Reluctantly, every year about the Epiphany, the old Marquess rode downfrom Donnaz to spend two months in Turin. It was a service exacted byKing Charles Emanuel, who viewed with a jealous eye those of his noblesinclined to absent themselves from court and rewarded their presencewith privileges and preferments. At the same time the two canonessesdescended to their abbey in the plain, and thus with the closing in ofwinter the old Marchioness, Odo and his mother were left alone in thecastle.
To the Marchioness this was an agreeable period of spiritual compunctionand bodily repose; but to Donna Laura a season of despair. The poorlady, who had been early removed from the rough life at Donnaz to theluxurious court of Pianura, and was yet in the fulness of youth andvivacity, could not resign herself to an existence no better, as shedeclared, than that of any herdsman's wife upon the mountains. Here wasneither music nor cards, scandal nor love-making; no news of thefashions, no visits from silk-mercers or jewellers, no Monsu to curl herhair and tempt her with new lotions, or so much as a strollingsoothsayer or juggler to lighten the dullness of the long afternoons.
The only visitors to the castle were the mendicant friars drawn thitherby the Marchioness's pious repute; and though Donna Laura disdained notto call these to her chamber and question them for news, yet theircountry-side scandals were no more to her fancy than the two-penny waresof the chapmen who unpacked their baubles on the kitchen hearth.
She pined for some word of Pianura; but when a young abate, who hadtouched there on his way from Tuscany, called for a night at the castleto pay his duty to Don Gervaso, the word he brought with him of thebirth of an heir to the duchy was so little to Donna Laura's humour thatshe sprang up from the supper-table, and crying out to the astonishedOdo, "Ah, now you are for the Church indeed," withdrew in disorder toher chamber. The abate, who ascribed her commotion to a sudden seizure,continued to retail the news of Pianura, and Odo, listening with hiselders, learned that Count Lelio Trescorre had been appointed Master ofthe Horse, to the indignation of the Bishop, who desired the place forhis nephew, Don Serafino; that the Duke and Duchess were never together;that the Duchess was suspected of being in secret correspondence withthe Austrians, and that the young Marquess of Cerveno was gone to thebaths of Lucca to recover from an attack of tertian fever contracted theprevious autumn at the Duke's hunting-lodge near Pontesordo. Odolistened for some mention of his humpbacked friend, or of Momola thefoundling; but the abate's talk kept a higher level and no one less thana cavaliere figured on his lips. He was the only visitor of quality whocame that winter to Donnaz, and after his departure a fixed gloomsettled on Donna Laura's spirits. Dusk at that season fell early in thegorge, fierce winds blew off the glaciers, and Donna Laura sat shiveringand lamenting on one side of the hearth, while the old Marchioness, onthe other, strained her eyes over an embroidery in which the patternrepeated itself like the invocations of a litany, and Don Gervaso, nearthe smoking oil-lamp, read aloud from the Glories of Mary or the Way ofPerfection of Saint Theresa.
On such evenings Odo, stealing from the tapestry parlour, would seek outBruno, who sat by the kitchen hearth with the old hound's nose at hisfeet. The kitchen, indeed, on winter nights, was the pleasantest placein the castle. The fire-light from its great stone chimney shone on thestrings of maize and bunches of dried vegetables that hung from the roofand on the copper kettles and saucepans ranged along the wall. The windraged against the shutters of the unglazed windows, and themaid-servants, distaff in hand, crowded closer to the blaze, listeningto the songs of some wandering fiddler or to the stories of aruddy-nosed Capuchin monk who was being regaled, by the steward'sorders, on a supper of tripe and mulled wine. The Capuchin's tales, toldin the Piedmontese jargon, and seasoned with strange allusions andboisterous laughter, were of little interest to Odo, who would creepinto the ingle beside Bruno and beg for some story of his ancestors. Theold man was never weary of rehearsing the feats and gestures of thelords of Donnaz, and Odo heard again and again how they had fought thesavage Switzers north of the Alps and the Dauphin's men in the west; howthey had marched with Savoy against Montferrat and with France againstthe Republic of Genoa. Better still he liked to hear of the MarquessGualberto, who had been the Duke of Milan's ally and had brought homethe great Milanese painter to adorn his banqueting-room at Donnaz. Thelords of Donnaz had never been noted for learning, and Odo's grandfatherwas fond of declaring that a nobleman need not be a scholar; but thegreat Marquess Gualberto, if himself unlettered, had been the patron ofpoets and painters and had kept learned clerks to write down the annalsof his house on parchment painted by the monks. These annals were lockedin the archives, under Don Gervaso's care; but Odo learned from the oldservant that some of the great Marquess's books had lain for years on anupper shelf in the vestry off the chapel; and here one day, with Bruno'said, the little boy dislodged from a corner behind the missals andaltar-books certain sheepskin volumes clasped in blackened silver. Thecomeliest of these, which bore on their title-page a dolphin curledabout an anchor, were printed in unknown characters; but on opening thesmaller volumes Odo felt the same joyous catching of the breath as whenhe had stepped out on the garden-terrace at Pianura. For here indeedwere gates leading to a land of delectation: the country of the giantMorgante, the enchanted island of Avillion, the court of the Soldan andthe King's palace at Camelot.
In this region Odo spent many blissful hours. His fancy ranged in thewake of heroes and adventurers who, for all he knew, might still befeasting and fighting north of the Alps, or might any day with a blastof their magic horns summon the porter to the gates of Donnaz. Foremostamong them, a figure towering above even Rinaldo, Arthur and the EmperorFrederic, was that Conrad, father of Conradin, whose sayings are setdown in the old story-book of the Cento Novelle, "the flower of gentlespeech." There was one tale of King Conrad that the boy never forgot:
how the King, in his youth, had always about him a company of twelvelads of his own age; how when Conrad did wrong, his governors, insteadof punishing him, beat his twelve companions; and how, on the youngKing's asking what the lads were being punished for, the pedagoguesreplied:
"For your Majesty's offences.""And why do you punish my companions instead of me?""Because you are our lord and master," he was told.
At this the King fell to thinking, and thereafter, it is said, in pityfor those who must suffer in his stead he set close watch on himself,lest his sinning should work harm to others. This was the story of KingConrad; and much as Odo loved the clash of arms and joyous feats ofpaladins rescuing fair maids in battle, yet Conrad's seemed to him, eventhen, a braver deed than these.
In March of the second year the old Marquess, returning from Turin, wasaccompanied, to the surprise of all, by the fantastical figure of anelderly gentleman in the richest travelling dress, with one of the newFrench toupets, a thin wrinkled painted face, and emitting with everymovement a prodigious odour of millefleurs. This visitor, who wasattended by his French barber and two or three liveried servants, theMarquess introduced as the lord of Valdu, a neighbouring seigneurie ofno great account. Though his lands marched with the Marquess's, it wasyears since the Count had visited Donnaz, being one of the King'schamberlains and always in attendance on his Majesty; and it was amazingto see with what smirks and grimaces, and ejaculations in PiedmonteseFrench, he complimented the Marchioness on her appearance, and exclaimedat the magnificence of the castle, which must doubtless have appeared tohim little better than a cattle-grange. His talk was unintelligible toOdo, but there was no mistaking the nature of the glances he fixed onDonna Laura, who, having fled to her room on his approach, presentlydescended in a ravishing new sacque, with an air of extreme surprise,and her hair curled (as Odo afterward learned) by the Count's ownbarber.
Odo had never seen his mother look handsomer. She sparkled at theCount's compliments, embraced her father, playfully readjusted hermother's coif, and in the prettiest way made their excuses to the Countfor the cold draughts and bare floors of the castle. "For having livedat court myself," said she, "I know to what your excellency isaccustomed, and can the better value your condescension in exposingyourself, at this rigorous season, to the hardships of ourmountain-top."The Marquess at this began to look black, but seeing the Count'spleasure in the compliment, contented himself with calling out fordinner, which, said he, with all respect to their visitor, would stayhis stomach better than the French kick-shaws at his Majesty's table.
Whether the Count was of the same mind, it was impossible to say, thoughOdo could not help observing that the stewed venison and spiced boar'sflesh seemed to present certain obstacles either to his jaws or hispalate, and that his appetite lingered on the fried chicken-livers andtunny-fish in oil; but he cast such looks at Donna Laura as seemed todeclare that for her sake he would willingly have risked his teeth onthe very cobblestones of the court. Knowing how she pined for company,Odo was not surprised at his mother's complaisance; yet wondered to seethe smile with which she presently received the Count's half-banteringdisparagement of Pianura. For the duchy, by his showing, was a place ofsmall consequence, an asylum of superannuated fashions; whereas noFrenchman of quality ever visited Turin without exclaiming on itsresemblance to Paris, and vowing that none who had the entree ofStupinigi need cross the Alps to see Versailles. As to the Marquess'sdepriving the court of Donna Laura's presence, their guest protestedagainst it as an act of overt disloyalty to the sovereign; and what mostsurprised Odo, who had often heard his grandfather declaim against theCount as a cheap jackanapes that hung about the court for what he couldmake at play, was the indulgence with which the Marquess received hisvisitor's sallies. Father and daughter in fact vied in amenities to theCount. The fire was kept alight all day in his rooms, his Monsu waitedon with singular civility by the steward, and Donna Laura's own womansent down by her mistress to prepare his morning chocolate.
Next day it was agreed the gentlemen should ride to Valdu; but its lordbeing as stiff-jointed as a marionette, Donna Laura, with charming tact,begged to be of the party, and thus enabled him to attend her in herlitter. The Marquess thereupon called on Odo to ride with him; andsetting forth across the mountain they descended by a long defile to thehalf-ruined village of Valdu. Here, for the first time, Odo saw thespectacle of a neglected estate, its last penny wrung from it for theabsent master's pleasure by a bailiff who was expected to extract hispay from the sale of clandestine concessions to the tenants. Ridingbeside the Marquess, who swore under his breath at the ravages of theundyked stream and the sight of good arable land run wild and chokedwith underbrush, the little boy obtained a precocious insight into theevils of a system which had long outlived its purpose, and the idea offeudalism was ever afterward embodied for him in his glimpse of thepeasants of Valdu looking up sullenly from their work as their suzerainand protector thrust an unfamiliar painted smile between the curtains ofhis litter.
What his grandfather thought of Valdu (to which the Count on the wayhome referred with smirking apologies as the mountain-lair of hisbarbarous ancestors) was patent enough even to Odo's undevelopedperceptions; but it would have required a more experienced understandingto detect the motive that led the Marquess, scarce two days after theirvisit, to accord his daughter's hand to the Count. Odo felt a shock ofdismay on learning that his beautiful mother was to become the propertyof an old gentleman whom he guessed to be of his grandfather's age, andwhose enamoured grimaces recalled the antics of her favourite monkey,and the boy's face reflected the blush of embarrassment with which DonnaLaura imparted the news; but the children of that day were trained to apassive acquiescence, and had she informed him that she was to bechained in the keep on bread and water, Odo would have accepted the factwith equal philosophy. Three weeks afterward his mother and the oldCount were married in the chapel of Donnaz, and Donna Laura, with manytears and embraces, set out for Turin, taking her monkey but leaving herson behind. It was not till later that Odo learned of the social usagewhich compelled young widows to choose between remarriage and thecloister; and his subsequent views were unconsciously tinged by theremembrance of his mother's melancholy bridal.
Her departure left no traces but were speedily repaired by the coming ofspring. The sun growing warmer, and the close season putting an end tothe Marquess's hunting, it was now Odo's chief pleasure to carry hisbooks to the walled garden between the castle and the southern face ofthe cliff. This small enclosure, probably a survival of medievalhorticulture, had along the upper ledge of its wall a grass walkcommanding the flow of the stream, and an angle turret that turned oneslit to the valley, the other to the garden lying below like a tranquilwell of scent and brightness: its box trees clipped to the shape ofpeacocks and lions, its clove pinks and simples set in a border ofthrift, and a pear tree basking on its sunny wall. These pleasantspaces, which Odo had to himself save when the canonesses walked thereto recite their rosary, he peopled with the knights and ladies of thenovelle, and the fantastic beings of Pulci's epic: there walked the FayMorgana, Regulus the loyal knight, the giant Morgante, Trajan the justEmperor and the proud figure of King Conrad; so that, escaping thitherfrom the after-dinner dullness of the tapestry parlour, the boy seemedto pass from the most oppressive solitude to a world of warmth andfellowship.