government isn’t free and we must not count too much on non-intervention; there’s France making a fuss, and Napoleon now says … Austria is just waiting for an excuse … all Europe watches …’ Here came another page of grave considerations on the international situation. ‘And so I do ask you to make these truths plain to our friends, and even plainer to our opponents. A serious disaster to our country must be avoided and all must be persuaded of the dangers in the situation. I beg of you to talk and if need be write on these lines; in fact I am certain that you in your quick-witted way have already been doing this …’
Thus for the third time in three hours one of his relations was urging him along a road that he found repugnant. The duke was writing, language apart, just as Don Blasco was talking; the pro-Bourbon monk was at heart in agreement with the Liberal deputy; and his wife was shut in her room sulking and plotting with her maid to induce him to desert his post.
That evening, at a tempestuous meeting of the National Club, when the Garibaldino and Government parties had almost come to blows, he got up to speak. In the embarrassment overwhelming him, the most opportune arguments seemed those suggested by Don Blasco. Nobody could doubt, he said, his devotion to the General, nor did his conscience allow him to agree with those who wanted to take sides against the Liberator of Sicily, but he should be told, with due respect, of the danger to which the town was exposed. There were two possibilities only; either he was acting by agreement with the Government, in which case there was no reason for him to remain in Catania; or the Government was opposed to him, in which case he should search his own heart lest he inflict the horrors of civil war on a populous and flourishing city. And such actually was the case, for the Government had decided to oppose him …
This speech shocked his old friends, but, taking them on one side one after the other when the meeting was adjourned without decision, he exhorted them to bow to crude naked truth, to the news given him by the duke. ‘Why doesn’t he come himself then?’ he was asked. ‘What’s he staying in Turin for, when there’s a crisis here?’ And Giulente justified the duke’s conduct, and announced that he would be starting his journey south as soon as possible, but meanwhile a deputation must be sent to the General asking him to evacuate the area …
This propaganda achieved the desired effect. Till now suspicions had been mounting about the party hostile to Garibaldi, since pro-Bourbons and frightened people with no faith were with it, but now that a proved Liberal was advising not resistance, but respectful explanation of their danger, this point of view made headway. Even so, Benedetto had not quite the courage to go to the General personally to explain his new opinion; he let others go. Forced to take his wife up to the Belvedere, he returned to town alone, awaiting events and writing and telegraphing to the duke to come.
A few days passed without any change in the situation. From the top of the dome of San Nicola Garibaldi often scrutinised the horizon with a telescope, or studied his plans, bent over maps, or received the people and deputations that came to visit him. Finally he embarked with all his volunteers, for an unknown destination, maybe Greece, maybe Albania. But after his departure, a residue of discontent was left in the city, a subdued unrest which people of influence and even the National Guard could not succeed in placating. Now the movement was turning against the gentry, against the rich. Giulente harangued rioters but no one listened to him any more; and once again the duke wrote that he could not come, that he was unwell, that the heat had affected his digestion …
One afternoon Don Blasco was risking a visit to the Cigar-woman, where he was talking away fanatically again about how he hoped Garibaldini and Piedmontese would exterminate each other, when Garino arrived, yellow as a corpse.
‘The revolution!… the revolution!… They’re burning the Nobles’ Club!…’
In fact demonstration had turned to riot, and flames were licking round the club of the aristocracy. The mon
k, it goes without saying, went and locked himself up in the monastery again and did not leave it until the town was reoccupied by regular troops. But the excitement produced by the incident of Aspromonte, the terrors, the dangers, did not seem to have stopped. The prince did not move from the Belvedere and Giulente once again began begging the duke to show himself, to bring peace to the town. The duke did not come. Again he replied that his doctors had forbidden him to return to Sicily. ‘I am in despair at not being among you as I should and would be, not only because of all that you tell me about Catania, but also of what is happening in Florence.’
Benedetto did not know what he was alluding to; at that moment it did not occur to him that Raimondo was in Tuscany. A few days later he realised what this meant, when the count and Donna Isabella Fersa arrived together and put up at the hotel, still together as if they were husband and wife.
THIS event made such an impression that suddenly Garibaldi and Rattazzi, Rome and Aspromonte, all passed into second place. Count Uzeda with Donna Isabella! At the hotel together, like two lovers who had eloped to force their families’ hands! What about the countess? And the baron? How ever had they all got into such a tangle? How would it all end?
Pasqualino Riso, back from Florence with his master, was besieged with questions. He looked just like a gentleman himself, did Pasqualino; a suit of latest cut, fine linen, rings on his fingers, polished shoes, and had it not been for his clean-shaven face, anyone might have called him ‘Cavaliere’. In porters’ lodges, stables, coachmen’s cafés, in the antechambers of his master’s relations, he gave all explanations asked. That the young count couldn’t last long with his wife he’d foreseen for some time, as anyone could have the year before, when Signor Don Raimondo had run away from the woman who was embittering his life.
The Viceroys Page 36
