The Viceroys (9 page)

‘Don't talk of it.'

Luckily, he went on, he was there as little as possible, being always drawn to Florence where he had so many friends. As he quoted the great names of Tuscany, Donna Isabella repeatedly nodded approval. ‘The Morsini, of course … the Realmonte …'

The countess was giving her husband begging looks, almost as if saying ‘Take me away …' but Raimondo never stopped talking of his favourite theme. Fersa came up to him a moment to shake his hand and express his own regret.

‘Is your uncle the duke arriving tomorrow?'

‘So Giacomo told me.'

‘What about the Will?'

‘Nothing is known yet.'

Amid the talk of politics, fashions and travel, that question, murmured curiously here and there, always obtained the same reply. The President of the High Court, witness of the handing over of the secret Will made by the princess to the notary the year before, knew nothing about the contents of the document whose envelope he had signed, and the dead woman's children were even more in the dark than strangers. Perhaps, had Raimondo come in time, when his mother had called him so
insistently, he might have been told something, but the count, amusing himself in Florence, had turned a deaf ear, as if they were not his own interests involved. Was it possible, then, that the princess had confided in no one at all? In none of her brothers-in-law? In some man of business at least? Suddenly Don Blasco, leaving Cavour and Russia in peace, exclaimed:

‘Well, why didn't she? It's what anyone who reasons would do … But logic's different in this family!… No one must know a thing! All must be done according to
their
whims; always
hidden
, always
mysterious
, as if they were
forging
the money!'

The President gave an amiable nod to quieten the fiery monk, but the latter went on:

‘D'you want to know what the Will says? Ask her confessor! Yes, sir, her confessor!… You talk to your confessor about sin, don't you? About matters of conscience?… Business, of course, you leave to lawyers and notaries and relations, don't you?… But here, on the other hand, it's the confessor who wrote the Will. Maybe the notary imparts Absolution?'

Some smiled at this sally, and suppositions had free rein. The President was sure, whatever was said to the contrary, that the heir would be the prince, with a big legacy to the count, and the General confirmed, ‘Of course, the heir to the name!' But the Baron Grazzeri shook his head, ‘They never got on, did they?' Don Mario Fersa was whispering his opinion to the Cavaliere Carvano, according to which the heir would be Raimondo. Perhaps the latter's behaviour during his mother's illness, his constant refusal to come and see her, might have done him a little harm, but the princess's predilection for that son had been too great for its effects all to be scattered in a moment. ‘Don't let us forget,' commented the Cavaliere Pezzino, ‘that the poor lady, may she rest in peace, always refused to ask for the Right of Primogeniture, so as to be free to do what she liked.' Would such an enormity be seen as the head of the family disinherited? Raimondo, who had no son, made heir? The prince, who already had a successor in little Consalvo, disinherited?… The family courtiers, as being in the dead woman's confidence, were asked for their opinions, but these who knew less than others replied evasively so as not to disagree with anyone.

‘What about the other sons? Ferdinando? The women?…' Curiosity, though contained and expressed in whispers, was very lively. Had her confessor, that Father Camillo, not spoken? ‘He's not here, he's been in Rome for some months, and even if he were, he wouldn't talk. He's far too clever …' And all eyes naturally turned to Giacomo and Raimondo. The latter was still chatting to Donna Isabella, and his mother's will seemed the very last thing in his thoughts; indeed he might never have heard of his mother's death. The prince, on the other hand, had a graver air than usual, as suitable to the melancholy of those days. He was receiving with expressions of gratitude the reiterated condolences of those leaving. Some of these, however, could not succeed in finding him, and went off unable to bid farewell, and familiars gave each other understanding looks out of the corners of their eyes. He was terrified of the Evil Eye, and attributed that dreadful power to a great number of individuals. In their presence he was in tortures, and avoided greeting them by keeping his hands in his pockets.

But the President of the High Court, as he got to his feet, found the prince beside him.

‘If my uncle comes tomorrow, President, shall we fix the reading for the day after?'

‘Whenever you think fit, Prince! I am at your disposal!'

‘In truth …' he added, lowering his voice, ‘I would not wish it to be so hurried … in fact it seems to show a lack of proper respect for our mother's memory … But you know what happens when so many people have to be taken into consideration …' and as his brother the Prior was also leaving with the Bishop, he warned them both, Monsignor being another witness.

‘Do arrange things as you like …' said the Prior without interest. ‘What need have you of me?'

But Giacomo protested:

‘No, no, not at all! Things must be done properly, to everyone's satisfaction …'

As it was getting dark, many were leaving. Father Gerbini, although the Prior had given the example, stayed a little longer, chatting to the ladies, then he went off too. There remained, inveighing against the revolutionaries and his dead sister-in-law,
Don Blasco, always the last to re-enter the monastery.

Now servants were lighting the lamps, and with the windows shut, the heat in the room was getting intolerable. The Countess Matilde felt herself on the point of swooning, and had lost sight of her husband, who had followed Donna Isabella into the Red Drawing-room, and was now discoursing about Paris. Once again she found herself beside her uncle Eugenio and Don Cono, who were still disembowelling the old city chronicles and quoting flowery Latin.

‘The funeral rites for Charles V took place in the presence of the Viceroy Uzeda …'

‘The royal chapel was set up in our cathedral, where was erected a high pyramid ornamented with busts and allegorical figures, among which those of Italy, Spain, Germany and India …'

‘Exactly, and the epigraph went like this:

India moesta sedet Caroli post funera Quinti
 …'

‘And what about the opening of the favourite horse's veins?'

‘For our grandfather's funeral, the very last time! When the prince our grandfather died, his saddle-horse had a vein cut …'

‘A barbaric custom, surely. The noble steed spattering the street with blood till it fell and breathed its last …'

Suddenly Don Cono exclaimed:

‘Countess, great God!'

All rushed to her. She was pale and cold, her eyes turned up and her lips parted. Her husband, hurrying in with Donna Isabella, said:

‘It's nothing … just tiredness from the journey …' And in a low voice, almost to himself, as they carried her away, ‘The usual nonsense!…'

What days of constant novelty those were! Next day, as expected, the duke arrived. He had been away for five years, and at first the servants and even relatives scarcely recognised him. When he had left Palermo he had a fine wreath of whiskers in the Bourbon style, but now he had grown a small pointed beard, which gave his face a completely different character. All his nephews and nieces kissed his hand. He enquired about the tragedy and excused himself for not having come sooner. He
also excused himself for the disturbance he was causing to the prince, who had ordered the third-floor rooms prepared for him which he had occupied before leaving his family home. But his nephew protested:

‘Your Excellency is not disturbing, but helping me … and at this moment I greatly need your advice …'

‘Heard anything?'

‘Not a thing!'

‘I hope your mother hasn't had one of her crazy whims …'

‘Whatever my mother has done will be well done!'

So the reading of the Will was arranged for next day at noon, and Signor Marco had orders to warn notary, judge, and witnesses to hold themselves in readiness. Meanwhile the news of the duke's arrival had immediately spread through the city, and his first visitors were announced before he had even rested from his journey. All sorts of people came, many of whom no one had ever heard of. Donna Ferdinanda, hearing their names announced by Baldassarre—Raspinato, Zappaglione—opened her eyes wide. Don Blasco, on his side, was puffing like a bellows. But the worst was towards evening, when there began a real procession, ‘all the starving down-and-outs in town', as the monk cried to the marchese, ‘that have squeezed or want to squeeze money out of that pig of a brother of mine!' While the duke was giving audience to his friends, the Royal Intendant Ramondino came to make his visit of condolence to the prince, who received him in the Red Drawing-room, together with the Marchese of Villardita and Don Blasco. The latter, forgetting that the gates were on the point of shutting at San Nicola, let out a terrific diatribe against the agitations of the revolutionary party; but the representative of the Government shrugged his shoulders and seemed to give no importance to the symptoms about which the monk was holding forth: yes, they had actually arrested a few agitators at Palermo; but when in prison hot heads would cool off.

‘Why don't you call for more troops? Make an example?… The stick is what's needed; a few floggings!'

The monk seemed frenzied; but the head of the province shrugged his shoulders; the troops of the garrison were enough; there was no fear of anything! Anyway the Government put its
trust in the moral influence of the
well-disposed
more than in bayonets. This praise was directed to the prince, who took the point, but Don Blasco swivelled his staring eyes as if something he'd eaten had gone down the wrong way, and he was making violent efforts either to swallow it altogether or vomit it out.

‘What about the defunct lady's Will, may God rest her soul!' asked the Intendant, as curious as the rest of the city.

‘It will be opened tomorrow …'

At this point the duke entered, shook hands with the Intendant and sat down by him. Don Blasco then got up noisily to go away. In the antechamber he shouted to the marchesc accompanying him:

‘You see? All day with the down-and-outs and now making up to authority! It turns my stomach!… I'll never set foot in this house again!'

In the princess's work-room, where the rest of the family and some of the hangers-on were gathered, Donna Ferdinanda was also breathing fire and sword against the traitor; but when Baldassarre, thinking that the duke was there, announced at the door:

‘Don Lorenzo Giulente and his nephew ask for the Signor Duke …'

‘This is too much!' burst out the spinster, flushing to the whites of her eyes. ‘It's a scandal! The police should see to it!'

Don Mariano, with an air of consternation, exclaimed:

‘The boy too now … It's really most disagreeable! One can overlook the uncle, who's penniless; but the nephew …'

‘The nephew?…' shrieked the spinster. ‘Don't you know that when the fox couldn't reach the grapes it said they were sour?'

Lucrezia had gone pale and kept her eyes down, picking at the fringe on her chair. The little prince Consalvo, sitting near to his aunt, asked:

‘Why grapes?'

‘Why?… because they wanted royal consent to institute primogeniture. Not having got it, they've flung in their lot with the down-and-outs … the Royal consent! As if article 948 of the Civil Code isn't quite clear!…' and still turning to the boy, who was looking at her with his eyes popping out of his
head, she recited in sing-song, gesticulating with a finger:

‘The institution of an entail may be requested by those whose names are found inscribed either in the
Golden Book
or in other registers of nobility, by all those in the legitimate possession of titles granted at some time in the past, and finally by
those persons who belong to families of known
N
OBI-LI-TY
in the kingdom of the two Sicilies …'

‘I believe the Giulente are noble,' said Lucrezia, before her aunt had finished, and without raising her eyes.

‘I on the other hand believe they're ignoble,' rebutted Donna Ferdaninda dryly. ‘If they possessed documents to prove it they'd have obtained the royal consent.'

‘Nobles of Syracuse …' began Don Mariano.

‘Syracuse or Caropepe, if they had titles they wouldn't be refused inscription in the
Red Book
!'

‘The
Red Book
stopped publication in 1813,' announced Don Eugenio in the tone of one with grave news.

Lucrezia had remained with head down, looking at the floor. When her aunt thought she had reduced her to silence, the girl began again:

‘The Giulente are nobles of the robe.'

The spinster's reply was a subtle little laugh; ‘Only dolts think the nobility of the robe equal to that of the sword!… What difference was there among the six judges of the Royal Patrimony, Don Mariano? The three with short cloaks were noble—
noble
!… and the three with long cloaks were
attorneys
 … 
ATTORNEYS
!… D'you know how things are now?… Every notary thinks himself a prince!… Once there were ten-
scudi
barons, now there are ten-cent ones …'

The girl got up and left. Donna Ferdinanda went on smiling subtly, looking at the Countess Matilde.

Meanwhile Signor Marco was arranging the Portrait Gallery for the reading of the Will. The prince had been a little hesitant in choosing the place for the ceremony; the Red Drawing-room was decently furnished but held very few people; the Hall of the Chandeliers was vast but empty except for the old lamps hanging from the ceiling and the mirrors let into the walls. But the Portrait Gallery combined size with splendour, for it was as
big as two drawing-rooms put together and furnished with sofas, stools, side-tables and gilt tripods, and the generations of ancestors hanging in effigy on the walls also made it worthier of the solemn occasion for which their descendants were gathering. In the middle of that kind of vast corridor, the general administrator set a big table covered with an antique carpet and provided with a monumental silver inkstand. Around the table twelve big armchairs awaited witnesses and interested parties. The prince's was highest, with its back to the great central portrait of the Viceroy Lopez Ximenes Uzeda, on horseback and in the act of reining in his animal with his left hand and of pointing his right forefinger to the ground as if to say ‘Here I give the orders …' All around, high and low, along the whole length of the walls, along the width of the spaces between the windows, were multitudes of ancestors: men and women, monks and warriors, bishops and doctors, ladies and abbesses, ambassadors and viceroys; in full-face, profile and three-quarters view; dressed in armour, velvet, ermine; their heads crowned with laurel, or shut into helmets, or covered with hoods; carrying sceptres and books and croziers and swords and maces and fans.