The Silent Duchess by Dacia Maraini

Author:Dacia Maraini [Maraini, Dacia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical
ISBN: 9781908129376
Google: ZiGlAwAAQBAJ
Amazon: 155861222X
Publisher: Arcadia Books Limited
Published: 2000-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

XXVI

"And Don Mariano?"

"Is your son not coming, Your Excellency?" "What is he doing, is he afraid?"

"We are waiting for him, our new master." "With the death of Don Pietro we were expecting him."

Marianna crumples the notes she holds in her lap with restless fingers. How to account for the non-appearance of Mariano, who has suddenly become head of the family, inheritor and owner of the estates of Campo Spagnolo, of

Scannatura, of Taya, of Sala di

Paruta, of Sollazzi and Fiumefreddo. How to say to these peasant guards and rent collectors --known as gabelloti--who have come to see him, that the young Ucr@ia has remained in Palermo with his wife because, quite simply, he does not wish to stir himself.

"You go, Mamma, I have things to do", he had written, suddenly appearing in front of her in a new redingote of English brocade studded with incrustations of gold.

It is true that twelve hours in a litter along mountain paths is a punishing experience, and indeed few of the barons from Palermo submit themselves to such an ordeal to visit their estates in the interior. But today is one of those rare occasions regarded as imperative, as much by relations and friends as by his tenants. The new landlord must go the rounds of his estates, he must make himself known, he must talk, he must see to the renovation of old houses, he must get to know what has been going on during his long absences in the city, he must endeavour to inspire some respect, some liking, or at the very least some curiosity.

Perhaps she was wrong not to have insisted, Marianna tells herself, but he did not give her a chance. He had kissed her hand, and off he had gone as swiftly as he had arrived, leaving in the air a strong perfume of roses. The same scent as her father the Duke had used, except that he only moistened the lace of his shirt while her son uses it indiscriminately, pouring a whole bottle all over himself.

Towards Marianna, the dumb woman, the guards and the gabelloti react with an uneasiness that is close to fear. They see her as a kind of saint, someone who does not belong to the exclusive breed of nobles, but to that poor and in some way sacred group of the crippled, the sick and the mutilated. They feel pity but are also disconcerted by her inquisitive and penetrating gaze. And then they are mostly illiterate, and she with her notes, her pens, her hands stained with ink, puts them in a state of unbearable apprehension.

As is usual they entrust the priest, Don Pericle, with the task of writing on their behalf, but not even his intercession satisfies them. And then she is a woman and, even if she owns the land, what can a woman understand about property, grain, the sowing of fields, about debts, toll dues, et cetera? And so, to begin with, they regard her with disappointment, and go on and on about Don Mariano even though they have never seen him.

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