It is that way with Mamma; but luckily for me,
Papa had an Ear.

We had to pass through "Pavia of the Hundred Towers" after a look at the
grand old Castello, and go out into Arcadian country again to reach the
Certosa. Our way lay northward now instead of east, beside a canal
bright as crystal, and blue as sapphire because it was a mirror for the
sky. Then, we turned abruptly down a little side road, which looked as
if it led nowhere in particular, and suddenly a wonderful thing loomed
up before us.

I don't know much about churches, but there are some things which one is
born knowing, I suppose; such as the difference between really great
things and those that don't touch greatness. One wouldn't need to be
told by a guide-book that the Certosa of Pavia is great--as great as
anything ever made, perhaps. Even "little Beechy Kidder" felt that at
first glance; and then--there was nothing to say. It was too beautiful
to chatter about. But it did seem strange that so pure and lovely a
building could have owed its existence to a crime. I had heard Mr.
Barrymore telling Mamma that it was originally founded in thirteen
hundred and something, by the first Duke of Milan with the view of
taking off the attention of Heaven from a murder he had committed--quite
in his own family--which got rid of his father-in-law, and all the
father-in-law's sons and daughters at the same time. No wonder it took a
whole Certosa to atone for it, with statues of the founder dotted about,
presenting models of the church to the Virgin; or praying with clasped
hands; or having his funeral procession in great pomp. But I didn't like
his face; and judging from its expression, I shouldn't be surprised if
he were glad the Certosa had been taken away from the monks to be made a
national monument, so that more people could glorify him.

It wasn't until I had seen a great many other things, however, that I
made acquaintance with his Dukeship Gian Galeazzo Visconti (it is
always easy to remember wicked peoples' names), for at first sight there
was only the wonderful gateway, with a glimpse of the dazzling marble
church, a splendid great dome, and some bewildering towers glittering in
the sun.

Mr. Barrymore hired a youth to guard the automobile and the dog while we
went in, strange figures for such a place, in our motoring get-up. I
didn't know before what exquisite stuff terra-cotta could be, but had
despised it in America as the thing cheap statuettes are