All these accusations by his enemies circulating round town were gaining credence, becoming a threat. Giulente took up his defence, but people did not listen to him now as they had at one time; the Deputy’s discredit was beginning to spread to him. He was called a hypocrite for trying to keep old friendships after becoming a mere executor of the duke’s abuses and injustices. A hypocrite only? The bitterest said that he got his share of the Deputy’s spoils too; some share must be coming to him from their illicit profits, from fruits of their trafficking.
This subject of the Deputy’s earnings excited his enemies more than any other. The duke, they said, used his public offices to his own advantage. The money he had spent on the revolution was bringing him in a thousand per cent! That explained his ‘patriotism’, his play-acting conversion to liberty while the Uzeda family had always been a nest of Bourbonists and reactionaries, and in ’48 he had actually sat and enjoyed the spectacle of the city in its death agony through a telescope as if he were at the theatre! It was partly explained by fear too, a need to prove his Liberalism and democracy to avoid getting shot—and some fools had let themselves be taken in by that abolition of fine-quality bread for about a fortnight. But greed had overcome fear. Well-informed folk told how once, in the first phase of the new government, he had made a most significant remark that revealed the hereditary avarice of the Viceroys, the rapacity of the Uzeda of old: ‘Now that Italy’s made, we must make our bit …’ If he had not said those exact words he had certainly put the idea into action; that was why he was so loud in praise of the new regime and its beneficent effects. Laws were good when they were good for him. That suppression of the religious communities for instance! According to him the release of Church lands would result in lighter taxes and make everyone a property-owner. Instead of which taxes were growing heavier all the time, and who had those properties gone to? To the Duke of Oragua, the rich folk, the capitalists, those who already ruled the roost …
So the opposition to the Deputy was merging with the general discontent, the disillusion that followed the hopes aroused by political changes. Before, when things went badly, commerce languished and money was scarce, the fault was all Ferdinand II’s; when the Bourbons were sent packing and Italy made one, everyone would be suddenly swimming in gold. Now after ten years of liberty things were going from bad to worse. People had been promised a reign of justice and morality, but favouritism, cheating and thieving were as rife as before; the powerful and arrogant were all in their places still. Who called the tune under the old government? The Uzeda, the rich, the other nobles with their hangers-on. The very same people who called it now!
These ideas, which were making headway everywhere and also harming Giulente, were attributed by the latter to envy by the inept, to enemies’ bad-faith, and particularly to the propaganda of his former friends the revolutionaries. The duke’s great fault was upholding the cause of law and order, of moderation and prudence. If instead of supporting the Government he had flung himself into the arms of those fanatics of the Left, he would have been applauded by them. But Giulente might as well have been preaching to Turks; the only people to listen, approve or encourage him were the duke’s partisans. These were still numerous, but above all they were more authoritative, more influential than the anonymous mob of his accusers, among whom actual voters could be counted on the fingers of one hand. They were faithful too, deaf to accusations, and tied all the closer to the Deputy, as his fall would ruin them too …
Now with public opinion in this state, this silly pickle of his grand-nephew’s was a greater bother to Don Gaspare. About the danger to which the young man was exposed he did not care a rap. He had none of Donna Ferdinanda’s tenderness nor the other relatives’ interest in the heir to the princedom, nor did he really fear losing his seat at the next dissolution of the Chamber or his hold over the town. But he wished to avoid being a subject of controversy and to retain intact the prestige of that first period; for that reason Consalvo’s misadventure put him into a real fix, for if he helped to support an abuse and to persecute the kidnapped girl’s relations, he would rouse more clamour against himself than ever, while if he renounced his nephew’s defence it would be attributed to fear of rousing more opposition against himself. After hesitating a little between the two lines, making Consalvo feel the weight of his displeasure but defending him before outsiders, he took the bolder course.
One day the most troublesome of the girl’s two brothers was sent for by a police inspector, who advised him to desist from his threats for his own good or he would be formally cautioned. At the same time witnesses of the kidnapping turned their coats and declared that the girl had gone to Villa Uzeda of her own free will. Then two peasants were found who said they had seen her there at other times, and a number of other villagers came forward to affirm a local rumour that this was not the girl’s first escapade. The girl’s family cried vengeance, but were persuaded by neighbours to desist and make the best of things, and the young prince, though absolved from all responsibility by the best witnesses, to avoid other trouble, declared himself ready to put up three thousand lire for the dressmaker’s shop.
One fine day, as news was expected any moment that the incident had been settled, partly by threats and partly by promises, and that the young man was no longer in any danger, the prince, who had not rebuked his son at all till then, entered the latter’s room red in the face as a tomato, and brandishing a piece of paper.
‘Now you!… What’s this letter mean?’
It referred to a debt of six thousand lire which Consalvo had guaranteed with an I.O.U. renewed a number of times every four months. The creditor, wanting to get paid and profiting by the youth’s confinement to the house, had written to the father to tell him of the I.O.U. falling due and asking to be paid.
Consalvo at first was taken aback, but as his father, spurred on by this silence, asked for explanations and began shouting louder than ever, he replied coldly and calmly:
‘You needn’t raise your voice. What have they written?’
‘You can read, can’t you?’ exclaimed his father, thrusting the sheet of paper under his nose.
But the young prince drew quickly back, as if threatened by some dirty contact. During the long days spent in an armchair, with his slung arm in enforced inertia and with no possibility of using his right hand, quivering at the sight of blood still oozing from his wound and soaking the bandage, there had gradually risen and grown in him until it became irresistible the same sense of disgust which had tormented his mother, the same repulsion for all physical contact, the same revulsion from things handled by others, the same fear of contagious dirt. The nearer his father came holding out the letter, the more he edged away with his hands behind his back to avoid taking it.
‘All right … all right …’ said he, twisting round to glance sideways at the writing, ‘I’ve seen … It’s Don Antonio Sciacca.’
‘Ah, Don Antonio, is it?’ shouted the prince ‘Then it’s true? You don’t even bother to pretend?… You have the face …’
Consalvo suddenly looked straight into his father’s eyes and stared at him fixedly with a hard expression, like a challenge; then dropping the formal lei said:
‘What d’you expect?… I needed money … You don’t give me much!… So I took it … you have the money and can pay …’
The prince looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He turned on his son a stare no less fixed or hard, and gasped:
‘Not a cent … will I pay … It’s my money, isn’t it? I’ll get you condemned and tied by the Courts, you little swine! D’you understand?…’
Even colder than before Consalvo replied:
‘Fine. Then don’t bore me any more …’
‘So I bore you, do I? I bore you …’ And suddenly, like someone who finally manages to vomit after many vain efforts, he let himself go. For two years he had been working up to it; for two long years he had allowed his son every liberty. During all that time he had repressed a
nd suffocated his imperious need to command, to see all bow to his own will as head of the house, as master, as absolute arbiter of the family destinies; he, who had martyrised all his family and done whatever he liked with them, had forced himself to loose the bridle on the neck of his son, who was the most legitimate subject of his power. For two years, while pretending to be tolerant, indulgent, affectionate, he had been smouldering inside, hiding his aversion for Consalvo while returning the hatred which he felt his son had for him. Now finally he burst his bonds.
As long as it was a matter of the young man’s wild life or his coldness towards his stepmother, the prince managed to rein himself in. But now Consalvo was wounding him in the strongest of all his feelings, no longer attacking his moral authority but his purse. His whole life through, ever since reaching the age of reason, the prince had struggled to accumulate in his own hands as much money as he could by taking it from his mother, brothers, sisters and wife. More than all the other Uzeda he had been a representative of those avid Spaniards, intent only on self-enrichment, incapable of understanding any power, value or virtue greater than that of money. And now that he had succeeded in his intention and foresaw a serene enjoyment of the fruits of his long and patient labours, here was his son beginning to dispose of his fortune as if it were the boy’s own!
Had Consalvo asked him for the six thousand lire he would have given them; but the idea of a contracted debt, of a signed I.O.U., of interest paid in advance to money-lenders, caused a revolution in the father’s head, made him see his own wealth as irreparably endangered. For that I.O.U. could not be the only one; his son’s natural inclination to squander money now seemed obvious, and the wretch was daring to take a haughty line as if he had merely exercised a right! And now the boy was telling him not to be a bore into the bargain! Answering his father back in that tone!
‘I’ll just show you if I bore you or not! I’ll see to that! I’m the master here; get the idea well into that cracked head of yours! Here it’s my will that’s to be done in all and by all. Why d’you think I’ve been so good to you till now? I’ll just show you, you imbecile … With everyone, all my relations, the whole town, talking about your filthy life! Your life of taverns and brothels! D’you think I don’t know of your scruffy little adventures? Why aren’t you blushing with shame? Why haven’t you hidden yourself away from decent people? The dignity of our name trampled in the company of dirty swillers! Not to mention money wasted, flung away as if it were stones! Does anyone spend more than you on whims and silly amusements?… And it’s not enough for me to let you be, say nothing, put my hand in my wallet all day long … You dare to complain you haven’t enough! And instead of excusing yourself, of asking pardon, you want more into the bargain! Who d’you think you’re dealing with, imbecile?… Not a cent will I pay! It’s time we came to an understanding, you know!… As we’re at it, once and for all … You’ll have to change your tune … As long as you’re in my house you must do what I like, behave as among civilised people. This isn’t a tavern to visit only for bed and board! I can’t make you like me, and don’t care whether you do or not; but I demand the respect that’s my due; I demand the respect you owe to your mother …’
Consalvo had not said a single word, not made a gesture during the prince’s tirade. The latter stopped for a second, after a question or exclamation, as if to give his son time to reply and justify himself. Standing beside the window, the young man was looking down into the service courtyard at carriages drawn up outside the coach-houses and ostlers intent on cleaning them; had he been alone in his own drawing-room he could not have remained more impassive. But at the prince’s last words he turned slowly round:
‘My mother?…’
There was an indefinable expression on his face, of curiosity, of surprise, of doubt, dominated by a very faint smile in his eyes alone.
‘My mother?… my mother’s dead. You know that better than anyone.’ The prince was silent and looked at him. Suddenly there was a rustle of skirts and in came the Princess Graziella, warned by a maid who had heard raised voices.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
Consalvo thrust his hands into his pockets and without saying a word passed into the next room. The prince was led away by his wife.
For weeks father and son never exchanged a word. The affair of the debt, when known by relatives, divided the family in two camps. The duke, who still had not forgiven his grand-nephew for the embarrassment in which he had put him, upheld the prince, incited him not to give way but let the I.O.U. come to court. Giulente also considered it necessary to give the young man a fright, or nothing would stop him on the road of debt if the prince decided to pay up the first one. But Lucrezia, to contradict her husband and give a lesson in munificence to this beggarly husband who judged everyone by his own standards, exclaimed that Consalvo had the right to amuse himself, that six thousand lire for a Prince of Francalanza was like ten lire for a Giulente, and that it was quite impossible for the Uzeda family to have the scandal of an unpaid I.O.U. Donna Ferdinanda of course attacked the avarice of the prince, who by not giving his son enough was forcing him to have recourse to loans. Chiara agreed partly with one side and partly with the other according to Federico’s mood. As for Don Blasco, who had been invisible for some time, one fine day he came to the palace and began attacking not only Consalvo for his debts and scandalous conduct but also the prince and princess, to whose weakness he attributed Consalvo’s wild life.
‘It’s all your fault! That’s not the way to educate him! Why pay his debts? Cut off his supplies, that’s what he needs!’ And without naming her he burst out against Donna Ferdinanda, calling her every name under the sun, as by spoiling him she had first started the young prince on the wrong path.
Donna Ferdinanda heard of this speech by the monk at the same time as her agent was giving her an amazing piece of news. Don Blasco, not content with having bought the San Nicola estate, had acquired from the Crown Lands just about that time one of the houses belonging to and near the monastery—the south one, former home of the Cigar-woman—and done it so cleverly he had got it for a song. Then the heavens opened.
‘A house too?’ screamed the old spinster. ‘Haven’t I always said he’s a real swine! Telling others what they’re to do, with all he has on his conscience! For outsiders to buy up monastery property is quite understandable; they’ve no obligations. But him? Who would have starved if he hadn’t become a monk, who’s fattened himself at the community’s expense?…’
‘Wasn’t it he,’ they said to each other at Timpa the chemist’s, ‘who wanted to slaughter all free-thinkers and launch a new crusade against excommunicated usurpers and restore everything to the Pope and Francis II?’
But nowadays Don Blasco did not care a fig if the King was called Francis or Victor; now he was settled in the San Nicola house he was his own pope. He had let the shops at good rents, and also the first floor to a teacher who gave lessons at the technical school now in the monastery. He felt no scruples; indeed if all the monks had imitated his example and bought up monastery land instead of squandering the money they had been given, the San Nicola property would never have fallen into the hands of strangers.
‘That was the real way to deal with the suppression, not just useless and ridiculous complaining. If all the monks bought back the property, they’d have got the better of the Government!’
He still had his say against this Government, particularly because of the taxes it made him pay; but when those faithful to the cause of reaction prophesied an end of the Liberal spree and return to old conditions and restitution of ill-gotten gains from the Church, the monk would protest:
‘What d’you mean? Ill-gotten gains? I paid for the “Cavaliere” land and for that house with good money down, didn’t I? I’m quite above board, d’you understand? Was I given them or did I steal them, that they can be taken back?’
‘You shouldn’t have bought them, knowing where they came from! The day will come for ma
king up accounts, for the Dies irae; don’t doubt that!’
‘Eh? Who? What must come?’ shouted the monk then. ‘I don’t care a fig!’
‘The hand of God reaches everywhere. The ways of Providence are infinite!’
Quarrels would start again every afternoon. The Bourbonists and clericals received broadsheets giving the revolution’s end as certain and imminent. These articles, read out aloud, listened to as if they were Gospel truth, applauded at every phrase, would make the Benedictine furious. One day when the group, after one of these readings, was criticising him more sharply than usual, Don Blasco got up, made a very expressive gesture, shouted, ‘Go and get …’ and left, never again to set foot in that chemist’s shop. When passing by it in the afternoons he hurried his step, looking straight in front of him, and if people were sitting outside, crossed the street on to the opposite pavement. He did not even set foot in the palace, where that moneylender of a sister of his was also inveighing against the purchasers of Church property as if they were so many thieves, and where that other Jesuit, Giacomo, was making up to him now that he knew him rich, though without disagreeing with Donna Ferdinanda.
‘He’d like me to leave him the “Cavaliere”,’ he would shout to the Cigar-woman, to Garino and his daughters. ‘He’d have no scruples in taking it from me at second-hand! All I’ll leave him is thirty-seven bundles of cauliflowers, the Jesuitical thief!’
The Cigar-woman, Garino and the girls approved, and laced the dose by running down all his relations to the monk, so that he should leave everything to them. And they served him like a god, rushed to his slightest sign, walked on tiptoe when he was resting, sat up with him late at night if he was not sleepy, accompanied him to the ‘Cavaliere’ land, praised the viticulture, the buildings, the success of all his speculations.
The Viceroys Page 47
