The scene symbolised fitly enough of social conditions of the
country: the over-crowded peasantry huddled on their scant patches of
arable ground, while miles of barren land represented the feudal rights
that hemmed them in on every side.
Odo walked across the yard to the chapel. On the threshold he stumbled
over a heap of mulberry-shoots and a broken plough-share. Twilight held
the place; but as he stood there the frescoes started out in the slant
of the sunrise like dead faces floating to the surface of a river. Dead
faces, yes: plaintive spectres of his childish fears and longings, lost
in the harsh daylight of experience. He had forgotten the very dreams
they stood for: Lethe flowed between and only one voice reached across
the torrent. It was that of Saint Francis, lover of the poor...
The morning was hot as Odo drove toward Pianura, and limping ahead of
him in the midday glare he presently saw the figure of a hump-backed man
in a decent black dress and three-cornered hat. There was something
familiar in the man's gait, and in the shape of his large head, poised
on narrow stooping shoulders, and as the carriage drew abreast of him,
Odo, leaning from the window, cried out, "Brutus--this must be Brutus!"
"Your excellency has the advantage of me," said the hunchback, turning
on him a thin face lit by the keen eyes that had once searched his
childish soul.
Odo met the rebuff with a smile. "Does that," said he, "prevent my
suggesting that you might continue your way more comfortably in my
carriage? The road is hot and dusty, and, as you see, I am in want of
company.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209