The Viceroys Read Online Free Page B

afroth with sweat. From the arch to the inner courtyard peered faces of servants and retainers; Baldassarre the major-domo opened a window on the second-floor loggia as Salvatore Cerra jumped from the vehicle with a letter in his hand.
    ‘Don Salvatore?… What’s up?… What’s new?’
    But the other gave a wave of despair and rushed up the stairs four at a time.
    Giuseppe stood there in amazement, not understanding, the baby still round his neck. But his wife and Baldassarre’s wife, and the washerwoman, and lots of other servants were already surrounding the carriage, and crossing themselves as they heard the coachman say between sobs: ‘The princess … dead of a stroke … This morning as I was washing the carriage …’
    ‘Jesus!… Jesus!…’
    ‘Orders to harness … Signor Marco rushing round … the Vicar-General and neighbours … Just time to get there …’
    ‘Jesus! Jesus!… But how?… Wasn’t she better? And Signor Marco?… No warning from him?…’
    ‘How should I know?… I’ve seen nothing; they called me … She was said to be well last night …’
    ‘Without one of her children!… In the hands of strangers!… Ill, yes she was ill; even so, all so suddenly!…’
    A shout from the top of the stairs interrupted the chatter.
    ‘Pasquale!… Pasquale!…’
    ‘Ehi, Baldassarre?’
    ‘A fresh horse, right away!’
    ‘At once.’
    While coachmen and henchmen worked to unharness the sweating, panting horse and put in another, all the other servants gathered in the courtyard, commenting on the news, passing it on to the clerks in the administrative offices leaning out of the first-floor windows, or even coming right down themselves.
    ‘How terrible!… Just can’t believe it!… Whoever’d thought it, like this …’
    The women were lamenting most:
    ‘Without a single child by her!… Without even time to call her children …’
    ‘The gates?… Why don’t you shut the gates,’ suggested Salemi, his pen still behind his ear.
    But the porter, having handed the baby over to his wife at last, and now beginning to understand something of what was going on, looked around at the others.
    ‘Should I?… What about Don Baldassarre?’
    ‘Ssh!… Ssh!…’
    ‘What’s up?’
    Talk died away again and all stiffened and took off their caps and lowered their pipes, for the prince in person was descending the stairs between Baldassarre and Salvatore. He had not even changed his clothes! He was leaving in the same suit, to reach his dead mother’s bedside as soon as possible! And he was white as a sheet, glancing impatiently at the ostlers not yet ready, and whispering orders meanwhile to Baldassarre, who bowed his bare gleaming head at each of his master’s words: ‘Yes, Excellency! Yes, Excellency!’ The coachman was still fixing the girths as his master jumped into the carriage with Salvatore on the box. Baldassarre hung on to the carriage door, still listening to orders, then ran beside the curricle beyond the gate to catch last instructions: ‘Yes, Excellency! Yes, Excellency!’
    ‘Baldassarre!… Don Baldassarre!…’ All besieged the major-domo now as, having finally left the carriage, which raced off, he re-entered the courtyard. ‘Baldassarre, what about it?… What do we do now?… Don Baldassarre, shall I shut up?…’
    But, with the serious air of solemn occasions, he was hurrying towards the stairs, freeing himself from the importunate with a gesture of the arm and an impatient ‘Coming!’
    The gates stayed wide open; a few passers-by, noticing the unusual movement in the courtyard, were asking the porter for news; the cabinet-maker, the baker, the vintner and the watchmaker, who had shops on the east front, also came to put in their heads, hear news of the great disaster, comment on the prince’s sudden departure:
    ‘And people said the master didn’t love his mother!… He looked like Christ down from the Cross, poor