The Viceroys (91 page)

‘These and others are the reforms I long to see: but I must
not abuse your patience.' Sighs of relief from oppressed breasts. ‘Fellow citizens! If you send me to the Chamber, I will dedicate the whole of myself to carrying out this programme.
(Fine! Bravo!)
I do not presume myself infallible, for I am neither a prophet nor a prophet's son
(laughter)
, but I will gladly accept, in fact I beg my fellow citizens to put forward, whatever ideas, suggestions, proposals they may think right and useful.
(Excellent)
Let our motto be:
Fiat Lux! (Applause)
The light of science, of civilisation, of constant progress.
(Outburst of applause)
May the thought of our homeland be at the very core of our hearts.
(Approval)
Our homeland is this Italy which Dante divined, and which our fathers gave us at the cost of their blood!
(Lively applause)
Our homeland is also this island blessed by the sun, where was born the
dolce stil nuovo
and whence have sprung so many glorious initiatives. Our homeland, finally, is this dear and lovely city of ours where we all form, as it were, one single family.
(Acclamation)
It is said that Deputies represent the nation and not single constituencies; but what are national interests but the sum of local interests?
(Excellent! Applause)
And so when turning my mind to the study of the larger questions of general politics, I promise to bear as close to my heart as if they were my own matters that regard Sicily in particular, this constituency, my native town, and each one of my fellow citizens.
(Great acclamation)
In gratitude for listening to me so indulgently, may I end by inviting you all to give three ringing cheers for Italy!
(Outburst of applause, shouts of “Hurrah for Italy!”)
Long live the King.
(General loud clapping)
Hurrah for Liberty!'
(Whole public stands up to applaud and acclaim, handkerchiefs waved, shouts of ‘Long live Francalanza! Hurrah for our Deputy!' Chairman embraces orator. General emotion, indescribable enthusiasm)

Consalvo was at the end of his tether, exhausted, overwhelmed, drained by his histrionic efforts. He had been speaking for two hours. For two hours he had made the public laugh like a comedian, moved them like a tragic actor, yelled like a charlatan selling pomade. And as the ‘Royal March', played on Baldassarre's orders, spurred public enthusiasm, the group of jeering students asked each other:

‘Now he's talked, can you tell me what he said?'

In the final days Consalvo's anxiety grew feverish. He could scarcely fail to succeed, but wanted to be first. His supporting committee now included the whole city, the whole constituency, electors and non-electors. Posters with the words ‘V
OTE FOR THE
P
RINCE OF
F
RANCALANZA
: E
LECT
C
ONSALVO
U
ZEDA OF
F
RANCALANZA
. P
RINCE
C
ONSALVO OF
F
RANCALANZA CANDIDATE FOR THE FIRST CONSTITUENCY
' grew bigger and bigger, covered huge areas of paper with letters a foot high; the very walls seemed to be shouting his name … First! First! He wanted to be first!…

On the eve of polling day there was real pandemonium in the palace; all were asking, ‘The prince, where's the prince?…' But his household replied he was with his uncle the duke, who was not well. Despite this all work went on as intensely as if he were there. Giardona's and Lisi's representatives had come to make up final lists of election officials. Meanwhile invigilators over the rural wards were making ready to leave. At midnight the prince arrived. The meeting went on until two in the morning, when the first carriages left for outlying wards.

And next day, when booths were opened and voting began, together with the news of the prince's victory—for electors were declaring for him in thousands, returning specially from the country, hauled to voting booths on chairs if they could not go on their own feet—a rumour, first vague, then ever more insistent, went round among Lisi's followers: ‘Betrayal! Betrayal!…' In the last hours of the previous night, it was affirmed, the prince had come to an agreement with Vazza. Some gave details, ‘We saw him entering the lawyer's house towards eleven o'clock …' and there, they asserted, had been plotted their betrayal, agreement with the clericals, abandonment of Lisi, perhaps also of Giardona. ‘What? When? What the devil are you saying? The prince was at the old duke's and didn't move from there!…' replied his supporters in their glee at victory already assured.

Towards dusk the first telegrams from provincial wards reached the palace. But those results were not all equally favourable; some local candidates had strong majorities, in first counts the prince's place oscillated between second and third. Consalvo,
very pale, was all atremble. But as the results of the urban wards came in his position consolidated. There was no mention of third place now; he was with Vazza between first or second. When the last telegrams and last messages with the definite figures arrived, there was no more doubt; he was first with six thousand and forty-three votes; Vazza came just after with five thousand nine hundred and eighty-nine votes; then Giardona with four thousand nine hundred and fourteen votes; the radical Marcenò was out with three thousand three hundred and nine votes; Lisi dropped to fewer than three thousand votes; the others were all a thousand votes or so apart, with two thousand, or even scarcely a thousand. Giulente had only seven hundred!

It was late at night, but the Francalanza palace was all lit up, with every window aglitter. An endless throng poured in to congratulate ‘the first elect of the people'. There was an incessant buzz on the stairs; it was impossible to breathe in the rooms. Consalvo, radiant, moving with difficulty amid the compact crowd, was seizing every hand, embracing all, healed as if by magic from his mania about isolation and contagion in his wild delight at the magnificent triumph. When a great torchlight procession, a vast demonstration with music and flags, frantically acclaimed him, he went on the balcony, harangued the crowd and gave himself up once again to their curiosity, like a tribune.

For three days the town was in constant ferment. Every night the demonstration was renewed, the enthusiasm grew instead of cooling. In the slums a little song to the tune of ‘Mastro Raffaele' was all the rage:

Groups of drunks went round shouting ‘Hurrah for Victor Emmanuel! Hurrah for the Revolution! Hurrah for His Holiness!…' and things even wilder. For three days the palace was invaded by people coming to congratulate him, an incessant procession from ten in the morning till midnight, with scarcely two hours' pause for lunch and dinner. He made an attempt at talking modestly about the general results, about the ‘fine experiment'
of the new law, about the good sense shown by Italians, but they would not let him have his say, insisted on talking only of him, of his resounding, richly deserved victory.

On the fourth day he went out into the streets. His arm nearly broke with all the hat-doffing and handshaking. Joy was written all over his face, showed in all his actions and words, in spite of his studied attempt to hide it. Tired of seeing the populace, to taste another flavour of triumph he thought of visiting his relatives. He began with the old duke, who was quite genuinely ill, after eighty years of machinations and intrigues.

‘Is Your Excellency pleased with the results?' Consalvo asked him.

But though the old man had recommended his nephew everywhere so that power should stay in the family, he could not even so prevent himself feeling jealous of this rising star, while his own had not only set politically but he felt himself to have a very short time to live.

‘I've heard … good …' he muttered shortly.

‘Have you seen how well things have gone in the rest of Italy? The world seemed to be falling about our ears and yet there are scarcely a dozen Radicals in. The Right has also gained …'

He was flattering his uncle a little, for he hoped to be his heir. In Rome he would need money, a lot of money; the richer he was the sooner he could win a place in the capital. He was not worried by the coolness shown by the duke; to whom else could the old man leave his fortune but to the heir of the Uzeda name? To Teresa's children, maybe?

On leaving his uncle's, he went on to his sister's. Though owing her gratitude for her generosity at the time of their father's death, he had not yet forgiven her refusal to help him during his struggle, and he wanted now to show her that he had been able to win through on his own. But Teresa was not in. The porter told him that the young duchess had driven out in her country coach, together with Monsignor the Vicar-General. He went upstairs even so, and found the old duchess with Father Gentile.

‘Teresa has gone to Belpasso, to visit the Servant of God … you know, the peasant girl of the miracles … His Lordship the
Bishop had allowed no-one to pay such a visit; but made an exception for your sister alone …'

‘The duchess's sanctity,' said the Jesuit with compunction, ‘explains and sanctions this exception.'

Consalvo thought he should bow his head a little in sign of thanks, as if for a courtesy addressed to himself.

‘And when will she be back?'

‘Tonight for sure.'

‘His Lordship the Bishop,' the priest explained, ‘has prudently taken such measures to prevent this sight from feeding the crowd's unhealthy curiosity; but the Christian sentiments animating the young duchess and distinguishing her among others …'

The conversation, always on the same subject, continued between the Jesuit and the old dowager. Consalvo noticed a printed piece of paper on the desk by which he was sitting and read it out of the corner of his eye. F
ORMULA OF OATH
. ‘In the presence of the Most Holy Trinity, of the Most Holy Virgin Mary and of all the Saints who were born or who lived on the soil of … In the name of the towns of … represented here, and before our venerated pastor, guide and spiritual head; I, delegated to this effect, declare to be formed the Christian province of … under the special patronage of Saint … In the name of this new province I freely and solemnly recognise Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, true God and true Man, in the Most Holy Host exposed on this altar, as our Lord and Master and as Supreme Head of … At the feet of Jesus Christ we place our belongings, our families, our persons, our lives, our honour, in a word all that is closest to the heart of man …'

Barely suppressing a smile, Consalvo rose to his feet.

‘D'you know that Ferdinanda is ill?' the dowager said to him.

‘What's the matter with her?'

‘A chill. But at her age anything can be serious … Why not go and visit her?'

He heeded this advice. Something might come to him from there too, half a million or so. Had he been more farseeing he would have dealt better with the old woman, without of course renouncing any of his own ambitions. The obstinacy and harshness
with which he had treated her had been silly, worthy of a crazy Uzeda, not of the Honourable Deputy Consalvo of Francalanza, of the new man he wanted to be. On reaching the old woman's house, that house to which he had so often come as a child to look at coats-of-arms, hear tales of the Viceroys and drink in aristocratic hauteur, a quiet smile came to his lips. Suppose his electors knew!

‘How is my aunt?' he asked the maid, a new face.

‘So so …' replied the woman, looking curiously at this unknown gentleman.

‘Say that her nephew the prince would like to see her.'

The old woman was quite capable of not receiving him; he awaited the reply with some anxiety. But Donna Ferdinanda, on hearing Consalvo was there, answered the maid in a voice made hoarse by her chill, ‘Let him in.' She had heard of the latest outrages committed by her nephew, that speech made in public like a mountebank, the denial of his class principles, the praise of liberty and democracy, the Francalanza palace invaded by a mob of rascals, Baldassarre admitted to the table where he had once served; it had all been described to her by Lucrezia, in order to avenge herself, to ruin Consalvo's chances for the inheritance. Donna Ferdinanda had felt the old Uzeda blood boil with indignation and rage. But now she was ill, her humours tempered by the egotism of old age and infirmity. And Consalvo had come to visit her; so he was humiliating himself, giving her this satisfaction denied her for so long. After all, in spite of his apostasy and outrages, he was still Prince of Francalanza, head of the family, her protégé of long ago … ‘Let him in.'

He came respectfully towards her, bent over the little iron bedstead, that one of years ago, and asked:

‘Aunt, how are you?'

She made an ambiguous gesture of the head.

‘Have you fever? Let me feel your pulse … No, just a little heat. What have you taken? Have you called a doctor?'

‘Doctors are all donkeys,' she replied briefly, turning her face to the wall.

‘Your Excellency is right. They know very little … but they do know a bit more than us … Why not get one in early …'

The old woman replied with an outbreak of cavernous coughing that ended with yellowish phlegm.

‘You have a cough and take nothing! I'll bring you some pastilles which are quite miraculous. Will you promise to take them?'

Donna Ferdinanda gave her usual nod.

‘I knew nothing or I'd have come before. But I was only told that Your Excellency wasn't very well at the Radalìs' a few moments ago … Do you know that today my sister has gone to see the Servant of God, the one whom people say all those things about? She's the only one to have permission and has gone with the Vicar-General. It seems a most unusual favour … Does Your Excellency believe all that is being said?'