Edith Wharton: Complete Works. Edith Wharton

fading, the shadows deepening, till it reached a baby porporato of the last century, who had donned the cardinal’s habit at four, and stood rigid and a little pale in his red robes and lace, with a crucifix and a skull on the table to which the top of his berretta hardly reached.

      It seemed to Odo as he gazed on the long line of faces as though their owners had entered one by one into a narrowing defile, where the sun rose later and set earlier on each successive traveller; and in every countenance from that of the first Duke to that of his own peruked and cuirassed grandfather, he discerned the same symptom of decadency: that duality of will which, in a delicately-tempered race, is the fatal fruit of an undisturbed preëminence. They had ruled too long and enjoyed too much; and the poor creature he had just left to his dismal scruples and forebodings seemed the mere empty husk of long-exhausted passions.

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XI.

      The Duchess was lodged in the Borromini wing of the palace, and thither Odo was conducted that evening.

      To eyes accustomed to such ceremonial there was no great novelty in the troop of powdered servants, the major-domo in his short cloak and chain, and the florid splendor of the long suite of rooms, decorated in a style that already appeared over-charged to the more fastidious taste of the day. Odo’s curiosity centred chiefly in the persons peopling this scene, whose conflicting interests and passions formed, as it were, the framework of the social structure of Pianura, so that there was not a laborer in the mulberry-orchards or a weaver in the silk-looms but depended for his crust of black bread and the leaking roof over his head on the private whim of some member of that brilliant company.

      The Duchess, who soon entered, received Odo with the flighty good-nature of a roving mind; but as her deep-blue gaze met his her color rose, her eyes lingered on his face, and she invited him to a seat at her side. Maria Clementina was of Austrian descent, and something in her free and noble port and the smiling arrogance of her manner recalled the aspect of her distant kinswoman, the young Queen of France. She plied Odo with a hundred questions, interrupting his answers with a playful abruptness, and to all appearances more engaged by his person than his discourse.

      “Have you seen my son?” she asked. “I remember you a little boy scarce bigger than Ferrante, whom your mother brought to kiss my hand in the very year of my marriage. Yes—and you pinched my toy spaniel, sir, and I was so angry with you that I got up and turned my back on the company—do you remember? But how should you, being such a child at the time? Ah, cousin, how old you make me feel! I would to God my son looked as you did then; but the Duke is killing him with his nostrums. The child was healthy enough when he was born; but what with novenas and touching of relics and animal magnetism and electrical treatment, there’s not a bone in his little body but the saints and the surgeons are fighting over its possession. Have you read ‘Emile,’ cousin, by the new French author—I forget his name? Well, I would have the child brought up like ‘Emile,’ allowed to run wild in the country and grow up sturdy and hard as a little peasant. But what heresies am I talking! The book is on the Index, I believe, and if my director knew I had it in my library I should be set up in the stocks on the market-place and all my court-gowns burnt at the Church door as a warning against the danger of importing the new fashions from France!—I hope you hunt, cousin?” she cried suddenly. “‘Tis my chief diversion and one I would have my friends enjoy with me. His Highness has lately seen fit to cut down my stables, so that I have scarce forty saddle-horses to my name, and the greater part but sorry nags at that; yet I can still find a mount for any friend that will ride with me and I hope to see you among the number if the Duke can spare you now and then from mass and benediction. His Highness complains that I am always surrounded by the same company; but is it my fault if there are not twenty persons at court that can survive a day in the saddle and a night at cards? Have you seen the Belverde, my mistress of the robes? She follows the hunt in a litter, cousin, and tells her beads at the death! I hope you like cards too, cousin? for I would have all my weaknesses shared by my friends, that they may be the less disposed to criticise them.”

      The impression produced on the Duchess by the cavaliere Valsecca was closely observed by several members of the group surrounding her Highness. One of these was Count Trescorre, who moved among the courtiers with an air of ease that seemed to establish without proclaiming the tie between himself and the Duchess. When Maria Clementina sat down at play, Trescorre joined Odo and with his usual friendliness pointed out the most conspicuous figures in the circle. The Duchess’s society, as the Duke had implied, was composed of the livelier members of the court, chief among whom was the same Don Serafino who had figured so vividly in the reminiscences of Mirandolina and Cantapresto. This gentleman, a notorious loose liver and gamester, with some remains of good looks and a gay boisterous manner, played the leader of revels to her Highness’s following; and at his heels came the flock of pretty women and dashing spendthrifts who compose the train of a young and pleasure-loving princess. On such occasions as the present, however, all the members of the court were obliged to pay their duty to her Highness; and conspicuous among these less frequent visitors was the Duke’s director, the suave and handsome Dominican whom Odo had seen leaving his Highness’s closet that afternoon. This ecclesiastic was engaged in conversation with the Prime-Minister, Count Pievepelago, a small feeble manikin covered with gold lace and orders. The deference with which the latter followed the Dominican’s discourse excited Odo’s attention; but it was soon diverted by the approach of a lady who joined herself to the group with an air of discreet familiarity. Though no longer young, she was still slender and graceful, and her languid eye and vaporish manner seemed to Odo to veil an uncommon alertness of perception. The rich sobriety of her dress, the jewelled rosary about her wrist, and most of all, perhaps, the murderous sweetness of the smile with which the Duchess addressed her, told him that here was the Countess Belverde; an inference which Trescorre confirmed.

      “The Countess,” said he, “or I should rather say, the Marchioness of Boscofolto, since the Duke has just bestowed on her the fief of that name, is impatient to make your acquaintance; and since you doubtless remember the saying of the Marquis de Montesquieu, that to know a ruler one must know his confessor and his mistress, you will perhaps be glad to seize both opportunities in one.”

      The Countess greeted Odo with a flattering deference and at once drew him into conversation with Pievepelago and the Dominican.

      “We are discussing,” said she, “the details of Prince Ferrante’s approaching visit to the shrine of our Lady of the Mountain. This shrine lies about half an hour’s ride beyond my villa of Boscofolto, where I hope to have the honor of receiving their Highnesses on their return from the pilgrimage. The Madonna del Monte, as you doubtless know, has often preserved the ducal house in seasons of peril, notably during the great plague of 1630 and during the famine in the Duchess Polixena’s time, when her Highness, of blessed memory, met our Lady in the streets distributing bread, in the dress of a peasant-woman from the hills, but with a necklace made of blood-drops instead of garnets. Father Ignazio has lately counselled the little Prince’s visiting in state the protectress of his line, and his Highness’s physician, Count Heiligenstern, does not disapprove the plan. In fact,” she added, “I understand that he thinks all special acts of piety beneficial, as symbolizing the inward act by which the soul incessantly strives to reunite itself to the One.”

      The Dominican glanced at Odo with a smile. “The Count’s dialectics,” said he, “might be dangerous were they a little clearer; but we must hope he distinguishes more accurately between his drugs than his dogmas.”

      “But I am told,” the Prime-Minister here interposed in a creaking rusty voice, “that her Highness is set against the pilgrimage and will put every obstacle in the way of its being performed.”

      The Countess sighed and cast down her eyes, the Dominican remained silent, and Trescorre said quietly to Odo, “Her Highness would be pleased to have you join her in a game at basset.” As they crossed the room he added in a low tone: “The Duchess, in spite of her remarkable strength of character, is still of an age to be readily open to new influences. I observed she was much taken by your conversation, and you would be doing her a service by engaging her not to oppose this pilgrimage to Boscofolto. We have Heiligenstern’s