The Viceroys (18 page)

Then came Raimondo's marriage with a Palmi to ensure him new graces. He had met the baron at Palermo through agitators whom the latter, unknown to the authorities and on pretext of business, came to visit from Milazzo. When the duke heard of the marriage designed by the princess he hastened not only to approve it but also to offer himself as mediator, making much of his friendship with the baron. He felt that this alliance between his own nephew and the old Liberal's daughter could not but favour him and help him to reacquire credit with the party he had betrayed. As to the princess, pro-Bourbon like all the Uzeda, the liberalism of the Palmi family, rather than being an obstacle, was yet another reason in favour of the marriage. She was pro-Bourbon by instinct before all else, but took no part in politics, having other things to think about; and just as she had wanted a bride who could not vaunt outstanding nobility, so she was quite pleased at the girl's family being persecuted by the Government, as it meant that Raimondo would be able to impose his will better in all ways on his wife and her family.

For his nephew's marriage the duke returned home. It was scarcely two years since the incidents which had brought the hatred of his fellow-citizens down on him, and he could already see the effects of his being away, of his new policy, and of his friendship with Baron Palmi and his support of Raimondo's marriage. While Don Blasco and Donna Ferdinanda, in their war-to-the-death with the princess, also took him to task for his support of his sister-in-law and the policy which had dictated that attitude, cursing him and almost denouncing him to the authorities for Liberalism, then laughing at him and almost throwing in his face the betrayal of 1849, his signing of the
Black Book
, his friendship with Satriano; while his brother and sister were at this, many of those who had cut him before, now came up and shook his hand; other peace overtures were quickly
sealed through Giulente; and everyone seemed to have forgotten those tales of the past. Even so the duke left again and returned to Palermo, partly because he had begun to like being there, but also in order to confirm these good dispositions.

When he came home now for his sister-in-law's death he was received almost in triumph, and people flocked to greet him. Not only did no one ever mention those incidents of 1849, now six years old, not only was he considered to be one of the hopes of the party, but his long sojourn in the capital, his frequenting of Palermo notables, unexpectedly conferred on him a great reputation for knowledge. He quoted the opinions of So-and-So, ‘my friends' the celebrated patriots—just as Don Eugenio had as friends the chief grandees of Naples. He larded his remarks with erudite quotations, second- or third-hand, and explained over again in his own way, as if he had thought of them himself, the economic and political theories which he had heard discussed at meetings in Palermo. People stared at him open-mouthed.

This patriot, it was true, did receive visits from the Intendant and repaid them, and had no scruples about showing himself in company of fervent pro-Bourbons, but that was not held against him; he had to wear a mask with the authorities to avoid arousing suspicion and to learn his opponents' moves. He gave money, and never let anyone go empty-handed who asked for his help. Don Blasco and Donna Ferdinanda abused him, each on their own, more violently than ever; he let them have their say, and continued to gamble on liberty, as the monk did on lottery numbers and the spinster on people's credit. Just as he kept on good terms with all in politics, so at home he never took sides for one more than another. He watched Don Blasco's manoeuvring to arouse the defrauded nieces and nephews, and knew the reasons for it, but he also watched the prince's frowning brow, and heard his bitter complaints at his mother's ‘betrayal'. And so he sat on the fence, agreeing a little with all; with the prince who was offering him hospitality and treating him deferentially, with Lucrezia who by loving and marrying a nephew of the conspirator Giulente would help him to enter further into the Liberals' good graces.

‘D
ON'T
we eat today?'

The young prince was famished. Dinner was always being put off nowadays; either the duke was out, or Raimondo, or the prince himself. That day all three were out, as well as Lucrezia and Matilde. And the boy was the desperation of the whole household; up and down he ran from kitchen to stables, from coachhouse to gardens, disturbing old and new servants intent on their work. As Don Blasco had foretold to the Booby, all servants protected by the princess had been dismissed by Giacomo; but the disinherited, those who by favouring the son had incurred the mother's aversion, had been reconfirmed in their jobs.

The prince had made only two exceptions: one in favour of Baldassarre and another of Signor Marco. Baldassarre, son of a former maidservant, brought up in the palace and put into the job of major-domo very young, knew from childhood the family weaknesses, rivalries, aversions and manias, and so concentrated entirely on his own duties, praising every master and mistress whatever they did or said, checking his dependants who dared to murmur against either. Both mother and son had liked him, and the princess's legacy did not procure him the prince's dismissal. As for Signor Marco, the dead woman's broken lance, they were astounded that the son, head of the family now for two months, had not cast him off yet. Actually, since the princess had fallen ill, the administrator had changed tactics and treated the prince most respectfully, foreseeing that he would soon have to serve him; if he had not actually let the prince steal the petty cash on his mother's death, as Don Blasco said,
he certainly bowed to him in every way. Anyway an agent like him, who had been with the family for fifteen years and knew the condition of the property and the state of pending law cases, could not be supplanted from one moment to the other.

‘Don't we eat any more?… What are you doing?… I want to see!… Why not serve up?… For me!'

In the kitchen the young prince snatched from Luciano the butler a knife that the man was sharpening, and went on with the operation himself.

‘What's Your Excellency up to?' said the new cook,
Monsù
Martino, not knowing how to take this. ‘Please go upstairs and let us work.'

‘Stand back! I want to do it!'

He had to be allowed his own way. If they denied him at all he became a fury, ground his teeth, shouted like one obsessed, upset whatever he could lay hands on. Actually, the prince was bringing up his son severely and did not let him get away with much; but on the other hand he rebuked servants who, with backs to the wall, lost patience and answered their young master rudely. And now after the princess's death the post of cook in the Francalanza household had become more important than before.

Giacomo was even more distrustful and watchful than his mother; he had all provisions put under lock and key, kept check on petty items such as left-overs and crusts of bread. But even so, the daily expenses, not counting any increase for guests, were considerable, and food more lavish. They now ate four dishes; in the mother's time three were made for her and for Don Raimondo, while others had to put up on ordinary days with a
minestra
and a little fish or meat. Even when Giacomo became rich from his wife's dowry and the princess made her son pay his part of the expenses, she went on ordering food in her own way, while the prince, in his determination to show himself obedient, had remained silent. So too he had been unable to carry out long-planned alterations in the palace; on Donna Teresa's death he had at last got the reins of the household in hand and was now turning everything upside-down.

The picks of workmen and the squeaks of pulleys drawing up
materials from the courtyard to the floor above could be heard even in the kitchen; and scullions, busy peeling potatoes and beating eggs, exchanged observations on these works.

‘They're taking out the stairs to the offices to gain space!…'

‘I'd not have shut in a part of the terrace.'

‘The master has to account to his brother too, as they're both heirs.'

‘But the palace belongs to the prince. The count only has an apartment …'

The young prince did not lose a word of what was said.

‘The count will soon make off … He's not one to stay here …'

Work on sauces quietened them every now and again. After a time Luciano, with a wink, said to his companion:

‘Starting again, is he?'

‘Let him! He's a real lord, he is!' And Luciano bowed his head in sign of admiring approval. In the kitchen they were all for the count, as they were in the antechambers and stables, for the young man was quite unlike his older brother; he was so gentle with his orders and so generous too.

‘A real lord indeed, in his ways and thoughts … not like the
friend
 …'

‘The
friend
's an old fox … so was
she
 …'

‘What's that?' asked the young prince.

‘Nothing, Excellency!' replied the cook; and he turned to his dependants. ‘Now get to work!' he ordered. ‘And not so much chatter …'

‘You don't want to tell me, do you?'

‘What, Excellency? We were just talking in the air.'

‘So you don't want to tell me?'

Suddenly there was the sound of a carriage entering the courtyard, and Consalvo ran to look.

It was his Aunts Lucrezia and Matilde back at last from the Convent of San Placido. The boy, forgetting kitchen and cook, ran to join them upstairs in his mother's apartments, to see if they had brought him anything.

Donna Matilde did, in fact, give him a parcel of cakes, but his Aunt Lucrezia took no notice of him, she was talking with such animation to the princess.

‘She was crying, you know?… We talked to the Abbess, who confirmed everything. That's true, isn't it, Matilde?… What a thing to do!… Our mother's Masses!…'

‘Sssh!…'

The princess signed to her sister-in-law to be silent because of the boy.

‘Mama, don't we eat today?' he asked her.

‘But your father hasn't come in yet!… Go, go and see if he's arrived.'

The young prince realised he was being sent away. At the age of six he was even more curious than Don Blasco. The machinations of his uncle the monk, the constant intriguing in that house, had aroused his attention very early. After his grandmother's death he had noticed, from his relations' behaviour and the servants' talk, that they were opposed to his father for one reason or another, but no one dared attack him directly. He realised a lot of other things too; that his Aunt Ferdinanda could not endure his Aunt Matilde; that there was discord between the latter and her husband; he realised all this and kept silent, pretending to notice nothing lest he arouse someone's anger. In fact his uncle Don Blasco gave him a resounding slap or two and his Aunt Lucrezia would pinch his arm, particularly after he'd gone rummaging in her room, but his father was always gruff, and when he hit made him smart. Anyway, the boy had little talk with his father, though he could not keep away from his mother.

Donna Ferdinanda, indeed, showed much preference for him, but no-one would excuse the boy's defects like the princess. Quivering and apt to go into convulsions if anyone came too near her, she overcame her mania for isolation only out of love of her children, and hugged Consalvo to her breast and kissed him even when he was not too clean, the more fervently as she thus defended herself from all other contact. For some time, since his little sister Teresa was born, her caresses had not gone only to him; even so the princess was the only person who could get anything out of Consalvo by treating him well, by affection.

‘Go, off with you now and see if Papa's back …'

Prince Giacomo re-entered at that moment. He was frowning even more than usual, and never said a word of greeting on
entering; at sight of him Lucrezia fell silent. He asked if the duke had come home and, on hearing that he had not, gave orders for the meal to be served as soon as the duke appeared. Then he went off and shut himself in his study with Signor Marco. Consalvo sat there for a time without knowing what to do, hesitating between returning to the kitchen and watching the workmen. Instead of which, seeing his Aunt Lucrezia deep in conversation with his mother again, he went up to her room. He had been forbidden to enter it because she was now studying water-colour painting and wanted none of her things touched, particularly in case anyone found Benedetto Giulente's letters; but the pans of colour, the boards to be primed, the brushes and rubbers, fascinated the boy.

No warning or threat from Lucrezia could keep him away; if she complained, she was more abused than ever by her brother, who had become intractable since the reading of the Will, so that the boy, when he got a chance, did what he liked in his aunt's room. Going up at that hour when he was sure not to be surprised, the young prince began to rummage on the table, among sketches, papers, drawers. Where were those painting materials hidden? Perhaps in the highest drawer of that tallboy, where he could not reach. Meanwhile from the courtyard came a bell announcing the duke's arrival. The boy continued to look round, to search feverishly under the bed, under the chest of drawers, in the mirror-table. This was a little table covered with embroidered cloth; he raised a corner and uncovered a small drawer. In there, amid old combs and empty tins of marzipan, was a bundle of papers tied with a red ribbon. Consalvo undid the knot and spread out the letters. Suddenly Lucrezia appeared at the door.