The Viceroys (87 page)

T
HE
situation in the constituency was this. Now that the business and conservative stronghold that had supported the Duke of Oragua for twenty years was dismantled, the Constitutional Association dispersed, and even the Progressive group in dissolution, the flourishing and belligerent workers' societies at last found, in the vote, a weapon with which to enter the lists. While among the middle classes the former moderates, admirers of Lanza and Sella, were forced to hide, new phalanxes of electors spoke freely of more liberty and radical reforms, of republic and of socialism. But such words, terrifying timid progressives and pushing them into the conservative ranks, gave new life to the all but expiring moderates. Thus the most advantageous position was between Progressives and Radicals. This Consalvo of Francalanza took up at once. His adherence to the party of the Left, his break with his uncle after the ‘Parliamentary revolution' of 1876, legitimised, as it were, the ultra-Liberal programme which he announced.

Immediately on relinquishing the Town Hall he set to work outside the city, in the rural wards. Out there peasants and villagers were awakening to politics. There were workers' societies, agricultural clubs, ordered and disciplined democratic groups, with which he must come to terms. Nobles, middle-class and the well-to-do were won over at once. Accompanied by friends or admirers who came forward spontaneously, he began touring the constituency. The local mayor, the chief landowner or the most influential person in each place would give a dinner or reception in his honour and invite other leading characters. Elections were not mentioned, but the prince was affable to all,
informed himself about local needs, listened to everyone's complaints, took notes in a notebook and left people enraptured by his polite ways, dazed by his eloquence and pleased as if he had actually written a decree for the construction of a railway, the repairing of a road, or the transfer of a local police chief.

But after a banquet or refreshments, after a visit to notables, Consalvo would go and visit local workers' groups. There, in squalidly furnished rooms, crowded by poor men with calloused hands, he went through torture. He shook those gloveless hands, mingled with those humble folk, sat among them, accepted the refreshments they offered him, and did not by the movement of a muscle reveal the agony of this propinquity. Briefed beforehand, he made long speeches about village needs, about the wine crisis, or fruit crops, or the tax-load, promised laws to protect agriculture, guaranteed tax reliefs, scattered promises of rewards and incentives of all kinds. His theory was of progress; ‘never-ending progress …'

When he saw portraits of Garibaldi, of Mazzini on the walls he would insist on the urgency of ‘ampler liberties demanded by the spirit of the times'; when he saw those of the royal family, he recognised the need ‘to move with leaden feet'. Nearly always he found someone to act as guide. But sometimes there was no one to introduce him to more intransigent circles, and then he would just appear, ask for the ‘president', announce that he happened to be passing by and much wished to visit ‘this group so worthy of the village'.

Almost everywhere he gained sympathies and votes. The very fact that Don Consalvo Uzeda, Prince of Francalanza, was paying them a visit, disposed these humble folk in his favour. His handshakes, homely speeches, resounding phrases and promises converted the most restive. Even though there were a number of recalcitrants, he achieved the effect of creating schism where before had been accord. A dozen societies elected him on the spot as their honorary president. And he thanked them for ‘the great honour of which I would be unworthy were it not a pledge of my limitless devotion for the workers, whose improvement, welfare, and happiness have been and will aways be the aim of my life'. After official speeches he added, ‘When you need me,
when you come to town, remember that my house is yours …'

And still he never mentioned the election. Having carried out this first part of his programme he went on to the second, an accord with other candidates. For three seats there were a dozen or so aspirants. Apart from those whose claims were absurd, such as Giulente, there were, apart from his own, four serious candidatures: Vazza, a lawyer with a very wide clientele who presented himself under a ‘liberal' programme without indicating any parliamentary party; Professor Lisi, formerly president of the Progressive Party, and thus of left-wing tendencies; Giardona and Marcenò, Radicals. Consalvo got in touch with the first of these latter two, the milder one, with a view to common action. Did the other's watered-down Radicalism and his own advanced Liberalism differ so much that they could not come to an understanding? Even so, Giardona's supporters wanted explicit promises. He bound himself to vote for all the reforms, particularly social reforms, demanded by the other's Party. He went among them and said, ‘I am a socialist. After a study of Proudhon I am convinced that all property is theft. Had my ancestors not robbed I would have had to earn my living by the sweat of my brow.'

Yet those declarations were not found completely satisfactory. Advanced radicals supporting Marcenò turned against him. A little news-sheet called
The Rasp
came out with an attack on him, called him ‘The noble prince,
Sire
de Fancalanza' alluding to his pro-Bourbon relatives, and affirmed that an aristocrat like him, descendant of Viceroys, could not be sincere in such show of democratic faith. Then he had a news-sheet published called
The New Elector.
Every number, from beginning to end, was full of him, of his achievements as Mayor, of his claims on the town's gratitude. The daily papers also bore leading articles exalting ‘The young patrician who is a democrat in deeds not in mere words.'

Having made his pact with Giardona, he now had to choose between Lisi and Vazza to form the triad. He wanted to go with the latter, who was the stronger, but Giardona threatened to spoil this, as Vazza, who proclaimed himself ambiguously ‘liberal', was the most moderate of the lot and well thought of even by the Curia. An alliance with Lisi, who was nearer their
ideas, was the only natural one and he recognised this as suitable. Agreement was reached, but each set to work on his own account.

The electoral reform law was still before the Senate when already people were flocking to the prince's every night: noble relatives, civic employees, elementary schoolmasters, lawyers, brokers, contractors. It was like a subscription ball. The state apartments were opened to the public. He did not relegate his electors to the dark little administrative offices as his uncle had done; he flung open the grand Yellow and Red Drawing-rooms, the Hall of Mirrors, the Portrait Gallery. All were animated by the liveliest enthusiasm. Petty tradesmen, who came to the palace for the first time and sat on satin armchairs under the Viceroys' immobile gaze would have let themselves be cut to pieces for this candidate who promised them earth and heaven, general and particular good to each single voter. A land surveyor composed a pamphlet entitled,
Consalvo Uzeda Prince of Francalanza, Short Biographical Notes
and presented it to him. He had it printed in thousands of copies and distributed throughout the constituency. The absurdity of this publication, the crudeness of the praise filling it, did not bother him, sure as he was that for one elector who would laugh at it a hundred would believe in it all, like articles of faith. He felt an infinite contempt for that mob, and a violent rancour against whoever tried to bar his way.

As excitement grew, attacks by
The Rasp
news-sheet became sharper, and a quantity of broadsheets and manifestoes and electoral bulletins, supporting this or that candidate, or speculating on the curiosity that induced people to fling money away on bits of dirty paper, began attacking him morning and night, belabouring him with every kind of insult. He laughed at these before others. But inside he raged. Had he been able he would have put a gag on those libellists, banished, imprisoned them.

But the accusation that wounded him most and made him really bleed was one beginning, ‘Electors, the candidate we present to you has no feudal estates or coats-of-arms, no gold with which to corrupt consciences; but you, citizens, can show your conscience to be a treasure too big for a handful of money
to buy'. It was untrue, for he had spent money only on printing, postage and transport. But this lie could gain more credence than the others; and he wanted to be elected because of his proved aptitude for public life, because of the culture he had tried so hard to acquire.

Then, remembering his determination to keep calm, to let people have their say, he shrugged his shoulders, dominated his gusts of anger when touched on the raw, and said to himself, ‘What does it matter if they do elect me for my coats-of-arms and my estates? As long as they elect me!' And to his intimates, who grew angry on his behalf at seeing him thus attacked, he said with a smile, ‘They're right! My chief title for election is that of prince!'

What he said in jest was in fact true. ‘Prince of Francalanza': those words were the passport, the talisman that worked the miracle of opening all doors. He knew that declarations of democracy could do him no harm with electors of his class, as the latter did not consider them sincere and felt sure of having him on their side at the proper time. On the other hand he felt that accusations of aristocracy did him no great harm with the majority of a people brought up for centuries to respect and admire nobles and even to take pride in their scale of living and their power. For him such people as let themselves be won over from the Viceroys had been perverted by false doctrine and silly flattery. He was sure that if he had a heart-to-heart talk with those crying out most for ‘Liberty and Equality' and said to them, ‘Now, if you were in my place, would you shout that?', the proud republican would be in a fix. The point was, said some, that such eminent positions and privileged situations should not now exist. Then Consalvo would smile pityingly. As if, even admitting the possibility of abolishing all social inequalities by a stroke of the pen, they would not be created anew next day, men being naturally different and the clever being always, at all times, under whatever régime, sure to down the simple, the bold to override the timid, the strong to subdue the weak!

Even so he bowed down and conceded all, in words, to the spirit of the new times. The angry little news-sheets lunged at him tenaciously with accusations of ‘Spanish' arrogance, of
‘ingrained' pride. To the electors who called him ‘Your Lordship the Prince' all the time he said, ‘I'm not called Lordship the Prince, I'm called Consalvo Uzeda …' He seemed now almost eager to denude himself of all that could offend feelings of human equality, no longer spoke of ‘my travels' or ‘my estates', seemed to be trying to excuse himself for his title and riches, to be almost ashamed of the great coat-of-arms over the arch of the palace gates, of the arms-rack in his vestibule, of the portraits of his ancestors, as marks and proofs of unworthiness. But this he did at suitable times and places, before sincere radicals and pure republicans. Most of the time he knew himself to be amid those who by calling him ‘Prince' and appearing in his company believed they were in some way partaking of his lustre.

He worked very hard paying visits, writing letters, directing his canvassers, presiding over committee meetings. At night he could scarcely get to sleep; his hand was burning so with the contact of dirty, sweating, rough, calloused, infected hands, his mind inflamed so with anxiety about the outcome. Would he succeed? At moments he had an intimate and definite certainty of it; the Government was for him; Mazzarini, who had reached power and was now Minister of Public Works, had sent from Rome copies of all his letters recommending him to the Prefect. But he was not content with mere success, he wanted outstanding success, to be first among those elected, to assure himself a stable constituency with a unanimous, plebiscite-like vote. The agreement with Giardona had certainly helped him, but that with Lisi may have been an error.

Vazza's situation on the other hand was very strong, and according to many he would come out top. He was gathering adherents everywhere, and the clergy in particular, without upholding his cause in public, were working for him secretly but very efficaciously. Consalvo had made a real mistake in renouncing this alliance and preferring Lisi. To compensate for this and take advantage of the sacristy influence he thought of having recourse to his sister.

It was some time since he had seen her, but he knew that her severe almost austere life, her total renunciation of worldly occupations and pleasures since her mourning, her edifying
piety, had put her even more into the good graces of the Monsignori. So he went to visit her. When just about to enter her drawing-room he heard a high-pitched voice saying:

‘I've said it to all, and I'll never tire of repeating it! May Samson fall with all the Philistines!'

It was his Aunt Lucrezia. He stopped to listen.

‘Your Excellency must forgive me,' came Teresa's gentle tones, ‘but to say such a thing against your own nephew …'

‘My nephew?… No nephew of mine!…' cried the other. ‘Then how could he allow himself to treat my husband so? But it'll be tit for tat, as they say. Benedetto won't get in, but neither will he. We'll see! But I must say I'm rather surprised at that pig the Bishop!…'

‘Aunt!'

‘That pig the Bishop refusing to support my husband. Instead of playing Vazza's game he should be supporting Benedetto, who's always been a moderate and so much closer to the clergy! And I'm even more surprised at you refusing to say a word on your uncle's behalf!… But I'll talk to him! I have a tongue in my head and can talk on my own! If all abandon Benedetto, I'm still here! I won't abandon him! I've only him in the world!… Do you know it's given him a bad liver? Those murderers, they'd like to kill him off! But he laughs best who laughs last!'