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 NOBI-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 attorne
ys … 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.
On the day arranged, before the arrival of notary, judge, witnesses or other relations, appeared Don Blasco, chewing his nails. On entering, he began wandering round the house, looking at everything, his ears alert as a cat’s, his nostrils open as if sniffing for prey. Immediately after, appeared Donna Ferdinanda, and down in the court the servants began observing that the dead woman’s relations by marriage, for whom the Will had no interest, were more impatient to hear it than her own children. But now curiosity was making everyone tense and almost irritable. The hangers-on, as they arrived to help the prince receive, were exchanging exclamations of ‘Now for it! In half an hour or so …’ The Prior came with Monsignor the Bishop, protesting again that his presence was useless, while the prince repeated that he wanted all there. The judge arrived with Rubino the notary at the same time as the marchese with his wife and Don Eugenio. Then came the President of the High Court with the Prince of Roccasciano, other witnesses, then Cousin Graziella with her husband, then the Duchess Radalì, then more distant relatives, the Grazzeri, the Costante, and finally the last witness, Marchese Motta. But Ferdinando had not yet appeared. And Don Blasco, taking the marchese by an overcoat button, said to him: ‘What d’you bet they forgot to warn him again?’
There was a painful wait. No one spoke of the Will again, but all looks were turned to the notary’s brief-case. Most indifferent of all, however, seemed Count Raimondo, who was chatting with the ladies, and the prince, who was talking to the President of the High Court about a law case connected with his wife’s dowry. But whereas the younger brother was hopping carelessly from subject to subject, the prince was making long pauses, during which his eyes were fixed in a frown and worry veiled his forehead.
When finally Ferdinando did appear, with his eyes staring, looking stunned as if fallen from the clouds, there was a scandal. With even the servants dressed in black, he was still wearing a coloured suit, and when Don Blasco said to him, ‘What the devil d’you think you’re doing?’ he stuttered out in reply, ‘Oh excuse me … excuse me … I wasn’t thinking …’
At the prince’s invitation all passed into the Gallery. The prince, the duke, the count, the marchese, the cavaliere, Signor Marco, the judge with the notary and four witnesses took places at the table. The others sat on sofas all around, the princess apart in a corner, Donna Ferdinanda with Chiara and Cousin Graziella on one side, Lucrczia with the duchess and the Countess Matilde on another. The Prior sat on a stool, crossed his hands in his lap and raised his eyes to the ceiling with an air of resigned indifference. Don Blasco, leaning against the mullion of the central window, dominated the meeting like a sceptical onlooker at a display of conjuring.
‘Will your Excellency allow me?’ asked the notary, and at the prince’s gesture of assent he took from the brief-case an envelope on which all eyes settled. Having ascertained that the seals were unbroken, and verified the signatures, he opened the envelope and took out two or three sheets bound together. After a short exchange of ceremonies with the judge, the latter, amid a religious silence, finally began the reading:
‘I, TERESA UZEDA, born Risà, Princess of Francalanza and Mirabella, widow of Consalvo VII, Prince of Francalanza and Mirabella, Duke of Oragua, Count of Venerata and Lumera, Baron of La Motta Reale, Gibilfemi and Alcamuro, Lord of the lands of Bugliarello, Malfermo, Martorana and Caltasipala, Chamberlain to His Majesty the King, (whom may God ever bless).
‘On this day, the 19th of March, in the year of Grace 1854, feeling healthy in mind but not in body, I commend my soul to Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and all the glorious saints of Paradise, and dispose as follows:
‘My beloved children are not unaware that on the day in which I entered the Francalanza House and assumed the administration of the family property, so many mortgages were outstanding on my husband’s fortune that it could be considered to be, and actually was, destroyed and on the verge of dismemberment among his numerous creditors. Urged meanwhile by maternal affection to sacrifice myself for the good of my beloved children, I set myself from that day onwards to restoring this fortune, a labour which has lasted my whole life. Assisted by the prudent councils of good friends and relatives, supported by the intelligent labours of Signor Marco Roscitano, my administrator and general agent, today, with the help of Divine Providence to which I render all my heart-felt thanks, I find myself in the position not only of having saved but even increased the family fortunes …’
At the passage referring to him Signor Marco had respectfully bowed his head. Don Blasco, still standing, changed his position; he left the window and went and stood behind the judge, in such a way that he could not only hear better but verify the true fidelity of the reading with his own eyes. The prince kept his arms crossed on his chest and his head a little bent. Raimondo was tapping a foot, and looking about with a bored air.
‘The whole of this fortune belongs only and exclusively to me: both in the part representing my dowry invested in it, and also because the remainder is from my own jointure and labours, as is proved amply and fully by the Will of my beloved spouse, Consalvo VII, which goes thus …’
The judge paused a moment to observe:
‘I think we can skip this part …’
‘Quite … it’s useless …’ replied many voices.
But the prince unfolded his arms and protested, looking around: ‘No, no, I wish all things to be done in full order … Do read everything, please.’
‘… which goes thus. “On the point of rendering my soul to God, having nothing to leave my children because, as they will know one day, our ancestral patrimony was destroyed by family misfortunes, I leave them this precious advice; always to obey their mother, my beloved wife, Teresa Uzeda, Princess of Francalanza, who, ever hitherto inspired by the good of our House, will thus continue in the future to have no other aim but that of assuring along with the glory of the family, the future of our beloved children. May the Lord preserve her for a thousand years yet, and on the day when the Almighty is pleased to grant me her company again in a better life, may my children faithfully carry out her wishes, as ones which could be directed only to their good and their fortune.”
‘Therefore,’ went on the princess’s Will, �
��my dear children can give no better proof of their affection and respect towards the memory of their father and towards mine, but scrupulously to respect the dispositions which I am about to dictate and the wishes which I shall express.
‘I therefore name …’
All eyes were set on the reader, Don Blasco bent farther down to see the writing better,
‘as universal heirs …’
the prince’s lips suddenly imperceptibly contracted,
‘of all my possessions, excluding those which I intend shall be distributed in the manner herein contained, my two sons Giacomo XIV, Prince of Francalanza, and Raimondo, Count of Lumera …’
The judge made a brief pause, during which the Bishop and the President nodded and looked at each other with amazed approval. The prince recrossed his arms, and put on his sphinx-like air again; he was only a little pale; Raimondo did not seem to notice the smiles of congratulation given him; Donna Ferdinanda, with her lips tight-set, was passing in review the ancestors hanging on the walls.
‘I instruct, however,’ went on the reader, ‘that in the division between the two said brothers there be assigned to Prince Giacomo the Uzeda family estates ransomed by me, and to Raimondo, Count of Lumera, the Risà properties and those acquired by me in the course of time. The family palace goes to the eldest son; but my other son Raimondo will have the use, during his lifetime, of the apartments facing south, with their attached stables and coach-houses.’
By repeated nods of the head the President and the Bishop went on expressing their approval; and the marchese was also heard murmuring, ‘Very proper.’ Cousin Graziella, who had been silent for a quarter of an hour, glanced rapidly from one to another, as if not knowing what attitude to take. The reading went on:
‘Next, using my right to make legacies to my other legitimate children and wishing to give each of them a proof of my particular affection, I assign to each legacies superior to the quota assigned to them by their legitimate rights of law, in the following manner:
The Viceroys Page 7