The Viceroys (54 page)

When this became known, all her relatives, particularly those
ember-blowers Don Blasco and Donna Ferdinanda, began to raise the devil and shout that the slut should be kicked out of the house. But Chiara pretended that Rosa had been with someone outside and excused her, declaring she could not bear to see her suffer.

‘There are so many temptations for these poor girls! Let's hope he'll marry her, whoever it was … I know what pregnancy means … I just haven't the heart to throw her out on the streets …'

But the oddest thing was that the marchese himself became irritated and also a little ashamed at this clandestine parenthood. Chiara never mentioned the matter to her husband. When Cousin Graziella also put her nose in and came to suggest she send that girl away, she went scarlet, not knowing how to reply there and then. But as soon as the other left she burst out, turning to Federico:

‘Just listen to her! I do what I like and want and you're the only one with the right to give me orders in here. So she's being scrupulous is she, that … I won't say what! After stealing Giacomo from his wife! Only someone as stupid as my sister-in-law would notice nothing …'

Actually a number of people were now beginning to murmur, and among the servants of the two houses there was already an exchange of winks and comments which made Baldassarre feel he was swallowing barrels of poison. Could his lordship the prince not do an act of charity and survey his cousin's intricate affairs without viperish tongues finding something to say about it? Was it because there'd been some talk of their marrying years ago? But the master had carried out the old princess's wish, God rest her soul, and now he considered his children, respected his wife and had quite other things to think of than gallantry! Had he wanted to pay court to his cousin he would have done so long ago without waiting for her husband's death, for that poor good devil Cavaliere Carvano was not one to frighten a soul. Anyway, hadn't they taken a look at the princess? She had most interest in knowing the truth, and if that malicious gossip had had any foundation would she have kept so calm?…

The princess was calmer than ever, always obedient to her husband, always awaiting the instructions that he would often
impart with a mere glance. Cousin Graziella was now almost domiciled in the palace, giving the servants orders as if she were paying them and expressing her opinion about all household affairs, heeded perhaps more by the prince than was his wife. Donna Margherita not only never complained but breathed more freely, for Giacomo left her in peace, no longer expected her to agree with him about everyone and everything nor reproved her if things did not go as he wanted. So that if the widowed cousin did not turn up some days she would send for her before the prince noticed her absence and keep her at home all day, confide Teresina to her, treat her like a sister. This intimacy also gave her another precious advantage; it spared her the horror of touching keys, furniture or objects. When linen had to be put out or cupboards rummaged, or things set back in chests, Cousin Graziella would do it all herself, coming and going round the house with keys at waist, changing everything round to such a point that in her absence no one could find a thing and she had to be sent for.

‘They might at least take the child away!' said the scandalised Donna Isabella to Raimondo. ‘They're making it watch a fine show!'

Don Blasco and Donna Ferdinanda were already beginning to make comments too; but when Rosa Schirano bore the marchese a fine male baby, pink and white and plump, war amid the Uzeda became general again.

Chiara, beside herself with joy, brought the maid back near her, sought out a nurse for her, gave the infant all the baby-clothes she had once prepared for her own children. She kept it in her arms morning, noon and night and held it out for her husband to kiss, saying ‘Look how pretty he is … He's like you, isn't he?…' When alone she would bring down from the top of the wardrobe a dusty bottle containing the monster she had borne herself, embrace with a single look the horrible yellow tallow-like abortion and the plump baby waving its little fists, and two tears would form on her lashes. ‘May God's will be done!' Then putting back the bottle she would turn all her care and thoughts to Rosa's son, whom she had even had called Federico…

But Giacomo now began calling his sister mad. Chiara, stung,
criticised her brother for having a mistress in the house and handing his daughter over to her. Lucrezia, who had made her peace with Giacomo at the time of Raimondo's wedding, now changed sides again and accused him only because Benedetto was agreeing with him in blaming Chiara's oddities. Donna Isabella, to distract Raimondo, who was falling into blacker and blacker moods, loaded her charges more against the prince, Chiara, or Lucrezia. Don Blasco and Donna Ferdinanda each fanned the flames on his own, forming league now against Chiara, now against Giacomo, now against Donna Isabella. And all, young and old, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, nephews and nieces, once more flung at each other accusations of irresponsibility and madness.

Amid all this the Prior bore himself with his usual serene indifference for all things of this world, after having paid his court to the Bishop and canvassed the coadjutor, Vicar-General and canons. Ferdinando, now most elegantly dressed, talked of nothing but clothes and foreign tailors. The duke, listening to all and answering none, exchanged telegrams with stockbrokers playing the market on his behalf and was busy arranging his banks and companies. The Cavaliere Don Eugenio had dropped his
Academy of the Four Poets
and was now concentrating entirely on a deal in sulphur which looked very lucrative—with the 300
onze
from bearing false witness, evil tongues said. And the princess was happy to keep her hands white and gleaming away from all contacts and to use them only for embracing her children.

Teresa, now nearly twelve, was her pride, both for beauty of person and goodness of soul. Never a worry did that child cause; even the prince, who seemed on some days to be searching round minutely for excuses to lose his temper, never caught her in default. All that needed saying to her was ‘Teresina, your father wouldn't like that,' or ‘your father wants this,' for her to bow her head without a breath. By her exemplary obedience, by her gentleness of heart, she gathered praises and prizes everywhere. As she grew older she was no longer put on the wheel to be passed through the wall among the nuns at San Placido, but often taken to the convent parlour. She, who as a child had to control her fear of staying shut in the thickness of the wall
and her terror of the black Crucifix, still in her heart preferred pleasant drives in the open air, but as her parents liked her to go and see her aunt the nun, she herself would often suggest those visits behind the grilles.

Then came stronger trials. Every year on the eve of All Souls' Day the family would go to the catacombs of the Capuchins to visit the mortal remains of the Princess Teresa on orders of the prince, who himself stayed at home for fear that the sight of the dead might bring him bad luck. The child would tremble from head to foot with terror at all those corpses ranged along the walls, shut in coffins, dressed as in life with shoes on their feet and gloves on their hands; some with mouths twisted as if screaming in agony, others as if roaring with laughter; her grandmother, all black in the face, dressed as a nun, in her glass coffin with her head on a tile and her hands desperately gripping an ivory crucifix!… She would tremble all over, the poor child, with the terror and horror of it, and at night dream that all those dead people were dancing around her. But she hid her terror as her confessor had told her that corpses can do no harm, that it is our duty to visit them, and that we must think of them continuously as one day we too shall die and go before the eternal Judge.

In most churches, if it came to that, she had a sense of cold fear. At Our Lady of Graces there was a wall covered with votive gifts: legs, heads, arms, wax breasts on which were painted horrible purple weals. At the Capuchins, in the Chapel of Blessed Ximena, was exposed the coffin containing her body. She was said to be preserved as fresh after centuries as if she had died an hour before. On every centenary of the beatification the coffin was opened, and Teresa thought with horror that the third centenary would fall in twelve years, 1876. But as she always made a great effort to control herself, gave no signs of fear, and was seen spending long hours on her knees in those churches praying, all praised her piety. Some even said, ‘She is growing up to be like the Blessed Ximena; another saint!' Such praises flattered her; to gain them she would endure all without a word. She too longed for friends of her own age, fine new clothes, gaily coloured and richly decorated, her first ear-rings and finger-ring; but her father said that such things spoilt
girls; and instead of sobbing and screaming, as so many others did, she would bow her head, comforted by her mother who promised into her ear, ‘You just see, my darling, when you're grown up …'

Consalvo had not the same character as his sister; quite the contrary. But the princess would excuse him and exhort him to be good. These exhortations did not bear much fruit. Hoping in vain to get home as a result of the disturbances of '62, he had seen the years pass one after the other without his father keeping his promise to take him away from the Novitiate. Every time the boy came to the palace he reminded the prince, but the latter invariably replied, ‘Later … in the spring … in the autumn … it's not for you to think of …' So he gnawed at the bit, waiting for spring and then autumn, which always found him still in his prison, fretting and restless. Then suddenly he flung his lot in with the Liberals in hoping for the suppression of the monasteries. He was converted by Giovannino Radalì who, since his mother persisted in wanting him to take vows, was also nurturing this only hope of returning to secular life; but the announcement of the suppression was rather like the prince's promises; it was always being repeated and never confirmed by facts. So, constantly irritated by his father's obstinacy, full of envy for companions who were returning one by one to their families and enjoying their liberty, he became the torment of masters, lay-brothers, and servants, of the whole monastery. He also refused to visit his home, or if he went, greeted no one, did not talk and sulked the whole visit. Now that at the palace not a chair was moved without Cousin Graziella's consent, she upheld the prince, sure that for the moment the boy was all right where he was, and she would say to him in tones of maternal affection, while he quivered with hatred of her:

‘Don't worry, you'll come away in good time; now you must study. Why, my god-daughter is being put in college too.'

Signorina Teresina in college? In the courtyard, among relatives, as soon as this news got round it was the subject of endless comments. ‘Why, though?… Isn't she all right at home?… The duke wanted it … What has the duke to do with it?… No, it was the prince … No the cousin … The princess
sobs from morning till night …' Each gave his own opinion, some murmured that maybe the decision had been taken because one day the Signorina had entered the Red Drawing-room unexpectedly and surprised the prince and her godmother in too intimate colloquy … But Baldassarre, in that authoritative tone of his which cut short all gossip, gave a frank, genuine version; all the great families of Palermo and Naples nowadays put their young ladies into college,
chic
colleges as they called them, to learn Italian and also French; Baron Cùrcuma had done so with his girl, so the Prince of Francalanza's daughter must also go to such a college. The duke knew that the Convent of the Annunciation in Florence was the most
chic
of the lot because it was the most expensive. And Signor Don Raimondo and Countess Donna Isabella, who were at home in Florence, said the same too and approved of the young princess receiving a proper education!…

He did not say that Donna Ferdinanda, at the news of this decision taken without her knowledge, had burst out violently against the prince and even forgiven Chiara for her tending that little bastard in order to go and tirade with her against these silly new-fangled Florentine colleges, when in her day girls of the nobility learnt to weave silk at home and never thought of all this Italian and foreign nonsense. He did not say that Don Blasco was stamping round his niece's and nephew's homes preaching a crusade against the things happening up at the palace.

For Baldassarre the prince was God, and everything his master did was well done. He also respected all the relations, and so these rumours of family quarrels were most distressing to him. He wanted them all to agree for the good name and prestige of the family. And he denied tiffs, avoided giving too much importance to big ones, imposed silence on the lower servants, while having an ear ever cocked for spicier bits of news, attributing the malicious gossip circulating among their own servants to the envy of other less noble houses. Those must at all costs never reach his master; if the latter asked why some scullion or other had been dismissed he would find a good excuse or say that it had been done by Signor Marco. Actually he had a high regard for the administrator, who was, like him, jealous for the family's
good name and full of respect towards the prince and his just severity towards dependants.

Anyway the envious tired of talking badly in the long run. First some of the relations left, and so reduced motives for quarrelling. One fine day Count Raimondo, without a word to anyone, packed his bags and departed with his wife for Palermo, leaving Pasqualino to sell the furniture bought a year before. Then the duke went off to Florence, taking with him the young princess, Teresa, to put her in college as arranged.

As the little girl left she cried and cried at leaving her home and entering a college in distant Florence, where not even on Sunday, not even through a grille as at San Placido, would she be able to see her dear mother. Her godmother, though, said to her, ‘Don't cry like that, can't you see how much you're distressing your mother?' So she swallowed down her tears and composed herself.