Hours later, his mother nudged open the door to his father’s study, carrying a tray. She set it down on the bed in a small clearing amidst the sea of books, and then tugged the curtains open, allowing the afternoon in. The view of Lake Como was stunning, and she could not help but sigh at the bright sails bobbing on the water, wishing her son were outside and not locked away in the book-lined mausoleum which had become his bedroom.