A Night at Villa Borghi - Part 2
Villa Borghi, 4 April 1848, Late Evening
Camillo di Cavour didn't know if he was in hogs' heaven or running toward a precipice. On one side of the ledger he was having the best time of his life: at the center of everything, pulling a thousand threads to produce a masterpiece, pitting his wits against worthy opponents (and worthy friends, but in politics there was no great difference between friends and foes), more than everything having found a prince worth of his allegiance: for a moment Cavour felt a real closeness with his distant ancestor who had come to Italy with Charlemagne to fight and carve a fief in the south of Piedmont. However, there was the other side of the ledger too: so many players in the game, so many unexpected challenges and opportunities. It would be easy to go wrong, to miss a step, to falter. But he would avoid that, at any cost: al custa cal custa (1), but he would not fail his liege, he would not smear the proud name of the house of Cavour.
Right now, he was confronting a new challenge, not a very difficult one, but completely unexpected: princess Maria Cristina couldn't wait until tomorrow to meet the Sicilian delegates, and so she had come - unannounced and without warning, but for the timely note from her husband - under the fig leaf of an incognito identity which was so thin to be almost laughable: there was no doubt that, when the Countess of Rivoli and the Comte d'Ormes were announced, only a nitwit could be deceived (and there were not too many nitwits currently guesting at Villa Borghi, which again was both a good and a bad thing).
Now he was witnessing the meeting between the princess and his husband, and the three delegates from Sicily. The princess' eyes were sparkling, there was fire in her veins for sure, while her husband, in the uniform of a colonel of the Piedmontese carabinieri, stood a step behind her: that was a good sign, Henri d'Orleans apparently knew the rules of etiquette for a future prince consort, and would not try to steal the scene from his wife.
When the Sicilian delegation entered, Prof. Mariano Stabile started to kneel, but was immediately stopped by Maria Cristina:
"The offer of the crown has been voted by the Parliament of a free people, and I will never require any Sicilian to kneel in front of me: not after being crowned in Palermo, much less now when at best I am a Queen designated."
Cavour was carefully looking at the expressions of the Sicilians: surprise, mingled to pleasure, almost bordering on awe, and knew that this was the founding stone in the legend of the Queen-to-be: without any doubt, the young princess shared the same sound political instincts of her brother, as well as his outspokenness and disregard for conventions. Some old curmudgeon (Solaro della Margherita came to mind, but also his own good brother Gustavo) would certainly be apoplectic, and loudly condemn this betrayal of the God-given right of kings, but Camillo was pleased, even if his face was devoid of expression: the whirlwind of this spring was heralding a new world, and a new world would require new rules.
"I thank you for your gracious words, Your Royal Highness , and even more I thank God for having guided our mind and our hearts when we took this most fateful decision: we couldn't hope for a better Queen" Stabile replied, bowing deeply.
...........
One thing done, and 99 more to go, mused Cavour rejoining the other guests of the night.
The second thing was already happening: a little crowd in a corner of the ballroom was being addressed by a man with piercing eyes and a cultured voice. Giuseppe Mazzini, the apostle of all revolutionaries and the boogeyman of any reactionary.
Prince Ferdinand had been very firm in his decision: any delegate would be admitted to the proceedings of Isola della Scala, even if he was a democrat or a republican, and one of his first actions as Lieutenant of the Kingdom had been to grant an amnesty for political crimes.
Cavour moved close to the crowd surrounding Mazzini, to better hear what he was saying:
"Italians have suffered for decades under the harsh laws of the Austrian empire: Austrian troops have intervened at their leisure and with full impunity to suppress in blood our insurrections, but also when there was no unrest, and life apparently flowed normally, policemen, judges, informants, censorship have plagued our lives. We have been forbidden to discuss openly our ideas, and have been imprisoned by an intricate structure of rules and regulations which have taken away most of the pleasure of living. Any one of you knows that under the censorship rules there are four categories of books, and only one of them is allowed to be printed: and even the decision to grant the permission to publish is taken only in Vienna! Do not believe that there rules are enforced just in Italy: they are applied all over the Austrian empire, stinting no efforts, and also the other states of Germany are bound by them: Metternich himself forced all the German states to accept his Carlsbad Dictates (2) in 1819, and reiterated them in 1839. For thirty years these Dictates have equally stifled the life of all Germans, and not just to keep the bloodthirsty revolutionaries at bay: slowly but surely these rules have permeated all aspects of social life: mutual help societies are banned at the stroke of a pen, student fraternities are forbidden, gymnastic clubs are scrutinized with meticulous care. Even the syllabus of all universities are carefully checked by myopic censors and liberal professors are dismissed by fiat. A German friend of mine told me that social life in the Germanies is nowadays restricted to theatres and opera halls: is this familiar to you too? I have lived many years in London, and in some public parks there is a notice: please do not step on the grass. I would assume that there are public parks in Vienna, but there the notice would read: you are allowed to step on the grass. Do you see the difference? Under the reactionary regimes only those things which are explicitly allowed are permitted, while under constitutional regimes only the forbidden actions are specified(3)."
Mazzini was in full flow, and until now Cavour could not object to his words: his characterization of the Austrian regime was scathing, but accurate. Camillo remembered one of his relatives in Geneva citing an Austrian writer to him: "The empire rests on four armies: a standing army of soldiers, a sitting army of bureaucrats, a kneeling army of priests and a crawling army of informants (4)". A better parsed sentence for sure, but it perfectly matched Mazzini's words. Somewhat bored by that rather priestly sermon, Cavour could not help but wonder whether "Don Mazzini" would be satisfied with the Italy they were shaping at Isola della Scala or not. Probably not in full, he thought, but then he should not be completely dissatisfied, either, he mused with an aristocratic smile.
Princess Cristina di Belgioioso was among those listening to Mazzini: Giuseppe was born to preach, thought the princess, even if not all of his preaching had been harmless. Too many young men had been sent to death fired up his siren song, embarking into enterprises which could never succeed. (5)
She was momentarily distracted by a footman, handing her a folded message. After perusing it, she asked: "Who sent this?"
"The countess of Rivoli, milady. She is standing near the fireplace, with her husband an another lady".
Cristina smiled thinly, thinking "The countess of Rivoli, of course. Known to select few as the Duchess of Genoa too, or is it the other way around? Well, the evening is becoming more and more interesting. Let's see what she has to tell me."
"Madame of Rivoli, I am honored by your attention" Cristina di Belgioioso spoke a fluent French, courtesy of the many years spent in Paris.
"Not as much as I am pleased to have the opportunity to meet you in person, Princess of Belgioioso. Your achievements and your legend precedes you. May I introduce my husband , the comte d'Ormes, and my dear friend countess Acceglio?"
"Enchanted, Comte, Countess. Are you from Savoy, Comte? I am not familiar with your title."
"No, princess. I was born in France: Ormes is a small fief near Orleans."
"And you are wearing the uniform of a Sardinian colonel. Were you one of the heroes of Goito, colonel?"
"Hardly, Madame. I only did my duty."
"May I call you Cristina, princess? "The countess of Rivoli smiled "And you may call me Costanza."
"Of course, Costanza."
"Is it true that you have arrived to Isola della Scala leading a regiment of volunteers?
"I see the news are moving fast, and becoming wilder by the hour. Tomorrow, they will say that I was at their head, riding a white horse and holding up a tricolor flag(6)." A round of laughter all around "It was just two companies of volunteers: I was in Naples, when I got the news that your...Prince Ferdinand had crossed the Ticino and was marching against the Austrians. There were many more stout hearts willing to follow me to the battle, but the ship I hired could hold just 200 men. I intended to go to Milan, but then I heard in Livorno of the victorious battle of Goito, and changed my destination."
"You Cristina have in common with my husband the habit of downplaying your own achievements. He was very brave at Goito, and you have been equally brave and bold in embarking on such an adventure."
"I recognized the uniform of the Carabinieri, and I have been told of their brave charge at the bridge, so I have not been deceived by the modesty of your husband. My adventure was not really bold, though, and anyway I arrived here too late."
"I believe a woman of your stature, Cristina, will still have many a chance to shine in this glorious springtime of Italy. If I may ask, were you so perfect even as a child? How can you be a princess, a patriot, a fighter, a journalist, a writer, an exile and yet the most famous salon keeper in Paris?"
Cristina felt that there was something missing in her question, a close. She thought that maybe it could have been "How can get to be a remarkable woman in this world of men?", but in the end preferred to keep that question to herself.
"You keep flattering me, Costanza. To answer part of your question, I was as a child melancholy, serious, introverted, quiet, so shy that I often happened to burst into tears in the living room of my mother because I realized that I was being looked at or that they wanted me to talk.(7) I guess that some of the talents you so kindly attribute to me were born out of consciousness of my weaknesses. I believe this is how it works best. And, from something I saw tonight, I would say the the most rebel of princesses is growing up into a great Queen: I may have been the uncrowned queen of yesterday's Parisian salons, but she will be the crowned Queen of tomorrow. Not that there are any other princesses here other than me, tonight." They all laughed; Maria Cristina blushed, but just a little, her eyes glowing.
A sudden commotion at the door, when a thin man with a dashing moustache, dressed in the uniform of a general officer with many shining decorations, entered.
"Is that prince Ferdinand? I was not expecting him to come here tonight." Cristina Trivulzio enquired.
The comte d'Ormes laughed: "Prince Ferdinand would never be seen wearing such a uniform, it's only suitable for an opera singer or for an actor on the scene. That man is Carlo di Borbone, heir to the ducal throne of Parma. Il duchino (8) arrived here a few days ago, leading two squadrons of Parmesan lancers and most anxious to get into the thick of the fight. For my sins, he will depart with me day after tomorrow, towards Udine and the Isonzo river."
"For a man just a step away from a ducal throne, his contribution to the war appears to be a bit stingy."
"It was a minor miracle he arrived here, after all: I've been told that he lost his way two or three times, and was almost arrested by our troops in Mantua. Apparently, he never thought necessary to pick up a map before leaving Parma (9). Unfortunately, now he is here, making a nuisance of himself. True to form, apparently. I'm told that when he was studying at the Military Academy in Turin, a few years ago, one night he got drunk in a dive, picked up a fight with another equally drunk cadet, and then fought a duel with him. It ended up in a farce, obviously: their seconds did not put a ball in their pistols, and no one was hurt. Then the duelists decided that all the demands of honor had been answered, also because no one remembered the reason for the duel, and finally each went his way to sleep off the drink." The argentine laugh of Cristina Belgioioso was spontaneous and compelling, and many heads turned towards her.
Henri silently congratulated with himself for not having revealed the most juicy piece of the story: his brother-at-law had added that after the duel it was discovered that both duelists had thoroughly pissed their own breeches. According to Ferdinand, because of the effect of excessive drink, but then he usually thought the best of everyone. Which was surely honorable, but experience taught that especially in war and politics, thinking the worse was actually the best policy. Most of times, at the very least, and only time would tell if "il Duchino" could be an exception. Maybe that was worth a bet with Ferdinand, although one he would have preferred to lose, a rare thing to think. "After all, it's 1848: anything may happen, except boredom", he mused.
Footnotes
"al custa cal custa" is Piedmontese dialect for "no matter the cost"
Metternich was always a strong believer in rules and regulations, and the need for strong censorship and strict regulations for meeting places, even the most innocent-looking ones
An actual OTL quote from an article written by Mazzini in 1839
The sentence is attributed to Adolf Fischof, Hungarian of Jewish descent who was among the Vienna insurgents
Cristina di Belgioioso had been a close supporter of Mazzini, and helped him to finance the botched insurrection of Savoy in 1835. Following additional failed insurrections, she had later distanced politically from his methods, if not his ideas.
Which, apart from the white horse, was precisely as she entered Milan IOTL
An actual OTL quote by Cristina Trivulzio di Belgioioso
"the little duke", nickname of Ferdinando Carlo
IOTL, Ferdinando Carlo left Parma alone, got lost a couple of times on the way to the encampment of Carlo Alberto, and was finally arrested in Mantua on suspicion of being an Austrian spy