Free The Viceroys by Federico De Roberto

fire and sword against the revolutionaries and men of ’48 who were threatening to raise their heads. Had that lesson given them by Satriano not been enough? Did they want more? Then they’d have it at once!
    ‘But whose fault d’you think it is most, the revolutionaries’ or that man Cavour’s? It’s those ruffians’, who with their positions ought to be supporting the Government instead of throwing in their lot with beggars!’
    He was particularly furious at his brother the duke, who had got it into his head to act the Liberal, he, the second son of a Prince of Francalanza! The Marchese of Villardita was nodding approvingly, judging though that the revolutionaries, with or without the help of certain gentry, would lie low for another half-century at least; the city still bore the signs of the terrible repression of April ’49; traces of arson and sacking had not altogether vanished, and half the population was still mourning those dead, condemned to life imprisonment, or exiled.
    The Prior, having sat down next to the Bishop again in the group of black cassocks, was also deploring, in a low voice, the iniquities of the times in the shape of the Piedmontese lawsagainst religious Orders, while Don Blasco, in the group opposite, was shouting:
    ‘Now they’re going to war without money! By robbing the Church of Christ! That man D’Azeglio! Have you read his effusion?…’
    In the women’s place, the princess sat in a corner, a little apart, to avoid contacts. Donna Ferdinanda, sitting by the Prince of Roccasciano, was talking to him of business, crops, the price of victuals, while the Princess of Roccasciano was describing to the Baroness Cùrcuma how her mother had appeared to her in a dream with three lottery numbers in her hand—6, 39 and 70—on which she had put 12
tarì
, without her husband knowing. The Mortara and Costante girls, friends of Lucrezia, were talking to the latter about clothes to distract her, although she was not listening and replied distractedly as was her habit. But Cousin Graziella kept the conversation going brightly all by herself, turning to all and each, passing from one room to another, chatting about clothes, dressmakers, the Crimea, Piedmont, the war and the cholera. The Countess Matilde, tired from her journey, spoke little, waiting to retire to her rooms. Don Cono, who had come to sit by her, was reciting all the epigraphs he had composed for the funeral. ‘A variation has occurred to me. I should much value the countess’s opinion …’ and the Cavaliere Don Eugenio was saying how poor modern funerals were compared to those of yore. ‘In 1692 there was even a decree to prevent excessive show in ceremonies for the dead!’
    All rose to their feet at the appearance of Donna Isabella Fersa, with her husband Don Mario and Father Gerbini. The Benedictine was gallantly carrying one of the lady’s veils on his arm. She kissed all the Uzeda women, except the princess, who drew back and introduced:
    ‘My sister-in-law Matilde …’
    Donna Isabella warmly shook the countess’s hand and sat down beside her with a sigh.
    ‘What a tragedy!… But God’s will be done!… You’ve been in Florence?… We were there last year too … but you were both at Milazzo then … Only one child so far?… The count will be hoping for a boy, of course. Lucky you to have a daughter. I envy you, you know, countess.’
    Father Gerbini was meanwhile doing the round of the ladies, talking at length with the youngest and prettiest, saying gallant and forbidden things. He took their soft white hands, held them a little in his equally white and beringed ones, and kissed them. When he saw the prince re-enter the room with his brother, he left the ladies to lead Raimondo up to Donna Isabella.
    ‘The Count of Lumera … Donna Isabella Fersa … the loveliest lady in the realm …’
    ‘Don’t you believe it, he says that to everyone,’ claimed she with a smile. ‘I am sorry to be