The Viceroys

by Federico De Roberto

  But while the duke was quite giddy with his new triumph, Consalvo had sniffed the wind and realised the change taking place in the whole of Italy, and the imminence of Liberal reforms. So without participating in the electoral campaign he declared the Right to be dead and buried. Keeping people at a distance so as to avoid contagion, he began to declare himself ‘democratic’. And here was his uncle, Don Eugenio, choosing this very moment to come and suggest this business of a ‘New Herald!…’ He let the scarecrow wait a good while in his anterooms; then, after listening to the request, shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Heralds and Trumpeters indeed! What’s the point of them? Such things have had their day! The Commune can’t spend public money on supporting publications based on class-divisions! There’s only one class, that of free citizens!’

  This reply, heard by his clerks, repeated throughout the offices, brought him applause from good democrats. The cavaliere went straight off to report it to the prince, to gain a mark by showing his son up in a bad light. But neither informing nor persistent begging brought in a cent; Giacomo even asked for the money back that he had advanced before, and accused him in addition of stupidity for letting his creditors impose sequestration on him.

  The cavaliere made another attempt with his sister Ferdinanda. When he appeared at her house the door was shut in his face. Even so, he sent a message to the old spinster asking for a small loan, which would be nothing for her and would assure him of a meal. The old women replied that even if she saw him dying of hunger she would never give a cent towards printing that ‘filth’.

  This road being closed too, Don Eugenio fell back on his niece Chiara. He found the marchese alone; his wife, who had given him no respite for some time, had one day ordered horses harnessed secretly and driven off with the little bastard to the Belvedere, from which she never returned. The cavaliere tried to explain his plight to his nephew, but the latter could talk of nothing but his own troubles and all that mad-woman had made him suffer. So that the unfortunate ex-Gentleman of the Bedchamber left empty-handed once again.

  Not knowing where to turn next, he went to Giovannino Radalì. With the keen nose of a starving hound he had noticed the tenderness between the two cousins, particularly from Baldassarre’s remarks. The major-domo was more pleased and satisfied than ever with the turn things were taking. The growing intimacy between the two families was an indication that the prince approved of the match ‘since His Excellency never did a thing without a double aim’—and the mutual love of the two young people assured their union. If it was not actually talked of openly yet, that must certainly be due to the prince’s disappointment about that Will; as the master always dealt with one matter at a time he naturally had to wait for the case to end before deciding to get his daughter married. Breaking the reserve which he scrupulously maintained on all matters concerning his employers, Baldassarre then assured his intimates that once the quarrel was settled the match would quite certainly be arranged.

  So the cavaliere began winking at Giovannino and praising him in the presence of Teresa, who would flush all the colours of the rainbow. ‘As if one didn’t know he’ll be your husband …’ he would murmur in his niece’s ear; and in the young man’s, ‘As if one didn’t know she’ll be your wife …’ He encouraged them both, gave them news of each other, carried greetings and messages to and fro, until eventually he asked Giovannino for a small loan of a thousand lire. The young man gave it at once, and Don Eugenio made off.

  ‘MAYOR at twenty-six?… Whoever heard of such a thing!… He’ll need a tutor at the same time! We’ll be ruled by wet-nurses!…’ But sarcasm had no effect, so enthusiastic were Consalvo Uzeda’s supporters. In the year since the young prince had become an Assessor, had there not been more continual improvements to the city than his predecessors had carried through in eighteen years? The town-criers, who before went round in greasy slovenly rags, dragging rusty sabres like old spits, now, at his suggestion, were in splendid new uniforms, all facings, frogging and pom-poms so that they looked like admirals to a man. And the fire brigade, with gleaming helmets and red plumes like Roman soldiers of the Holy Sepulchre, wasn’t that all his work too?… ‘Make way for the young! Make way for the young and learned like the Prince of Mirabella!’

  Now he studied no longer, judging his preparation as sufficient, and realising too that in a chief branch of knowledge, that of throwing dust in people’s eyes, he was already a past-master. He knew that his family’s great popularity depended on its outer splendour, on showy liveries, gleaming carriages, majestic porters, and although people said that times had changed, he knew that all these things, visible signs of richness and power, had never, could never lose their value with changing times. So the improvements made by what he, although only an Assessor, already called ‘my administration’ had been chiefly connected with things that showed and could be appreciated at once by the crowd. Thus he had taken the greatest trouble about training and dressing the municipal services, watchmen, crossing-sweepers, dog-catchers, of which he was head and which he would review like a general. When he left the paternal roof one of his minor sufferings, endured in patience like all the others, had been no longer to have clusters of valets, scullions, coachmen and attendants who bowed as he passed; now he had a little army at his command.

  Direct contact with things or people was still a torture for him. He would receive them with his hands deep in his pockets so as not to have to shake those of others, or shake them wearing gloves which he would then throw away. He signed papers with a pen in two fingers while a clerk held the sheets so that they did not slide away beneath, and on leaving the Town Hall had his chair locked away in a cupboard lest anyone should sit in it. One day when the key could not be found he stood up for six hours. Some scruffy clerks, with long hair and black nails, were a horror to him. He would snort and exclaim, ‘Don’t push on top of people’ as they talked to him of business or reported on their duties, and instead of answering their questions would suddenly burst out with ‘Do get that quiff cut off!’ or ‘Clean your nails a bit!’

  ‘As if we could all spend our days in front of the mirror as he does!’ those rebuked would mutter, calling him aristocratic, proud and a fraud, for to hear him anyone would think all men were brothers on the same bench … But such complaints were lost amid the chorus of praise from the other employees for whom he had created jobs or put up salaries, arranged bonuses or granted holidays or condoned shortcomings; all those stood before him humbly and called him ‘Your Excellency’ like servants. Thus the party wanting to raise him to the highest office was strong in the town and very strong in the Town Hall. Even so he wavered, adducing his immature age and inexperience. And to Giulente, who was playing into his hands with even greater trust, he confided that he was afraid of coming a cropper and ruining his future. ‘You won’t fall,’ Benedetto assured him protectively, ‘we’ll all sustain you, the whole of your uncle the duke’s party.’ But he did not yield even when the Prefect asked him, and thanking ‘from the depths of his heart’ the deputations come to invite him, he declared that the weight was too heavy for his shoulders. He continued to hold off, knowing that there was a current running against him of inevitable complainers, envious malcontents, all those who wanted to break with these ever-present nobles, these eternal Uzeda. When the municipal employees repeated, as they did every day:

  ‘Your Excellency should be Mayor; the city wishes it …’

  ‘How do I know?’ he replied once. ‘The city has said nothing tome!’

  Then a demonstration was formed, with music and flags, to go and acclaim him as head of the town. He allowed a half-promise to be torn from him: ‘If the Prefect proposes my nomination …’ The demonstrators went and shouted ‘Long live Mayor Mirabella!’ under the balconies of the Prefecture. Then when the decree of nomination was ready, he posed another condition: that every faction of the Council from Bourbonist pro-clericals to Republicans should be represented on the Electoral Committee. They let him dict
ate the list of Assessors himself. At the top he put Benedetto Giulente. The latter protested in vain, but Consalvo said to him:

  ‘If you don’t accept, it’s no go. I’ll be Mayor in name but in fact we’ll do everything together. I realise that I’m asking a sacrifice of you, but you have made many others!…’

  Lucrezia’s reaction to this can be imagined. She was beside herself.

  ‘Mayor to Assessor! He’s making a prawn’s progress! One of these days he’ll be nominated usher! The job for which he was born! And he lets himself be taken in by that little Jesuit! To serve as his footstool! To act as his servant! There’s nothing else he’s good for.’

  She went and unbosomed herself to her aunt Ferdinanda. Both of them were on tenterhooks just then, as they were awaiting a decision any moment from the Court of Appeal about Don Blasco’s Will. The day this was announced in the prince’s favour, annulling the first expert opinion and establishing a new one, the aunt and niece, green with bile, screamed and ranted so much that poor Giulente, worn out by all the shouting and railing, escaped from home in despair. The prince, who had recently been in bad health again, recovered suddenly as if by a miracle, and showed his pleasure by speaking to people almost urbanely, even asking news of ‘God save us!’.

  Some weeks later, in spite of the heat of the season, the princess went out with her daughter and bought quantities of house-linen. Then she called seamstresses to sew and embroider sets of all kinds. ‘We’re working for the young princess!’, they would say in positive tones aimed really at eliciting some confirmation. But the princess said nothing, though she embraced her stepdaughter more often than usual, and looked at her with an air as if to say ‘Wait and see!…’ Teresa asked no questions, but realised that the day of her happiness was near. Baldassarre was beside himself with delight and announcing the wedding without reticence; it was almost certain now; wasn’t the prince going to the duchess’s every day to discuss settlements? It might be only a matter of weeks before all the relations received news of the happy event.

  In fact, one day, in connection with some bed covers which she found it difficult to choose, Teresa said to her stepmother, ‘Let Your Excellency choose, to me they’re all pretty …’

  ‘Why, d’you think I’m to use them? Don’t you realise they’re for you?’ replied the princess.

  Teresa’s forehead went scarlet. She held her breath and lowered her lashes.

  ‘Come here!…’ and drawing her to her heart, Donna Graziella began, ‘It’s for you, for your marriage. The moment has come to make you happy … D’you think your father hasn’t been thinking of you? He has so much business, so many cares! But now we’ll do everything quickly, you’ll see …’ And imprinting a kiss on her forehead, while holding her head in both hands, she exclaimed, ‘Are you pleased to become a duchess?’

  For a moment Teresa thought she had misunderstood. She fluttered her lashes, looked her stepmother in the eyes, and repeated like an echo:

  ‘Duchess?…’

  ‘Duchess Radalì, of course, and also Baroness of Filici, as your second son will bear that title! Duchess, and with lots of ducats too! One of the richest! Your father will treat you well, as Consalvo has behaved so badly. He’s already arranged everything with your aunt … and in time my things will go to you too, won’t they? Well? Are you pretending not to know?… Why are you looking at me like that?… What’s the matter?’

  ‘Mamma … Mamma …’

  Ever paler as her stepmother said those words, more and more shaky and trembly, as if at a glimpse of some horror, she now put one hand to her forehead and with the other seized the princess.

  ‘Mamma, no … I didn’t think …’

  ‘What?… My dear girl! Confide in me!… You didn’t think what?… But I was sure though … He’s been coming, here almost every day! Anyway you know now … Don’t you … No?… You say “no”?… Why? For what reason? Isn’t your father making sacrifices to ensure this match for you!… 30,000 onze, d’you understand? He’ll give you 30,000 onze!… And Michele has four times that again. And you say no?… Why?…’

  ‘Because I thought … I didn’t think … that it was him …’

  ‘Who then?… Another?…’ and the princess seemed to be searching about in her mind. Then suddenly, as if it had that moment occurred to her, ‘His brother maybe?’ she added.

  Dropping on to a chair, Teresa hid her face in her hands and burst into tears. From the first moment she had realised, with a tightening of the heart, that all her refusals would be vain; they had decided to give her to the elder son, she had at all costs to accept him. And her stepmother’s honeyed words as she said with clasped hands, ‘If I’d known!… Why didn’t you speak?… Now that your father’s arranged everything …’ confirmed her in that wretched certainty and made the tears flow more than ever. Speak? To whom? With what purpose? In a family where there was no trust, where all were quarrelling with everyone else, caring only for their own interests? As they had first made her used to giving way about everything and then lulled her into confidence that they would make her happy. Could she ever suppose they would have chosen by themselves without consulting her, and one day come and say ‘Well, you must marry someone you don’t like …?’ But why? Why did they want to give her to the other one and not the one who had her heart?

  ‘For your own sake!’ exclaimed the stepmother. ‘We’ve decided this way for your own sake! He’s the elder son, you’ll be a duchess, your sons will have two titles to choose from, while with the other there won’t be a single one left … And he’s also richer; not by much, it’s true, but there’s still a difference! And a daughter of the Prince of Francalanza can’t marry an obscure younger brother as if she were a nobody!’

  What did that matter? As she had given her heart to Giovannino? As it had never crossed her mind that the other brother, so gross and ugly, could be her husband?

  ‘But don’t you know,’ went on the princess, ‘that your aunt the duchess won’t ever agree to Giovannino’s marrying even if we did, as I’d like to in order to please you? Don’t you know our aunt wants only her elder son to marry? Such is the rule in our families; in fact if times hadn’t changed it would not even occur to Giovannino to approach a girl like you, knowing he could not marry her!’

  ‘No, no!…’ broke out Teresa then amid her tears. ‘Don’t blame him; it was me too … I love him too …’

  ‘Oh come!’ exclaimed her stepmother with a smile full of indulgence. ‘Just passing children’s fancies … aren’t they?’ she went on in another tone, seeing Teresa’s mute sobbing beginning again. ‘Are you determined to cause your father pain? With all the other troubles he has? Then go and tell him you don’t want to!’

  ‘Me, mamma?…’

  ‘Why d’you expect me to tell him this pleasant news? Come now! I’m upset by your refusal too, you know, but, but … I’m not your mother … And it’s not as if you, or your brother, care whether I’m upset or not …’

  ‘Oh, mamma!… Why do you say that? Don’t you know I’ve always respected you and loved you as if you were my own mother?’

  ‘All right!… all right!…’

  Oh, why did she not have her real mother by her in that sad hour when her need of sincere affection, of true protection was more necessary than ever! Her mother would never have left her alone, sobbing, as her stepmother did, with only these words for comfort:

  ‘All right; I’ll tell your father. After all, it’s he who’ll have to deal with it!…’

  The princess never mentioned the marriage again to Teresa, just as if they had not discussed it in the first place. Nor did the prince say anything to her. But from her father’s changed bearing she realised he knew all, and what he wanted from her. From one day to another he never said a word to her, never called her by name, never seemed to notice her presence. The air of content which had come over his face at the good news of the court decision vanished again, and he went round frowning worse than ever and losing his temper a
gain about the slightest thing.

  The news began to filter out among the family. Most of them thought Teresa silly to prefer the baron to the duke; some supported her, Consalvo among them. About his sister he did not care a fig, and he took her part to show off his culture and democracy. ‘You see the force of prejudice?’ he would exclaim. ‘They want to give my sister to a cousin,’ and then came a long lesson on marriage between close relatives. ‘But of the two, they give her the one she doesn’t want, not the one she wants. Why? For a difference of words! Duke or baron!… It would be different if behind these titles there was a real duchy or a real barony!’

  Aunt Ferdinanda’s and Lucrezia’s aversion now had new fuel. So that silly girl preferred the younger son to the elder! Opposed her father’s will! And to think the father had been unable to educate her to blind obedience!… Her uncle the duke, with a foot in both camps as always, leant a little this way and a little that, but in his heart he was for the match chosen by the prince as more worthy of the family; and anyway the duchess herself did not want her younger son to get married, did she?

  The duchess, in fact, was in a great state. After sacrificing her whole life for love of her elder son to ensure great riches for him and his descendants, after waiting so long to get him a wife, as there was no one she considered worthy, now that she had found him his cousin Teresa and was on the eve of crowning the work of thirty long years along came a love-affair with Giovannino to destroy all her plans at one blow. She had never suspected such a thing, so obvious had it seemed to her that Giovannino must feel obliged to remain a bachelor in order that only the eldest son should continue the family. ‘When Michele gets married … When Michele has children …’ Giovannino himself had talked of nothing else but Michele’s, the duke’s marriage.