The Viceroys (30 page)

‘By this solemn day, by your love for this innocent baby, swear you will not make me suffer any more.' He had asked her, ‘What harm am I doing you? What are you accusing me of?'

‘You leave me alone, you neglect your children, you don't think of us, you don't love us any more.'

Shaking his head, Don Raimondo exclaimed:

‘Your usual fixations, your usual fantasies!… I neglect you? How do I neglect you? When, why, for whom do I neglect you?…'

For whom? For whom?… And he had gone on with gathering warmth, ‘Yes, for whom? You're not starting again with that silly jealousy of yours are you? Have you got some other whim into your head?… About Donna Isabella, eh?…' He had named her! ‘I see! Just because I gave up my chair for her, because I invited her to join us?… but that was just good manners, my dear. It's only in this wretched hole one would get blamed for such a thing!'

In that summer of '57 he was seen around assiduously with both the Fersa; at the theatre, where he went every night to a stage-box, he would often go up to their box when it was their subscription night; he would also meet them at his Aunt Ferdinanda's, which Donna Isabella very often visited; at the Nobles' Club he was always gambling with her husband, whom he let win every day. Although he had the use of his brother's carriage he had bought a magnificent pair of thoroughbreds and a brand-new phaeton with which he followed the Fersa's carriage. When there was music on the marine parade he would get down, leave the reins to a coachman, and go and stand at their carriage door, chatting with Donna Isabella, her mother-in-law and husband. He was dressing with greater care than usual and was never at home except, by lucky coincidence, when they came to visit the princess. His conversation was always about Florence, life in big cities, the elegance and wealth of other places. He would settle down next to Donna Isabella, exclaiming, ‘You're the only one who understands me!' and
bewail the fate which had got him born in that hole and was holding him there, when he never wanted to set foot in it again, never again. ‘Must I really leave my bones here? I don't think so! It's not possible!'

And hearing him speak in that way, Matilde asked herself why he did not leave and keep the other part of the promise he had made a year and a half before of returning to their house in Florence? Because of business? But although Raimondo never talked of such matters to her, she knew that the division had not yet been discussed and would not be for some time.

First the cholera, then its residue of worries, then his brother's departure had been the prince's reasons for not discussing the division yet. Raimondo's new luxuries were costing a lot; he was constantly asking his brother for advances, and the latter never let him ask twice, while hinting that it was time they settled their heritage definitely. But Raimondo found it convenient to take money without ever having to add up bills, cite bad payers, or involve himself in all the bothers, big and small, of administration. When his brother mentioned some doubt or asked for his opinion about prolonging a lease or concluding a sale, he would reply, ‘You do whatever you think fit …' The important thing for him was to have money. Sometimes, when he asked too frequently, the prince would say:

‘Actually our agents haven't paid us yet. We've had a lot of expenses, but if you like I can lend you whatever you need …' and Raimondo would take the money as an advance or a loan. His one preoccupation, in fact, was to spend money, with a blind faith in his brother which made Don Blasco furious. Already the monk, on hearing of the I.O.U.'s, had spat fire and flames at the prince, declaring him capable of forging his mother's signature, as ‘that bitch of a sister-in-law of mine was a numbskull I know, but not to the point of making debts on one side and hoarding money on the other'. And he now began to rouse the other nieces and nephews against ‘that crook', urging them to impugn the validity of those I.O.U.'s, for if they were not entirely false they must have been old I.O.U.'s paid up by the princess, found by Giacomo among her papers, and tinkered up to look new! But since those silly creatures
Chiara and the marchese and Ferdinando and Lucrezia refused to listen—as if it were not all in their own interests!—the monk almost got to the point of forgetting his former aversion for Raimondo and going to open his eyes to the secret malpractices of his co-heir and brother, to shout at him:

‘Open your eyes, if not he'll truss you up and devour you!…'

Now, seeing that they were all the same about this, he was grinding his teeth night and day. Then another fact had come to enrage him and make him inveigh against those ‘mad swine', in the monastery, around chemist-shops, even in the street with the first person he ran into. In their Oleastro sulphur mines the Uzeda had dug so far that they had passed underground beyond the boundaries of their property on the surface; so the owners of this surface sued them.

Raimondo, bored even by putting a simple signature on receipts and contracts, on that occasion showed Signor Marco, who came to read him out documents of the case, his annoyance at all this continual ‘bother'. Then Signor Marco suggested, ‘Why doesn't Your Excellency make a power-of-attorney with the prince? Then you'll avoid a lot of bother and things will go much faster until the time comes when, after Your Excellency's sisters have been paid, we can get on to the division …' Raimondo accepted this at once, and signed a deed giving the prince power-of-attorney to administer the inheritance in the name of the co-heir too.

Matilde, having heard of this accord, asked herself why Raimondo still wanted to stay in Sicily now? If he no longer took part in business affairs, what other interest held him there? And she began again to torture herself with jealousy, seeing him with that woman once more, unable to endure having to treat her as a friend while warned by an inner voice not to trust her. Sick in heart and mind, her nerves agitated by her constant sorrows, she now had gloomy presentiments and feared and suspected everything. In the happy simplicity of other days she would never have entertained the suspicion that the prince was letting Raimondo do what he liked most, almost encouraging his vices, inciting him to gamble and finding him occasions to see that woman, so as to distract him from business matters
and get the sole management of them into his own hands. Such a suspicion would never even have passed through her head when she thought them all good and sincere. Now, terrified by others and by herself, she could not put it out of her mind … How could she, as the prince seemed to be making every effort to get Donna Isabella to the palace while her mother-in-law, Donna Mara Fersa, was beginning to show some fear that this relationship might become too intimate?

Donna Mara Fersa had tolerated much in her daughter-in-law from Palermo; the upset household, the ill-concealed condescension with which she was treated, the costly tastes and bold opinions; and although she closed both eyes on her own suffering she did not intend to close one if her son was involved. This friendship with the Uzeda was fine and she was greatly pleased about it, but why should Raimondo always be at Isabella's side, at his own home or hers, in church, at the play or the parade? It might be a smart custom in Florence, but one which she, in her old-fashioned way, could not understand. Anyway she did not like it and did not intend that it should continue. Without giving reasons, lest she put the cart before the horse, she hinted to her son and daughter-in-law that they could be good friends with the Uzeda without sharing every moment of the day and night with them. But she preached to deaf ears; Mario Fersa was more infatuated than ever by the prince and the count, Donna Isabella was always with the princess, Lucrezia and Donna Ferdinanda.

Then, on seeing her exhortations disregarded, and being unused to finding herself disobeyed and unheeded in a matter which a daughter-in-law should be first to understand, Donna Mara, incapable of hiding what was in her mind, became acrid and ironical towards her daughter-in-law, while at the same time telling her son openly the reason for her disquiet. Even so she was not too precise and kept to generalities, saying that leading a life in common like that was dangerous, and that the Uzeda house was not only frequented by numbers of men but also had two young men, the prince and the count, with whom Isabella should not be so continuously seen … But her son cut her short. ‘The prince? Raimondo? My best friends?…' From indignation he went to laughter. ‘Suspect
them? Two excellent family men?…' Nor did his mother's insistent reasoning draw any other reply.

Meanwhile, Donna Isabella, at her mother-in-law's sudden change to severe looks and brusque ways from a former attitude of prudent but pained resignation, now assumed the airs of a real victim. To Raimondo, when he chattered of the boredom and misery of provincial life, she would nod her head approvingly, but add that one could be happy in country or desert as long as one felt surrounded by care and affection … and saw around people dear to one … who were capable of understanding and appreciating one … Donna Mara, seeing none of her moves succeed, finally decided to try more energetic means of putting an end to this ‘comedy'.

Fersa on his side still noticed nothing, for he would have denied the light of day before suspecting his wife and Raimondo, with whom he shared most of his life and spent all day and every evening chatting or gambling at the club or in a stage-box at the opera. He was more than ever proud of the friendship shown him by the prince, the long monologues the latter made him while Raimondo and Isabella chattered in a corner; and it was a shock to him when his mother came up and said brusquely, ‘Let's go, it's late!…'

One fine day Raimondo, on going to pay a visit to the Fersas' and after seeing Donna Isabella behind the shutters, heard the servant reply that there was no one in. At first he was amazed; he very nearly gave the door a push to get in by force, but he just managed to contain himself, and went downstairs and out into the street scarlet in the face as if he had caught sunstroke. He at once realised whence the blow came, having already noticed Donna Mara's coldness, and at the idea of obstacle and opposition the blood boiled in his veins, mounted to his head, dimmed his sight.

Till that moment he had sought Donna Isabella's company because she seemed one of the few women he could talk to, because she reminded him of society outside, and also because he liked her personally, not greatly though, not enough to set his heart on conquering her. It was not the chance of ruining her, not her husband's friendship, that deterred him; Fersa in fact, with his adoration for his wife and his blind faith in her
and in him, seemed fated for the usual disaster; and Donna Isabella, with that martyred air of hers, with her instinctive coquetry, with her eternal talks about soul-mates, was presumably yearning to be understood. He had always laughed at love and passion, which was just why his wife bored him, and he had never sought anything but easy pleasures, ready and safe; a presentiment of the trouble which an affair with Donna Isabella could bring had prevented him pushing things too far. At the Belvedere, during the cholera, when Donna Isabella was to come and failed to do so, he had been almost pleased at their not meeting as arranged, and amused himself with Agatina Galano as if forgetting the distant Donna Isabella. When he saw her again, temptation had revived; then his wife's moping made it stronger, and Donna Mara's opposition put new fuel on the fire. He had the sort of character that is excited by obstacles, which made him frenzied and restive as a foal at a bit. Even so he had contained himself still, thinking of the future, of sure troubles and possible dangers. Now finding himself forbidden to set foot in her house suddenly gave him a great longing to break down that front door and bear the woman off. The bloodthirsty instinct of the old predatory Uzeda threw him into a passion; had he been able he would have done something wild, like his grandfather driving his horses at the Captain of Justice. Now not so much times as circumstances were different; he could not make a scandal, so he had to dissimulate and fall back on craft …

On reaching home, he wrote to Donna Isabella to say that he had realised what were ‘the unjust suspicions' of her relations, and went on to complain that ‘in this hateful city' it was impossible to make and keep ‘friendly associations'. The letter was sent by means of Pasqualino Riso, the prince's coachman, to Donna Isabella's coachman, who was a crony of his. Donna Isabella replied at once by the same means, complaining of the ‘slavery' in which she was held, of the evil suspicion with which she was treated, thanking him meanwhile for his ‘delicate' sentiments, for the ‘friendship' of which he gave proof and which she returned ‘with all her heart', but begging him to ‘renounce ever seeing her again' lest she hurt the susceptibilities of ‘certain persons'. This was the same as saying ‘do your best to triumph over their opposition.'

The two coachmen cronies saw each other again every day to pass on verbal messages. Pasqualino, on the look-out at a corner by the Fersas' home, would hurry off to the Nobles' Club to warn his master, who had set up headquarters there, when Donna Isabella left the house.

Meanwhile Raimondo followed her about everywhere just the same. He even went up to her carriage still and visited her box at the theatre, on the rare occasions when the mother-in-law was not there. And the husband, deaf to maternal warnings, smarting at unjust suspicions, behaved the same to him as before, in fact made an even greater show of friendship, as if excusing himself for his mother's conduct, and was an assiduous visitor to the palace.

The Uzeda all seemed to have passed some mutual message about protecting and shielding the pair. As they spoke to each other in a corner the prince or Donna Ferdinanda would be chattering to Fersa, and leading him into another room; the spinster drove around with Donna Isabella, and when she met her nephew stopped the carriage to give him a chance of being with her; or she invited her to her home more often, and Raimondo would soon arrive. They also saw each other at the houses of other Francalanza relatives, the Duchess Radalì's, the Grazzeri's, most often at Cousin Graziella's, who had become a great friend of Donna Isabella.