The Viceroys (35 page)

The whole town discussed, commented, weighed every piece of news about this affair, got more worked up about it than about a kingdom's fall. Some were on the count's side, protesting that a family man like him would never upset another family; some judged him capable of this or that, to satisfy a whim. Had he not led a wild life as a bachelor? And when
a married man had he not made his poor wife suffer a lot? Luckily when all this happened she was away with her father in Milazzo.

Three days later Raimondo's defenders triumphed; he left for Milazzo to join his wife and daughters. Donna Isabella, meanwhile, had left with her uncle for Palermo. Who dared still affirm there had been anything wrong between them? That fool of a Donna Mara Fersa had put her foot in it!… The incredulous went to the Francalanza palace and the hotel to see if the departures were true. They were; Donna Isabella and Raimondo had left, one for Milazzo and the other for Palermo; the prince was making ready to go off to the Belvedere; Fersa with his mother was already at Leonforte.

During that autumn in the country the story was discussed ceaselessly.

There was much talk of it at Nicolosi among the Benedictine fathers. Father Gerbini among others was a paladin of Donna Isabella's innocence, encouraged in this by the fact that Raimondo had gone from Milazzo to Florence, where he was now settled with his family. Don Blasco, though, did not open his mouth on this subject. He seemed to have forgotten about his relations' affairs, busy as he was breathing fire at the news of public events, the votes by Romagna and Emilia for annexation to Piedmont, Farini's dictatorship, and particularly the Treaty of Zürich, which kept him on the rampage for the whole autumn and winter. With the Liberal monks he would plunge into tempestuous discussions which threatened to end in blows, about Cavour's return to office, the plebiscites of central Italy and all the symptoms of radical change. But when Nice and Savoy were ceded to France he was as delighted as if they'd been given to him; after the abortive attempt at revolt in Palermo on 4th April he crowed victory, shouting:

‘Aha, you're done, can't you see? Down with those hands now! Talk and shout and bawl as much as you like, but you don't break anything! Who breaks pays, and the plates aren't yours!'

‘It's you who can't see! You can't see it's not like '48 now!'

‘Eh? Ah? Oh? Why not? What's so new then?'

‘What's new is that Piedmont is strong … That France is helping her secretly … that England … that Garibaldi …'

‘Who?… When?… France?… Fine help! Garibaldi? Who's Garibaldi? Never heard of him …'

He heard of him on the 13th of May, when the news of the landing at Marsala burst like a bomb. But this time he did not shout, or spit curses; he merely shrugged his shoulders and affirmed that at the first shot from the Neapolitans, the ‘brigands' would disperse. The Murat, Bandiera, Pisacane affairs, were proof of that.

‘It's another tune now!' said Father Rocca in his face after the defeat of Calatafimi.

Don Blasco burst out:

‘But, you bunch of cadgers, why on earth are you rubbing your hands so? Have you had a win on the lottery? Or d'you think that Garibaldi will come and make Popes of you all? Don't you see, ye cretins, that you've a lot to lose and nothing to gain?'

He was beside himself; the Garibaldini's victorious advance exasperated him; the formation of rebel squads, the ferment reigning in the city and country infuriated him. But his rage was most violent against the duke, who was now definitely siding with the revolutionaries and leaving the sinking ship. The monk said things against his brother which would have made a cavalryman blush, called all the authorities traitors because, instead of repressing the movement, they waited, scratching their bellies, to see if Garibaldi entered Palermo or not.

‘Palermo? Lanza'll fling him out! There are twenty thousand troops in Palermo! But examples must be made! Raise the gibbet in the Fortress square!'

Instead of which the rebel squads all linked up around the city, Liberals talked out loud, the police pretended not to hear, and ‘decent folk' had to go into hiding! And that swine General Clary, with three thousand men under his orders, would not leave the Ursino castle and make a clean sweep, he just let the ‘decent folk's' panic increase. On the night of the 27th, amid ill-concealed jubilation by the revolutionaries, arrived news of Garibaldi's entry into Palermo; the bands threatened to
come down into Catania and attack Clary's troops. But the duke recommended calm and assured all that the Neapolitans would leave without firing a shot. Giacomo, in spite of the imposing and protective air he now put on with the family, as if he controlled wind and rain, decided, just in case of trouble, to make arrangements for their safety at the Belvedere. Lucrezia, seeing those preparations for departure, fretted at the idea of leaving Giulente, who wrote to her, ‘The hour of trial is at hand: I rush to the post where duty calls me, with Italy's name and yours on my lips!' But at the news that all procrastination was over and the squads were about to enter the city the prince went to San Nicola to put his son in the care of the Abbot, the Prior and Don Blasco, had his carriages harnessed and left with his whole party except Ferdinando, who would not leave his own place even for plague or revolution. Then the duke, so as not to remain alone in the deserted palace, went and stayed at the monastery where his nephew the Prior gave him a room in the guest wing. Don Blasco on seeing him in there thought he was a ghost; at first he could not bring out a word, then rushed among the monks of his set, shouting:

‘The hero! The hero! The hero! The great hero!… The thunderbolt of war!… He's got in here from fright! Using the excuse of there being no-one at home! His cheeks are awobble with terror …'

The monastery was beginning to fill up with timid folk, fugitive priests, Bourbon spies, people in the Liberals' bad books; even the castle was not considered so safe. For the novices, those not taken off by worried parents, it was a holiday; new faces everywhere, an incessant coming and going, constant anticipation of no one knew quite what. The Liberal boys had also got together a band like the ones encamped outside the city. Its leader was Giovannino Radalì, who was nurturing a plot to raise the monastery, go into the streets and join the adult rebels. But they had no flags, and with the excuse of decorating a small altar sent a servant out to buy papers of various colours. The man brought white and red, but blue instead of green; a mistake which caused a day's delay.

The young prince, to whom, as he was considered a spy, the
revolutionaries had of course said nothing, had even so sniffed something in the air and decided to find out what it was. An unusual circumstance helped him. The tobacco he and his cousin had planted was ripe. The leaves, torn off, set for a few days in the sun, were already beginning to shrivel; they just had to be rolled up to make three or four cigars, and these Giovannino considered ready to be smoked. Then, hidden together in a corner of the garden, for they were friends apart from politics, they lit matches and began drawing the first puffs. Out came an acrid, pestilential smoke which burnt eyes and throat. Giovannino was very pale and breathing in gasps, but went on drawing as Consalvo was declaring:

‘They're excellent!… Real tobacco through and through … Don't you like them?'

‘Yes … a glass of water … my head's going round …' Suddenly he went white as paper, his eyes rolled and he began to mutter deliriously:

‘The master … water … the flags.'

Consalvo, on whom the poison was working more slowly, asked:

‘What flags?… Where are they?…'

‘Under the bed … the revolution … Oh dear!… I'm going to be sick!…'

The young prince flung away his cigar and went indoors. He too felt nausea coming over him, his feet were unsteady and his sight rather misty, but he dragged himself as far as the master.

‘They've made flags … for the revolution … under the bed …'

‘Who?…'

‘Them … Giovannino … the plot …'

Nausea was rising, rising, clutching at his throat; his hands were freezing, everything was swirling vertiginously around him.

‘What plot?… And what's the matter with you?'

‘Giovan … the rev …'

He put his hands out and fell to the ground like a corpse. When he came to his senses he found himself in bed, with Fra' Carmelo watching over him. The light was dim, it was impossible to tell if it was dawn or dusk. No voice or sound of footsteps
could be heard in the monastery; only the chirping of sparrows on the orange blossom.

‘How do you feel?' asked the lay-brother, tenderly.

‘All right … What's happened? What time is it?'

‘The sun's just risen!… You did give us a fright! Don't you recall?'

Then, confusedly, he remembered the cigars, nausea, his denunciation. Had a whole night passed then? What about Giovannino?

‘He too! He's better now … The master searched in all the rooms, under the beds … he found lots of flags … His Paternity blamed me … as if I knew anything about these devilries!'

The plotters, finding themselves discovered, were desperate, not knowing whence the blow had fallen. But Giovannino, then also recovered, had just got up and was walking among his consternated comrades.

‘How did it happen? Was it you?'

‘Me?… Ah, that Judas of a cousin of mine!…' And the blood rushed to his head with a wild impetus of rage, like a true ‘loony's son'. ‘Wait! Wait!'

They hid and waited for Consalvo to come out, then surrounded him in the garden. Giovannino went up to him and asked:

‘Was it you, you dirty little spy, who told the master?'

Consalvo understood. Pale, trembling, he began protesting:

‘By the Most Holy Mary! The master … It wasn't me …'

But the circle grew closer round him.

‘So you deny it too, do you? Have you only the guts to lie, you filthy spy!'

‘I swear to you …'

‘Oh, you stinking spy, you …' and the first blow fell on his shoulders. Then they were all on top of him; he began yelling, but no-one heard his cries, for suddenly, at that unusual hour, all the bells of San Nicola began ringing out, so unexpectedly and strangely that the boys stopped hitting the informer and looked at each other, flustered. Suddenly Giovannino exclaimed:

‘The revolution!…' and rushed indoors.

The rebel squads had finally entered the city, to attack the
Neapolitan troops. All the monks locked themselves in. The Abbot had the gates chained after a terrified mob came clamouring for refuge inside the monastery. Only the bell-tower remained open to those in revolt, who continued to ring wildly as the thunder of the first cannons were heard from the Ursino castle.

Don Blasco, in spite of the dagger he wore under his habit, was green with bile and terror and came to take refuge, together with the most suspected pro-Bourbons, in the Novitiate, as a safer corner which no one would be likely to enter because of the young people. Even so he spat out a string of insults against that coward of
a
brother of his who had stayed inside with the excuse of the gates being shut, while still plotting with that other ‘swine' Lorenzo Giulente.

‘Why doesn't he get out into the streets? Why doesn't he go out and fight? I'll open the gates myself if he wants!… The rotter! The traitor!'

Actually the duke, who was in confabulation with the Abbot and his nephew the Prior, disapproved of the attack and was repeating General Clary's view as wise and prudent.

‘Clary said to me yesterday, “Let's wait to see what Garibaldi does; if he stays in Palermo I'll embark with my soldiers and go; if not, you people must all be patient; I'll be staying.” He was quite right, it seems to me! What need was there of attacking him? The fate of Sicily will not be decided here! But they won't listen to me! What can I do about it? I wash my hands of it!'

‘They won't listen to him!' stormed Don Blasco, ‘after he's gone and loosed them?… And now he acts the Jesuit? To stay on good terms with Clary if the mob gets the worst of it?'

Cannon boomed occasionally; people coming from the Botte dell' Acqua seeking a refuge said that the heaviest skirmishing was at the Quattro Cantoni, but elsewhere the rebels were only sniping at the troops from behind corners of houses or terraces. Bourbon agents, pale and terrified, hurried in to take refuge in the lay-brothers' cells. Garino, one of the first to shut himself up in San Nicola, stuck to Don Blasco's habit and seemed quite out of his mind. The young prince too kept close to his uncle,
not daring even to complain about the beating-up he had received, while Giovannino Radalì and the other Liberals among the boys surrounded Fra' Carmelo and said to him:

‘Now Garibaldi's coming!… We'll all be leaving!… We'll never be returning!…'

Before evening the bell-ringing and cannonades stopped. Don Blasco, who had gone to question passers-by from the walls of the flower-garden, returned waving his arms and roaring with delight:

‘The great revolution's over!… The Lancers came out and cleared the streets … Hurray!… Hurray!…'

This news was confirmed from all sides, but the duke, for the moment, prudently remained inside. Don Blasco's joy, however, was of short duration. Next day, on orders from Naples, Clary prepared for departure, and, handing over the city to a provisional junta, embarked the day after with all his troops.

Don Lorenzo Giulente with his nephew went up to San Nicola and invited the duke to the Town Hall, where leading citizens were trying to control the revolution. Already, after the troops' departure, in the first excitement of liberation, the first impulse to vengeance, a group of workmen had chased one of the worst and most hated police ‘rats', killed him, and carried his head around the town. The duke's heart was aquiver at the thought of leaving the safe refuge of the monastery and going into the city in its ferment, but the two Giulente assured him that all was quiet now and that he was expected by friends. So together they crossed streets more deserted than in time of plague, with all shops and windows barred up and a terrifying silence.