“Party or no party, the important thing is, he’s leaving,” the Marquis di Geraci said.
“But he is going to take the post of Minister, is he not?” Abbot Vella asked innocently.
“What difference does that make? Let him be Minister in Naples. We will be right here, enjoying some peace, for a change – and with a new viceroy, a man, I tell you, who is made of the stuff of angels.”
“The new viceroy is who?”
“The Prince di Caramanico, Don Francesco d’Aquino. A great gentleman—”
“And a handsome man, too,” the Duchess of Villafiorita said.
“They say—” Don Gaspare hesitated – “people say that Her Majesty... people merely say, mind you... Well, that there’s an attachment – nothing out of order – sympathy, good will...”
“Ah yes, so they say,” the Duchess assented.
“Let’s put it this way: people know it for a fact.” The Marquis di Geraci, because of his titles, the very titles Caracciolo had tried to strip him of, felt close to royalty, and therefore in a position to be indiscreet even about gossip that touched the throne. “Let us say that people know it for a fact... And I tell you this, our good fortune in having Don Francesco as our Viceroy is the result of the Queen’s fancy for him. Acton was anxious to be quit of a man who could have rivaled him in the Queen’s affections, and a man who might have won, too.”
The curtain rose. From the back of the stage, a beautiful woman came forward; she was wrapped in a green fringed mantle that seemed to be made of seaweed and maidenhair fern. She stood motionless for a moment in a stricken pose intended to suggest that she was being choked by an invisible cord of grief. Then she flung back the cape; dressed only in flesh-colored tights, she looked completely naked. As she let the cape fall, her swelling bosom heaved like the prow of a galleon mounting a wave; on it was emblazoned a riven heart and, in jagged blood-red letters, the legend Tumulus Caraccioli: the nymph Sicily had buried her beloved Caracciolo in her broken heart.
There was tepid applause.
“The heart of Sicily was broken by her cruel government,” the Marquis di Villabianca said; this struck him as quite witty, something he should be sure to set down in his diary.
“I should be enchanted to have such a tomb,” the Viceroy was saying, meanwhile, to the Judge’s wife, his glance plunging down her bosom, which was no less generous than the mime’s. He arose, signaling that the gala was at an end.
When he came down into the lobby, he found all the guests lined up for the final farewell. He paid a compliment to every pretty woman present and singled out several of the men with a witticism or personal greeting. He asked Meli to bear in mind that when his poetry was eventually published, he could be counted on as a subscriber. He asked Vella whether the Arabic type had arrived from Parma for the printing of the Council of Sicily, and at what point he stood with the translation of the Council of Egypt. He clasped the hand of Canon De Cosmi for a long time in his own while he spoke affectionately with him. The Canon had tears in his eyes. The word “Jansenist,” loaded with scorn and revulsion, coiled among the nobles crowding around them.
Di Blasi was among the last. The Viceroy inquired after his research on Sicilian traditions, but he seemed lost in thought as the young man was answering him. Then, in a final salute, he turned to the company and with a smile said, “How can any man be a Sicilian?”
Part 2
Most Holy and Royal Majesty,
It has been reserved for the most felicitous era of Your Reign, Sire, to witness the recovery of long-lost and precious memorials of the History of Sicily, and their translation into the common tongue, thus bringing light and knowledge to where once there had been only darkness and doubt. We long lacked any account, civil or military, of that entire period during which Sicily was subject to the Saracens; and then, through a happy occurrence, about which Your Majesty is well informed, there was found in the Library of the Royal Monastery of San Martino an Arabic Codex which, containing an accurate record of all that happened both in time of war and in time of peace, has fully acquainted us with two and more centuries of Sicilian History. But then as the era of the Conquest approached, when the valorous Normans took possession of the Kingdom, history was again cast into shadow, and in default of other authority, it was necessary to lend credence to the almost entirely suspect chronicles of a few who, writing in that period, had set down the most illustrious deeds of those Norman Princes, and the most notable facts concerning them, but who preserved almost total silence regarding the early laws that they laid upon the people, and about the political constitution, the foundations of which they established.
Having acquitted myself to the best of my modest abilities in the translation of the Martinian Codex into the vulgar tongue, and while, on his part, the most esteemed Monsignor Airoldi girded himself for the task of enriching the Codex with a wealth of annotations, I, for my part, undertook another work written in the popular tongue of Araby, proposing to translate this new Codex, which I now present to Your Majesty, and which had been sent me by that generous Mohammed ben-Osman Mahgia who, returning from Naples (where Your Majesty graciously received him as Ambassador from the Emperor of Morocco), and he sojourning here for some months, conceived such close friendship for me that, safely restored to his own country, he did offer me many evident tokens of his most liberal sympathy for me. Indeed, it is to him that I am indebted for several pages that were missing in the Martinian Codex, and for various elucidations of the history of the Arabs, and for many medallions that combine marvelously together to illustrate that manuscript, and, most of all, for this Codex, which contains all the official letters that were exchanged over a period of almost forty-five years between the Sultans of Egypt, the renowned Roberto Guiscardo, the First Count Ruggiero, and the son of that Ruggiero, who bore the same name and who later founded the Kingdom of Sicily and first assumed the Royal title.
Matters of great moment and most significant information were contained in this Codex, or so it seemed to me upon translating only a few pages of it; however, mistrusting my own judgment, I thought it well advised to submit these pages to the lofty discernment of the Prince di Caramanico, who so worthily safeguards Your Majesty’s interests in Sicily; and he, recognizing the value of the work, and being a tireless Patron of letters, encouraged me to persevere in the work which has now been brought to completion, and that not without travail, albeit the time I devoted to this end has seemed to me to be most excellently compensated by the utility of the work.
It remained only for me dutifully to present to Your Majesty an accurate copy of the Arabic Text, together with my version of the same in the vernacular exactly as it came from my hand, and it is this duty which I herewith fulfill. I shall be most fortunate if Your Majesty, turning for a few moments from the precious attentions with which you guard and govern two most blessed Kingdoms, will honor my Codex with Your August perusal, and read therein how the two famous Heroes, Roberto and Ruggiero, made a treaty with the Sultan of Egypt, following a most bloody war. How then, having set their affairs in order abroad, they turned to the internal administration of their domains, and laid down the first laws for the government of the people in several well-conceived articles, all abounding in those principles most calculated to protect the domestic security of the realm and to advance the well-being of its subjects. How similarly they dedicated themselves to the introduction of new arts, the making of silk especially, causing skilled craftsmen to be brought from Egypt, and establishing them here with liberal emoluments and under their permanent protection. Also, Your Majesty will observe in this same Codex with what prudence and sagacity affairs of State were conducted by the Council that these Norman rulers established, and with what uniformity, in those early times, all decrees were directed toward encouraging the progress of the nascent nation. With what sublime discernment they joined several elements of the Frankish constitution to what the Moslems had already established in Sicily, some remains of which still survive
d then, whence was formed a corpus of laws truly and properly Sicilian, the which, being for the most part still in force today, can, I believe, be far better comprehended and applied in the light of the Codex.
But what makes me most hopeful that this work may be found deserving of Your August protection, O Sire, is that nowhere more than here are the Supreme rights of Royal authority fully and shiningly set forth: by way of example, in two legislative provisions that are here included, and particularly in the first of these, where all powers that were reserved to be the exclusive and unalterable dominion of the rulers of this Monarchy may be read in detail; the direct and universal patronage over all the Churches of the Kingdom and the right to appoint Bishops, are seen to be firmly vested in the Royal Person, and to have been regularly exercised without challenge; the bitter struggle over control of the Illustrious city of Benevento and many other most critical struggles of the same nature are herein described, and, further, many historical questions regarding the descendants of Ruggiero, the titles of Duke and First Count – the first assumed by Roberto Guiscardo, and the second by Ruggiero himself. All these things, O Sire, with the guidance of this Codex will from today henceforth be administered more felicitously, with greater dignity redounding to Your Royal Crown.
My remarks could be further extended, did I wish to indicate, step by step, how much else of value there is in a document that has elicited the most curious expectancy among Your Majesty’s subjects and among foreigners as well: let this important task be reserved for others more competent in the matter, I wish only, if Your Majesty graciously permits, respectfully to inform you that so soon as there is no further need for me to consult it, this authentic and precious Codex will be my not unworthy gift to the Royal Library, to this end, that if and when some scholar in this field might wish to examine any passage or to compare my version with it, he may be able at any time to find it without fear that it be someday lost or fall once again, as in the past, into oblivion. Indeed, I must also add that, having with some success amassed a rather rich collection of Islamic coins and vases, which I flatter myself may, as of the moment, be unique in Europe, and which I do not even now neglect to enlarge, so soon as the editions of the two present Volumes shall be published, which for the moment engages my entire time, I shall gird myself with all diligence to open the Kufic Museum, a repository capable of providing much enlightenment to distinguished scholars in verifying the various historical periods of these two Kingdoms, the Kingdoms of Spain and of Africa, and the Empires of Asia; and that further will help them to learn at what levels the various arts were practiced in those early centuries. As to the achievement of so unusual a collection, I will freely confess the truth: it cost me much labor and effort; I had also to be content that I should be deprived of many comforts of life in order to acquire it; but how far would I have lagged behind, had it not been for the courteous assistance extended to me by my correspondents in Morocco, and here by one whose kindness equals his great learning and indefatigable study, Don Francesco Carelli, Secretary General of the Government of Sicily, whom I am proud to call a friend of mine, as he gladly is of all those who labor fruitfully in scholarship and the arts. May God favor my plans, but may He above all, for the good of these Your Majesty’s realms, preserve and bless Your Majesty together with Her Majesty the Queen Consort and the Family Royal.
Your most humble servant,
Giuseppe Vella
Part 3
Chapter I
A cavalry squadron headed the funeral procession. Then, between two rows of halberdiers stationed on either side of the street, the Captain General of the city marched alone, his step slow, his face impassive. Behind him came the nobles, dressed, as was he, in black: some thousand individuals striving, without appreciable results, to walk in step and keep their ranks straight. Next followed an infantry battalion and the military band, its brasses sounding a lugubrious funeral march calculated to stir the very bowels of shopkeepers and the rabble. Then came: the Confraternity of the Whites, the Confraternity of Charity, and the Confraternity of Peace; from the city’s convents, a swarm of abandoned children, abandoned bastards, and plain orphans; the religious orders – Capuchin, Benedictine, Dominican, Theatine; the Chapter and lesser clergy of the Cathedral; the chapel choir, lighted tapers in hand, chanting a mournful dirge; the Palace Guard; the Palace service staff, dressed in mourning livery and carrying two empty caskets, one draped in black, the other in red, both emblazoned with the D’Aquino coat of arms. A short interval, and then came the head groom of the D’Aquino stables, on foot; on his outstretched hands, palms turned upward like a tray, he bore a sword; behind him, but on horseback, came the aide-de-camp.
Lying on a bier swathed in a silk and gold flag, Don Francesco D’Aquino, Prince di Caramanico, Viceroy of Sicily, looked like a deflated wineskin embellished with waxen heraldries (two hands, folded) and topped off by a head that seemed all nose – a carnival proboscis. He was borne aloft on the shoulders of brothers from the three noble Confraternities, and flanked by others; the Prince di Trabia, second-ranking nobleman of the Kingdom, headed the line that followed; next marched the Prefect; then the Senate and all its officers; then came more cavalry, the Swiss Regiment, and the carriages of Court and Senate. Four pure-bred horses, caparisoned in black, held firmly at the bit by their grooms, brought up the rear of the cortege. In bygone days, at the end of the ceremony the four splendid beasts would have had their throats cut; now the spectators were speculating what price they might have fetched and commiserating with their fate, unaware that, on this occasion, they would prudently be spared.
It was a warm, summer-like January day. After almost ten years, the Prince di Caramanico was taking his departure with more pomp than had attended his arrival. With Caracciolo Minister of Sicilian Affairs in Naples, his long vice-regency had commenced with Caracciolian vigor, but it had been tempered and restrained by formal correctness, and little by little had subsided into apathetic respect for the old order, the old ways. As his viceroyalty drew to an end, hope for Caramanico and for the Sicilian people was vanishing like the tail of a rat into a hole, but the Viceroy was no longer, and the Sicilian people were not yet, in a position to realize this. For the moment, nobility and populace joining a taste for pomp and splendor with genuine grief for this man who had preferred to seek a popular consensus before acting, Palermo was in mourning. And because the outside world was rumbling in revolutionary turmoil, a suspicion had spread throughout the city that the death of the Viceroy might have been the result of a worldwide ferment: he could have been poisoned, this good Prince di Caramanico, could have been poisoned thanks to that weakness of his for the French, or thanks to that weakness of the Queen’s for him.
To Abbot Vella, except that a dart of sunlight was stabbing him in the neck and he, pinioned in the procession, could not escape it, the death mattered not one straw; whether the Viceroy had died of a cirrhotic liver or of poison administered by some servant was a question he left for others to fret over. He had quite different worries of his own. Before him in the procession, flat and heavy as a crow’s nest, bobbed the head of Canon Gregorio, his enemy and his persecutor. Abbot Vella silently converted the conjectures and suspicions about the death of Don Francesco D’Aquino into curses on Gregorio: gravel, cancer, poison. Oh, those French! Like pines afire in the dry mid-August countryside, their revolution was flaming along the shores of the Kingdoms of Naples and Sicily, along borders of both salt and holy water. The Abbot himself viewed the Revolution as a good thing, because in France it had sealed the lips of a certain De Guignes, who had advanced several doubts about the Council of Sicily.
Thanks to Gregorio, Abbot Vella now found himself riding the crest of a wave of well-being and triumph, but also in peril of sinking back into far worse conditions than he had escaped. Supporting him was Tychsen, the famous Orientalist and professor at Rostock; but his enemies had dredged up a man called Hager and had had him fetched to Palermo; they were hovering over him, flattering him
, regaling him royally – all at the King’s expense, no less. Tychsen, a great scholar, had pronounced Vella’s skill “beyond compare” and “almost divine”; this Hager, who knew little or no Arabic (Abbot Vella could swear with a clear conscience to the fact that Hager knew less Arabic than he), presumed to sit in judgment on his work. All Palermo was on Vella’s side, to such an extent that Gregorio and his friends feared, or made a great show of fearing, an attempt on Hager’s life. Such a design was not entirely alien to Abbot Vella; at the moment he simply found it inopportune; moreover, the problem was rather to strike at the head – at Canon Gregorio, that is. But who could say what fresh troubles might not arise to plague him if he made such a move? What he must do was remain cool, await his adversaries’ moves with a vigilant eye but with an air of indifference, unconcern, mockery. Meanwhile he was the great, the celebrated Vella: Tychsen venerated him, the Academy of Naples had elected him to membership, the Pope personally worried over his health (he had had an eye fluxion, and the Pope had written to beg him to take care of himself; sight was particularly precious to a man who from faint and uncertain signs was restoring the memory of the past).
Meanwhile, as Hager, on authority granted him by the King, had requested that the codices be made available to him for study – and the coins and the letters from the by now renowned Ambassador from Morocco as well – Abbot Vella had swept his house clean of everything that could compromise him: the night the Viceroy lay dying was a moment in which even the police had lost their heads, and it was then that he had reported a robbery. It had been a trying night: he had had to dispatch all the material to his niece’s house, her husband and the monk acting as porters; then the neighborhood had had to be aroused; then a scene of despair over the disaster that the thieves had wreaked upon his head; then in the middle of the night, he had had to rush off to the Court of Justice and thus risk the danger of really running afoul of robbers. A trying night. But such was his nature that he found a kind of consolation in the thought that the Prince di Caramanico had spent a worse one: the notion came to him suddenly as in the Church of the Capuchins the nobles were lowering the corpse into its double casket.
The Council of Egypt Page 7