The Marquess of Cerveno had succumbed to the tertian ague contracted atthe hunting-lodge of Pontesordo; and this unforeseen calamity left butone life, that of the sickly ducal infant, between Odo and thesuccession to the throne of Pianura. Such was the news conveyedpost-haste from Turin by Donna Laura; who added the Duke's express wishthat his young kinsman should be fitted for the secular career, and theinformation that Count Valdu had already entered his stepson's name atthe Royal Academy of Turin.
The Duke of Pianura being young and in good health, and his wife havingalready given him an heir, the most sanguine imagination could hardlyview Odo as being brought much nearer the succession; yet the change inhis condition was striking enough to excuse the fancy of those about himfor shaping the future to their liking. The priestling was to turncourtier and perhaps soldier; Asti was to be exchanged for Turin, theseminary for the academy; and even the old chief of Donnaz betrayed inhis grumbling counsels to the boy a sense of the exalted future in whichthey might some day serve him.
The preparations of departure and the wonder of his new state left Odolittle space wherein to store his thought with impressions of what hewas leaving; and it was only in after years, when the accretion ofsuperficial incident had dropped from his past, that those last days atDonnaz gained their full distinctness. He saw them then, heavy with thewarmth of the long summer, from the topmost pine-belt to the bronzedvineyards turning their metallic clusters to the sun; and in the midsthis small bewildered figure, netted in a web of association, andseeming, as he broke away, to leave a shred of himself in every cornerof the castle.
Sharpest of all, there remained with him the vision of his last hourwith Don Gervaso. The news of Odo's changed condition had been receivedin silence by the chaplain. He was not the man to waste words and heknew the futility of asserting the Church's claim to theheir-presumptive of a reigning house. Therefore if he showed noenthusiasm he betrayed no resentment; but, the evening before the boy'sdeparture, led him, still in silence, to the chapel. Here the priestknelt with Odo; then, raising him, sat on one of the benches facing thehigh altar, and spoke a few grave words.
"You are setting out," said he, "on a way far different from that inwhich it has been my care to guide you; yet the high road and themountain path may, by diverse windings, lead to the same point; andwhatever walk a man chooses, it will surely carry him to the end thatGod has appointed. If you are called to serve Him in the world, thejourney on which you are now starting may lead you to the throne ofPianura; but even so," he went on, "there is this I would have youremember: that should this dignity come to you it may come as a calamityrather than a joy; for when God confers earthly honours on a child ofHis predilection, He sometimes deigns to render them as innocuous asmisfortune; and my chief prayer for you is that you should be raised tothis eminence, it may be at a moment when such advancement seems tothrust you in the dust."The words burned themselves into Odo's heart like some mystic writing onthe walls of memory, long afterward to start into fiery meaning. At thetime he felt only that the priest spoke with a power and dignity nohuman authority could give; and for a moment all the stored influencesof his faith reached out to him from the dimly-gleaming altar.
The next sun rose on a new world. He was to set out at daylight, anddawn found him at the casement, footing it in thought down the road asyet undistinguishable in a dying glimmer of stars. Bruno was to attendhim to Turin; but one of the women presently brought word that the oldhuntsman's rheumatism had caught him in the knee, and that the Marquess,resolved not to delay his grandson's departure, had chosen Cantaprestoas the boy's companion. The courtyard, when Odo descended, fairlybubbled with the voluble joy of the fat soprano, who was givingdirections to the servants, receiving commissions and instructions fromthe aunts, assuring everybody of his undying devotion to theheir-presumptive of Pianura, and citing impressive instances of theresponsibilities with which the great of the earth had formerlyentrusted him.
As a companion for Odo the abate was clearly not to Don Gervaso's taste;but he stood silent, turning the comment of a cool eye on the soprano'sprotestations, and saying only, as Cantapresto swept the company intothe circle of an obsequious farewell:--"Remember, signor abate, it is toyour cloth this business is entrusted." The abate's answer was a rush ofpurple to the forehead; but Don Gervaso imperturbably added, "And youlie but one night on the road."Meanwhile the old Marquess, visibly moved, was charging Odo to respecthis elders and superiors, while in the same breath warning him not totake up with the Frenchified notions of the court, but to remember thatfor a lad of his condition the chief virtues were a tight seat in thesaddle, a quick hand on the sword and a slow tongue in counsel. "Mindyour own business," he concluded, "and see that others mind theirs."The Marchioness thereupon, with many tears, hung a scapular about Odo'sneck, bidding him shun the theatre and be regular at confession; one ofthe canonesses reminded him not to omit a visit to the chapel of theHoly Winding-sheet, while the other begged him to burn a candle for herat the Consolata; and the servants pressed forward to embrace and blesstheir little master.
Day was high by this, and as the Marquess's travelling-chariot rumbleddown the valley the shadows seemed to fly before it. Odo at first laynumb; but presently his senses woke to the call of the brighteninglandscape. The scene was such as Salvator might have painted: wildblocks of stone heaped under walnut-shade; here the white plunge ofwater down a wall of granite, and there, in bluer depths, a charcoalburner's hut sending up its spiral of smoke to the dark raftering ofbranches. Though it was but a few hours since Odo had travelled fromOropa, years seemed to have passed over him, and he saw the world with anew eye. Each sound and scent plucked at him in passing: the roadsidestarted into detail like the foreground of some minute Dutch painter;every pendent mass of fern, dark dripping rock, late tuft of harebellcalled out to him: "Look well, for this is your last sight of us!" Hisfirst sight too, it seemed: since he had lived through twelve Italiansummers without sense of the sun-steeped quality of atmosphere that,even in shade, gives each object a golden salience. He was conscious ofit now only as it suggested fingering a missal stiff with gold-leaf andedged with a swarming diversity of buds and insects. The carriage movedso slowly that he was in no haste to turn the pages; and each spike ofyellow foxglove, each clouding of butterflies about a patch ofspeedwell, each quiver of grass over a hidden thread of moisture, becamea marvel to be thumbed and treasured.
From this mood he was detached by the next bend of the road. The way,hitherto winding through narrow glens, now swung to a ledge overhangingthe last escarpment of the mountains; and far below, the Piedmonteseplain unrolled to the southward its interminable blue-green distancesmottled with forest. A sight to lift the heart; for on those sunnyreaches Ivrea, Novara, Vercelli lay like sea-birds on a summer sea. Itwas the future unfolding itself to the boy; dark forests, wide rivers,strange cities and a new horizon: all the mystery of the coming yearsfigured to him in that great plain stretching away to the greatermystery of heaven.
To all this Cantapresto turned a snoring countenance. The lively air ofthe hills, the good fare of Donnaz, and the satisfaction, above all, ofrolling on cushions over a road he had thought to trudge on foot, hadlapped the abate in Capuan slumber. The midday halt aroused him. Thetravellers rested at an inn on the edge of the hills, and hereCantapresto proved to his charge that, as he phrased it, his belly hadas short a memory for food as his heart for injuries. A flask of Astiput him in the talking mood, and as they drove on he regaled Odo with alively picture of the life on which he was about to enter.
"You are going," said he, "to one of the first cities of Europe; onethat has all the beauty and elegance of the French capital without itsfollies and excesses. Turin is blessed with a court where good mannersand a fine tone are more highly prized than the extravagances of genius;and I have heard it said of his Majesty that he was delighted to see hiscourtiers wearing the French fashions outside their heads, provided theydidn't carry the French ideas within. You are too young, doubtless,cavaliere, to have heard of the philosophers who are raising such apother north of the Alps: a set of madmen that, because their birthdoesn't give them the entree of Versailles, are preaching that menshould return to a state of nature, great ladies suckle their young likeanimals, and the peasantry own their land like nobles. Luckily you'llhear little of this infectious talk in Turin: the King stamps out thephilosophers like vermin or packs them off to splutter their heresies inMilan or Venice. But to a nobleman mindful of the privileges of hiscondition there is no more agreeable sojourn in Europe. The wines aredelicious, the women--er--accomplished--and though the sbirri may hugone a trifle close now and then, why, with money and discretion, afriend or two in the right quarters, and the wit to stand well with theChurch, there's no city in Europe where a man may have pleasanter sinsto confess."The carriage, by this, was descending the last curves above the valley,and before them, in a hollow of the hills, blinked the warm shimmer ofmaize and vine, like some bright vintage brimming its cup. The sopranowaved a convivial hand.
"Look," he cried, "what Nature has done for this happy region! Whereherself has spread the table so bountifully, should her children hangback from the feast? I vow, cavaliere, if the mountains were built forhermits and ascetics, then the plain was made level for dancing,banqueting and the pleasures of the villeggiatura. If God had meant usto break our teeth on nuts and roots, why did He hang the vine withfruit and draw three crops of wheat from this indulgent soil? I protestwhen I look on such a scene as this, it is sufficient incentive tolowliness to remember that the meek shall inherit the earth!"This mood held Cantapresto till his after-dinner sleep overtook him; andwhen he woke again the chariot was clattering across the bridge ofChivasso. The Po rolled its sunset crimson between flats that seemeddull and featureless after the broken scenery of the hills; but beyondthe bridge rose the towers and roofs of the town, with itscathedral-front catching the last slant of light. In the streets duskhad fallen and a lamp flared under the arch of the inn before which thetravellers halted. Odo's head was heavy, and he hardly noticed thefigures thronging the caffe into which they were led; but presentlythere rose a shout of "Cantapresto!" and a ring of waving arms andflashing teeth encircled his companion.
These appendages belonged to a troop of men and women, some masked andin motley, others in discoloured travel-stained garments, who pressedabout the soprano with cries of joyous recognition. He was evidently anold favourite of the band, for a duenna in tattered velvet fell on hisneck with genial unreserve, a pert soubrette caught him by the arm theduenna left free, and a terrific Matamor with a nose like a scimitarslapped him on the back with a tin sword.
Odo's glimpse of the square at Oropa told him that here was a band ofstrolling players such as Cantapresto had talked of on the ride back toDonnaz. Don Gervaso's instructions and the old Marchioness's warningagainst the theatre were present enough in the boy's mind to add a touchof awe to the curiosity with which he observed these strange objects ofthe Church's reprobation. They struck him, it must be owned, as morepitiable than alarming, for the duenna's toes were coming through hershoes, and one or two of the children who hung on the outskirts of thegroup looked as lean and hungry under their spangles as thefoundling-girl of Pontesordo. Spite of this they seemed a jolly crew,and ready (at Cantapresto's expense) to celebrate their encounter withthe ex-soprano in unlimited libations of Asti and Val Pulicello. Thesinger, however, hung back with protesting gestures.
"Gently, then, gently, dear friends--dear companions! When was it weparted? In the spring of the year--and we meet now in the late summer.
As the seasons change so do our conditions: if the spring is a season offolly, then is the harvest-time the period for reflection. When we lastmet I was a strolling poet, glad to serve your gifted company within thescope of my talents--now, ladies and gentlemen, now"--he drew himself upwith pride--"now you behold in me the governor and friend of theheir-presumptive of Pianura."Cries of incredulity and derision greeted this announcement, and one ofthe girls called out laughingly, "Yet you have the same old cassock toyour back!""And the same old passage from your mouth to your belly," added anelastic Harlequin, reaching an arm across the women's shoulders. "Come,Cantapresto, we'll help you line it with good wine, to the health of hismost superlatively serene Highness, the heir-presumptive of Pianura; andwhere is that fabulous personage, by the way?"Odo at this retreated hastily behind the soprano; but a pretty girlcatching sight of him, he found himself dragged into the centre of thecompany, who hailed him with fantastic obeisances. Supper meanwhile wasbeing laid on the greasy table down the middle of the room. The Matamor,who seemed the director of the troupe, thundered out his orders formaccaroni, fried eels and sausages; the inn-servants flanked the plateswith wine-flasks and lumps of black bread, and in a moment the hungrycomedians, thrusting Odo into a high seat at the head of the table, werefalling on the repast with a prodigious clatter of cutlery.
Of the subsequent incidents of the feast--the banter of the youngerwomen, the duenna's lachrymose confidences, the incessant interchange oftheatrical jargon and coarse pleasantry--there remained to Odo but aconfused image, obscured by the smoke of guttering candles, the fumes ofwine and the stifling air of the low-ceilinged tavern. Even the face ofthe pretty girl who had dragged him from his concealment, and who nowsat at his side, plying him with sweets from her own plate, began tofade into the general blur; and his last impression was of Cantapresto'sfigure dilating to immense proportions at the other end of the table, asthe soprano rose with shaking wine-glass to favour the company with asong. The chorus, bursting forth in response, surged over Odo's drowningsenses, and he was barely aware, in the tumult of noise and lights, ofan arm slipped about him, a softly-heaving pillow beneath his head, andthe gradual subsidence into dark delicious peace.
So, on the first night of his new life, the heir-presumptive of Pianurafell asleep with his head in a dancing-girl's breast.