“What are you doing?” he asked the glazier.
“I am putting up double window-frames,” said the man, “lest you should be cold this winter.”
“Why, how now, fellow,” said the king, “do you think I shall be here this winter?”
“Ay, indeed,” rejoined the glazier; “this one and many more.”
After this he was, however, transferred to the castle of La Venerie, three leagues from Turin. The fits of fury to which he had at first yielded, and in which it was feared he might commit suicide, had gradually subsided into sadness. He was, at his own demand, reconducted to Moncaglieri, whither the marchioness was allowed to come. He was permitted to have books; but neither newspapers nor anything which might satisfy his curiosity as to events passing in the world. He never saw his son more. He died in 1732, and his widow sought a retreat for life in a convent at Carignano.
We were up at light this morning, for the weather had a more favourable aspect; crossed the Piazza with its old palace, and issued from the town on the noble avenue which makes so fine an approach to Turin. From the plain it crosses, the view of the Alps, covered with snow, appearing and disappearing through masses of clouds, was beautiful beyond most prospects. For some time favoured with sunshine and blue sky, we might have reached San Ambrogio free of rain, but that Grizzle broke a fore-shoe, and we were obliged to get another put on at the Tre Ré at Rivoli, looking on in almost as much fear as when Fanny dropped one at Montecarelli, on her way to Florence. The palace which received Victor Amedée is on the height commanding the town. Grizzle being shod, we thought it better to feed both, and thus lost time; for we were not long suffered to enjoy the country, which grows very beautiful after Rivoli, as rain and hail, which we had hoped were left behind, came down in full fury on horse and rider. The Dora, whose course we followed, had overflowed its banks, and desolation was here also.
The valley has the character of that of Domo d’Ossola, but it is more confined, and has less grandeur. The rain ceased as we drew near St. Ambrogio, and the vapours were floating up the high cliff which hangs over it, and on whose very pinnacle stands a ruined church, or castle, or both, a high slight tower, which formed a most striking object as the mist floated upwards, hiding and revealing it by turns. As we approached the Tre Corone, its broken windows and yard choked with manure looked so hopelessly wretched, that, being wet through, we preferred riding on in the expectation of getting dry, as the weather favoured us once more. Crossing a bridge, the straight road follows the other bank of the river now on the left, and through a defile of surpassing beauty. On a hill of its own, of which it seems to be the monarch, rising from the flat before the mountains, and beside the river, stands a remarkable ruin. We had passed many proud remains of baronial castles, but this the noblest, with its turreted walls and hollow watch-towers standing and defying. The rain returned more violently than ever, almost hiding Susa, which is beautifully situated, and I fain would have seen in sunshine, and have paid a visit to its antiquities. Woe unto its waterspouts; they advanced over our heads from either side of the narrow street, irregular in their lengths, so that to strive to avoid their contents was vain; and drowned like mountain torrents washing what little the rain had spared. We crossed the bridge over the wild river, and found the Posta on the Place. I can say little in praise of its comfort; there remained but three rooms vacant, certainly, but I suspect those already occupied were no better than our own. The window shut badly, and the door, on the open corridor, not at all, admitting the rush of the wind and the roar of the torrent; so that the fire scorched our faces, while the back of our heads grew rheumatic. The waiter was determined to do his best, for he piled the logs till they set the chimney on fire. He was gone when I discovered it, and looked for a bell, but as none was there, and I was little inclined to receive another shower by issuing forth on the open gallery in search of him, I watched it till it burned itself out, which it did very safely before D—— had come up from our travellers.
Nov. 1st.
Up at light. A sweet mild morning, and no rain, and our horses fresh as after a ride in the Bois de Boulogne; and we decided on going the whole way to Lanslebourg, abandoning our first intention of sleeping on the mountain, as the inn is ill provided, and to get straw impossible.