Ex Libris 
 ISAAC FOOT
 
 A World's Shrine
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 By 
 Virginia W. Johnson 
 
 Author of "The Lily of the Arno," "America's God- 
 
 father," " Genoa, the Superb," "The House 
 
 of the Musician," etc. 
 
 "/ have brought you a little gift from my native 
 place . . . " " 
 
 PLINY, THE YOUNGER 
 
 London 
 Gay and Bird 
 
 aa, Bedford Street, Strand 
 1902
 
 Copyright, 1902, 
 BY A. S. BARNES 6f COMPANY 
 
 All rightt reserved. 
 Published June, igo2 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS JOHN WILSON 
 AND SON CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 I. THE FOUR GATES OF A TINY EDEN . . 3 
 
 II. ACROSS THE CENTURIES 7 
 
 III. THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN .... 1 8 
 
 IV. A VANISHED HOUSE 54 
 
 V. PLINY'S ROSE 61 
 
 VI. AT THE SPRING 70 
 
 VII. A TEMPLE OF JUPITER 81 
 
 VIII. SIGNAL TOWERS 90 
 
 IX. AN ANCHORITE 95 
 
 X. A MEDIEVAL QUEEN 104 
 
 XI. A TINY GIBRALTAR 1 1 1 
 
 XII. A SPORTSMAN OF THE MIDDLE AGES . . 119 
 
 XIII. SPANISH FOOTSTEPS 125 
 
 XIV. A WITCH 140 
 
 XV. THE MAGICIANS 149 
 
 XVI. "ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE" . . 160 
 
 XVII. A MUSICAL MEMORY 176 
 
 XVIII. A FISHERMAN 189 
 
 XIX. THE HUMAN KEY-STONE 195 
 
 v
 
 Contents 
 
 THE SEASONS. 
 
 /. Winter. Page 
 
 XX. A PATRIARCHAL VILLA 209 
 
 //. Spring. 
 XXI. BLOSSOMS 219 
 
 ///. Summer. 
 XXII. A CONCEITED SNAIL 227 
 
 IV. Autumn. 
 
 XXIII. His OWN VINE AND FIG-TREE . . . 239 
 
 XXIV. BOYHOOD 254 
 
 XXV. TRAGEDY IN SUNSHINE 266 
 
 XXVI. THE WINDS OF COMO 272 
 
 VI
 
 Illustrations 
 
 CoMO Frontispiece 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL OF COMO Facing Page 14 
 
 BELLAGGIO ,, 66 
 
 THE COMACINA ,, 114 
 
 A VILLAGE STREET 144 
 
 HOME OF QUEEN CAROLINE ,, 160 
 
 A COMO GIRL ,, 242 
 
 MENAGGIO . 280
 
 WORTHY Pausanius is congratulated 
 that after the lapse of some seven- 
 teen centuries his work on Greece 
 should be read by unknown na- 
 tions as a sort of classical Murray or Baedeker. 
 Courage, painstaking compiler of even a local 
 guidebook ! Do not apologise to a critical and 
 bored public for such labour of love, but hold 
 up thy head, and dare to face the audience, which 
 may prove to be future generations.
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 i 
 
 THE FOUR GATES OF A TINY EDEN 
 
 AJDAT on Como ! Such is the dream, 
 at least once in a lifetime, of the most 
 prosaic mortal. What memories the 
 mere suggestion evokes ! A sheet 
 of crystal, set deep in the enfolding hills like 
 a cup, this goal of summer travel possesses a 
 charm of association for each new generation. 
 Lake Como is a siren ever young. The shel- 
 tered haunt is unique among the inland sheets 
 of water of the earth in a certain richness of 
 historical association in the lapse of centuries. 
 The finger of Time may mark the crumbling 
 ruins of monastery and fortress on slope or 
 promontory, but the clear, pellucid surface still 
 reflects the passing clouds. Pilgrims of every 
 3
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 race thus seek these shrines. Does not the 
 German savant muse over his pipe of the 
 Wanderjahre of adolescence when every stu- 
 dent, inspired by Goethe, visited Italy, and he 
 climbed the heights of Como, light of heart 
 and purse, to sleep at wayside inns, and gather 
 cystus, primula, or gentian in the valleys and 
 ravines? The grandparents in their chimney- 
 corner, within sound of the North Sea, smile at 
 each other in celebrating their Golden Wedding 
 such time as the bride and bridegroom of to-day 
 prepare their modern luggage for a journey to 
 Bellaggio. Is not the American soothed by 
 the souvenir of drifting idly in a boat beneath 
 garden hedges of bay and Cyprus, redolent of 
 the terraces of jasmine, magnolia, orange, and 
 citron beyond, in a brief expansion of freedom 
 from the bondage of routine? Como opens her 
 gates in welcome. On the south side the tourist 
 quits the train which has glided through the 
 mazes of the St. Gothard route at the town, 
 and launches on the narrow channel wending 
 between green hills to open spaces beyond. 
 4
 
 The Four Gates of a Tiny Eden 
 
 Eastward Lecco lures the wayfarer from the 
 marble silence of Venice, reflecting dome and 
 parapet in sluggish lagoons, to the blooming 
 freshness of the Brianza, past Castello, the pil- 
 grim shrine of Baro, and the Val Madrera. 
 Westward Menaggio guards the twin portal 
 from Lugano, the realm of peaceful countryside, 
 with beech and walnut, ripening fig and grape, 
 spanned by a toy railway adapted to a holiday- 
 making mood. The mountain world is sentinel 
 of the North, where hurrying crowds descend 
 from glacier and snow-field in the brief hours of 
 summer to Colico and Varenna. Oh, friendly 
 reader, avoid all other craft, from the plodding 
 daily steamer to the lumbering camballo, with 
 odd rudder and arabesque gunwale, the barge of 
 Pliny's time, and embark in the light skiff of 
 Memory on these tranquil waters ! Follow your 
 own whim of the moment, and adorn the shallop 
 with such pomp of imagination as the wreath of 
 laurel, arazzi, and pictures on the fleet of boats 
 which celebrated the marriage of Gian Galeazzo 
 in 1493, to make short voyages from inlet to 
 
 5
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 rocky point. Pliny's own cockle-shell, with 
 painted planks, awnings, garlands of roses, and 
 leaves twined about the staves, may even suit 
 better your caprice. Hoist a filmy sail of fancy, 
 and breast the tide independent of those winds 
 of Como, the night Tivano the tramontana, or la 
 Breva of midday from the southwest Dip the 
 oar of reverie into the stream of Lethe in shore, 
 where roses shed their petals on marble steps 
 laved by the tide, and orchids spread wings of 
 white, pink, and sulphur tints amidst the shrub- 
 bery, and hold converse with a shadowy brother- 
 hood of past generations who have done likewise. 
 Years are as a day here, and the recurring 
 seasons only change the scenes of a mimic 
 theatre.
 
 II 
 
 ACROSS THE CENTURIES 
 
 I 
 
 south gate of Como, the cradle 
 of Pliny the Younger, is neither es- 
 pecially picturesque in situation, nor 
 attractive in architecture, placed as 
 it is between the narrow strip of water and the 
 higher level of the railway. The town has been 
 described as resembling a crab stretched along 
 the shore and slope. This miniature sovereign 
 of a little world has a history out of all propor- 
 tion to existing magnitude. Como may be com- 
 pared to a drop of water reflecting the colours of 
 environment. 
 
 Ancient Italian chroniclers, leisurely discur- 
 sive in the treatment of history through musty 
 volumes on library shelves, trace the settlement 
 of Como to Comerus, the ancestor of Japeth, one 
 hundred and thirty years after the Deluge. 
 
 7
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Still another version is the founding of the place 
 by a certain Antenore, who also built Padua 
 after the destruction of Troy. A further infer- 
 ence is that the Etruscans in sending forth twelve 
 colonies to build cities from the Po to the Alps, 
 traced these boundaries as well. A first group 
 of habitations, round in shape, constructed of 
 interlaced branches, or reeds, with a thatched 
 roof, expanded, in time, to a Latin colony of the 
 date of the Roman Republic. The town, shown 
 favour by Caesar and Augustus, and boasting of 
 Etruscan and Greek culture in the inhabitants, 
 had a Forum, Gymnasium, Bath, Basilica, and 
 Portico. Assuredly the nocturnal Triumviri of 
 such cities were no other than the flying squadron 
 of Carabinieri taking the beat of the suburbs of 
 Italian towns in the nineteenth century. The 
 theatre was already an important feature, as is 
 the modern circus. Placards were posted about 
 the streets vaunting the tricks of the jugglers, 
 and inviting the public to witness the feats of 
 acrobats in an interior perfumed with the scents 
 of crocus and saffron essences. Traffic had 
 8
 
 Across the Centuries 
 
 many similarities with the present day. No 
 doubt the piercing cry of the vendor of feather- 
 dusters, dried melon-seeds, nuts, leeks, fish, fruit, 
 doughnuts, or buns has descended, as traditional, 
 through the centuries. The native of Como 
 could then buy of the stout cook, in cap and 
 apron, at the corner, presiding over furnace and 
 marmite of hot bubbling oil, a dainty morsel, 
 crisp and tempting, equivalent to the slice of 
 polenta, little fish, or bit of artichoke of his des- 
 cendants. The cook is as old as Pompeii, thus 
 depicted, at least. The vendor of hot sausages, a 
 delicacy imported from Gaul, smoked, was also 
 there to serve a portion from a covered dish. A 
 goblet of honey wine was refreshing, on occasion, 
 as were the crustnlarii, slices of toasted bread, 
 eggs, and pastry. The illumination of the town 
 must have been inadequate before the fourth 
 century, as even Rome lacked sufficient light, 
 except on the celebration of such ftes as the 
 honours paid to Caesar after quelling the Catiline 
 conspiracy. 
 
 Thus little Como acquired the dimensions of a 
 9
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 town of importance while apparently insignificant. 
 A tiny queen of a tiny realm, the city ruled all 
 those villages situated on the border of the lake. 
 At times these were mutinous, treacherous, and 
 disloyal. Now Domaso required to be punished 
 and pardoned, with the exaction of tribute, and 
 the rule of Como was pushed to the Valtellina 
 and Coire. Now little Gravedona, Menaggio, or 
 Bellaggio plotted darkly with such foes as Milan, 
 in the strife of Guelph and Ghibelline factions, 
 when Como was but a shuttlecock tossed between 
 rival German emperor and French king. The 
 history of Como, in miniature, is that of Italy. 
 The doughty capital maintained a footing under 
 diverse patron princes, and defied neighbours, as 
 well as essayed to strengthen its borders against 
 foreign foes. Plutarch mentioned Milan as a 
 populous city. Como came, in due course of 
 years, to enjoy more secure roads, free of rob- 
 bers (Masnadiert) , dug trenches, and added 
 buttresses to the walls. 
 
 Across the centuries, behold the Cavalier 
 Arnaldo Caligno meeting Gilardo of Nonza in 
 10
 
 Across the Centuries 
 
 single combat for the glory of their respective 
 towns in 1120. The struggle between Como 
 and Milan of 1127 was still more momentous 
 than individual rivalry. Milan was aided by 
 Pavia, Novara, Asti, Vercelli, Cremona, Piacenza, 
 Parma, Mantua, Ferrara, and Bologna. These 
 allies brought four towers of wood, covered with 
 leather, and four engines to shoot stone missiles 
 for the siege. In vain Como covered her forti- 
 fications with hides, flexible boughs, and boats, 
 the women and boys assisting in the work. The 
 place was forced to capitulate on August twenty- 
 seventh to so many foes, and the inhabitants 
 abandoned their post during the night, and fled 
 to various asylums. Native poets compare the 
 disaster to the fall of Troy. Milan boasted that 
 Como was rased, and the ground sown with salt 
 in complete desolation, but the statement is 
 false, as many ancient buildings, relics of the 
 Roman occupation remained after the disaster. 
 The Villa Fossani of Paolo Giovio, the reputed 
 site of Pliny's birthplace, in the environs, had 
 still massive fragments, carved marble, and dis- 
 ii
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 lodged columns, of an earlier structure in recent 
 days. Frederick Barbarossa entered Italy by 
 the route of Trent in 1154. He compelled 
 Milan to free Como of her yoke. In an edict 
 of 1159, he commended Como, and the town 
 remained faithful to him. Praise of this despot 
 emanated from such sources of gratitude, while 
 to the Lombard League he was a monster of 
 cruelty. When Barbarossa lacked silver and 
 had money made of leather, as a substitute, 
 Como must have loyally spent the new currency. 
 The walls rose once more by his order, con- 
 structed in a rectangular parallelogram from the 
 Porta Sala to the lake, by Loterio Rusca, cap- 
 tain of the people, with a moat and rampart, 
 planted with trees, of which traces are discernible. 
 Later, a Spanish governor built three towers, and 
 a fortification with eight gates on the side of 
 Milan. Francesco Cigalio wished to rebuild the 
 suburbs of San Rocco and San Bartolomeo at 
 his own expense. The houses were rude, covered 
 with reeds, maize-stalks, straw, or thin shingles, 
 as were those of Alessandria, Milan, and Nice. 
 
 12
 
 Across the Centuries 
 
 In the year 1209, the municipality ordered the 
 use of tiles. The three castles erected to defend 
 the town were the Nuovo, above San Martino, 
 Ceruasino, and Baradello. Quarters were appor- 
 tioned to the garrison, and there was a Palace of 
 the Podesta. Valiant Como again prepared to 
 hold head with enemies, and set up her own 
 carroccio, the car invented by the warrior Bishop 
 of Milan, Ariberto, to assemble the citizens to 
 arms. The vehicle had four painted wheels, a 
 mast in the centre, surmounted by a golden 
 apple, from which floated the standard of the 
 Commune, together with the cross, or some 
 symbol of the town. Two pairs of oxen, decked 
 with coloured trappings, and preceded by 
 trumpeters, dragged this car, which was the 
 rallying-point even in such engagements as the 
 famous battle of Legnano, when the power of 
 Barbarossa was finally overthrown by the League 
 of the Lombard cities. Como lost a great pro- 
 tector, yet was swayed by all the events of the 
 date, the struggle of personal egotism in magis- 
 trates and governors, or the wider impulse of 
 13
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 romance and adventure aroused by the Crusades, 
 and the marvellous tales of the riches of the 
 Orient. In 1288, the plague laid a cold hand on 
 all this world, yet did not wholly check the 
 vital development in the soul of man of life and 
 beauty amidst such surroundings of nature. In 
 1403, Como was sacked by Pandolfo Malatesta, 
 who stormed the place by the round tower. The 
 love of power and luxury grew apace in all these 
 communities. Gian Galeazzo Visconti began to 
 build the Milan Cathedral with the aid of German 
 architects. Como, in her day, erected her Duomo 
 and Broletto, side by side, with knotted shaft, 
 many-coloured marbles, red, white, and dark- 
 grey, arcaded corbels, and doorways of the Lom- 
 bard character of the late Gothic, with hint of 
 the presence of Bramante and Giotto in the task. 
 Gian Galeazzo gave a banquet when the Bishop 
 of Novara, Pietro di Candia, had delivered an 
 oration on the Piazza, of San Ambrogio, at Milan. 
 The vessels were of precious metals at this 
 sumptuous entertainment, with draperies of silk. 
 The guests were refreshed with distilled waters 
 14
 
 THE CATHEDRAL OF COMO
 
 Across the Centuries 
 
 for the hands, and given marchpane, and cakes 
 of pine-nuts, gilded, bearing the arms stamped 
 on them of His Serene Highness, and served with 
 cups of white wine. This was truly a golden feast, 
 fulfilling the curious idea that food silvered or 
 gilded signified delicious luxury. Hare, pheasants, 
 turkeys, mutton, sausage with Greek wine, and 
 fowls served to garnish two whole bears, gilded, 
 with citron, two kids, a silver shell containing an 
 entire stag gilded, a tortoise silvered, and plat- 
 ters of trout, lampreys, and sturgeon. Four pea- 
 cocks in their plumage, galantines, pastry, fresh 
 almonds, peaches, syrups, and Malvasia flanked 
 these triumphs of the culinary art of the time. 
 
 Como, also exercised hospitality at this date. 
 The record is given of a citizen who spread a 
 banquet with three calves, fifteen kids, one hun- 
 dred pigeons and quails, ten hares, twelve rabbits, 
 and forty pheasants, with pastry, tarts, ragouts 
 with sugar, and three casks of wine. 
 
 The folly of feminine attire was freely satirised 
 in the descendants of Pliny's mother and wife at 
 Como, under the rule of Francesco Sforza, as 
 15
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 indeed, the earlier, classical ladies had been ridi- 
 culed by Martial and Juvenal. The women were 
 taxed with finding themselves embellished by 
 voluminous dresses, with trains from the collar, 
 large sleeves, rich cloaks and muffs, the chemise 
 embroidered with gold, ten braccia of the linen of 
 Rheims not being more than sufficient for a gar- 
 ment, until they resembled a cask. The hair was 
 short, like that of a man, and shaved on the tem- 
 ples, as the head was covered with a net of col- 
 oured silk, ribbons, pins, plumes, and flowers. 
 The robe was cloth-of-gold, with velvet girdle 
 and pocket, the bosom uncovered, and many 
 gems worn. 
 
 Across the centuries the first printing-press 
 reached the shores of Como, invented by John 
 Gutenberg of Mayence, the roll of papyrus having 
 yielded place to sheepskin, and the twelfth cen- 
 tury triumphed with paper made of rags. If the 
 two Plinys quitted their niche beside the portal of 
 the Como Cathedral to inspect the printing-press 
 what must have been the emotions even as 
 bloodless shades of these note-taking citizens? 
 16
 
 Across the Centuries 
 
 Charles V. visited Como in 1541 with enduring 
 result in Spanish rule. 
 
 The French Revolution struck this tiny para- 
 dise like a tidal wave in 1796. Equality and 
 liberty electrified the atmosphere of the lake 
 border with the donning of red caps. La Car- 
 magnole was sung by all ranks. The town 
 was re-baptised. The Piazza, del Duomo 
 became della Liberta; the Contrada Odelscalchi 
 della Temperanza ; Natta, veneration for the laws ; 
 Giovio, hatred of tyranny; and San Giacomo, 
 brotherhood. When Bonaparte came he was 
 welcomed as the Caporaletto, and shared the 
 public enthusiasm. Russian and Austrian influ- 
 ences have succeeded. The Latin colony has 
 become a modern town with paved streets, gutters, 
 street-lamps, Persian shutters, and crystal window- 
 panes. The sound of her silk mills is audible 
 through the long hours of the summer day, and a 
 thread may be chosen from the tangled skein of 
 her varied history by the loiterer or the studious 
 which will form a link with all her surroundings 
 as well. 
 
 2 I 7
 
 Ill 
 
 THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN 
 
 PLINY the Younger is ever the host 
 who welcomes the visitor to the shores 
 of Como. He is portrayed, with all 
 the skill of the Renaissance, on one 
 side of the portal of the Cathedral, while his worthy 
 uncle, Pliny the Elder, flanks the other. Chris- 
 tianity has unhesitatingly adopted these pagans. 
 If they walked the streets of Como now they 
 would doubtless inspire in their fellow-citizens the 
 same respect for manifold virtues that fell to their 
 portion with their contemporaries. 
 
 On a summer day we naturally relegate the 
 senior to the shades, with a passing conviction of 
 the guilty frivolity of our own age in comparison 
 with his edifying example, in favour of the charm- 
 ing personality of the nephew. Every one is 
 familiar with the awe-inspiring zeal in study of 
 18
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 Pliny the Elder. The use of time with him was 
 fate, as with Marlowe. He made notes, or had a 
 slave at his elbow on a journey jotting down 
 memoranda. He served in Germany, returned 
 to Rome, and spoke in the Forum. He was ap- 
 pointed procurator in Spain by Nero, and recalled 
 by Vespasian to command the naval armament at 
 Misenium. He left his nephew one hundred and 
 eighty books in fine writing ; thirty six volumes 
 of Natural History; twenty on the subject of the 
 Roman wars in Germany ; and thirty-one on the 
 history of his own times. His style lacked the 
 elegance of the Golden Age, we are told. He 
 discussed the stars, the elements, geography, man, 
 animals, plants, and minerals. Buffon said : 
 " Pliny worked on a large canvas, and perhaps too 
 vast: he wished to embrace all: he seemed to 
 have measured nature and found it too small for 
 the capacities of his mind. His Natural History 
 comprises sky and earth, medicine, commerce, 
 navigation, mechanics, the origin of customs ; in 
 fact, all human science and arts." 
 
 Pliny the Younger must have sadly needed 
 19
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 spectacles by the time he had perused his inheri- 
 tance, if he ever conscientiously read those tomes. 
 To the Plinys is attributed holding a heavy globe 
 of glass, filled with water, to the eye to render 
 objects larger and more distinct. Roger Bacon 
 and Salvino degli Armati, of Florence, were as 
 yet unborn. Also may one venture to infer 
 that there was an element of consolation and 
 relief when the fumes of Vesuvius stifled and ex- 
 tinguished the learned gentleman before he con- 
 signed more of his lucubrations to waxen tablet, 
 or papyrus roll? There existed no printing-press 
 and typewriter to keep the world going in his day. 
 Thus C. Plinius, son of a sister and Lucio 
 Cecilio, a very ancient and noble family of Greek 
 origin, belonging to the Diumvirus of the colony 
 Julia Equestria, stepped on the stage at the age 
 of eighteen years, with the death of his uncle. 
 Let us cling to our idols while we may. The 
 arrow of modern sarcasm has been launched at 
 this paragon. He is pronounced a muff, a tire- 
 some and pedantic prig. French wit terms him 
 " that ninny of a Pliny the Younger, who 
 20
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 studied a Greek oration while Vesuvius engulfed 
 five towns." From our point of view, and espe- 
 cially on the shores of Como, despite flippant 
 aspersions, he shines in the mild radiance of one 
 of the most interesting figures of antiquity. He 
 was born at Como, A. D. 62, in the paternal man- 
 sion, situated in a suburb of the town, and ap- 
 proached by a long avenue of trees. Fain would 
 we rebuild that home of the patrician Roman 
 family which was his cradle, out of the fragments 
 of marble columns, cornices, and slabs bearing 
 inscriptions still found near the Lake Larius. 
 Each new-comer may ponder on the matter in 
 his own fashion, and behold rise before his eyes 
 once more the ostium, the vestibule, which gave 
 an entrance to the house, the external posts for 
 the support of lamps, the door, not hung on 
 hinges, but with wedge-shaped pins in the hollows 
 above and below, or moved by means of bronze 
 or iron rings, a portal not fastened during the 
 day, and read the salve, traced in mosaic, on the 
 threshold. Each can penetrate the inner circle 
 of Roman life by the atrium, equivalent to the 
 
 21
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 common hall of the Middle Ages, where the fam- 
 ily gathered, from birth to death, with the domes- 
 tic hearth alight, and the Penates were treasured 
 in little cupboards until relegated by fashion to 
 more distant quarters. The deceased was laid 
 out in state in the atrium, and the imagines, the 
 waxen masks of forefathers, were suspended on 
 the walls. The mistress of the house was here 
 guardian of the father's strong-box, the house- 
 hold bed, and received all visitors and clients, 
 while her female slaves worked at looms. When 
 the hearth was removed, an altar, or chapel, was 
 accorded the Lares, as the Madonna has now a 
 shrine near the fire of rustic homes in Italy. 
 
 Plus (a change, plus c'est la meme chose. 
 
 Beyond were the impluvium, the cistern, or 
 fountain, with four-cornered basins of the inner 
 court, the cubicula, trinclinia, balinium, sleeping 
 apartments, and slave quarters. Such was the 
 fabric of Roman family dignity in organisation. 
 Due reverence was paid to the ties of kindred, 
 and kindness manifested to distant relatives. 
 
 A gracious vision is vouchsafed to imagination 
 
 22
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 of Pliny's mother, as a bride, attired in a white 
 tunic, with a yellow veil, and her hair bound up 
 in a net of the same hue, quitting the paternal 
 roof after appropriate ceremonies, whether of the 
 rites of manus or confarreatio, and escorted in 
 the evening, under the protection of Juno Domi- 
 duca, to her new sphere by a procession. Ser- 
 vants carried the basket (cumerus) containing the 
 spinning apparatus of the bride, while the Roman 
 thalassio replaced, in song, the Greek Hymenaeus. 
 Then was the maiden carried over the threshold 
 for good luck, and the door-posts were decorated 
 for the occasion. Madame Plinia must have been 
 one of those matrons above reproach, whose 
 epitaphs record their virtues on the Appian Way, 
 the Portias, the two Arrias, mother and daughter, 
 who formed the solid foundations of State, while 
 the Julias, Messalinas, and Faustinas are much 
 more likely to be selected for portraiture. If the 
 Greek woman was kept shut up in \hegyncekonitis, 
 the Roman was treated with open regard, as the 
 housewife, mistress of the domestic economy, 
 and instructress of the children. 
 23
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Pliny saw the light of day on the shores of 
 Lake Como. The rights of paterfamilias were 
 those of life and death over the child. Did 
 Madame Plinia, entered upon all the dignity 
 of superintending the household, nourish her son 
 at her own breast, after the example of Cato's 
 mother, and the earlier custom of Greek and 
 Roman women? Rather must we infer that he 
 had a foster parent in one of those sun-bronzed, 
 vigorous peasants, whose descendants deck their 
 heads with silver pins, and ribbons, for he appor- 
 tioned property in his will to the value of one 
 hundred thousand sesterces to his nurse. A link 
 of warm human interest between the remote 
 past and the present exists in the bequest of 
 Pliny the Younger. The faithful old nurse of 
 all lands is revealed, devoted to the care of master 
 and family. Pliny's registry of birth must have 
 included the depositing of a piece of money at 
 the cerarium of the temple of Juno Lucina. He 
 wore the bulla aurea, the flat gold amulet, or 
 locket, of children of rank. Assuredly that 
 ancient christening party took place in the Como 
 24
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 house when he was nine days old of the lustra- 
 tium, under the divinity Nundina. He was thus 
 admitted to the family circle, while a formal 
 notice of his tender existence was given to the 
 prefect of the Treasury, with the entry in the 
 Acta diurna. He received gifts from his parents, 
 relatives, and even the slaves, of the little, metal 
 toys suspended around his neck. He was fed 
 on puts, or gruel, until able to partake of the 
 chtsina, the Etruscan soup of meat and vegeta- 
 bles which became modified into the minestra of 
 the land. The slaves and countrywomen did 
 the baking. The Roman boy is said to have 
 had a sort of pastry made for his especial delecta- 
 tion, which no doubt would be appreciated by 
 the juvenile palate still. 
 
 Thus did Pliny attain the dignity of sharing 
 the domestic meals, the matitudinal jantaculum 
 of bread, seasoned with salt, cheese, olives, dried 
 grapes, eggs, or mulsum ; the noon prandium 
 of warm and cold dishes ; and the cena, supper, 
 the most important repast of the day. 
 
 Pliny is not to be relegated to the ranks of 
 25
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 schoolboy. Schools existed at an early date. 
 The first mention of them is reputed to have 
 been the young girl Virginia tripping along the 
 streets of Rome, and espied by the evil Appius 
 Claudius. How readily the familiar image of the 
 dilatory urchin loitering towards the goal is con- 
 jured from the shadows of the past in the mention 
 of Horace brought to Rome by his father, as 
 the school at Venusium was inferior, or Ovid 
 fetched from Sulino to the capital by his brother, 
 for the same reason. Oh, there were satchels, 
 rulers, counting-tables, desks, and pockets in 
 which to hoard treasures in those days ! The 
 school was held at a very early hour of the 
 morning. The holidays occurred at the season 
 of the vintage and the olive harvest. Our young 
 gentleman, who is considered the most nearly 
 in touch with modern life of any Roman, had 
 no such public education. After the conquest 
 of southern Italy, the Romans were brought 
 in contact with the Greeks, and had domestic 
 pedagogi in order that the children might early 
 learn to speak Greek, much as the foreign gov- 
 26
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 erness instructs infantile lispings of French, Ger- 
 man, or English. Prudent fathers inclined to 
 private instruction. The elder Cato gave lessons 
 to his son, although he had a Greek grammarian 
 as tutor. There being no royal road to learning, 
 Pliny was doubtless first trained by the slave 
 litterator in reading, writing, and arithmetic, im- 
 parted in two ways, by signs with the fingers, 
 or a counting-table and stones, the abacus and 
 calculi, those equivalents of slates and black- 
 boards. Geography, mythology, and critical read- 
 ings of Homer, Terence, Virgil, and Horace with 
 the grammarian followed, with the ultimate aim 
 of gaining distinction in the lecture room, and 
 rhetoric. Nor were games and martial exercises 
 forgotten, although he is described as of a fragile 
 constitution. The long robe of childhood was 
 exchanged for the toga virilis, the citizen's dress, 
 at the age of fourteen or sixteen, with the de- 
 posit of money in the temple of Juventas. Public 
 speaking, the much prized forensic eloquence, 
 was next studied. He had for preceptor the 
 wise and polished Quintilian. He also cherished 
 27
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 much esteem for another instructor in the phil- 
 osopher Eucrates, found by Pliny in the depths 
 of Syria, where he was serving as a soldier. 
 Eucrates, a disciple of Plato, subtle in dispute, 
 making a war on vice, inspired in discourse, 
 reconciled Pliny to philosophy, and the just 
 discernment of pleasure and duty. Pliny re- 
 called the lessons of this sage of austere visage 
 and long hair and beard all his life. 
 
 The youth departed from his home in the 
 suburb of Como to enter the world. His tutor, 
 Aristones, had been zealous and prudent. In- 
 structed in oratory, Pliny entered the arena 
 modestly in a criminal case, as was the custom. 
 Eloquence is composed of three elements, ac- 
 cording to Quintilian, to read, write, and 
 speak well. Thus Pliny declaimed in public, 
 wrote dialogues, poems, and pages of history. 
 As a young man he composed little verses of 
 society, in the fashion of the time, as a recreation 
 from serious labours. Spurrina was to him an 
 edifying example of well-regulated age, rising 
 early to the routine of a day of gentle exercise, 
 28
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 study, the bath, playing a game of tennis, and 
 fed at a frugal board spread with massive 
 silver utensils, and the brass of Corinth. When 
 Pliny appeared on the public piazza, in a white 
 robe, may he not have saluted the lowest plebeian, 
 soliciting his vote for office, and often buying it 
 with money? The politeness of the Praetor, 
 Mancinus, in explaining to the people in the 
 Forum some pictures exhibited, for which they 
 made him consul the next year, would have been 
 a natural trait of amiability in Pliny the Younger. 
 He seems to have been sent to Athens for further 
 culture. His lines were cast in pleasant places 
 throughout his career. He did not need to com- 
 plain, with Martial, of being invited to sup with 
 the rich Mancinus, when a sucking pig was 
 divided among sixty hungry guests, while the 
 host ate grapes, apples as sweet as honey, pome- 
 granates of Carthage, and olives of Picenum. 
 
 In public life the place in history of Pliny is at 
 
 the base of the column of Trajan. Both gain by 
 
 such propinquity, and their memory has been 
 
 cherished by succeeding centuries; so long do 
 
 29
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 the good deeds of men live after them. Trajan, 
 born in Spain, has been considered the first pro- 
 vincial to gain the rank of emperor. He was 
 less exclusively Roman than his predecessors. 
 He built monuments of his own greatness in all 
 parts of the known universe. An arch of Trajan 
 stands at Benevento, and another at Ancona. 
 He constructed a bridge of twenty arches on the 
 Rhine, and a rampart above the Danube. He 
 aspired to becoming a ruler not only of the 
 Romans, but of the entire human race. In his 
 military career he defeated Decebalus, and made 
 Dacia a Roman province, took Ctesiphon, the 
 capital of Parthia, and descended the Tigris to 
 the Persian Gulf. One of the greatest and best 
 of emperors, he is praised for his moderation, 
 simplicity of living, and excellent judgment. 
 He presided at the tribunal which condemned 
 Saint Ignatius. Ampere compares Trajan to 
 Washington, as a Roman general instead of a 
 Virginia planter, yet both inspired by the same 
 sentiment of duty in defending the frontiers of 
 country against an enemy. Trajan, with his firm 
 30
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 mien, would have marched as far as India, if 
 necessary, and Washington, the friend of peace, 
 threatened by England during his presidency, 
 prepared to hold head modestly with the foe. 
 
 Pliny practised law at Rome, held public 
 offices, and became Proconsul of Bithynia in 103. 
 He wrote the famous letter to Trajan in which 
 he bore testimony to the morality of the Chris- 
 tians. Pliny consulted the emperor in all matters 
 of difficulty, and even of the small interests of 
 towns in Asia. The replies of Trajan were 
 models of good sense and brevity, gravity, and 
 the conciseness known as imperatoria brevitas, 
 whether a decision on the building of a new bath 
 by the inhabitants of Prusium, or giving the citi- 
 zens of Amasia permission to cover a stagnant 
 stream. What was the actual opinion of tolerant 
 master and minister of the sect of Christians? 
 Pliny does not seem to have been especially in- 
 terested in their tenets, although he was humane 
 in disposition towards an inoffensive body. 
 Trajan, with his principles of Roman distrust of 
 individual liberty, independent associations, civil
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 or religious, and the aim of centralising all gov- 
 ernment, still manifested true clemency to the 
 followers of Christ, and a wish to avoid perse- 
 cuting them. The Middle Ages accorded his 
 memory fresh fame. Pope Gregory the Great 
 considered that the soul of such a good heathen 
 emperor should be saved by the intercession of 
 religion. Trajan was prayed for in Purgatory 
 and redeemed. The doctors of divinity com- 
 bated such remission of the damnation of a soul, 
 but the saints have accepted the deliverance of 
 Trajan. The Greek church has this phrase in its 
 ritual : " O God, pardon him as Thou hast par- 
 doned Trajan by St. Gregory." Thomas Aquinas, 
 as the Angelical Doctor, has sought to explain 
 how, without heresy, this charitable miracle was 
 accomplished. Dante places Trajan in Paradise. 
 During a long and glorious reign the devotion of 
 the people caused his portrait busts and statues, 
 common-place, with a low forehead, and even 
 lacking heroic or benevolent expression, to be 
 multiplied. At his death these memorials were 
 not destroyed. " More happy than Augustus or 
 32
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 better than Trajan " became a flattering formula 
 of address to powerful sovereigns. Even more 
 majestic is the suggestion that in Wallachia and 
 other Danubian provinces, where this mighty 
 ruler planted the Roman eagle, previously cast 
 down under Domitian, the souvenir of him has 
 lingered with a mythological significance. The 
 thunder is the voice of Trajan, and the Milky 
 Way his high-road in the skies. Legend is here 
 conquest and apotheosis. In the twelfth century 
 the municipality of Rome took measures to pro- 
 tect the edifices erected by Pliny's master, be- 
 cause of the virtues of an emperor who merited 
 immortality. 
 
 Mellow sunshine of all the passing years traces 
 the marvellous story unrolled on Trajan's column 
 in the Eternal City. This monument, once 
 crowned by his statue, holding a gilded ball, 
 comprises his history, pedestal of his power, tro- 
 phy of his glory, and guardian of his ashes. The 
 bas-reliefs are the recital of an ancient volumen, 
 the memoirs, carved in stone, of his campaigns, 
 more enduring than the writings of Marius Max- 
 3 33
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 imius, Fabius Marcellinus, Aurelius Verus, Sta- 
 tius Valens, or the Greek poems of Caninius 
 Rufus. The homage of a conquered world may 
 be traced, mounting the shaft to the feet of the 
 emperor, Roman soldiers crossing rivers, Dacian 
 ambassadors presenting tribute, the building of 
 camps, and the siege of towns. 
 
 Pliny's place was at the base of the column, 
 writing the panegyric of his patron, who sought 
 to occupy himself with the well-being of all 
 classes in his vast domain. The praises of Pliny 
 were couched in the most flowery language, and 
 extol Trajan for affording a spectacle " not des- 
 tined to soften the soul, but calculated to stimu- 
 late courage, to familiarise with noble wounds, 
 and to inspire us with scorn of death." He was 
 in himself rather a conscientious minister than 
 one born to govern. 
 
 Pliny enters on the most interesting phase of 
 his career to posterity when he returned from 
 foreign service, and became the country gentle- 
 man. He liked to escape from town life to the 
 rural home, in common with his contemporaries, 
 34
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 and mankind in general. He enjoyed a sub- 
 urban retreat in a pavilion at Tusculum, another 
 on the Tiber, and a property facing the Tyr- 
 rhenian Sea, the Laurentine villa described by 
 him, with the air as pure as that of Attica, amidst 
 the thyme of Hymettus, terraces, galleries, and 
 circular chambers, screened from the north by 
 gardens and pine-woods. He sought his native 
 Como, where he had several mansions. The site 
 of the charming spot called Comedy, situated on 
 the brink of the water, and of another abode 
 on a height known as Tragedy, have become 
 traditional. 
 
 Behold our amiable host, " le plus doux des 
 hommes" quitting his house on the Esquiline to 
 linger in the pure air of the Apennines, or push 
 on to Como. No direct train of the day or night 
 express swept him over plain and through tun- 
 nelled hillside. He departed from Rome by one 
 of her four roads which traversed the land like 
 arteries, probably the great northern route, the 
 Flaminian Way, which led from Porta Salara by 
 Soracte and the Sabine hills, northeast to An- 
 35
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 cona, Rimini, thence known as Via Emilia, to 
 Piacenza, Milan, and Cisalpine Gaul. " All roads 
 lead to Rome." 
 
 Pliny does not seem to have built roads, like 
 the Censor, C. Flaminius, but availed himself of 
 Roman munificence, public and private. The 
 Curator often spent large sums out of private 
 fortunes on repairs. Slaves and convicts laboured 
 to drain off the rain, and trace the route with ref- 
 erence to the nature of the rocky statumen, a 
 lower bed of rough stones being omitted if the 
 rock itself could be carefully levelled to receive 
 nidus and neuc/eus, on which the lava pavement 
 was bedded. In marshy districts the statumen 
 was replaced by wooden piles, and frequently in 
 valleys a viaduct of masonry was substituted. 
 Ditches (fossa) were dug on either side, and 
 milestones, milliaria, erected. Special rates 
 for repairs were paid. In Rome each house 
 was taxed for the pavement opposite. Julius 
 Caesar was Curator of the Via Appia, and Cornu- 
 tius Tertullus of Via Emilia. Ramuli were small 
 cross-roads leading from main thoroughfares, 
 36
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 and the vide mcinales were sustained as parish 
 dues under local officers, magistri pagorum. 
 The Flaminian coin of Augustus represents him 
 crowned by Victory, in a biga drawn by ele- 
 phants, and on the reverse the Via Flaminia car- 
 ried on arches. 
 
 Oh, that much vaunted civilisation would more 
 frequently imitate the Roman, and build roads 
 for fellow-man out of a portion of the wealth lav- 
 ished on charities, college libraries, and munici- 
 pal art museums ! Consider the satisfaction of 
 giving a bridge to a whole countryside. Even in 
 a spiritualised sense it were better to remove the 
 stone from the path, like the old men and women 
 of certain Oriental countries, for those who come 
 after, than to place more obstructions of jealousy 
 and envy in the way. 
 
 Pliny must have discarded his toga for the 
 paznula, and assumed travelling-shoes, then set 
 forth in the lectica, litter, through crowded 
 streets, exchanged for horses, mules, or conven- 
 ient vehicles of the cabriolet sort, with leather 
 hood and curtains, accompanied by Numidian 
 37
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 outriders, while the attendants followed in the 
 petorrita. Such journeying brought him to the 
 brink of the crystal cup of Lake, where he is still 
 the pervading presence. He was admirable in all 
 walks of life, a just patron, a senator, an avocat, 
 cherishing a love of glory and renown, and hold- 
 ing to all those ancient institutions which endeared 
 him to Trajan. Returning to Como he established 
 schools, with a stipend of thirty thousand ses- 
 terces annually for the benefit of the town. He 
 further endowed orphans of impoverished families. 
 Pliny as the letter-writer is still quoted. He left 
 ten volumes of correspondence esteemed the 
 most precious epistolary relics of Roman life, 
 after those of Cicero. A telegraphic century 
 may well pause in a summer hour on Como, and 
 reflect on the letter-writing of past generations. 
 Will the art soon be lost? Pliny is an august 
 and distant shade, as ancestor, with Cicero, of all 
 that graceful and sprightly company, the Italians 
 who cultivated the gift in Latin, such as Galileo 
 and Bentivoglio, Saint-Evremond, Voltaire, or 
 Madame de Sevigne, in happiest inspiration, 
 38
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 Pope, Gray, Cowper, and Byron. In Roman 
 literature, descriptive, biographical, and in anec- 
 dote men wrote their own lives. Pliny's corre- 
 spondence is a full portraiture of the Roman 
 gentleman, whether with Silius Italicus, the 
 wealthy versifier, Passienus Paulus, Caninius 
 Rufus, Pomponius Saturninus, or other friends. 
 His epistles were polished with the care of a fine 
 writer, who combines grace and lightness with 
 seriousness. His dissertation on style in the 
 twentieth letter might be modern: 
 
 " Certainly conciseness is not to be neglected when 
 language permits ; but I also maintain that it is often 
 treason not to say all possible, to half trace that which 
 should be stamped on souls. Do not scorn the 
 resources of words ; they add to the force and lustre of 
 thought. Our passion penetrates the nature of our 
 audience as iron enters a solid body : a single blow is 
 insufficient, it must be redoubled. To Lysias, the king 
 of conciseness, to the old Cato, who would have 
 blushed to utter a superfluous word, I oppose the 
 abundance of Eschinus, of Demosthenes, of Cicero. 
 Cicero said that in his opinion the finest harangue was 
 the longest." 
 
 39
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 This excellent Pliny, benevolent, peaceable, 
 polite to all, honest, and actuated by a tolerant wis- 
 dom of demeanour to his fellow-creatures, wrote 
 on all topics of the day. Now fancy led him to 
 describe the emotions of a sentimental dolphin 
 on the coast of Africa, and again he invented a 
 ghost story of a haunted house at Athens. One 
 element of his correspondence concerned the 
 rights of pillaged provinces, or the repairs of 
 the Emilian road. He lamented the death, at 
 the age of fourteen years, of the amiable daughter 
 of Fundanius. He gave items of life in the 
 capital, weddings, betrothals, a testament to 
 sign, the son of a friend assuming the virile robe. 
 He invited Clarus to supper, promising the guest 
 a salad, three snails, a cake, two eggs, wine 
 mingled with snow, olives of Andalusia, gourds, 
 and shalots, while a comedian, or a flute-player 
 should enliven the dessert. But Clarus failed to 
 appear. The feast spread by Pythagoras was 
 more to his taste than eggs, lettuce, snails, and 
 shalots. Fie, then ! He sought a richer mansion, 
 more succulent temptations, the finest oysters of 
 40
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 the Lucrine Lake, exquisite viands, and wines 
 perfumed with a hundred leaves, with Spanish 
 dancers as fresh and young as a garland of roses, 
 to charm the revellers. In married life Pliny's 
 wife, the lady Calphurnia, a sympathetic com- 
 panion of mind and heart, often held one of his 
 works in her hand, a circumstance on which he 
 dwelt with much complacency. The dutiful 
 spouse listened behind a curtain when he read in 
 public. Pliny wept for the death of faithful 
 slaves, rejoicing that many had first received 
 their freedom. He wore mourning for his 
 friends. 
 
 Como was the shrine of his heart. He was 
 born there, and, become rich and powerful, he 
 wished to live on the borders of Larius. He was 
 familiar with the trees, the cedars, the beech, the 
 alders, myrtles, and laurels. He wrote to Catinius : 
 "Are you fond of study, fishing, or hunting? 
 You can enjoy all these occupations in our man- 
 sion on the Lake of Como. The lake furnishes 
 the fish, the woods yield stags and deer, while the 
 admirable tranquillity of this delightful retreat
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 invites the mind to study, and the calm leisure for 
 which I sigh as a sick person for fresh wine, the 
 tepid bath, or healing waters." 
 
 Pliny the Youngest, in the twentieth century ten- 
 ants his villa on Como. He is a cosmopolitan of 
 good family, gently reared, and carefully educated. 
 Possibly, like his earlier prototype, he resembles 
 Monsieur Banal; being routine fused with ego- 
 tism, mediocre, with no rash enthusiasm to dis- 
 arrange the order of things. Is there anything 
 new under the sun? Pliny the Younger lamented 
 the degeneracy of the times thus : *' Senators and 
 judges come to be chosen for their income, and 
 magistrates and generals regard money as their 
 chief title to distinction. . . . All the noble pur- 
 suits of life and liberal arts have fallen to the 
 ground, and servitude alone is profitable. In 
 various ways all men care for money, and for 
 money alone." 
 
 Would it be possible for the modern gentleman 
 of birth and fortune to weigh the political phases 
 of his day in a more pessimistic spirit? 
 
 The suburban residence, dedicated to a lux- 
 42
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 urious sojourn of a few months, is completely 
 appointed in a sumptuous manner, according to 
 the requirements of the master. The earlier 
 Pliny might have smiled at the menage, since 
 royal palaces are scarcely furnished with the staff 
 of menials essential to his comfort in the slaves of 
 town and country houses. Pliny the Youngest 
 may have his confidential and discreet man ser- 
 vant, butler, chef, with attendant myrmidons and 
 maids. The other Pliny had natives of Asia, 
 Syrians, Lydians, Carians, Mysians, Italians, 
 Cappadocians, Celts, or Germans skilled in agri- 
 culture in his retinue, in lieu of deft footmen, 
 grooms, gardeners, or valets. A sandal boy, 
 (calceator) put on the master's shoes, and ran 
 errands, page fashion ; the vestiplicus was a folder 
 of clothes ; librarians, scribes, readers, domestic 
 nurses, and doctors, a small army of dusters and 
 sweepers appertained to the household. A 
 Corinthus cared for the Corinthian vases, while 
 the superintendent villicus, bailiff, directed game- 
 keepers, vine-dressers, sowers, reapers, and 
 tenders of horses, mules, oxen, and sheep. 
 43
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Probably in all the guile of the servants' hall the 
 average domestic is not more subtly versed than 
 was the slave of antiquity. These were taught to 
 carve, as an accomplishment, to the sound of 
 music, to cool apartments with fans, move about 
 among guests, girt with napkins and towels, with 
 bowls of water for finger dipping, carry wine-cups 
 crowned with flowers, and serve the meats of 
 those banquets where the shield of Minerva was 
 heaped with fish, game, and fruits. In matters 
 gastronomical, even if deeply versed in all the 
 shades of culinary science, the Pliny of our time 
 could scarcely teach that Roman gentleman much. 
 Doubtless the classical cook was skilled in imita- 
 ting the flavours of rare fish in coarse ones, as 
 well as the artist of the kitchen of Louis XIV., or 
 to impart a semblance of fowls and game on fast 
 days to the maigre of vegetables. The profound 
 system of preparing a meal for the hunger of 
 youth, for maturity when appetite comes in eat- 
 ing, and a surprise at the end of a repast for 
 jaded palates may be very old. The sweet of 
 milk and sugar, the saltness of the marine wave, 
 44
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 the acid of citron, the bitter of chicory, the 
 sharpness of spices, and the astringency of 
 pomegranates, as aiding these results, were un- 
 derstood at a date when Vitellius sent to Syria 
 for the pistachio nut to add to his condiments 
 of oil, vinegar, aromatic plants, mint, saffron, 
 or aniseed. 
 
 Is the youngest epicure a connoisseur of wine, 
 fish, fruit? Pliny the Younger tasted thirty 
 varieties of pears, of which the best were the 
 Crustumian, the Falernian, Syrian, and the 
 volema, the first pear in size. Plums of Damas- 
 cus and Armeniaca, cherries, quinces, figs, med- 
 lars, mulberries, almonds, and chestnuts fell to 
 his portion. He must have been a gourmet in 
 fish, from the gustatus (whet) of salted slices, 
 served with eggs, rue, and cybium, the sauce- 
 piquante of anchovy, the garum, the edible 
 purple mussel, to the mullet, the little gobius of 
 Venice, the rhombus (turbot) of Ravenna, the 
 sea-eel (murdena) of Sicily and Tartessus, had- 
 dock, conger, and lupus, sea-wolf. He was an 
 authority on wine, whether pure Falernian or 
 45
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 the beverages mingled with perfumed oils, aloes 
 and myrrh. 
 
 Pliny the Youngest is usually contented with 
 his bath-room, if a tiny chamber, vaulted, tesse- 
 lated with marble, furnished with douche, and a 
 coffin-shaped tub, like the little temple of a 
 nymph in the Pitti Palace at Florence, with de- 
 lightfully refreshing toilet waters and soaps, 
 fresh linen, brushes and sponges additional. 
 
 The bath signified to Pliny the Younger the 
 frigidarium, either public or private, the swim- 
 ming-tanks of the natatorium, the caldarium, 
 painted ceilings, mosaic pavements, columns, 
 bronze seats, glass utensils, wash-balls, fragrant 
 oils of crocus and saffron, pomades, the nardinium 
 made of the blossoms of the nard grass of Arabia 
 and India, and the odoriferous powders, diapas- 
 mata of the Greek gymnasium, and therma. 
 Hygienic exercises were not neglected in those 
 earlier times. Old and young played ball, the 
 follis (big), and the pila (small), running and 
 leaping in games, the indolent and decrepit rid- 
 ing on horseback, or being borne out in litters. 
 46
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 Our patricians have been wont to attire them- 
 selves in soft raiment. Pliny the Younger wore 
 garments of wool (lanea), silk (serica), linen and 
 cotton (bombycina). Pliny the Youngest may 
 smile superciliously as he contemplates his neat 
 gaiters, walking, golf, and tennis shoes in com- 
 parison with the foot-gear of his predecessor, the 
 sandals, attached with thongs to instep and ankle. 
 Likewise it must be confessed that the ideas of 
 Pliny the Younger as to time-keeping, the sun- 
 dial as an obelisk, or a hollow hemisphere, with 
 the hours divided by eleven lines, and cloudy 
 weather marked by such early hour-glasses as 
 water-clocks, the clepsydra did not equal the 
 system of noting the fleeting moments of his suc- 
 cessor, from the musical chime of clocks, French, 
 Swiss, and of Black Forest make, to the stem- 
 winding chronometer of a vest pocket, or Mrs. 
 Pliny's bracelet. 
 
 The Como Villa is illuminated by electricity. 
 
 Pale moons and suns gleam amidst the dusky 
 
 shrubbery of garden alleys, and flowers of silk 
 
 and tinted crystal screen the lamps of alcove and 
 
 47
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 corridor. The ancient Roman had the lucema, 
 oil fed, in graceful designs of terra-cotta and 
 bronze, decorated with garlands, masks, dolphins, 
 peacocks, or apes, swung on chains ; slips of pine 
 for torches; tallow and wax candles {sebacea), 
 with wicks of rush, the indigenous papyrus, 
 hemp (cannabis), and the leaves of verbascum ; 
 lanterns framed in metal, glass, or thin plates of 
 horn; candelabra, and the lampadaria, the 
 column to hold lamp or torch. 
 
 In the value attached to his library the ancient 
 yielded nothing to posterity. Do the shelves of 
 the Como mansion boast the latest editions of 
 Quaritch, the Kelmscott Press, editions de luxe 
 of Paris and Berlin, as a resource of leisure? 
 Pliny the Younger, in his prime, treasured in re- 
 ceptacles of precious wood and metal boxes the 
 rolls wrapped in parchment, dyed purple and 
 yellow, and held by a stick with a gilded knob, 
 the title and index attached, tinted with red 
 coccum, while a portrait of the author adorned 
 the front page, and the writing on leather and 
 linen in ink of Chinese pigment, the juice of 
 48
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 sepia, and of the flax stalk. Another form of 
 book was the strips of Egyptian papyrus glued 
 together. Eight qualities of paper are mentioned 
 by him, the Augustana, Claudiana, and Liviana 
 as superior, charta dentata, with the surface 
 polished by the tooth of some animal to produce 
 a glossy face for the pen, like a " hot pressed " 
 sheet, the charta bibula, transparent and spongy, 
 and inferior sorts for wrappings and merchandise. 
 Educated slaves cared for the volumen, smoothed 
 with pumice stone the libellus, a little book con- 
 sisting of a few leaves of parchment bound to- 
 gether, or the liber compiled of the rind of the 
 Egyptian papyrus. In addition they transcribed 
 and bound books, were in charge of the master's 
 correspondence, and compiled the index. Ink- 
 stands were wrought of silver and bronze, and the 
 reed, calamus, the usual pen. 
 
 Pliny's picture gallery was arranged with refer- 
 ence to a northern light, in order that the sun 
 might not injure the tabula, wooden panels 
 inserted in the wall, or hung against it. 
 
 He was of a delicate constitution, and may 
 4 49
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 not the pure air of Como be an attraction to the 
 modern sojourner in a mild climate, as well? 
 The proverb says that every man is his own 
 doctor at the age of forty, or a fool. Distrust 
 of the learned fraternity was early manifested at 
 Rome. The first Greek physician Archagathus, 
 practised in the Eternal City A. D. 535, and 
 inspired doubt of the science altogether. Cato 
 warned his son against the pursuit of medicine, 
 and all doctors. Pliny the Youngest may keep 
 his own pharmacopoeia of compressed tabloids or 
 homeopathic phials, and resort to certain Spas 
 in their season, while lacking the robust fibre of 
 a horse-racing, Alpine-climbing, polo, cricket, 
 and foot-ball-playing era. 
 
 The latter receives daily, almost hourly, his 
 harvest of letters, post-cards, advertisements, 
 pamphlets, and late editions of journalistic cable 
 news from the four quarters of the globe. He 
 would be dull otherwise, and defrauded of his 
 rights as a citizen of the world. 
 
 Lo ! Pliny the Younger did not fare badly in 
 these matters on Como. The ancients had no 
 5
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 newspapers, but there was a public dissemination 
 of news on the piazza, in the forum, at the baths, 
 at clubs, by means of the barber, the doctor, and 
 the scribe. As another compensation for the 
 daily journals, copies of the acta diurna publica, 
 or urbana, were despatched to all parts of the 
 Roman Empire. These acts, or chronicles, were 
 begun in Caesar's first consulate, or not much 
 earlier. They comprised important events, new 
 laws, annuals, maxims of other times, decrees of 
 the Senate, edicts of the magistrates, fires, sacri- 
 fices, the announcement of festivals, processions, 
 births, marriages, divorces, and deaths. The 
 compilations were made by the actuarii, ap- 
 pointed under the director of the tabula ptiblicce. 
 Bulletins were written down, tables exposed for 
 any one to read and copy. Scribes copied out 
 these acta for pay, while others made extracts 
 for subscribers sent to distant provinces. 
 
 Does the youngest Pliny dally with the finest 
 French and English stationary in his correspond- 
 ence? His predecessor was also remembered by 
 the post; only, his letters were written on thin
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 tablets of wood, tabellce, covered with wax, or 
 on parchment, bound together with linen threads, 
 or sealed with a ring, brought by couriers and 
 messengers. Also, his pocket note-book consists 
 of small tablets, with ornamented covers of gold, 
 silver, or ivory, and a stilus, pointed at one end, 
 and blunted for erasure at the other. 
 
 The youngest Pliny is the finest fruit of civil- 
 isation, but he can scarcely follow a more noble 
 model than the ancient Roman gentleman. Con- 
 sider the delicacy of consideration in his gift to 
 Quintilian of a dowry for his daughter, when 
 the philosopher had lost his son. The mode of 
 bestowing a benefit is as much as the donation. 
 
 " No one knows better than I, my venerated master, 
 the moderation of your wishes ; I know, also, that your 
 daughter has been reared in all the virtues worthy of 
 the child of Quintilian and the granddaughter of 
 Tutilius ; but whom to-day you give to Nonius Celer, 
 a very worthy man, honoured with important duties. 
 Our child should be surrounded by those belongings 
 suited to the rank of her husband; this distinction 
 without augmenting our dignity gives us independent
 
 The Country Gentleman 
 
 ease. You are rich in gifts of the soul, and other 
 fortune you have always disdained; suffer therefore, 
 my second father, in the name of the many benefac- 
 tions you have heaped upon me that I give to your 
 dear daughter fifty thousand sesterces. I count on the 
 modesty of the little present to obtain the permission 
 which I solicit of your indulgence." 
 
 Consider the munificence and Christian kind- 
 ness of his last testament. He did not possess 
 the wealth of a Marcus Crassus, yet he paid 
 the debts of a friend, gave portions to faithful 
 servants, bestowed three hundred thousand ses- 
 terces on Romanzio Fermo, the land to the old 
 nurse, and public benefits to Como. He was 
 the friend of Tacitus, and these two upheld the 
 antique creed that honour and probity still re- 
 mained among men. 
 
 Pliny the Younger, beside the portal of the 
 Como cathedral, is ever the host welcoming all 
 comers to this summer Eden. 
 
 53
 
 IV 
 
 A VANISHED HOUSE 
 
 1 
 
 "^WILIGHT on Como is the calm 
 transition hour when the rich colour- 
 ing of day, flaming in amber, copper, 
 and golden hues on the peaks, has 
 been quenched in soft, pearly-grey tones about 
 the base of cliffs, where a silvery veil already 
 gathers with the mists of night. Stars begin to 
 sparkle in the vault of sky above the lake, and a 
 ray of light trembles here and there on the sur- 
 face of the water. 
 
 The Berlin professor wanders apart, responsive 
 to the spell of the spot. He is a quiet man, 
 large, bearded, and spectacled, affable in manner 
 to all in the casual intercourse of travelling ac- 
 quaintance, Reisebekamtschaft, and fond of talk- 
 ing with the natives of a country in out-of-the- 
 54
 
 A Vanished House 
 
 way nooks. All day he has walked and botanised 
 with his wife, a buxom dame of the Frau Buch- 
 holtz type, and smiling daughters. Now he 
 enters the boat of Memory, and steers his way 
 on the unruffled lake to a shrine of fancy. Al- 
 ready the fishermen have prepared their nets in 
 the depths, guarded by an empty boat, with a 
 bell adjusted to ring with every motion caused 
 by a passing ripple. The bell guides his course. 
 That fitful cadence, the merest tinkle of a prosaic 
 warning to respect the rights of a humble neigh- 
 bour, is symbolical to the savant, calling to him 
 from the immeasurable distance of the Past. 
 
 Pliny the Younger built his Villa of Comedy 
 on the brink of the tide. Tradition places the 
 site at Euripus, the lower portion of the Trem- 
 ezzino, beyond the promontory of Balbinello, or 
 Lavedo, where wall and column have settled 
 beneath the current. The vague outline of pos- 
 sibility in skirting curves of the shore only en- 
 hances the charm of endless speculation as to 
 the actual site of the famous residence. All the 
 witchery appertaining to submerged towns, and 
 55
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 church towers that still chime their own knell in 
 ghostly fashion, whether of sea-coast, or inland 
 rivers, belongs to Pliny's vanished home. When 
 the level of the Lake Celano, the ancient Fucinus, 
 was unusually low, in 1752, a city was uncovered, 
 and the statues of Claudius and Agrippina re- 
 vealed. Thus may Pliny's Villa rise once more 
 as perfect as the fabric of a vision. 
 
 The Berlin professor is not solitary in the craft 
 of memory. A spectral crew of kindred souls 
 have already boarded his skiff in sympathetic 
 unison. Salmasius, Casaubon, Lipsius, and 
 Becker share his reveries in this branch of ar- 
 chaeology, the study of antiquities. 
 
 "Take my glass of intuitive intelligence and 
 spy at the boundaries of Pliny's mansion," quoth 
 Becker. 
 
 " Strive to live over again Pliny's daily life 
 here," echoes Lipsius. 
 
 " Yes ; decide for yourself, if this delicious 
 retreat served Pliny to attain the felicity of well- 
 being of Horace in realising all his dreams: 
 honourable leisure, a modest fortune equal to 
 56
 
 A Vanished House 
 
 his desires, and a corner of the earth between 
 the shadow and the silence," muses Salmasius. 
 
 The Berlin professor needs no second bidding. 
 In the twilight the sheet of water all about his 
 bark is a magic mirror. He longs to plunge 
 beneath that crystal barrier, and roam through 
 the precincts of Pliny's Villa of Comedy, described 
 by the owner as having a court shaded by plane 
 trees, a gallery flanking spaces of green turf, fields 
 stretching in the rear, apple trees, shaded alleys, 
 and arbours of acanthus, trellised and supported 
 on columns. The interior offered a cool retreat 
 for sultry hours. The walls were painted to rep- 
 resent birds, flowers, and foliage, as at Pompeii 
 and Herculaneum. A cabinet of study was fin- 
 ished in marble, while statues and pictures adorned 
 the other apartments. Pliny reclined in his gar- 
 dens, and listened to the melody of flowing waters. 
 He could cast a line into the wave, and fish, since 
 the finest eels swam up to the very door. His 
 note-book was ever open to jot down his thoughts, 
 possibly in the short-hand method which he 
 states came into use under Caesar's rule. Also 
 57
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 he gave his opinions more ample scope in dicta- 
 tion to Notarius, the slave at his elbow. His 
 letter to Tacitus, descriptive of boar-hunting, has 
 been praised for grace : 
 
 "The snares were set, and with my tablets in my 
 hand, I awaited the game in order not to return to 
 the house empty. All succeeded with me ; I filled my 
 tablets, and behold me sure that Minerva, as well as 
 Diana, is pleased with our hills. Try this sport : it is 
 admirable. How much exhilaration is excited by the 
 hunt. At the same time how the calm of the forests, 
 the silence of the woods, and solitude are favourable to 
 meditation." 
 
 His invitation to Rufus is no less charming : 
 
 " Leave mean and sordid cares to others, and de- 
 vote yourself to study in a profound and rich seclusion. 
 Make this your affair, your leisure, your work and rest, 
 your thought in wakeful hours, and the motive of your 
 dreams." 
 
 Doubtless Pliny entertained society here with 
 
 nice tact. If he had a Catius, who placed the 
 
 culinary art at the summit of human felicity, for 
 
 guest, he prepared a kid of the vineyards, the 
 
 58
 
 A Vanished House 
 
 Umbrian boar fed on red acorns, mushrooms of 
 the meadows, cray-fish of Misenium, scallops of 
 Tarentum, or the Melian crane. The jaded wine- 
 bibber was tempted with roasted shrimps, Afri- 
 can cockles, and the Venusian grape preserved. 
 
 Did the host ever nod drowsily in the Villa of 
 Comedy, with the very foundations gently lapped 
 by the tide? Pliny the Elder scorned indulgence 
 in sleep as a sheer waste of time. One must sus- 
 pect the nephew of taking an occasional siesta, 
 soothed by his own poetical fancies in such a re- 
 treat as grottoes shaded by a drapery of fern-like 
 vines and plants, or subterranean chambers hol- 
 lowed out of the cliffs and rocks, adapted to 
 repose. Even the terrible fever of insomnia of a 
 Maecenas, lulled in vain by soft music and falling 
 waters, might have yielded to oblivion here. 
 
 Verily the ancient Roman studied the means of 
 enjoying refreshing coolness on his country 
 property. He paid dearly for such luxury on 
 occasion. There was rheumatism in those classi- 
 cal days, the " thorn in the flesh " from which 
 Renan believed the Apostle Paul suffered. The 
 59
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Roman seems to have boiled himself in all the 
 hot springs and mud baths of Europe from Aix- 
 la-Chapelle, Spa, Wiesbaden, Teplitz, or Ragatz 
 to Acqui and Ischia. 
 
 In the twilight the Berlin professor has a vision 
 of the submerged mansion. He discerns the act- 
 ual shimmer of Hymettan and Pentelic marbles 
 beneath the ripples; the tawny lustre of the 
 Numidian yellow antique ; Carian veins of dull 
 green and brown in dislodged cornice and broken 
 pillar; Greek red, Laconian black, or the frag- 
 ments of the Lupis Ophites of Thebes, resem- 
 bling the green of serpent scales heaped about 
 the threshold where Pliny the Younger received 
 his friends. His voice is an echo : " Be welcome, 
 all, at this last hour of the day, when the sun 
 slopes down the column of the Forum at Rome." 
 
 The bell in the fisherman's boat, with the nets 
 attached, rocked by the tide, vibrates softly like 
 the echo of vanished years. 
 
 60
 
 V 
 
 PLINY'S ROSE 
 
 ^~ l "^HE tourist steps ashore from a passing 
 
 steamer at Bellaggio on the summer 
 
 morning, skirts the arcades of the 
 
 picturesque town, and enters the 
 
 narrow gate leading by a winding and steep path 
 
 to the Villa Serbelloni on the height above. 
 
 He is the type of his class, a small, supple, 
 sun-burned man, clad in grey tweed, with dusty 
 shoes, and bag and field-glass strapped over his 
 shoulder. Reticent of speech, and wary as to 
 companionship, he pursues his way steadily and 
 conscientiously. He is ubiquitous. He may be 
 met on the margin of the Rhone glacier, ice-axe 
 in hand, or clambering up the chimney of a dolo- 
 mite with equal probability, and lifts his hat to a 
 fellow-traveller in either locality, as on the quay 
 of Bellaggio, with his habitual, slight, dry smile. 
 61
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 The Villa Serbelloni is a world's rendezvous as 
 well as the terraces of Monte Carlo. Least like 
 the modern hotel of all caravansaries, one never 
 knows what eminent personage, diplomatic, 
 princely, or ecclesiastical will emerge from a 
 long casement, shaded by awning or shutter, or 
 be encountered in the rambling corridors of the 
 old mansion. Matchless in situation is this shrine 
 of beauty, with blooming terraces sloping down 
 to Lake Lecco on one side, the tranquil expanse 
 of Como on the other, and facing all that wonder- 
 land of mountain amphitheatre, capped by the 
 snowy pinnacles of the Spliigen range, and col- 
 oured by the richest hues of Nature's palette in 
 the changes from light to shade of the passing 
 hours. 
 
 If the tourist is inspired by curiosity in his 
 fellow-creatures, he pauses, seats himself at a 
 table, and orders wine and a seltzer siphon of a 
 nimble menial. He scans the dark individual 
 escorted by two companions of respectful mien, 
 who is possibly a prime minister in search of re- 
 pose. The lady with red hair and a hard-favoured 
 62
 
 Pliny's Rose 
 
 physiognomy is, at the very least, a grand- 
 duchess, travelling incognita. He need experi- 
 ence no surprise if a Siamese ambassador, in 
 national costume, should stroll through the por- 
 tico, and an Indian prince pause to light his 
 cheroot at his elbow. Such great folk like the 
 masquerade of losing personality in the crowd of 
 common mortals, even as the unfortunate Em- 
 press of Austria is reputed to have bought the 
 tickets on the steamers of Switzerland. 
 
 The probability is that the tourist shuns such 
 company, and wanders through the gardens at 
 will, pausing entranced at opportune points to 
 enjoy the vistas chosen by modern taste and 
 traditional usage. The familiar combination of 
 natural loveliness and the artificial is more appar- 
 ent on the promontory than elsewhere. The 
 tourist has reached the goal of many an air-castle 
 in journeys traced on the map of his guide-book, 
 but all the drop-curtains and stage scenery of 
 the theatres seem to have been borrowed from 
 the spot in tinsel and pasteboard. The scene is 
 a stage. Who knows if the great lady, with the 
 63
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 auburn locks, poses, and is writing a diary of travel 
 to be published for the edification and delight of 
 her subjects? May not the prime minister be re- 
 hearsing an address to a discontented province, as 
 he paces the path? The Siamese should advance 
 to the footlights, and sing a comic song from an 
 operetta. 
 
 The hot sun already smites the glowing rock 
 of promontory. The flowers droop parched and 
 languid, the zones of aloe, lemon, and chrysan- 
 themum of path and parterre. The tourist finds 
 a nook still fragrant and dewy with the fresh- 
 ness of early morning on the brink of the 
 crag, with the meeting-place of the waters far 
 below. He throws himself down on the bank, 
 presses his hat over his eyes, and clasps his hands 
 above his head with a sigh of contentment. A 
 glimpse of sky of the purest sapphire hue is visi- 
 ble through the delicate meshes of foliage of ad- 
 jacent trees, and a mist of blue lake occasionally 
 unfolds, when the branches sway in the breeze. 
 His thoughts stray idly to the warfare waged here 
 in the middle ages, when some valiant Baron for- 
 64
 
 Pliny's Rose 
 
 tified the tongue of land as a strategic point of 
 vantage against the raids of pirates[and marauders, 
 the bands of armed men of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury belonging to the clans from the side of Me- 
 naggio or Varenna. He might spin averse in his 
 own language on the cruel dame with troublesome 
 lovers, who had them flung over this brink. 
 
 He has entered the domain of the rose, and 
 other impressions fade as his gaze rests on the 
 flower. Elsewhere the gardener has devised 
 every artifice of bower, trellis, and parterre for 
 the annuals, and perennials, the begonias, gladio- 
 lus, irides, poppies, spirae, cystus, or carnations, 
 but the rose reigns in this nook. The rose be- 
 longed to the Roman garden, laid out in stiff, 
 geometrical forms, with the shrubbery clipped in 
 the semblance of ships, urns, and such animals 
 as bears holding a snake in the mouth, arbours, 
 covered paths, and spaces in the borders for 
 flowers, the Violaria and Rosaria of somewhat 
 sparse adornment. 
 
 " Pliny's little rose of Como," muses the tourist 
 in recognition. 
 
 S 65
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 He is a dreamer on this spot. Who is not? 
 The perfume of the rose permeates all his senses, 
 a soft medium of colour, creamy and pink, envel- 
 opes the dell in a warm atmosphere. 
 
 The promontory of Bellaggio is supposed to 
 have been the site of Pliny's Villa of Tragedy. 
 On such a height were constructed pavilion, 
 portico, gallery, the hot and cold bath, the broad 
 alley of the Hippodrome for exercise, the calor- 
 ifere hidden in the walls to temper the first chill 
 of winter. From the portals of Tragedy Pliny 
 gazed on the sparkling waters, and the boats of the 
 fishermen with sails spread, shining in the warm 
 sunshine. All about him were those elements of 
 life dear to the country gentleman. He might 
 cultivate paternal lands with his own oxen, watch 
 the shearing of sheep, prune vines, graft pears, 
 and gather grapes. His garners were enriched 
 with olives and grain. The elm-tree was clothed 
 with vines, and the oak yielded abundant acorns 
 for the cattle. The verdant gloom of thickly 
 mantling ivy shielded the ledges where the nar- 
 cissus was steeped in dew, the golden crocus 
 66
 
 Pliny's Rose 
 
 awoke with the spring, and the lily rose stiffly on 
 its green stalk, with alabaster cup permeated by a 
 tremulous light, and yellow corolla hidden deep 
 in the exquisite chalice. Topiarius, the gardener, 
 planted laurel, taxus, Cyprus, myrtle, rosemary, 
 arches of evergreen, and margins of bearsfoot. 
 
 Estimating him by other traits of character the 
 inference is clear that the mild and benevolent 
 Pliny was kind to animals, and cherished such 
 pets in this ideal retreat as monkeys, magpies, 
 harmless snakes, ichneumons, and cats. We 
 might almost infer that he was capable of becom- 
 ing one of those ancients inclined to refrain from 
 slaying beast, bird, or fish, as early vegetarians, 
 and precursors of the advocates of suppression 
 of cruelty. 
 
 Did night bring to the pillow of Pliny on the 
 height the sound sleep so highly prized by the 
 Roman? Calm yet sleepless he may have sought 
 for new methods of enlightenment for his con- 
 temporaries as to many mysteries hidden from 
 view, like Lucretius, until the dawn broke, and 
 he went forth to inhale the fresh air from the hills 
 67
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 beyond Lecco. Time swayed his sceptre over 
 the Villa of Tragedy. One marvels as to the 
 methods adopted of noting the passing hours. 
 At least Pliny, reared by his worthy uncle, did 
 not seek to kill time. Rather would he grasp 
 the mysterious power, without objective existence, 
 by the wings as it rushed past. The early 
 Phoenician did not require to warn the Plinys 
 that time is precious ; time is gold-dust, elephant's- 
 teeth, and ostrich-plumes. Life is short. 
 
 The flowers possibly served as a clock on the 
 heights to Pliny the Younger. Kindred blossoms 
 did the work of four-o'clock, the portulaca of 
 noon, the niotago of five, the geranium of six, 
 and the evening primrose, cacti, moon-flower, 
 chicory, sow-thistle, or dandelion. The rose 
 grew here then, and greeted Pliny when he 
 sallied forth to enjoy his domain. Campanian 
 and Praenestine, earliest and latest in bloom, 
 cousin of the winter bud of the mountain slopes 
 about Lugano, and equally related to the famous 
 flowers of Paestum, the harvest brought to Rome 
 from Egypt in cold weather, Milesian, damask, 
 68
 
 Pliny's Rose 
 
 rosa lutea, or centifolia, the rose is still sovereign, 
 and suffers no change of fashion, like the abashed 
 fuchsia, obliged to trail lovely sprays in neglected 
 spots. Even now the gardener, Topiarius, when 
 weary of fresh experiments in grafting, roots, and 
 seed sowing, of crotons or orchids, to produce ec- 
 centric result of combination, turns to the rose to 
 enrich in tints and fragrance. Once rose oil and 
 rose ointment were used as medicaments here, as 
 well as adopted in Roman cookery, the Persians 
 and Arabs having taught Europe to distil flowers. 
 
 Hot sunshine encroaches on cool shadows. 
 The echo of Pliny's words recurs to somnolent 
 idleness : 
 
 " It is noon. At Rome the sun is watched by 
 the accensus of the consuls between the old 
 Rostra and the Graecostasis." 
 
 The tourist consults his watch, gazes down 
 through the network of foliage at the lake and the 
 boats with sails set, and returns to the prosaic 
 world once more. 
 
 Pleasure is the flower that fades ; remembrance 
 is the lasting perfume. 
 
 69
 
 VI 
 
 AT THE SPRING 
 
 ON a summer afternoon the bark of 
 Memory was freighted with a gay 
 company intent on visiting the gush- 
 ing source of the spring rendered 
 celebrated by Pliny the Younger, and which still 
 flows and ebbs through all the years. The light 
 craft carried beauty, fashion, art, and learning 
 over the lake, with laughter, jest, and song to the 
 gates of the Villa Pliniana, the gloomy palace at 
 Palanzo at the base of the cliff. Here Pliny 
 invoked Sylvanus, reposed on the grass beside 
 the fountain, and listened to the birds. He 
 judged that a portion of ground not over large, 
 a spring, and a little woodland sufficed for the 
 wants of man. 
 
 The party was not composed of such elements 
 as the Arcadians of the seventeenth century of 
 70
 
 At the Spring 
 
 Rome, who repaired to the hills to read sonnets, 
 elegies, canzonets, and epigrams. They had no 
 guide, Ciampoli, Crescimbeni, or Metastasis, 
 adopted by Gravina among the guests, yet each 
 prepared to enjoy the hour in a characteristic 
 fashion. They sought the rocky portal of the 
 spring, and the practical element unpacked the 
 hampers on a convenient space of green sward. 
 The tragedienne cast aside the fatigues of a pro- 
 fessional career in all European capitals with her 
 straw hat on the ground, and pushed back the 
 coronet of heavy, black, braided hair from a fine 
 brow. Beauty, very tiny and piquante, essayed 
 on tiptoe to drag down some sprays of ivy from 
 a wall. 
 
 " The most precious perfumes are ever kept in 
 the smallest vases, " said the French composer, 
 gallantly assisting in the task. 
 
 " Pour libations to Ceres that the wheat may 
 grow for all this countryside ! " exclaimed the 
 poet of the hour with mock fervour. " Bring 
 wine, roses, nard, and meats for the sacrifice to 
 this shrine of Pliny's meditations." He was
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 esteemed himself an amiable pagan, who be- 
 lieved in Pales, Venus, and still more firmly in 
 the Muses. 
 
 The historian, tall, slender, with the severe 
 features and silvered locks of a sage, was the 
 chosen host of the occasion. His creed in an 
 illustrious career was that truth was the polar 
 star of his navigation. 
 
 "What shall the meats of sacrifice be, my 
 friend ? " he demanded, smiling. 
 
 "The picnic is ancient," said the American. 
 " In the time of Tertullian each of us would have 
 brought his own plate." 
 
 "As to food, Achilles received Priam with 
 lamb, and bread served in baskets," suggested 
 the Tragedienne, helping herself to fruit. 
 
 " Homer praised flour mingled with cheese and 
 honey as the most delicate portion of heroes," 
 added the English geologist. 
 
 "A fig for Homer!" railed the poet. "I 
 
 scorn, to-day, even Pliny's thrushes, served with 
 
 wild asparagus cut under the vines. Give me 
 
 nothing less than the brains of the six ostriches 
 
 72
 
 At the Spring 
 
 on a silver dish demanded by Heliogabalus. 
 Well! If needs must " and he removed a 
 ham-sandwich, with finger and thumb, from a 
 pyramid heaped on a napkin. 
 
 The lady of rank nibbled a galette, while the 
 sunshine sparkled on the jewels in her ears and 
 on her hands. 
 
 "For whom do you weave a garland?" she 
 inquired of Beauty. 
 
 The latter had gathered her harvest of ivy 
 sprays in her lap, and sat in the shade of the 
 laurel hedge, a charming figure enveloped in 
 silky draperies and lace. 
 
 " I must choose a subject," she replied de- 
 murely, surveying her companions through her 
 eyelashes. 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed the French composer. " Lu- 
 cullus paid a thousand crowns for the portrait of 
 Glycera seated, and making a flower wreath." 
 
 " My child, it is easier to fashion a garland 
 than to find a head worthy to wear it, according 
 to Goethe," warned the historian. 
 
 Whereupon Beauty approached, and dropped 
 73
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 her crown on his silvery locks, amidst the ap- 
 plause of her friends. 
 
 The singers, soprano and tenor, paced the 
 path slowly, arm in arm, their voices blending in 
 a subdued and fragmentary cadence. The Swede 
 dislodged a fragment of stone from an archway 
 with his cane. He discussed the possibility of a 
 glacier origin, and how it came there, with the 
 Englishman and American. Truly science has no 
 country, and the trio were brothers on the spot. 
 The Frenchman held a wine-glass of foaming 
 Asti, and demanded of the bevy of ladies, in the 
 language of Charles d'Orleans, the Beranger of 
 the fifteenth century, in what country the beautiful 
 Flora was to be discovered, the discreet Heloise, 
 the white Queen Blanche, like a lily, who sang 
 with the voice of a siren, or Jeanne, the good 
 Lorrainese burned by the English at Rouen. 
 
 " Sacrilege ! " quoth the American, approach- 
 ing the fount with a cup. " Pliny should be 
 pledged in his spring here, at least." 
 
 " To the fountain of Bandusium as clear as 
 glass, and the source where Numa sacrificed a 
 74
 
 At the Spring 
 
 kid crowned with flowers," echoed the Swede, 
 filling a crystal goblet in turn. " To the first 
 temperance man, Lycurgus, King of Thrace, who 
 had the vines in his kingdom uprooted because 
 his subjects were becoming too fond of the fer- 
 mented juice," said the diplomatist from the 
 Hague. 
 
 " Bacchus made him mad in revenge," added 
 the lady of rank, slyly, and dipped her jewelled 
 fingers in the rill. 
 
 " Sheer fallacies ! " interposed the poet, muti- 
 nously, and uncorked a bottle of champagne. 
 " Pliny recommended old Falernian, poured in 
 bowls and cooled in a stream." 
 
 "Assuredly," assented the diplomatist. "Also 
 the lyrics of Alcasus were drinking-songs in 
 praise of wine, which never came amiss, appar- 
 ently, in the heat of summer, the cold of winter, 
 the blazing dogstar, and driving tempest." 
 
 " I must declare with Tony Lumpkin, that 
 good liquor gives genius a better discerning," 
 said the Englishman, replenishing his glass with 
 sherry, 
 
 75
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 The tragedienne quoted Cassio : " O thou in- 
 visible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
 known by let us call thee devil." 
 
 The traveller readjusted his fez, and ate a slice 
 of melon with gravity. 
 
 " The Koran hath it that every berry of the 
 vine is a devil," he supplemented. 
 
 The American insisted, with Longfellow, that 
 youth dwells in the fountains, the rivulets from 
 the hills, and not in casks and cellars. 
 
 Silence ensued, a lull of mere chat in the lan- 
 guid heat, like the effervescence of the liquid in 
 the half-emptied glass, and the fragments of the 
 repast scattered on the sward. 
 
 Pliny, the host, once more spoke in his letter 
 to Licinius Surra: 
 
 "I have brought you a little gift from my native 
 place in the shape of a problem quite worthy of your 
 profound knowledge. A spring rises in the mountain, 
 runs down among the rocks, and is received in an arti- 
 ficial chamber where one can lunch. After a short 
 stay there it falls into the Lake of Como. Its character 
 is extraordinary. Three times a day it waxes and 
 76
 
 At the Spring 
 
 wanes with regular rise and fall. That is plain to be 
 seen, and is very interesting to watch. You lie near 
 to it, and eat your food, while you drink from the 
 spring itself, which is intensely cold. Meanwhile it 
 either ebbs or flows with sure and measured move- 
 ments. Suppose you place a ring, or anything else 
 you like, upon a dry spot. The water reaches it and 
 at last covers it, again slowly retires and leaves the ob- 
 ject bare. If you watch longer you may see this double 
 process repeated a second and a third time. Can it 
 be that some subtle wind alternately opens and shuts 
 the mouth and jaws of the spring, as it rushes in and 
 out again ? Or is the nature of the ocean the nature 
 of this spring, as well ? On the same principle that the 
 former ebbs and flows does this modest stream experi- 
 ence its alternate tides ? Or, as rivers which run into 
 the sea are hurled back by counter winds and incoming 
 currents, so is there something which checks the flow 
 of this spring?" 
 
 The shadows of the trees deepened with the 
 waning afternoon. The house gleamed mute 
 and cold through the foliage. Associations of 
 conspiracy, gloomy failures, and tragic revelations 
 of state secrets seem to belong to the spot, as the 
 77
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 moss and ivy cling to the masonry. The villa 
 was built by the Count Giovanni Anguissola, one 
 of the four assassins of the Duke Farnese at Pia- 
 cenza. A transient bloom of feminine loveliness 
 and grace gleams here, for a moment, in the re- 
 membrance of the Princess Belgiojoso, patriotic 
 heroine, diplomatic emissary, or political spy in 
 the national affairs of her day, according to the 
 point of view. 
 
 The shade of the chestnut groves of the upper 
 slopes lengthened to the lake margin, and the 
 company prepared to depart. The American, 
 the water drinker of the party par excellence, 
 filled a tiny cup of chamois horn at the spring, as 
 a rite of farewell. 
 
 " A deep-seated reservoir, fed by perennial 
 springs, and connected with the outer air by some 
 syphon-like channel in the rock would solve the 
 mystery of Pliny's fountain," he mused. 
 
 The English geologist held his hands in the 
 cool current. 
 
 " Yes, there are intermittent wells in other 
 lands," he assented. 
 
 78
 
 At the Spring 
 
 " But with no such regularity of rise and fall," 
 said the historian, eagerly. 
 
 The poet drew the Swede to a crevice of the 
 rocks to listen to sounds which might be only the 
 wind sighing through cavities and fissures, or 
 the mysterious mingling of the voices of invisible 
 beings. 
 
 " How truly does poetry become a science of 
 life and of the human heart in such a place," he 
 said. " Oh, what colouring it imparts to the 
 passing hours ! What delicacy of touch is need- 
 ful on the flute of Arcady, the guitar of Provence, 
 and the lyre ! " 
 
 The French composer lighted a cigar and blew 
 a cloud in the air. 
 
 " Renown is a puff of smoke, but Pliny seems 
 to have enjoyed a fair share of it," he suggested. 
 " Lucan celebrated in verse the citizen of the 
 world, the man who does not consider himself born 
 for his own uses alone, but for the human race, 
 and is animated by a sacred love for the entire 
 universe," remarked the historian, removing the 
 ivy crown from his head, with a glance at Beauty. 
 79
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 "That description might serve as a portrait 
 of Pliny the Younger," said the tragedienne, 
 rising. 
 
 Where are they now, the company of a summer 
 day? They haunt the shores of Como no more. 
 
 80
 
 VII 
 A TEMPLE OF JUPITER 
 
 1 
 
 round temple, with roof supported 
 by columns, was only a dilapidated 
 summer house, by day, sadly in need 
 of cement and whitewash. The bat- 
 tered statue on a pedestal in the centre might have 
 represented Neptune, or Esculapius, as well as 
 Jove. The property had been neglected since the 
 decease of the last owner. Nature had made 
 herself self-elected guardian of the stretch of 
 shore in a tangled wilderness of roses and jasmine, 
 brambles and weeds, stifling the mildewed busts 
 and nymphs flanking the path leading to the 
 temple in the embrace of rank vines, and un- 
 trimmed shrubbery. 
 
 Youth had ridiculed these goddesses, with all 
 the garish blemishes wrought by Time unveiled 
 in the morning light, and even sketched carica- 
 6 81
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 tures of such as lacked noses, an arm, or had 
 fallen prone among the geraniums of the border. 
 Youth escaped as evening deepened to night 
 from the crowded table d'h6te, sought the secluded 
 temple, seated himself on the step, and kindled 
 a fresh cigarette. The beautiful girl opposite at 
 dinner had strolled away with the officer after- 
 ward. Youth, gifted with the extraordinary 
 volubility of his years, and the Latin races, had 
 discussed the religions of the world with his 
 elders. He was alert to take a part in this age 
 of eternal inquiry, philosophical or religious. 
 Should he adhere to a stoicism merging into 
 Jansenism and Calvinism; Epicureanism, con- 
 tented with a flowery surface of things ; a Pan- 
 theism that adores to the depths ; or the Deism 
 which finds the universe full of beneficent sun- 
 shine? Lo! the lore of the universities of 
 Bologna, Pisa, and Rome was on his lips. His 
 mother had listened to his prating with com- 
 placency. The beautiful girl, femininely incon- 
 sequent, had lent ear to the airy badinage of the 
 military hero instead. 
 
 82
 
 A Temple of Jupiter 
 
 The student was a prey to novel emotions, the 
 unfolding of manhood in the " vernal impulsion 
 that makes lyrical all that hath language." He 
 sought the solitude of the neglected garden to 
 avoid mere noisy companionship, and listen to 
 the nightingales reputed to haunt these thickets. 
 Physical twilight is precious to all souls at 
 times, according to Pater. The reclining nymph 
 on the ledge held her broken urn, and the water 
 flowed into a moss-stained basin below, with a 
 gurgling, monotonous rhythm of sound. The 
 nightingale poured forth a sudden, gushing 
 melody from the foliage, at once melancholy and 
 rich. The cigarette smoke became a white cloud, 
 and touched his eyelids. The flowing water, 
 and the nightingale's note mingled in a blended 
 undertone. Surely the shapes about stirred, the 
 smoke was swept hither and thither into the 
 semblance of a dancing movement of satyrs and 
 naiads wending through the shrubbery. A range 
 of rudely cut heads on a coping near the ground, 
 which were sufficiently coarse to belong to the 
 earthen vases of clay of the age of Numa, 
 83
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 laughed. They were the little gods down among 
 the roots and turf. 
 
 " We belong to the most ancient forms of wor- 
 ship, Greek, Assyrian, and Indian," they seemed 
 to clamour. " Make sacrifice to us with cakes 
 and crackling salt ! Pour libations of wine about 
 the plane tree ! " 
 
 A bust on a pillar near-by announced reproach- 
 fully to the mortal intruder : 
 
 " You drew my profile to-day with a broken 
 chin. I am not a boy, but a girl. I am Juventas, 
 the Hebe of the Greeks. I am Youth. I wish to 
 know, to understand all ! My brain teems with 
 many projects of enterprise." 
 
 " Child ! How you prattle on," remarked the 
 seated Jove. 
 
 In the dusk this shrine was blanched to marble 
 and pearl. Jupiter, from whom mankind once 
 received all blessings and misfortunes, held his 
 sceptre of cypress and the thunderbolts, while 
 his throne was made of ivory and gold. On 
 Como the god may have taught the first man 
 to eat acorns from the oak-tree sacred to him. 
 84
 
 A Temple of Jupiter 
 
 Even sacrifice of the bull, with gilded horns, and 
 a garland of roses around the neck, by white- 
 robed priests, might have taken place before this 
 altar, while saffron was cast on the fire. 
 
 The student, seated on the step, longed to in- 
 quire if this was the statue placed in the Temple 
 of Jupiter by Pliny the Younger when he returned 
 to Como in maturity, but his lips were dumb. 
 
 " I have my own thoughts," protested Juventas. 
 
 " It is enough to live through the summer 
 hours, with pipe of flute and dancing," said 
 Faunus from the ilex hedge. 
 
 "No ! It is not enough," retorted Juventas. 
 
 " My very words at table," thought the student. 
 " How this battered head interprets my own 
 opinions." 
 
 A murmur of kindred voices was audible from 
 the adjacent path. 
 
 " What do you wish to know? " 
 
 " The creeds of men. The true religion 
 through all ages," replied rash adolescence. 
 
 " Child, seek not to be overwise," admonished 
 Jupiter, as if weary of his power.
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 "Just pipe and dance with the nymphs as 
 befits your years," mocked Faunus. 
 
 The voices in the alley increased in animation, 
 oddly mingled with the gurgling flow of water 
 from the broken urn, and an occasional outburst 
 of song of the nightingale. There seemed to be 
 endless discussion of dimly conceived personifi- 
 cation of benignant deities, to be propitiated, 
 of the mysteries of a future life, and the demi- 
 gods to bridge over the chasm between mor- 
 tality and the realm of spirits in the fear of 
 Minos and Cerberus. One voice spoke dis- 
 tinctly of the gloomy tenets of the Etruscans, 
 the mysticism of Asia, the genial mythology of 
 Greece. 
 
 " Which to believe?" sighed Juventas. 
 
 " Believe in life and happiness," said Faunus, 
 carelessly. " Let Venus make her parure of 
 myrtle, and the naiads deck themselves with pale 
 violets. Leave the laurel to Apollo. Gather 
 narcissus and tufts of aniseed." 
 
 Ceres, matronly and benign, guarded a ruined 
 fountain, with a shrine near-by which might have 
 86
 
 A Temple of Jupiter 
 
 belonged to the Lares and Penates, adorned with 
 a bunch of poppies. 
 
 " Mine is the true religion," she said, musingly. 
 " Worship all nature in the bounty of the gifts of 
 seed-time and harvest." 
 
 " Ah, Mother Earth, it does not suffice for the 
 human soul to reap and sow," said Socrates from 
 the shrubbery. " Men are not all early farmers. 
 Keep your Penates for rustic hearths and the 
 corner shrines of Roman streets." 
 
 " The Christian poet, Prudentius, even com- 
 plained of genii, symbols, and portraits over 
 baths and houses, with wax candles and lanterns 
 hung before tutelary deities," meditated the 
 student. 
 
 " I will study and reflect night and day until I 
 find the clue I seek," demurred Juventas. 
 
 " Eat, drink, and be merry," counselled Faunus. 
 
 Aphrodite, among the roses, laughed. 
 
 " Much learning of books may make you mad," 
 reasoned Faunus, lightly. 
 
 " All men are a little mad," affirmed Zeno, in 
 the distance. 
 
 87
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 " I must win honour and fame in my time," 
 cried Juventas. 
 
 " Child, you have projects enough in your mind 
 for a thousand years," said Jupiter, gravely. 
 
 " Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who 
 haunt this place, give beauty in the inward soul, 
 and may the outward and inward be one," ex- 
 claimed Socrates. 
 
 Then Epictetus spoke sweetly in protest of 
 materialism, and for a striving after noble aims and 
 mental tranquillity. In the first century the Stoics 
 and Epicureans had essayed to supply a rule of 
 life which they could not find in the worship of 
 the gods. 
 
 " Ah, well ! We are all brothers because we are 
 all God's children," concluded the philosopher. 
 
 After that it seemed to the student all debate 
 was fragmentary and confusing among the philos- 
 ophers of the shrubbery. He became aware, 
 with a thrill of wonder, that the Flora, in her 
 light tunic, resembled the beautiful girl of his 
 thoughts, and was actually the presiding presence 
 of the neglected parterre. 
 88
 
 A Temple of Jupiter 
 
 " Cold is mitigated by the Zephyrs. Summer 
 follows close upon the spring, shortly to die itself, 
 as soon as fruitful autumn shall have shed its 
 fruits, and anon sluggish winter returns again," 
 Flora murmured. 
 
 The note of a bell fell on the ear of the stu- 
 dent. He started to his feet. The cigarette had 
 fallen on the ground. The statues were mute. 
 The nightingale was hushed, and the water 
 flowed from the urn monotonously. The bell 
 pealed out on the darkness from a church tower, 
 ringing the Ave Maria an hour before dawn of 
 the June day. Thus the Christian sect, tolerated 
 as inoffensive and unimportant by the Emperor 
 Trajan and Pliny the Younger, has grown 
 through all the succeeding centuries and spread 
 to the ends of the earth. 
 
 89
 
 VIII 
 
 SIGNAL TOWERS 
 
 ESS there a traveller journeying towards 
 Lake Como who is not moved to an 
 awakening curiosity and interest by the 
 first glimpse of a tower rising on a 
 height? The adjacent detached fragments of 
 masonry may suggest only the picturesque rem- 
 nants of a mediaeval castle, but the tower is a 
 key-note, in site and foundations, at least, of the 
 day of Roman ascendency over Europe. A picture 
 of the romantic era of literature is presented to the 
 most practical mind in the gliding past of a rail- 
 way train, of the knight spurring forth over the 
 drawbridge, falcon on wrist, and the noble dame 
 in damask robe and farthingale at the casement. 
 The tower, whether built of roughly jointed stone, 
 with bold machicolations of battlements, or as 
 having square angle turrets, has other associations. 
 90
 
 Signal Towers 
 
 The tap of the telegraph is audible on the shores 
 of Como to-day. The official in the station writes 
 off the brief message, and sends forth the de- 
 spatch to the local silk merchant, or the stranger 
 within the gates. The transaction is scarcely of 
 more moment than the arrival of the mail. 
 
 Once the towers on the ridge served the same 
 end in a more tragic and momentous fashion. 
 How thrilling the greeting, or warning, read by 
 trembling women and children in the beacon of 
 day or night from these signal stations ! How 
 the bronzed cheek of manhood paled, and the 
 heart of youth throbbed tumultuously at the 
 message that there was danger in the very air for 
 all the inhabitants of the surrounding country, 
 and even the frontier ! 
 
 Now these citadels may be the granary of a 
 farm, heaped full of hay and golden straw, with 
 red peppers and ears of maize strung above an 
 embrasure to dry in the sun of autumn. The 
 pigeons circle around the parapet, and the swal- 
 lows dart out of the fissures in the coping. In 
 the court-yard and moat the fowls cackle, a
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 lamb bleats, or a donkey brays. The large square 
 villa near-by has been the summer home for gen- 
 erations of a Lombard family. All wears the as- 
 pect of rural contentment and peace. 
 
 The old towers, furrowed and scarred by storms, 
 guard their memories of a grim past. 
 
 Baradello on the hill of San Martino sent 
 messages to Torno, Argegno, Cavagnola, Val 
 Intelvi, Bellaggio,Valassina, Menaggio, Grandola, 
 Rezzonico, and Torre Olinio to the Valtellina, on 
 one side, and along the course of the Ticino, 
 Chiasso, Mendrisio, and Bellinzona, with the 
 three old castles still crowning the crags, on the 
 other. These signals were colours by day, and 
 torches, or bonfires on the highest peaks at night. 
 
 " The robber lord of yonder fastness is making 
 ready to sally forth on a raid. Flee to shelter 
 with the family and the flocks ! " the warning of 
 noon and night have been. 
 
 One hamlet could transmit the dreaded news to 
 another in the gorges of the mountains by con- 
 fiding several handfuls of sawdust to the rapid 
 glacier stream to be swept on the current, and 
 pa
 
 Signal Towers 
 
 discerned by anxious eyes aware of the meaning. 
 The beacon fire of midnight signified, possibly, a 
 general alarm in the approach of vast armies of 
 barbarians, fierce and strange of garb and speech, 
 Goth, Gaul, and Hun intent on reaching the 
 gates of Rome. 
 
 "Woe and desolation ! The foe is upon us! " 
 the pulsing flame of the hill-top proclaimed, and 
 was answered by a wail of distress and fear 
 throughout the length and breadth of the land. 
 
 And the old towers brood over the past. The 
 present time does not touch them. The modern 
 world moves on wings of light and speed in the 
 telegraph, and on wings of sound in the tele- 
 phone. The pigeons and swallows that build 
 their nests under the battlements do not trouble 
 their heads about the matter, unless they promise 
 to carry a greeting to the next castle ruin in a 
 fresh flight. The sheep and calves bleat below. 
 Children laugh. A young contadino sings in a 
 reedy voice, with curious turns and inflections of 
 measure that severe cold in January, bad weather 
 in February, wind in March, soft rains of April, 
 93
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 dews in May, a good reaping in June, a fine 
 winnowing in July, and the three storms of 
 August, make a season worth more than the 
 throne of Solomon. 
 
 An army in glittering uniform, with cavalry 
 and artillery, capable of shattering any structure 
 to the foundations with shell, or riddling the 
 walls with bullets, does not disturb these hoary 
 sentinels. The towers dote and dream only of 
 those earlier hosts that advanced in slow waves 
 of humanity, with their households, chariots, and 
 weapons, and the murmur of many voices, even 
 as the locusts settled on Lombardy in 873, and 
 again in 1364, leaving no green leaf. 
 
 Pliny the Younger, as child and man, must 
 have scanned the towers, demanding of these 
 guardians if all was well, and the good citizens of 
 Como might hope to sleep in security through 
 the watches of the night What would he have 
 thought of that key-note of the twentieth century, 
 whispering a message over the ocean wave, wire- 
 less telegraphy? 
 
 94
 
 IX 
 
 AN ANCHORITE 
 
 MANY years ago a man climbed to 
 the summit of Monte Generoso, 
 and built himself some sort of hut, 
 or rude chapel to dwell there. 
 The act was more of an achievement than it is in 
 our day, when the pedestrian who has descended 
 to Como by that northern gate of mountain bar- 
 rier takes a morning walk on the gentle slopes 
 leading to the height, scornful of aid to vigorous 
 muscles of funicular railway, or mule. The com- 
 monplace rite of seeking this renowned shrine to 
 obtain the view cannot rob Nature of her charm 
 of an unsurpassed richness and beauty in the 
 spectacle of the amphitheatre of snow line vis- 
 ible, and the Lombardy plain stretching south- 
 ward in billows of misty green verdure. Such 
 95
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 moments are, indeed, the very " peaks of life " 
 to most mortals. 
 
 The pioneer climber was an anchorite, eager to 
 plant his standard of Christianity on the crags. 
 His personality is shadowy. His feat of making 
 a hermit's cell on the top of a mountain, wherein 
 to pray for the sins and sorrows of the world at 
 his feet, seems one of unquestionable nobility of 
 aim. He thus becomes the leading figure of the 
 region in that dawning light of a new era of civ- 
 ilisation, with the sheltered, flower-scented haunts 
 of the gods of Pliny's Eden of the lake below. 
 The omens and oracles of pagan times had given 
 way to visions ecstatic of the soul and conscience. 
 The hermit dwelt in the shadow of the Past, in 
 day-dreams, yet with fresh invocation of saints 
 and worship of relics. The heathen turned away 
 from death and sadness. Medievalism meditated 
 from preference on the charnel-house. What 
 was gained without some loss in the example of 
 the anchorite? He was not a San Abbondio, 
 patron of that portion of Italy, whose history as 
 fourth Bishop of Como, under Pope Leo I., and 
 96
 
 An Anchorite 
 
 zeal in extirpating idolatry, may be read on the 
 painted glass of the windows of the Como Cathe- 
 dral. The miracles surrounding the name of St. 
 Ambrose, as one of the Latin fathers, do not 
 seem to have fallen to his share as well. He did 
 not command a flock of geese to follow him into 
 the presence of the Pope, like St. Leopardo, or 
 call a company of birds to descend from the air, 
 after the example of St. Brandolino. His name 
 was Manfredo da Settala, and he was a Milanese 
 by birth. As first curate of Cuazzo he was 
 urged to pray at the tomb of San Gerardo at 
 Monza that a visitation of pestilence at Olgiate 
 might cease. The plague was stayed. The in- 
 ference is clear that he had a reputation for 
 sanctity from this fact. 
 
 The new creed acquired many picturesque 
 phases around the Lake of Como with the lapse 
 of years. The Lombardy plain was then a 
 vast solitude, partially overflowed by rivers in 
 spring and autumn, with thickets kept as pre- 
 serves of hunting by the feudal lords. The 
 peasantry were forbidden to poach on the pheas- 
 7 97
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 ants and hares, even if the harvest had been 
 spoiled. Wild boars roamed in these woods 
 even in the day of Francesco Sforza. The 
 anchorite of Monte Generoso had outspread 
 before him such a savage waste, instead of the 
 blooming expanse now yielding grain, oil, chest- 
 nuts, and wine. The maize rippling in the 
 yellow waves of a golden sea beneath the rays of 
 the fierce July and August sun, was brought 
 from Soria during the Crusades ; a royal gift to 
 Italy. The slave populations of Rome planted 
 the first gardens around Como, but agriculture 
 owed much to the early monks, who everywhere 
 cleared forests, made the morass fertile, and 
 cultivated vines and olives. The most ancient 
 archives contain records of kitchen gardens, mea- 
 dows, orchards, groves, vineyards, pasturage, and 
 aqueducts. Pious ladies acquired the agreeable 
 custom of bestowing property on religious com- 
 munities. In 757, Valderana, wife of Arochis da 
 Arzago made a gift to the church of San Zenone 
 in Campione, with land, olives, and vineyards. 
 The holy William of Monza built a Franciscan 
 98
 
 An Anchorite 
 
 monastery above Como. Elena de Pedragli 
 erected a convent at Brunate in 1341. The 
 thought is harmonious that the monks may have 
 introduced many plants, brought by pilgrims and 
 travellers from distant lands, acacia, red oak, 
 clover, the locust tree to sustain slips of the 
 mountains, and the border of torrents, the 
 meadow lupine of arid and calcareous districts, 
 the agave and heath. The monastery of San 
 Abbondio became noted for serving the trout of 
 the Adda and Poschieva, streams still famous 
 for these fish. The cheese of Ardenno and 
 Berbenno acquired reputation, as well as the 
 olives and mills. The good cheer and hospitality 
 of the abbeys of all countries is suggested by the 
 praise of the unusual size of some truffles sent by 
 St. Felix, first Bishop of Como, to St. Ambrose 
 in early annals. 
 
 The record of religious orders for six centuries 
 is that of the preservation of learning, building 
 churches, working in mosaic, carving wood, 
 painting glass, and establishing laboratories of 
 drugs and chemicals. Spiritual-minded women 
 99
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 became abbesses and saints all about the lake 
 of Como, as in England and Germany, emulative 
 of Elisabeth of Hungary, Hildegarde, and Wal- 
 purga. None of them obtained the celebrity of 
 a Catherine of Siena, or St. Theresa. The order 
 of the Umiliati established the manufacture of 
 wool in Lombardy. Women, especially nuns, 
 spun, and men wove white robes and veils. 
 
 The anchorite watched and prayed instead. 
 In the twilight his image is readily fashioned out 
 of the gathering clouds and shadows, as certain 
 rocks of the Carrara mountains gain a human 
 semblance of a giant, or a spirit of the Apennines, 
 winged and bearded, and a crag beyond Mentone 
 is the figure of a monk seated, with his head 
 enveloped in a cowl. If accurate history of the 
 recluse of Monte Generoso has been treasured in 
 monastic archives, and saints' lives, the research 
 is beyond our ken. What manner of holy man 
 was he? How did he live on the summit? Did 
 the country folk bring him offerings of food, as 
 the bowl of the Eastern fakir is filled with rice 
 by the faithful? His fare may have been herbs 
 100
 
 An Anchorite 
 
 and roots. A faithful goat possibly accompanied 
 him to this retreat to nourish the recluse with 
 rich milk, and subsist on the scanty herbage 
 among the broom of the belt above chestnut 
 and beech-wood. The cattle that browse on the 
 slopes through the summertide, with a melodious 
 tinkle of bells, and thrust the innocent heads of 
 pretty heifers, confidingly, on pedestrians sketch- 
 ing in nooks, can scarcely have obtained a foot- 
 ing in the thickets at that date. The bees, clad 
 in brown velvet waistcoats, buzzed about other 
 blooms than the great, silvery thistles of the 
 August noon, the gentian of high pastures, flax, 
 thyme, or madder. He left to the communities 
 of the valleys labour, and chose contemplation. 
 Expiation for the crimes of war, penances, 
 martyrdom would have served the aim of seeking 
 such a goal. If he adhered to the mystic tenets 
 of St. Francis he scourged himself, imagined that 
 he was tormented by demons in the vigils of 
 night, or indulged in visions of a Heaven 
 peopled with angels. If he was a follower of 
 St. Benedict his hours were spent in calm 
 101
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 meditation. We like to consider him as a sort of 
 Friar Laurence, going forth at break of day 
 with his osier basket to gather baleful weeds and 
 precious-juiced flowers, finding within the infant 
 rind of one tiny blossom that poison had residence, 
 and medicine power, and moralising on similar 
 good and evil principles in man. Ready was he, 
 also, to dip into tragedies of life, and heal strife. 
 He chose the light. He had eyes and a soul. 
 If his senses were benumbed by years and suffer- 
 ing, his perceptions blurred by the morbid and 
 fantastic doctrines of his fellow-man, how can it 
 have been otherwise? His nature must have 
 become luminous with the glowing universe 
 surrounding him. 
 
 He watched the East with folded hands, after 
 the gloom of awful engulfing darkness, when the 
 stars paled, and one by one the mountains grew 
 distinct from Monte Viso to the Bernina, the 
 crown-like head of Monte Rosa, the chalky white 
 masses of Mont Blanc, and the sharp and jagged 
 outline of the Bernese oberland. The sky 
 became tinged with lilac, purple, and crimson as 
 102
 
 An Anchorite 
 
 the rising sun touched the peaks with a spear of 
 fire. Far below the lakes reflected the heavens, 
 Varese, Maggiore, Lugano, with all the exquisite 
 gradations of tints of a peacock's plumage, and 
 Como a sheet of crystal. 
 
 The anchorite, as solitary spectator, gazed at 
 these amplitudes of space, and praised his 
 Creator. 
 
 103
 
 A MEDIAEVAL QUEEN 
 
 O^CE upon a time there was a queen, 
 and she made a journey in a litter to 
 the mineral baths of Val Masino, in 
 the Valtellina, along the cornice be- 
 tween Menaggio and Gravedona, leading from 
 Como to Trepievi, known as the Queen's Road 
 (Strada Regina) to this day. The cliff is precipi- 
 tous, and of a tawny hue, hence the name of 
 Orange Rock, and the path considered danger- 
 ous. The Russians chose the route in 1/99, and 
 many soldiers fell over the brink. 
 
 The flowers blooming in clefts of the roadside 
 know all about the matter, from their ancestors, 
 and the birds such as escape from the snare of 
 the fowler in these regions have, no doubt, 
 heard the tale from their feathered grandmothers 
 of how Theodolinda, of wise and virtuous fame, 
 104
 
 A Mediaeval Queen 
 
 was an early traveller on these shores. One of 
 the charms of the irregular growth of town, 
 hamlet, or villa property of the little Paradise is 
 that roads do not environ the lake in firm cause- 
 way or picturesque cornice, wending amidst the 
 shrubbery, but intrude, for a span, in a casual 
 mode, between promontory, bay, and mountain 
 wall. The Queen's Road is therefore the more 
 conspicuous. This noble lady lived a long time 
 ago, having been born in the year 561, but her 
 renown still endures. The Lombards held sway 
 in Italy for two hundred and six years, until sub- 
 dued by Charlemagne in 774. The dominion of 
 Odoacer had extended from Sicily to the Danube. 
 His wife, Andefleda, owned a palace on Como. 
 Theodolinda is called a Lombard queen. She 
 was a Bavarian princess. Her story is a romantic 
 one. When Rosamund had slain her lord Alboin, 
 with the aid of two officers, during his afternoon 
 nap, for proffering her father's skull as a drinking- 
 cup in tipsy jocularity, the Lombards gathered 
 at Pavia to choose a new ruler. They presented 
 the lance of command to Clefis, who governed 
 IO S
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 them unwillingly for a year and a half, and was 
 assassinated by a groom. The Lombard nobility 
 next decided to elect a king, and chose his son, 
 Autaris, " the long-haired," a youth of bravery 
 and beauty. He sent an embassy to Garibaldo, 
 King of Bavaria, demanding the hand of his 
 daughter in marriage. He went himself as an 
 adventurous knight on the mission, disguised as 
 the emissary, to see the fair one and judge of her 
 merit. Evidently this Longobard had all the 
 sterling qualities of his race, deemed hard and 
 rough by the softer and more flexible Southern 
 character, and cherished other sentiments than 
 those of conquest and bloodshed. Theodolinda, 
 full of maidenly grace, according to the chival- 
 rous chronicler, handed the nuptial wine-cup to 
 her father's guest. The young pair exchanged a 
 glance of sympathy, and he kissed her hand with 
 ardour in saluting the chalice. Dazzled and 
 confused, Theodolinda confided the matter to her 
 nurse, and this sagacious foster-mother divined 
 the personality of the suitor. One is reminded 
 of pictures of the Dutch and Munich schools, 
 106
 
 A Mediaeval Queen 
 
 rich in sentiment and detail, with all the shimmer 
 of gems, weapons, and polished platters, the at- 
 tendants and strangers grouped in the back- 
 ground, and that central figure, the princess, 
 with tresses braided down her back, presenting 
 the goblet and meeting a lover's contemplation in 
 the envoy. 
 
 Subsequently the Bavarian monarch fled to 
 Verona with his child, to escape from disturb- 
 ances in his kingdom, instigated by the Frank 
 Chilperic of Soissons to prevent the union. Theo- 
 dolinda married Autaris, who lived a year. She 
 then espoused Agiluph, Duke of Turin, who be- 
 came King of the Lombards in 590. He em- 
 braced the Catholic faith, as well as many of his 
 nobles, through her influence, while civilisation 
 among the Lombards is considered to have begun 
 with him. She is reproached by some authori- 
 ties for thus supplanting Autaris " before his 
 ashes were cold." The times were critical, and 
 the lady Theodolinda, as a widow, may have 
 sadly needed masculine protection for her throne. 
 She would seem to have been fortunate in her 
 107
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 choice of consorts ; at least neither of them offered 
 her King Garibaldo's head as a drinking-cup in 
 gruesome fashion. Had they done so, possibly 
 she would have known how to manage them. 
 She belongs in tradition to the ranks of good 
 queens, about whom homely tales Linger in song 
 and poetry with the country-folk, the Berthas 
 and Clotildas. Born to the purple, she played 
 the difficult r61e of sovereign in a creditable 
 manner. We are familiar with Queen Bertha, 
 twirling her distaff as she rode her palfrey, as an 
 example to the idle women among her subjects. 
 Queen Theodolinda is associated with her hen 
 and seven chickens, wrought in gold, as symbolical 
 of Lombardy and her seven provinces. She had 
 two children, a son, Adaloardo, and a daughter, 
 Gundeberga. The children were christened, and 
 the Basilica built at Monza by the parents, dedi- 
 cated to St. John Baptist, in honour of the event. 
 Here the son was crowned in the presence of 
 Theodolinda. Pope Gregory the Great sent con- 
 gratulations on the birth of an heir, and presented 
 the mother with the Iron Crown. Two other 
 108
 
 A Mediaeval Queen 
 
 coronets were kept in the treasury besides the 
 circlet of iron. These were encrusted with jewels, 
 and on one was engraved in Latin : "Agiluph, by 
 the grace of God, a brave man, King of all Italy, 
 makes this votive offering to San Giovanni in the 
 Church of Monza." Theodolinda, during her 
 reign, built a bridge of eighteen arches over the 
 Breggia near Cernobbio ; a fine Campanile in the 
 Brianza San Giovanni di Besano, above Viggino ; 
 the Tower of Perledo ; the Church of San Mar- 
 tino, near Varenna ; and St. John at Gravedona, 
 on the site of a temple of Apollo. 
 
 She passes no more along the Strada Regina 
 of Como in her litter. For further trace of her 
 we must seek the Monza Cathedral, with its 
 ancient bas-reliefs over the western door, a 
 Lombardo Gothic sanctuary built in the four- 
 teenth century on the site of the earlier structure 
 of 595. Here is the sarcophagus holding the 
 ashes of Theodolinda, and all the record of her 
 greatness. In the casket of the altar is the famous 
 crown, lined with the iron made of a nail from 
 the cross on Calvary, brought to Europe by the 
 109
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Empress Helena, worn at the coronation of thirty- 
 four Lombard kings, and fitted on the head of 
 many a brilliant monarch since. In the treasury 
 the hen still guards her chickens, executed by 
 the order of the royal lady, and her fan and 
 comb may be inspected. 
 
 Quaint, virile, and full of a certain dignity is 
 the memory of the Mediaeval Queen. 
 
 no
 
 XI 
 A TINY GIBRALTAR 
 
 f" ""^HE modern warrior was alone on the 
 
 Island of San Giovanni, in the Tre- 
 
 mezzina, that portion of the lake 
 
 known as the garden of Lombardy. 
 
 He was a quiet gentleman of simple habits, fond 
 
 of children, and of gathering ferns. A close 
 
 scrutiny of his lineaments disclosed neck, chin, 
 
 and cheek tanned deep bronze by the African 
 
 sun, and a scar across the forehead of grim 
 
 aspect. He measured the islet with his footsteps, 
 
 and traced the hint of walls, buttresses, and 
 
 arches with his cane. 
 
 " A Gibraltar in miniature," he soliloquised, 
 smilingly. "Why not?" 
 
 Then he seated himself on a rock, and crushed 
 an aromatic plant beneath his shoe. A lizard 
 in
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 ran along a ledge, and paused on a stone to 
 regard the intruder with true lizard curiosity. 
 He avoided frightening the pretty creature by 
 any brusque movement. He drew a note-book 
 from his pocket. 
 
 " I wonder if I shall be arrested, as a spy, 
 by the government of the country if I take 
 down the form of this stronghold," he said; 
 and his pencil idly traced imaginary turrets and 
 bastions, while he mused on the history of the 
 spot. 
 
 When the Emperor Justinian I. reigned at 
 Constantinople, and his generals Belisarius and 
 Narses had carried the fear of his arms into 
 Persia and Africa, the latter conquered Italy. 
 Lo ! the Empress Sofia is said to have sneered 
 at Narses, who, affronted, took a terrible revenge. 
 The sway of the Goths had crumbled, and Totila 
 been slain. Narses invited the Longobards into 
 Italy to overthrow the power of the Eastern 
 Empire. The fresh hordes, blue-eyed, and fierce, 
 obeyed the summons. Alboin left Pannonia for 
 Milan and Pavia. Such were the Lombards, 
 
 113
 
 A Tiny Gibraltar 
 
 adhering to many ancient Germanic customs, 
 sensitive to honour, and usually chivalrous in 
 the protection of women, scorning all luxury, 
 and their language a difficult dialect to the 
 Italians. They had only one trade, as a nomadic 
 race, that of war, held their laws solely by mem- 
 ory, were deemed very ignorant, not knowing 
 how to read or write, and worshipped an idol 
 made of the trunk of a tree. Discord had arisen 
 among the Franks under Childipert. Autaris 
 was made king in 584. Alboin, of cruel memory, 
 had slain Cunemund of Servia, and forced his 
 daughter Rosamund to marry him. Alboin 
 turned his arms against the northern provinces 
 of Italy, and gave the famous banquet at Verona 
 in 573, when he invited his consort Rosamund to 
 drink from her father's skull. Narses had every- 
 where cut the dikes of foreign invasion. 
 
 Twenty years before Alboin overran the land, 
 the Governor Francillioni of Como retired to the 
 little islet of Comacina, and began to fortify the 
 place as a refuge. Timid folk flocked here in 
 the hope that times would improve. Other cities 
 8 113
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 deposited their riches within the walls for safe- 
 keeping. 
 
 The island is half a mile long, and three hun- 
 dred feet wide. It is situated in the Tremezzina 
 of the lake, with the narrow stretch of water 
 known as the Zocca del Olio separating it from 
 the mainland. The dilapidated chapel of St. John 
 alone remains. In the sixth century, at the date 
 of the Lombard invasion, the stronghold decided 
 to hold out against all foes, and still swear alle- 
 giance to the emperor at Constantinople. The 
 historical fact is droll at this distance of time. 
 An islet in the middle of a little lake building 
 towers, and gates, and battlements, in defiance of 
 all the powers of the vicinity, in fealty to a distant 
 emperor. Consider the valour of these pygmy 
 hosts ! The garrison that manned the walls, the 
 sentinels scanning adjacent shores, the guardians 
 of the hoarded riches calculated to arouse the 
 cupidity of barbarians, the discipline and vigi- 
 lance essential in the heart of the citadel to sup- 
 press treachery and inspire courage all had to 
 be maintained with firmness. There was naval 
 114
 
 A Tiny Gibraltar 
 
 warfare then ! Autaris laid siege to the place 
 with a mimic fleet and reduced it by famine in six 
 months. The Governor Francillioni was able to 
 secure honourable terms, and retired to Ravenna. 
 The treasure fell to the enemy, precious vest- 
 ments, jewels, money, chalices, and vessels of 
 gold and silver once brought here by fugitives 
 from their homes and churches. 
 
 After King Rotharis had codified the Lom- 
 bard customs into laws, in 636, and established 
 guilds and trades, the Magistri Comacini were 
 guests on the island. These were local artisans 
 and builders, and are known as the first free- 
 masons. They built the Monza Cathedral. In 
 architecture the Goths of the fifth century found 
 in Italy the classical Roman debased. Encle- 
 sius, Bishop of Ravenna, visited Constantinople 
 in the sixth century, and brought back Greek 
 workers from St. Sofia to erect San Vitale. 
 Roman and Byzantine blended in a third order 
 of Romanesque, or Comacine. 
 
 The warlike spirit of the people of the island 
 was not subdued. In the political disturbances 
 "5
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 of succeeding years, when the towns on the lake 
 were divided by factions, the Comacina played a 
 part in sieges and defiances of all sorts. In the 
 contentions of Milan and Como of the middle 
 ages, the tiny Gibraltar is reputed to have re- 
 belled at maternal authority for ten years in favour 
 of the rival. In wrath Como sent her fleet to 
 punish the culprit. The rallying and setting 
 sail of the war ships must have been an awe- 
 inspiring spectacle from the shores of the lake. 
 Forth sallied the Cristina, the Rat, the Griffin, 
 the Wolf. Each of these had a wooden tower, 
 while other craft were furnished with machines for 
 firing stones, arrows, and combustibles. A gal- 
 ley was long and heavy enough to transport 
 projectiles of war, and another boat noted for 
 speed. A captain at arms of Gravedona had 
 invented lo Schifo in this bellicose era; a bark 
 holding twelve rowers, and twelve soldiers ready 
 for action, with a white gonfalone with the three 
 red crosses of the parish on it at the masthead, a 
 crucifix and an altar on the deck. The island 
 strengthened the fortifications which covered the 
 116
 
 A Tiny Gibraltar 
 
 place in stubborn resistance. Ah, hunger might 
 be warded off for a season, and clumsy imple- 
 ments thunder at gate and tower in vain ; even 
 soldier in cuirass and helmet meet hostile soldier 
 with clash of steel in some feat of sallying forth 
 to the fray, but the day came when battlement 
 and buttress would fall, like a house of cards, 
 before a more formidable foe than the Lombard 
 hosts, or mediaeval armies. Gunpowder came 
 into general use. The sceptre of the islet 
 passed. Gunpowder slew its thousands, and 
 enabled the middle classes to cope with the 
 knight in armour. 
 
 Delecluze affirms that disputes as to the form 
 of the earth caused Columbus to cross the Atlan- 
 tic ; and the mechanical implements, simple toys 
 of children, of the thirteenth century, were the 
 first models of artillery destined to change the 
 politics of Europe. 
 
 The lizards crept away among the tufts of 
 
 grass and vines. The waters sparkled in a 
 
 flood of sunshine. It might be better for the 
 
 world if no more trace existed of the great 
 
 117
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 fortifications, Quadrilateral, Ehrenbretstein, Gib- 
 raltar, and the modern warrior, so skilful with 
 flashing sabre on occasion, wielded only his 
 cane or umbrella of a summer holiday on 
 Como. 
 
 118
 
 XII 
 
 A SPORTSMAN OF THE MIDDLE AGES 
 
 1 
 
 rise of the Visconti to sovereign 
 power in the thirteenth century fur- 
 nished a phase of surpassing richness 
 in the development of civilisation. 
 Splendour, tyranny, cruelty, and deadly treachery 
 were combined in these princes in a manner quite 
 unparalleled in European history. Como was 
 ever at the mercy of the despots, with other 
 towns. 
 
 Bernarb6 Visconti, born in 1319, stepped upon 
 the scene as master of Bergamo, Brescia, Crema, 
 and Cremona, one of the three nephews who suc- 
 ceeded Giovanni, Archbishop of Milan. Auda- 
 cious and brutal, Bernarbo was excommunicated 
 by the Pope Urban V., who preached a crusade 
 against him, and sought to crush the culprit by 
 119
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 means of the Emperor Charles IV. He was a 
 keen sportsman, and fond of tracking the wild 
 boar with dogs. He was severe with all poachers 
 on his preserves, and is accused of having them 
 tortured, burned, or slain. He had the Abbot of 
 St. Barnaba hung for taking hares. His enemies 
 stigmatised him as a Nero, or a Caligula. That 
 he was by no means as evil a character as depicted 
 is revealed in the quaint Dialogue of the Chronicle 
 of Azario. 
 
 Bernarb6 sojourned at Marignano. He hunted 
 in the surrounding woods on horseback, and 
 alone. The day was cold, the hour advanced, 
 and he lost his road. He descried a poor peas- 
 ant cutting wood. 
 
 Bernarbb. The heavens help you, worthy man. 
 
 Peasant. I have need of it. In this cold I can 
 do little. The summer was bad ; let us hope the 
 winter may be better. 
 
 The hunter alighted from his horse. The 
 Dialogue continues thus: 
 
 " Friend, you say the summer has been bad. 
 How is that? The harvest has yielded abun-
 
 A Sportsman of the Middle Ages 
 
 dantly in grain, and the vintage been good. 
 What has gone wrong?" 
 
 Peasant. Oh, we have anew the devil for our 
 master. One hoped that when Signor Bruzio 
 Visconti departed the devil was dead, but we 
 have another master still worse. He takes the 
 bread from our mouths. We poor natives of 
 Lodi work like dogs, and only for his profit. 
 
 Bernarbb. Certainly your master does wrong. 
 ... I pray you, friend, guide me out of this wood. 
 It is late; night is near, and I think you, also, 
 have no time to lose, if you seek to return to your 
 own house. 
 
 Peasant. Oh, I am in no haste to regain my 
 home. I have left my wife and children in the 
 house with little bread. 
 
 Bernarbb. Well, conduct me out of this thicket, 
 and you shall earn something for your trouble. 
 
 Peasant. You only seek to turn me from my 
 labour. Perhaps you are an infernal spirit. 
 Cavaliers do not come to this wood. Or, if it 
 please you, pay me first, and I will guide you 
 where you wish. 
 
 121
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Bernarbb. What do you demand? 
 
 Peasant. A grosso (three pence) of Milan. 
 
 Bernarbb. Once clear of this wood you shall 
 have the grosso, and even more. 
 
 Peasant. Oh, yes, to-morrow. You are on 
 horseback, and outside the wood you will gallop 
 off, while I remain planted here like a cabbage. 
 Thus do the retainers of our diabolical lord. 
 
 Bernarbb. Friend, why will you not believe in 
 my good faith? Here is a pledge. 
 
 He gave him the silver buckle of his belt. The 
 contadino hid the gift in the bosom of his shirt, 
 and led the way out of the wood, but, very weary, 
 he walked slowly. 
 
 Bernarbb. Good man, mount behind me. 
 
 Peasant. Do you think your horse can carry 
 two? You are so stout. 
 
 Bernarbb. Oh, very well. The horse will 
 carry both of us, and more, especially as, from 
 what you say, you have not dined heavily. 
 
 Peasant. You speak the truth. 
 
 They traversed the wood. 
 
 Bernarbb. Friend, you have given me only 
 
 122
 
 A Sportsman of the Middle Ages 
 
 evil tidings of your master. Of the Signor Ber- 
 narb6 of Milan ; what is your opinion of him ? 
 
 Peasant. They speak well of him. Although 
 he is brutal he maintains order, and if he did not 
 reign even we poor ones would not dare to enter 
 these woods, for fear of assassins, to cut faggots. 
 The Signor Bernarbo maintains justice, and always 
 keeps his word. With the lord of Lodi it is 
 quite different. 
 
 The serf complained of one feudal chief who 
 had seized a piece of ground, while others even 
 pillaged household furniture. They escaped from 
 the wood, and, shivering with cold, he alighted, 
 urged Bernarb6 to hasten before night, and at 
 the same time wished to restore the buckle, as 
 he would be cast into prison for possessing such 
 a treasure. 
 
 Bernarbb. Friend, come with me. I promise 
 you a good inn, a chimney to warm you, and a 
 supper afterwards. To-morrow morning early 
 you can return to your wife. 
 
 The peasant hesitated, and then was tempted 
 by the thought of the dozen small loaves the 
 123
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 grosso of Milan would purchase to guide the 
 stranger further on his road. They saw torches 
 and bonfires. The lord slyly demanded of his 
 humble companion what the commotion signi- 
 fied. The latter explained that the great Vis- 
 conti was in the vicinity, fond of hunting alone, 
 and his retainers kindled fires at evening to 
 guide his return. Soon a party came up, and 
 saluted the sportsman respectfully. Bernarb6 
 laughed. The peasant wished himself dead for 
 fright. Bernarb6 kept his word. The wood- 
 cutter was conducted into a great apartment, 
 warmed before the chimney, and seated at sup- 
 per with the host. He was then refreshed by a 
 bath, and luxurious bed, and dismissed the next 
 day with further benefits. 
 
 Such tales of prince and peasant are as old as 
 kingcraft, but they are especially characteristic 
 of Northern Italy, where the bluff and frank 
 Dukes of Savoy, even to the late King Victor 
 Emmanuel, met such naive and shrewd rustic 
 opinions of themselves when hunting the cha- 
 mois in the Alps. 
 
 124
 
 1 
 
 XIII 
 SPANISH FOOTSTEPS 
 
 desolation of neglect, isolation, and 
 low-hanging miasma broods over the 
 plain of the Spaniards. The Castle 
 of Fuentes was built by the Governor 
 of Milan in 1603, despite promises to the contrary 
 made to the Grisons by Francesco Sforza. The 
 site, as key to the Valtellina, is emblematic of the 
 sway of these foreign rulers. Colico is near, 
 the Monte Legnone rises beyond, and all about 
 the stronghold the ravages of inundations are 
 discernible, whether of the Maira, and its tribu- 
 tary the Liro, on the side of Chiavenna, or the 
 deposits of the Adda in separating to a narrow 
 channel the Lago di Riva from Como, have 
 wrought their work of depopulation and decay. 
 The Governor of Milan suspected the advantages 
 to the people of a new French treaty for the 
 "5
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Grisons and the Valtellina, and erected the castle 
 on the ridge of Montecchio at the entrance to 
 the latter province, to dominate the road to 
 Chiavenna, the lake, and the valley, and thus 
 impede, at will, all trade with the mountain 
 world of Rhetia. The act and motive were 
 eminently Spanish. Francesco Sforza had ter- 
 minated endless quarrels by a compact not to 
 fortify any post on these routes. Fuentes per- 
 sisted in his enterprise. He began the work in 
 October, 1603, directed the labours of the mili- 
 tary architect Broccardo Borrone of Piacenza on 
 the designs of the engineer Captain Vacallo, and 
 completed it in 1607. He thus closed the com- 
 merce with Milan, kept an espionage on inter- 
 course with Venice, and gave rise to the alarm 
 that Spain meditated reconquering the Valtellina. 
 There it stands to this day, sombre, grim, and 
 melancholy, emblem of Spanish rule in other 
 countries; trace of bastion, tower, or chapel 
 discoverable among the shrubs, and tangled 
 grasses of the hillside, with the plain below 
 choked with rushes and marsh waste. The 
 126
 
 Spanish Footsteps 
 
 Spaniards sought to render the Castle of Fuentes 
 the yoke of the Grisons. In turn the land has 
 designated it as the grave of these conquerors, 
 owing to the slow-sapping fever of the district. 
 King Henry IV. of Navarre is accredited with 
 the opinion that Spain sought here to tie Italy 
 by the throat, and the Grisons by the feet with 
 the same noose. The vipers make of the shell 
 of former greatness their habitation, and the 
 barefooted peasant flees at the warning hiss of 
 the reptiles. Nature is unfriendly to the region 
 in the sluggish overflow of stagnant waters, but 
 the seal of Spain is also apparent in the inertia 
 of past years. 
 
 The moralist asserts that the same general 
 traits form the public constitution of men, yet 
 these qualities, modified by individual peculiari- 
 ties, and taking their course, indicate a virtuous 
 or vicious education, producing crime or nobility, 
 light or darkness. In the same way plants nourish 
 bees and snakes ; for one they make honey, and 
 for the other, poison. A corrupt vase sours the 
 mildest liquid. The Plain of the Spaniard long 
 127
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 belonged only to the viper and rank weeds, 
 shunned by man. 
 
 Pliny's delightful lake region had fallen on evil 
 times in these centuries. The wonder is that one 
 garden terrace was left to bloom, a house not 
 despoiled of all riches, or a church tower left 
 standing amidst the vicissitudes suffered from 
 papal factions and the armies of rival nations 
 sacking and plundering towns and countryside. 
 Many timid natives turned their gaze in the 
 direction of the mountain defiles of Switzerland 
 as a possible refuge from the troubles harassing 
 Italy. The valiant cantons, ever struggling to 
 establish their own independence, were torn by 
 desperate conflicts at the same time. War, pes- 
 tilence, famine, and floods prevailed in hill and 
 valley ; yet Como was renowned for the abundance 
 of her olives, while the Valtellina was known for 
 a delicate cheese, and wax, the fostering of bees 
 serving as an important branch of industry, as 
 well as generous wines which were served at his 
 table by the Abbot of St. Gall to Rudolph of 
 Hapsburg. Also the manufacturing industries of 
 128
 
 Spanish Footsteps 
 
 these countries were notable. Coire and Bormio 
 had tariffs of trade with Modena, Como, Venice, 
 and Milan in stuffs, armour, and glass. Fairs 
 were the important marts of intercourse. 
 
 The tyranny of the Visconti over Como had be- 
 gun in dark fashion with Luchino Visconti, and en- 
 dured in the exactions of Gian Galeazzo. On the 
 death of Filippo Maria Visconti, four pretenders 
 arose : Frederick III., King of the Romans ; Al- 
 phonse V., of Aragon, heir of the deceased in 
 his testament ; Charles, Duke of Orleans, because 
 he was son of Valentina, the daughter of Gian 
 Galeazzo ; and Francesco Sforza, as the husband 
 of the illegitimate Bianca. Sforza, as Duke of 
 Milan, harassed Como by reviving ancient taxes 
 and tributes, but hope was not wholly extin- 
 guished in the human breast. 
 
 Francesco d'Avalos, Marquis of Pescara, held 
 Como in 1521. The little Eden knew what it was 
 to be rifled by French troops and German mer- 
 cenaries. Other fleets traversed the lake and 
 Lecco, carrying three sail, occasionally, and 
 loaded with bombs. Peace was not permitted to 
 9 129
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 weave her web of prosperity in tranquillity. Como 
 had been perpetually swept by the tempests of 
 conquest and tyranny. Italy, ever the slave of 
 some foreign power since Roman supremacy, 
 was to learn what was the rule of the Spanish 
 taskmaster. 
 
 An Italian historian thus laments: 
 
 " Wherever Spain has carried her sceptre, desolation 
 and humiliation have resulted. Such was the case in 
 Portugal, in America, in Flanders. Italy learned by 
 the same experience the error of claiming protection 
 of a prince far away, a stranger to all her natural senti- 
 ments, as in Charles V., instead of consolidating power 
 under some native ruler acquainted with her needs, and 
 ready to facilitate them. . . . No history leaves in my 
 heart the sadness of the odious Spanish tyranny. Man 
 entirely disappears : in the public laws not the general 
 good, but only ambition, and absurd provision for spy- 
 ing on the populace, exhausting the sources of riches ; 
 edicts that speak continually of the need of the king, 
 without considering those of the subject ; rapine with- 
 out ceasing; magistrates, devoid of virtue, shrouding 
 their acts in mystery; monopolies; industry guarded 
 like a thicket ; justice sold ; the poor cast out in the 
 130
 
 Spanish Footsteps 
 
 street ; the better classes obliged to establish their own 
 innocence by opening their castles as an asylum for 
 every sort of knavery practised in derision of a weak 
 government and ineffective laws; cities and country 
 overrun by a rabble of soldiery, unpaid from the treas- 
 ury, and seeking private reimbursement by means 
 of threats and brutality ; the shops closed in fear ; the 
 land abandoned, uncultivated, because of the enormous 
 taxation. . . . Such has ever been the system." 
 
 Charles V. came into an empire more vast than 
 any other since Charlemagne. When he sought 
 Italy he occupied Como and the Castle of Milan. 
 He paid Francesco Sforza an indemnity of nine 
 hundred thousand ducats. Charles was subse- 
 quently crowned by the Pope at Bologna. In his 
 rule over Italian affairs he was succeeded by his 
 son Philip II., " a sovereign slow without pru- 
 dence, ambitious without enterprise, false without 
 ability to deceive, and refined without profundity 
 of subtlety. " Philip III. followed. Each mon- 
 arch showed himself more weak than the other, 
 all betrayed the people, and evinced the despot- 
 ism, combined with lethargy, which ultimately 
 caused the overthrow of Spain as mistress of the 
 131
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 world. Como suffered all the affliction of the rule 
 of these kings, who resembled Midas in the fable 
 and were ever famished in the midst of gold. 
 The governors sent here were charged to extort 
 new taxes, while officials of State instituted a 
 system of insult and depredation on the betrayed 
 people. Colico was once a stretch of twelve 
 thousand acres, planted with mulberry trees, corn, 
 flags, and cane. Made into a county by the 
 Visconti, Charles V. gave it to Sanseverino, 
 Bellaggio to the Sfrondati, the Val Intelvi to 
 Marliani, Lomazzo and Rovellasca to Casnedo, 
 owing to the impecuniosity of the Chamber. 
 P. Giovio pronounced Como, thus despoiled, a 
 city smitten with a moral fever. Lombardy 
 rapidly lost the finer traits of national character, 
 and waxed ignorant, hypocritical, and abject 
 under the Spanish sway. At the same time 
 society became more corrupt, and luxury in- 
 creased. Como indulged in masquerades, caval- 
 cades with music, poetry, and the erection of 
 triumphal arches in the streets. In 1613 the 
 town boasted of eighteen carriages ; in 1672 the 
 132
 
 Spanish Footsteps 
 
 number had increased to forty-nine. Coaches 
 were inlaid with ebony and ivory, and drawn by 
 four horses. The women were extravagant in 
 costume, and wore long robes of silk and lace. 
 They indulged in perfumes from foreign lands, 
 and disdained native jasmine and rose scents. 
 Spain established the Inquisition, chiefly for the 
 persecution of Jews and witches. A sanctimo- 
 nious cant was observed. No oil was allowed to 
 be eaten in Lent, and a tax was paid for any ani- 
 mal killed in Como during this season of penance, 
 the sum of money being used for the Duomo. 
 
 The most momentous phase of the Spanish 
 supremacy was religious. When Martin Luther 
 lifted his voice against the sale of indulgences by 
 Pope Leo in 1517, Como and the region turned a 
 page, also, in the history of the Reformation. In 
 vain Charles V. convoked the Diet of Worms in 
 1512, to check the progress of the Lutheran doc- 
 trines, and involved Germany in war and tribula- 
 tion. All the world, aghast, was required to 
 contemplate the defiance of a new order that 
 sought to found such dogmas as the overthrow 
 J33
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 of papal authority, refusal to admit celibacy for 
 the priesthood, baptism, the holy supper, the 
 saints, purgatory, the confessional, in fact, alle- 
 giance to Rome. 
 
 There is a popular tradition that Martin Luther 
 preached in many places around the Lake of 
 Como, and was driven from the pulpit at Menag- 
 gio. Calvin is believed to have visited the court 
 of Ferrara in 1535, disguised, to see the Duchess 
 Renee of France. Contemporaneously with 
 Luther, the curate Ulric Zwingli preached the 
 same doctrines at Zurich. In the agitations, 
 tumults, and bitter persecutions that ensued, fugi- 
 tives fled from all countries to Switzerland. 
 
 Voltaire has affirmed that few Italians gave 
 their adherence to the Lutheran doctrines, as a 
 people too much occupied with pleasure and in- 
 trigue to take part in the serious disturbances of 
 the time. Arnold of Brescia preached at Zurich 
 in the twelfth century. Such Italians are cited 
 as Giorgio Francispergio, a fanatical apostle of 
 Lutheranism, who carried in his pocket a golden 
 cord with which to strangle Clement VII. as the
 
 Spanish Footsteps 
 
 last of the Popes, and passed by the Lake of 
 Como in the day of the Medicean wars, and 
 paused at Sorico, where he deposited a colossal 
 head of Pompey, taken in the famous sack of 
 Rome. He went to Paris. Francesco Calvo of 
 Menaggio was an ardent reformer, praised by 
 Erasmus of Rotterdam, and made known to 
 Luther for his erudition. He distributed the 
 writings of Luther, printed at Bale, through the 
 Alps. Many illustrious women were suspected 
 of cherishing the new opinions, the Duchess of 
 Urbino, Julia, Gonzaga, Countess of Fondi, and 
 even Vittoria Colonna. 
 
 Beyond that northern gate of Como rose the 
 Valtellina and the Grisons. The Valtellina was 
 a fine and important province, called fertile at as 
 remote a period as when Cassiodorus wrote in 
 praise of Como, and coveted, ever, by Milan, 
 rival Bishops, and Como. The Grisons formed 
 an Etruscan relic in the Alps. The people were 
 poor and independent in spirit, building their 
 huts among inaccessible rocks. They were 
 menaced by the Romans, and then by all 
 J35
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Europe. The feudal lords, and the bishops 
 built castles in the land. This mountain realm 
 became one of the chosen asylums of men who 
 desired to praise God in their own fashion. Is 
 there not an element of the cool air, the scent of 
 the pines skirting the ledges, and the icy pinnacles 
 of glacier and peak in the thought? Carlyle 
 truly said : " No iron chain, or outward force of 
 any kind, can ever compel the soul of man to 
 believe, or disbelieve." 
 
 A Protestant is still known in the Grisons as a 
 Lutero. The Bible was translated by G. Diodati. 
 The Confession of Faith, signed at Coire, April, 
 1553, admitted the three Symbols, the Pater- 
 noster, the Decalogue, the observance of Sunday, 
 the two sacraments of baptism and the com- 
 munion. Such was the code of the pastors of 
 Rhetia. 
 
 At the close of the nineteenth century man is 
 not imprisoned, tortured, or executed for religion. 
 He worships or discredits according to his own 
 moral convictions. Surely there is a profound 
 interest, quite apart from creeds, even in a casual 
 136
 
 Spanish Footsteps 
 
 glance at those of an earlier time who suffered, 
 fought, and struggled in spiritual conflict, from 
 Rudolph de Salis of Solio, whose tomb records 
 that he was driven from his home by human 
 machinations, but returned, and died free, to 
 Vergerio, the Papal Nuncio in Germany, who 
 fled to the Valtellina, humiliated, impoverished, 
 and accused of heresy. 
 
 Yonder is the Plain of the Spaniard, with trace of 
 the Castle of Fuentes on the ridge, favourite haunt 
 of the viper. Joseph II. abolished the fort, and 
 Colonel Schreder, the last castellan, cultivated 
 mulberry trees around it. The French, with 
 five hundred soldiers, in command of General 
 Rambaud, in 1796 mined, and blew it up. A 
 solid portion of masonry resisted destruction. 
 Spanish footsteps ! All national interests stag- 
 nated in the administration of the government 
 monopolies, and taxes. Manufactories and com- 
 merce languished. In Italy work and enterprise, 
 artistic, agricultural, and trade had been pro- 
 moted by princes and ecclesiastics, in various 
 channels, but the Spanish rule exacted a noble
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 indolence. All occupation was derogatory to a 
 count or a marquis. The town duties checked 
 industry. As a result, the artisans of Como 
 migrated to Venice and foreign lands in large 
 numbers, just as the Protestants of Locarno 
 sought Switzerland, when the brave little land 
 opened the door of Uri, Schwyz, Lucerne, Zug, 
 Unterwald, Soleure, and Fribourg to such exiles. 
 Prosperity was curbed in the valleys of Chiasso, 
 Gandino, and Mendrisio in a similar mode. 
 Como lamented the reduction of her commerce 
 for weavers, dyers, workers in iron and glass 
 and woollen fabrics by more than half. The 
 Valtellina had a proverb that all riches were dis- 
 sipated in five ways: one portion went to the 
 princes, one to the ecclesiastics, one to the 
 nobility, one to agricultural failure, and one to 
 the waters. 
 
 " History is little more than the register of the 
 crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind," said 
 Gibbon. 
 
 Pian di Spagna! Low-trailing mists of heat 
 over stagnant waters, sedgy wastes, and desertion ! 
 138
 
 Spanish Footsteps 
 
 The whole history of Spain, as a foreign ruler, is 
 embodied in this dreary picture. Alecto shook 
 from her locks her favourite snake to seek the 
 wakeful Amata, glide near, seize her cooler 
 senses by degrees, in silent insidious venom, and 
 sting her to the heart. Alecto was Spain, and 
 Amata, Italy. 
 
 The Englishman of the last century is still 
 quoted who marvelled that Richelieu expended 
 so many soldiers, and so much money to prevent 
 Spain from holding such a little country as the 
 Valtellina. Lord Chesterfield pronounced the 
 traveller a triple idiot not to understand that 
 the province furnished the only road to Austria 
 and the Tyrol for Spain. 
 
 139
 
 XIV 
 A WITCH 
 
 YOU half believe that she is really a 
 witch as you step on shore from the 
 boat and first perceive her seated at 
 the door of her house twisting her dis- 
 taff. No doubt she rides over the lake on a 
 broomstick at midnight. She is clad in rags of a 
 sombre tint, and has some sort of drapery 
 shawl or kerchief gathered over her head. Her 
 features are yellow and wrinkled, the glance of 
 her eye covert and distrustful, her smile malicious 
 and sinister. Craven and superstitious humanity 
 may prefer to bid her good-morrow with civility 
 rather than arouse her ire by careless rudeness, 
 and have her practising dread incantations be- 
 hind one's back, with the sticking of pins into 
 a wax doll or a sheep's head a favourite pas- 
 time of hags in all countries, apparently. She is 
 140
 
 A Witch 
 
 akin to the crones of the world, a class curiously 
 devoid of nationality and country. She might 
 be found as readily on an Alpine crag, in the 
 woods of Germany or Scandinavia, Great Britain 
 and America, as on the Mediterranean shores, in 
 the darkest, most tortuous Venetian Calle, and 
 Como. In type she is ever the same. She is a 
 fascinating terror to the youthful mind as a 
 bogy of nursery admonitions, and a mysterious 
 tool of evil for the unscrupulous of mankind. 
 Magical plants spring up about her footsteps: 
 nightshade, hellebore, the golden blossom that 
 reveals the spot where treasure is buried, the 
 flower of the pine to avert bad dreams. She 
 gathers fungus of strange growth, and does a little 
 trade in amulets and philtres destined to influence 
 the career of the wearer. Her pets are usually 
 uncanny of aspect, in the way of black cats, owlets, 
 and crippled falcons, readily converted by the 
 lively imagination into familiar spirits. Are 
 there not still elder-tree witches, with the hare- 
 bell and foxglove especially dedicated to the 
 crew, in addition? The mountain ash averts 
 141
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 lightning, as the first hazel twig cut in the spring 
 saves the grain in storms. 
 
 Witchcraft is very ancient. If the Chinese tie 
 a red ribbon around the wrist of a child to ward 
 off such evil spirits, the Highlanders adopt a sim- 
 ilar strip for the tails of their cows. There were 
 witches in the time of the Plinys, possibly allied 
 in classical days with the astrologers and sooth- 
 sayers. Pliny the Younger, Cato, Livy, and 
 Tacitus laughed at them and the superstitions 
 attached to their magical powers, as well as at 
 the ladies and gentlemen who gave credence to 
 the interpretation of dreams and portents by 
 these oracles. Especial heed was early accorded 
 to the devil as a power, combined with a dread 
 of haunted houses and credence in phantoms. 
 In the Valtellina credit is reputed to be still given 
 to rich misers, after death, seeking the Val di 
 Togno to dig with a pickaxe and cast down 
 stones. All through the land there are fields of 
 the witches, as in the Valley of Sementina, near 
 Bellinzona, and in the vicinity of Como. Certain 
 lonely huts and dismantled ruins near Lugano, 
 142
 
 A Witch 
 
 Locarno, and in the Valtellina are known for 
 witches' houses, as they were in the day of Pliny. 
 The Roman and Lombard laws sought to sup- 
 press the folly. The populace inclined to tales 
 of the marvellous. Wild and foolish rumours may 
 have always been current of the powers of wizard 
 folk. This one could cast spells, inspired by love 
 or hate, on man, animals, and the flowering crops. 
 That one could convert a piece of wood into a 
 horse, an ass, a goat, at pleasure. They made 
 ointments of rare efficacy, powders of enchant- 
 ment, and charms. The chances are these 
 boasters wished the palm crossed, gypsy fashion, 
 to avert such malign deeds. 
 
 The witch of Como may well be accorded a 
 special place in history. Her native hamlet of 
 Lezzeno rests in shadow, set deep under the 
 wood of San Primo. The sun does not visit the 
 locality during the winter. All about the spot 
 are rocky ravines and cascades, with Torno to 
 the south. The houses are roofed with crumbled 
 tiles, the walls are painted white and yellow, with 
 blue facings here and there, and connected by 
 '43
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 slimy passages or vaulted archway. The inhab- 
 itants of these shady and forbidding haunts seem 
 to have early acquired a dark reputation for 
 dealing in witchcraft and magic above their 
 fellows. 
 
 Is the crone a lineal descendant of the witch 
 of Theocritus, or the Libyan sorceress of Virgil, 
 versed in supernatural lore? Does a wild and 
 even poetical interest attach to her of orgies 
 similar to the Walpurgis Night on the Blocks- 
 berg, or gatherings around the tree ofBenevento? 
 Neighbours born on a Friday of March may con- 
 sider themselves lucky as thereby placed beyond 
 her power. Who knows how many fine ladies 
 consult her in their love affairs, and seek some 
 more subtle draught of fresh bewitchment where- 
 with to ensnare cavaliers than their own beauty? 
 In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries these 
 old women's fables had a phase of tragedy. 
 Spain sought to exterminate heresy and Black 
 Art in all her possessions. The Inquisition was 
 organised at Como with reference to witchcraft 
 as well. Morbid imagination ran riot. The arrows 
 1 44
 
 A VILLAGE STREET
 
 A Witch 
 
 of suspicion and detection flew far and wide. 
 Poor old women were not the only victims, but 
 all classes were struck, by means of bribery, 
 terror, and the seizing of property of those 
 deemed guilty, as well as the despoiling of the 
 heirs of prisoners. The confessions made to the 
 Inquisition condemned the wretched culprits, and 
 implicated others, according to the authorities 
 at Chiavenna, Berbenno, or Mendrisio. The 
 most painful absurdities were related of the con- 
 demned, of intercourse with the Evil One, trans- 
 formations, and conversations with Diana and 
 Herodias. (Why were these ladies introduced 
 into such society?) The fantasies of the popular 
 taste seemed to demand marvels. 
 
 Fra Bernardo Rategno of Como, the zealous 
 Inquisitor of 1505, wrote a book entitled " De 
 Strigiis." He stated that the witches met the 
 devil, in human form, on the nights before 
 Friday to render him homage and express dis- 
 respect for the Cross, the Madonna, the Con- 
 fessional. "How to discover the witches?" 
 demanded Rategno. 
 
 10 MS
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 St. Dominic burned heretics. A bull of Pope 
 Pius II., dated March, 1493, accused the people 
 of Rezzonico of sorcery. The bishops visited 
 the surrounding villages in consequence, inter- 
 rogated the parishioners, and detected many 
 witches and magicians among them. The Bishop 
 Filippo Visconti then had them exorcised. Also 
 Piero Antonio Stampa of Chiavenna, curate of 
 Delebio, published the Fuga damonum. Five 
 persons were burned at Como, and three at 
 Lugano. A woman was broken on the wheel 
 in 1519, on the accusation of having killed men, 
 women, and children with the unpleasant aim of 
 eating them. Hebrews were executed on slight 
 pretext. Sixtus V. issued a bull, in 1585, con- 
 demning all witches. 
 
 From Pope to Puritan was but a step in the 
 excitement of a popular madness infecting many 
 lands. Who maketh us to differ in human wis- 
 dom? The descendant of a New England judge 
 is aware that he condemned several innocent 
 women as witches, with firmest conviction in his 
 own prejudice of so-called duty as a religious 
 146
 
 A Witch 
 
 citizen, a crime which he strove to expiate, in 
 later years, by fasting and prayer. What was 
 the original source of the witchcraft persecution ? 
 The wicked smote the innocent, and the pious 
 carried out their will, aided by the tumults of the 
 crowd. The Jews have suffered expulsion, been 
 accused of fearful deeds, and despoiled of their 
 possessions as the actual motive. The suppres- 
 sion of the order of the Knights Templar, on 
 the plea of mysterious idolatry worship, seems 
 to have been to seize their property. Who 
 knows if the witches of England and America, 
 as well as under the espionage of the Inquisition, 
 possessed riches coveted by their neighbours, and 
 the unjust extortion of the inheritance of the 
 widow and orphan, or the old lady of rank, had 
 much to do with the burning at the stake, and 
 subsequent confiscation of goods? 
 
 The witch of Lezzeno need fear no such fate 
 under modern government. She sits at her door 
 twirling the distaff through the long summer day. 
 A group of young women are washing their 
 household linen down on the brink of the water.
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Their voices and laughter rise, from time to 
 time, mingled with the song of birds. A matron 
 toils up the path with one of the creel-baskets of 
 the country on her back, containing a variety of 
 articles, such as a bag of meal, an earthenware 
 pot, a bundle of clover and grass, a wooden 
 bowl and ladle. She exchanges polite greetings, 
 and rests her burden on the ledge of wall, plant- 
 ing her brown, well-shaped bare feet on the 
 ground. 
 
 "How fares it with you, Carlotta?" inquires 
 the witch. 
 
 " Eh ! The flour of the devil goes all to bran," 
 replies Carlotta, wearily. 
 
 " Pazienza ! You have your boys. Three cords 
 make a rope. I am alone." 
 
 Poor body ! Perhaps she is not a witch after 
 all, and no more addicted to broomstick-riding 
 at midnight than you or I, gentle reader. 
 
 148
 
 XV 
 
 THE MAGICIANS 
 
 Y ~^HE whole world belongs to the magi- 
 cians, and they, in return, are the 
 world's servants. Earth and the at- 
 mosphere perpetually yield them 
 precious secrets, yet they seek more. Inspired 
 by an insatiable curiosity, they peer into the un- 
 fathomed mysteries of the universe, and are now 
 baffled, and again enlightened by the luminous 
 intuitions of their own intellect. Of all men the 
 magicians are fashioned in the image of God, for 
 their powers are Godlike. At least their Creator 
 has sent them forth as his messengers to interpret 
 matters hidden to average humanity. To-day 
 they solidify the air into a block by means of the 
 newly discovered element argon. What will 
 they achieve to-morrow? 
 149
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 One of the number crossed the seas, recently, 
 and paused on the shores of Como. All his 
 senses, held in acute tension of study, were 
 cradled by the soothing repose of the nook. 
 Fame was his of modern celebrity, but he 
 wore his laurels lightly, and with modesty. He 
 was christened by his generation a Paracelsus, 
 and in the development of pure magic the Wizard 
 of the West. Waking or sleeping he beheld 
 ever new realms to conquer, for there is no 
 finality to science. A marvellous personality was 
 his own. Now he evolved some epoch-making 
 problem to help mankind forward, in his labora- 
 tory and now he dallied, in childish mood, with a 
 fairyland of toys, the whispering box to imprison 
 and give back the notes of songs, and words. 
 His whims possessed a certain fascination to the 
 public in their originality. He was as prone to 
 consider the labour-saving broom in " the house- 
 hold of Research," a humble Cinderella in the 
 manipulation of trifles, as to adhere to the realm 
 of purely theoretical philosophy, and the wielding 
 of mighty power to move machinery.
 
 The Magicians 
 
 Como has weather as capricious as the native 
 temperament, all smiles, frowns, and tears. 
 
 Thus, as the magician paused on a terrace 
 overlooking the lake, the sunshine suddenly 
 paled, and the atmosphere grew sultry. With an 
 incredible rapidity of transition from tranquillity, 
 a wan, grey pallor touched the surface of the 
 water and the sky, while a purple gloom deepened 
 over the mountains, and filled the ravines. Timid 
 folk hid themselves in the depths of chambers 
 with closed shutters, and nervous menials 
 dropped trays, loaded with bottles, glass, and 
 porcelain, causing a resounding clamour. The 
 wind moaned fitfully, almost palpable darkness 
 descended, and the awful crash of thunder burst 
 on the startled, cowering Paradise, succeeded 
 by lightning in sheets of fire, forked chains 
 athwart the gloom, and hissing serpent tongues. 
 Hail roughened the wavelets to mimic billows, 
 and whipped the sprays of flowers mercilessly of 
 colour and form. Rain in torrents devastated the 
 hillside and vineyards in widespread ruin for the 
 husbandman.
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 The Lake district has kept a dolorous record 
 in the annals of centuries of similar disasters, 
 when the thunderbolt smote rocks to their foun- 
 dations, and lightning shattered venerable trees 
 to the core. In an hour the sky might be again 
 blue, the sun bright, and the mountain tops 
 powdered with freshly fallen snow. Volta wit- 
 nessed and noted the result of such a tempest in 
 1822. 
 
 The magician looked on with calm front, and 
 folded arms. He discerned luminiferous ether in 
 the play of the lightning, a conducting medium 
 following the lines offeree on all sides, a substance 
 filling space, and drawn from the twilight of 
 Nature's penetralia. This lightning of Como 
 seemed to possess a particular significance to the 
 visitor. He was prepared for every caprice and 
 mockery of which the element is capable. Truly 
 electricity moves more rapidly than light or 
 sound ; eye and ear may be paralysed before light 
 and sound can make an impression on them. 
 What course would this primary spirit, malicious, 
 bizarre in pranks, clairvoyant or blind as to 
 152
 
 The Magicians 
 
 result, voluntary and mysterious, follow on Como? 
 It might shatter a church tower and fall on a 
 group of the faithful gathered on the pavement 
 below ; twist the prongs of the pitchfork into a 
 corkscrew shape, carried on the shoulder of a 
 peasant ; stamp the photograph of an adjacent 
 pine-tree on the flesh of the lad killed bird-nesting 
 in the poplar; carbonise one man without trace 
 of violence to his surroundings, and rend off the 
 clothing of another leaving him unscathed. 
 
 " Tell me what electricity is, and I will tell you 
 all the rest," mused the magician, in the words 
 of Lord Kelvin. 
 
 He entered the skiff of Memory, and traversed 
 the lake, borne by the swift current, without need 
 of sail or rudder. He sought the tomb of Volta 
 at the Villa di Campora. 
 
 Alessandro Volta was born at Como in 1745. 
 He belonged to an ancient family. Of four broth- 
 ers, a Dominican, an archdeacon, and a canon, his 
 father had entered upon the career of a Jesuit, 
 when, after eleven years of seclusion, he returned 
 to the world, and married Maddalena of the
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 noble house of Inzaghi. He founded a new 
 family, of three daughters and four sons. Two 
 brothers became canons of the Duomo, one a 
 Dominican, and the fourth the famous scholar 
 Alessandro. Early deprived of paternal care, 
 the latter was left in charge of his uncle, the 
 archdeacon. He was destined for the law. Volta 
 was another example of the boy of genius in- 
 tended by a domestic authority for a career 
 wholly at variance with a natural bent of instinct. 
 Voltaire held that all artists who have attained 
 great renown cultivated their powers in opposition 
 to their parents, and because nature was stronger 
 than education. Molie're, the young Poquelin, 
 was expected to follow his father's trade of 
 upholsterer, while paternal wisdom ordained that 
 Michelangelo should be a wool-comber, Correggio 
 a butcher, Andrea del Sarto, a tailor, Guido Reni, 
 a musician, and Salvator Rosa a priest. 
 
 Volta was sent to school, and seems to have 
 early developed a lively and insubordinate intel- 
 ligence. He had curiosity to fathom natural 
 phenomena, and readily surpassed his fellow- 
 '54
 
 The Magicians 
 
 pupils in devouring all the works on philosophy 
 within his reach. A peasant described a spring 
 at Monteverde to the boy, where bits of spar- 
 kling gold had been seen. Volta is said to have 
 hastened to the spot, and nearly drowned himself 
 in clutching the yellow mica which had deceived 
 the country folk. He wrote poems in Latin. One 
 of eight hundred lines was descriptive of the 
 seasons. Another little poem still more betrayed 
 his inclinations, as it treated of metals, gun- 
 powder, ignis-fatuus, and electricity. He was 
 placed in a Jesuit seminary. In vain these new 
 preceptors strove to curb his spirit, and even 
 forbade him to work on favourite pursuits as mis- 
 spent time, in a testy, conventional, school-master 
 fashion. The youthful aspirant to fame is re- 
 puted to have retorted in a defiant, not to say 
 disrespectful manner. The worthy fathers there- 
 upon prophesied he would come to no good 
 end. He pursued his own course, meditating on 
 physics with such enlightenment as the day 
 afforded. He experimented with ribbons, rosin, 
 pieces of sulphur, and thin staves of wood soaked
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 in oil, groping ever to seize an idea of maintain- 
 ing electric currents. Benjamin Franklin was 
 already described by his contemporaries as a 
 Jupiter who had grasped the thunderbolts of 
 heaven. Le Monnier discovered that the air is 
 always electric. In 1769 Volta wrote a treatise 
 " On the Attractive Force of Electric Fire," and 
 in 1775 invented an electrophorus. He became 
 a professor of Natural Philosophy at Pavia, and 
 retained the post for thirty years. His celebrity 
 rests on the discovery of the voltaic pile, an ap- 
 paratus which excites a continuous current of 
 electricity by contact with different substances. 
 Sir John Herschel pronounced it the most won- 
 derful of human adaptations in the minute and 
 delicate effects obtained through the medium of 
 a series of well conducted, and logically combined 
 experiments. Volta visited Tuscany in 1774, and 
 was received with great honours. Later he met 
 Franklin, de Saussure, Chaptal, Vauquelin, La- 
 place, De Luc, Banks, Vaumarum, Gilberte, and 
 the Emperor Joseph II. He received the Copley 
 gold medal at London. In Paris he experimented
 
 The Magicians 
 
 with his pile before the Institute, and was made 
 one of the eight foreign associates in 1802. Beau- 
 harnais attached the Legion of Honour to his 
 breast, while Bonaparte created him a Count of 
 the Italian order. He married a lady of his 
 native town, Teresa Pellegrini, and had three sons. 
 Most suggestive is the fact that Alexander I. 
 invited the savant to Russia; but he preferred 
 to remain under the sky of Como. He died in 
 March, 1827, at the age of eighty-two years. 
 
 According to Bacon, all the sciences are 
 branches of one trunk. We find in the rectifica- 
 tion of certain errors in the theory of Galvani, 
 made by Volta, the frog of fame, and a little kin- 
 dred crew of the first tiny martyrs to science in 
 vivisection. The frog naturally takes precedence 
 as having hopped or flopped into the front 
 rank of an unenviable celebrity, from a batrachian 
 point of view. Was not this renowned frog made 
 to contribute its hind legs, as a delicacy, to the 
 invalid broth of Madame Galvani of Bologna, 
 whether it would or no? Did not a consequent 
 squirming of its members arouse a general inter-
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 est of wise heads, if the lady's appetite was not 
 impaired? In due time the mouse, the lizard, 
 and the sparrow were subjected to dissection in 
 search of animal magnetism and electricity. If 
 the modern magician, dealing to-day with the 
 labours of Helmholtz and Kirchhoff, and the elec- 
 tric waves of Heinrich Hertz, pays homage to the 
 tomb of Volta at the Villa di Campora, not only 
 the shade of the savant welcomes him. Surely 
 the spectres of a doleful little procession cross 
 his path, and regard him mournfully with wee, 
 beady eyes, the frog of Galvani, the mouse of 
 the laboratory, the dejected lizard, and the crest- 
 fallen, erewhile saucy, sparrow. These seem to 
 pipe, in the name of the whole animal kingdom: 
 " Oh, big and enlightened mortal, how would you 
 like it yourself to have your nerve tissues photo- 
 graphed and your spinal marrow searchingly 
 investigated? " 
 
 Electric globes shine softly on the town of 
 Como at night. They are the glowing memory 
 of her great son Alessandro Volta. The Centen- 
 ary Exhibition of 1899 was a fresh tribute to 
 158
 
 The Magicians 
 
 the early genius, from collections of primitive 
 batteries, quaintly suggestive of the past, intricate 
 machinery for designing embroideries and silk, 
 lithographic printing, metal work, and the moving 
 of looms by electricity, to the development of 
 locomotion in vehicles and boats on the waters. 
 The hand of the magicians still grasps the magic 
 sceptre.
 
 XVI 
 "ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE" 
 
 IF Como reminds the visitor of the theatre, 
 no place on the shore is as much like arti- 
 ficial scenery as the Villa d'Este, with its 
 wide marble facade and portico, gardens 
 extending up the hillside, groves of pine and 
 cypress, and terrace steps leading to the water, 
 with pleasure boats moored beneath the boundary 
 wall. 
 
 Verily the paint-pots of the stage carpenter 
 and the scenic artist have no cobalt, madder, or 
 burnt umber of deeper tints than the ripples 
 washing the terrace brink and the parterres and 
 flower beds on all sides. One may not be es- 
 pecially attracted to the stately mansion shut in 
 under the hills, any more than deeply sympathetic 
 with the heroine of the spot, yet there is a cer- 
 160
 
 " All the World 's a Stage " 
 
 tain mirage of beauty and unreality in the somno- 
 lent hours, heavy with the scents of exotics, 
 spent here. 
 
 The knight Lohengrin, clad in shimmering 
 armour, should advance to embark in the swan- 
 boat in lieu of the brisk traveller, with a red 
 guide-book in his hand, just alighted from an 
 omnibus at the Hotel de la Reine d'Angleterre. 
 The modern Juliet in a lace tea-gown, who 
 emerges on a balcony to warn Romeo, seated in 
 a garden-chair below, with an illustrated journal, 
 that the kettle is boiling, should muse, instead, 
 on the advisability of cutting up the young gentle- 
 man into little stars and set in the firmament of 
 her devotion. 
 
 The Villa d'Este was the residence of Caroline 
 of Brunswick for five years. The property orig- 
 inally belonged to Cardinal Gallio. 
 
 A drama is here performed in five acts for the 
 edification of the casual observer. The leading 
 actress is the Princess of Wales, and the audience 
 posterity. 
 
 When the curtain rises the scene presents a 
 ii 161
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 perspective of gardens stretching up the slope, 
 with fountains, arbours, grottoes of shell-work, 
 and statues placed on pedestals amidst dark 
 shrubbery. Princess Caroline appears in the 
 distance, and slowly descends the main path, 
 pausing to pluck a real flower here and there. 
 (One would expect her nosegay to be made of 
 muslin and tinsel, even on Como, under the cir- 
 cumstances.) The poor lady was considered 
 pretty in early youth, with blond hair, and fine 
 features, but now her figure has become ball-like, 
 and her head appears too large for throat and 
 shoulders. At the sight of hearers, however list- 
 less and indifferent to her woes this fin de sihle 
 audience may be, she bewails her lot, and takes 
 all into her confidence without too much tact of 
 discretion in the desire to arouse sympathy. 
 Alas ! The world is selfish, hard, and, as a rule, 
 not at all interested in unhappy heroines, whose 
 mood varies from tears to assumed jocularity and 
 satire over the wounding slights of enemies. The 
 Princess Caroline tells the public all about it in 
 her broken English, and Frenchified German. 
 162
 
 " All the World 's a Stage 
 
 Listen! She, Caroline Amelia Elisabeth, 
 daughter of the Duke of Brunswick, left her 
 father's court on December thirtieth, 1/94, 
 attended by her mother and a brilliant retinue, 
 to marry Prince George of Wales. She was 
 about to make a great match. King George III., 
 her uncle, had selected her as bride, while Queen 
 Charlotte preferred the beautiful and accomplished 
 Louisa, Princess of Mecklenburg, afterwards 
 Queen of Prussia. She rested at Hanover, em- 
 barked at Cuxhaven on board the " Jupiter " in 
 March, 1795, dropped anchor at the Nore, 
 reached Gravesend in a fog, and disembarked at 
 Greenwich. Here Princess Caroline steps to the 
 wing of the tiny stage of Villa d' Este, and the 
 scenes shift slowly before the spectator to London 
 in the background, panorama-wise. She smiles 
 across the footlights, and indicates the triumphs 
 of her entry on wedded life. Behold London at 
 the dawn of the nineteenth century. The bride 
 is driven in the king's coach, with six horses, and 
 escorted by the Prince's Regiment of Light 
 Dragoons, commanded by Lord Edward Somer- 
 163
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 set. The equipage crosses Westminster Bridge, 
 the mighty sea of populace thronging the ave- 
 nues of park and palace. The crowd cheers, and 
 the bride smiles and bows. 
 
 The scene changes to the interior of St. James 
 Palace. The betrothed couple dine together at 
 five o'clock, and make each other's acquaintance. 
 According to respectful chroniclers Prince George 
 is handsome, accomplished, of polished and grace- 
 ful address, versed in ancient languages, conver- 
 sant with French, German, and Italian, music, and 
 belles lettres. In fact he is " the happiest mix- 
 ture of conscious dignity and unaffected affability." 
 After dinner a distinguished group of actors file 
 in : King George III., kindly encouraging to his 
 new daughter-in-law, Queen Charlotte coolly crit- 
 ical in bearing, the royal princesses under their 
 august mother's supervision, Prince William, and 
 the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester. Her 
 Serene Highness approaches the embrasure, and 
 makes her little speech in English to the people 
 gathered before the palace : 
 
 " Believe me I am very happy and delighted 
 164
 
 " All the World 's a Stage 
 
 to see the good and brave English people the 
 best nation upon earth." 
 
 Is not all this very stagey? The going out on 
 the balcony of sovereigns to salute their subjects 
 always smacks of the theatre and the appearance 
 of the leading actors before the drop-curtain. 
 
 The scene is replaced by another of St. James 
 Chapel, where the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 waits to perform the marriage ceremony. The 
 pageant is of the richest, comprising all the corps 
 of the theatre, and nearly of a nation. The pro- 
 cession wends across the stage in interminable 
 length of state officials, peers, and dignitaries in 
 sumptuous robes. Trumpeters and a master of 
 ceremonies precede the bride, in her regal coro- 
 net, led by the Duke of Clarence, and her train 
 borne by four daughters of earls. Next appear 
 heralds, officers, the lord chamberlain, and the 
 prince, wearing the collar of the Garter, and es- 
 corted by the dukes of Bedford and Roxburgh. 
 The suite of Their Majesties follow. Knights, 
 archbishops, households, the sword of state, borne 
 in pomp, surround the monarch. The queen ad- 
 '65
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 vances in turn, accompanied by princesses of the 
 blood and ladies. The theatrical wardrobe is 
 rifled of velvet, ermine, jewels, gold lace, and 
 satin for the occasion. Cannon boom out from 
 park and tower, bells ring, and London is illumi- 
 nated with myriads of tapers arranged in shapes 
 and designs that night in honour of the auspicious 
 occasion. 
 
 The curtain falls on this first act, leaving 
 Princess Caroline to her reminiscences. The 
 audience, posterity, smiles superciliously at the 
 idea of town-lighting before the day of gas and 
 electricity. 
 
 The second act finds the exile in a sad humour. 
 She is seated before her escritoire dabbling in 
 that most mischievous of all feminine gifts, letter- 
 writing. Like many other women, Princess Caro- 
 line wrote too many letters. These light leaflets 
 of jest, complaint, satire, justification, and confi- 
 dence scattered broadcast from her pen brought 
 her a crop of dragon's teeth in the sowing. The 
 queen was scandalised at the frankness of her 
 stated opinions of those about her, and the cour- 
 166
 
 " All the World 's a Stage 
 
 tiers followed the royal example in seeking a 
 pretext of disapproval. Never was bride sur- 
 rounded by a greater number of enemies at the 
 outset. Lady Jersey, watching in the background, 
 was alert to inform the prince that Caroline had 
 incautiously gossiped of certain German suitors 
 for her hand. The prince sneered readily at his 
 consort. The barbed arrow was launched at the 
 breast of the bride that he only married at all in 
 order to have his debts paid. She is of a high 
 descent and a haughty spirit. The bitter cup of 
 neglect, humiliation, and a return to earlier favour- 
 ites was held to her lips. The king maintained 
 his attitude of consideration for his unfortunate 
 niece. The queen and the princesses scarcely 
 visited her. The courtiers ebbed away, swept by 
 the " besom of expediency." Princess Caroline, 
 in her difficult r6le, needed to possess the patience 
 of a Griselda and the wisdom of Solomon. She 
 had neither qualification in marked degree. She 
 belonged to the eccentric House of Brunswick. 
 
 She lays aside her pen, rises, and confronts the 
 public, philosophising thus : 
 167
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 " Suspense is very great bore, but we live 
 only de poor beings of de hour, and we ought 
 always to try to make us happy so long we 
 do live. To tell you God's truth, I have had 
 as many vexations as most people, but we must 
 make up vous mind to enjoy de good spite of 
 de bad, and I mind, now, de last no more 
 dan dat." 
 
 She snaps her fingers contemptuously. 
 
 The curtain sweeps down on the second act. 
 The audience, posterity, yawns behind its fan, 
 and is manifestly bored by the dreary monologue. 
 
 When the little stage is once more visible no 
 less a person than " the first gentleman in Eu- 
 rope " steps forward, jauntily, with an eye, not 
 on such beauty as may be present, as much as 
 the effect produced on the spectators by himself. 
 He poses marvellously well, and the rouge on 
 his cheeks is artistically adjusted. Domestic 
 affairs may jar, and the mob, with primitive ideas 
 of conjugal duty, be hostile to him as the heir. 
 He has just written an address to the king. He 
 gives a brief extract : 
 
 1 68
 
 " All the World >s a Stage " 
 
 " I ask to be allowed to display the best energies of 
 my character, to shed the last drop of my blood in 
 support of Your Majesty's person, crown, and dignity ; 
 for this is not a war for empire, glory, or dominion, 
 but for existence [1803]. In this contest the lowest 
 and humblest of Your Majesty's subjects have been 
 called on; it would little become me, who am the 
 first, and who stand at the very footstool of the throne, 
 to remain a tame, an idle, and a lifeless spectator of 
 the mischiefs which threaten us, unconscious of the 
 dangers surrounding us, and indifferent to the conse- 
 quences. Hanover is lost ; England is threatened 
 with invasion; Ireland is in rebellion; Europe is at 
 the foot of France. At such a moment the Prince of 
 Wales, yielding to none of your servants in zeal and 
 devotion, to none of your subjects in duty, none of 
 your children in tenderness and affection, presumes to 
 approach you to repeat offers of services already 
 made." 
 
 The actor toys with the paper complacently. 
 What does the audience think of it? Are not 
 the periods rather neatly turned? Posterity is 
 amazed, even electrified. Can this stately gentle- 
 man, inspired by such noble sentiments, be the 
 169
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 lord of Princess Caroline, the father of young 
 Charlotte, the comrade of the Earl of Moira, 
 and Admiral Jack Bayne, who keeps his bed until 
 three or four o'clock of an afternoon, and other- 
 wise sets at defiance the laws of health? 
 
 The heir makes his bow, and quits the boards, 
 to become prince regent, in due course of time, 
 with the old king stricken mad. 
 
 Act fourth portrays Princess Caroline in melan- 
 choly plight She holds the scene, and describes, 
 with volubility, her wrongs to all listeners. A 
 separation had long been in contemplation be- 
 tween the royal pair. The prince lived at 
 Windsor and Carlton House. She had retired 
 to Charlton near Blackheath, with her daughter 
 the Princess Charlotte, and ladies-in-waiting. 
 With the insanity of George III. she must lose 
 her only partisan. Her child was taken from 
 her for suitable education. Tears and sobs check 
 the utterance of the mother at this juncture. 
 The poor lady may not be a great actress, but 
 she rises to a climax of tragedy. She is, for 
 the moment, a Niobe, full of dignity and grandeur 
 170
 
 All the World 's a Stage " 
 
 before the world. The prince regent found his 
 consort an unfit guardian for Charlotte. He 
 wished her to live with him. The affront to 
 maternal dignity had a double sting. She was 
 an unsuitable guardian of the heiress to the 
 throne. Still less was he a paternal example to 
 youth. The regent had further expressed a 
 desire to never meet his wife again, in public or 
 private. In 1806 reports injurious to the character 
 of the lady were circulated. The chronicler 
 hastened to add, "in order to intimidate her." 
 Ah ! Princess Caroline may well exclaim with 
 Timon: 
 
 " I am sick of this false world, and will love nought 
 But even the bare necessities upon 't." 
 
 She retires overwhelmed by chagrin and sor- 
 row. Her daughter had been presented at Court, 
 and she not admitted to the Drawing-room. 
 
 Then Princess Charlotte trips on the stage for 
 a brief moment. She is a blooming maiden of 
 eighteen years, endowed with plenty of character. 
 There is a trait of frankness and honesty in her 
 adherence to her mother. Has not the populace 
 171
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 admonished her to stand up for the injured 
 parent? She pouts at her father, defies her 
 grandmother, Queen Charlotte, and openly re- 
 bels at her governesses. She runs away in a 
 hackney coach to pay her mother a visit at 
 Connaught House. Princess Caroline is absent 
 at Blackheath. Young Charlotte throws her- 
 self down petulantly on a couch, and affirms : 
 
 " I would rather earn my own bread, and live 
 on five shillings a week, than lead the life I do." 
 
 Then the Archbishop of Canterbury comes to 
 fetch the naughty girl home before her mother's 
 return. She hangs her head, and goes, to be- 
 come a young lady, with a marriage to the Prince 
 of Orange in contemplation, and the ultimate 
 choice of Leopold of Saxe-Coburg. Defeated, 
 and fearing imprisonment, in some form, Princess 
 Caroline leaves England for the Continent. 
 
 The audience, posterity, sighs, is moved, ill-at- 
 ease, hopes it will soon finish. It must have all 
 happened so long ago ! 
 
 In the final act Princess Caroline strolls about 
 the gardens of Villa d'Este. She is attired in a 
 172
 
 " All the World 's a Stage " 
 
 white robe, and wears on her head a cap of cr6pe 
 with lavender bows. This costume is mourning 
 for her daughter, Princess Charlotte, whose early 
 death surprised the nation. Princess Caroline is 
 weary, disillusioned with the paradise where she 
 has planted flowers and built roads, after the 
 example of such an enterprising lady as Napo- 
 leon's sister, Elisa Bonaparte, Queen of Etruria, 
 and restless. The exile has dwelt at Naples, 
 Genoa, and Pesaro. She has mingled with the 
 cosmopolitan society of the Italy of that day. 
 She values it little, and wishes that she had never 
 abandoned her position in England. She ad- 
 vances down the stage. A despatch is presented 
 to her by an attendant. The year 1820 has 
 dawned and George IV. will be crowned king. 
 She raises her head, and pauses at the footlights. 
 She will return to England, and claim her right 
 of being proclaimed queen. She bids adieu to 
 Villa d'Este for ever ! 
 
 The audience, posterity, disperses slowly, pon- 
 dering on the sequel to this strange drama, of how 
 the king had the name of his consort struck from
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 the liturgy. A supreme moment of vindication 
 came for Queen Caroline. She arrived at Can- 
 terbury, and her journey to London was a 
 triumphal one. The populace rallied in her sup- 
 port, mobs threatened, flags were hoisted, and 
 seditious placards posted. She appeared un- 
 daunted before the House of Lords during the 
 preparation of the bill of separation. The cor- 
 onation took place in July, 1821. The queen 
 appeared at the entrance of Westminster Abbey, 
 and was refused admittance. The repulse has- 
 tened her end. She died in August, and her 
 remains were taken to Brunswick at her own 
 request. 
 
 The audience, posterity, contemplates these 
 problems of history. If the nose of Cleopatra 
 had been less symmetrical the face of the earth 
 would have been materially modified. If an in- 
 flammatory fever had not seized Mirabeau, a 
 tile had fallen on Robespierre, or a bullet struck 
 Bonaparte, events would have had different re- 
 sults. If Louisa of Mecklenburg had married 
 George IV. how would the German Empire have
 
 " All the World 's a Stage 
 
 been shaped by Bismarck for that fine old gentle- 
 man Kaiser Wilhelm to rule over ? If Queen 
 Caroline had been more tractable, as wife and 
 mother, the fairies would have watched in vain 
 around the cradle in 1819, of Victoria Alexan- 
 drina, daughter of the Duke of Kent, for the 
 Victorian era. 
 
 The curtain falls at Villa d'Este, the lights 
 burn dim, and the play, called Life, is over for 
 Caroline of Brunswick to all eternity. 
 
 175
 
 XVII 
 
 A MUSICAL MEMORY 
 
 f "^HE tall and slender form of a priest, 
 in a black robe, paced the path bor- 
 dered by orange and citron trees. 
 The seminarist had come from Rome, 
 and his sphere of cloistered studies, at the invita- 
 tion of the proprietor long absent in foreign 
 lands. Something notable would be expected 
 of him in his day, perhaps. His soul of the 
 musician was full of half-awakened harmonies. 
 His education had taken him back to the date 
 when music lay yet in the cradle, awaiting the 
 touch of Italy upon her strings, the touch of Ger- 
 many upon her keys. The Gregorian Chaunts, 
 the themes of Pergolesi, and even the graceful 
 imagination of Metastasio had long absorbed 
 him. 
 
 176
 
 A Musical Memory 
 
 With Schleiermacher he believed that religion 
 is a music, pervading all our sentiments, thoughts, 
 and acts. 
 
 Hedges of bay and ilex framed a belvedere, 
 and a tiny amphitheatre of lawn, with an obelisk 
 rising in the centre. On all sides of the bound- 
 ary the property was embowered in laurel. The 
 visitor might find here a sunny garden, a cool 
 banquet-hall, and watch the play of the central 
 fountain, with antique bronze reliefs, where the 
 spray blown by zephyrs rose in a silvery veil, 
 aspired to the heights, swayed, and lapsed back 
 earthward to repose once more. How many 
 have enjoyed this courteous hospitality of gen- 
 erations of patrician owners. 
 
 To the seminarist the place was peopled with 
 ghosts ; a shadowy company of sweetest sugges- 
 tiveness to his own meditations and aspirations. 
 All were friendly, and all smiled on him. The 
 brotherhood had attained immortality, crossed 
 the boundary chasm between life and death, 
 climbed to new realms of harmony. Did not 
 Beethoven, colossal and profound in thought, 
 12 177
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Mozart, melancholy yet majestic, and Mendels- 
 sohn, full of power and technical skill, or Wag- 
 ner, among the clouds of the great ideal, beckon 
 to him to struggle forward in a daring boldness 
 of conception of the fugue movement, or, at least, 
 to attain sincerity and truthfulness in his work? 
 Alas ! would he ever presume to write a sym- 
 phony after Beethoven's Ninth, which Wagner 
 designated as the last possible emanation of 
 music as a separate art? Could he hope to fol- 
 low Mozart's Jupiter symphony, or charm the 
 ear of his generation by even an echo of Men- 
 delssohn's elves and fairies? Still nearer to him 
 the composers of the sonata, the fantasia, the 
 song, linking together words and melody, of his 
 own day, brushed him by an impalpable presence, 
 wafted to him, in the fountain's spray, as he 
 passed in his walk, in all the manifold phases of 
 a subtle language speaking to the human heart ; 
 Schubert's rich lyrics, Schumann, first of subjec- 
 tive romanticists, and Brahms, with his store of 
 chamber music. The seminarist folded his arms 
 across his breast, and watched the upward puls- 
 178
 
 A Musical Memory 
 
 ing of the water jet, absorbed in reverie. Should 
 he be a great tone-poet also, capable of maintain- 
 ing the fixed relations of separate parts of some 
 composition on consecrated themes, the resur- 
 rection, the sorrows of Mary, the repentance of 
 the Magdalen, passion, gloom, despair, and dawn- 
 ing hope in succeeding beatitude woven through 
 the tissue of his hopes and fears as timid creator? 
 Would the world yet ring with the mystical 
 rhythm of his own melodies, flowing forth in 
 mighty waves of sound? Must he be fettered 
 down, instead, to the routine of a quiet and con- 
 scientious student, a humble, unobtrusive disciple 
 of these great ones, like the priest born on Como 
 in 1733, who devoted himself to severe study of 
 counterpoint and letters? 
 
 He approached the mansion by a colonnade, 
 and glanced into a vaulted apartment, with pol- 
 ished floor, and frescoed walls. A closed piano- 
 forte stood opposite the entrance, and above it 
 hung a picture. The work was a copy of Gior- 
 gione's trio, with the central figure of the priest, 
 his fingers on the keys of the harpsichord, and 
 179
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 turned to regard the spectator with that wonder- 
 ful magnetic expression in the dark eyes, in the 
 vital portrayal of which, combined with the warm 
 and sanguine tones of living forms, the great 
 Venetian ranks alone. 
 
 The Abbe Liszt was once the pervading pres- 
 ence here. The mute piano may have responded 
 to his touch. Giorgione's musician may have in- 
 terrogated him over his shoulder, from the pic- 
 ture on the wall. The lake of Como belongs to 
 Liszt in the sighing of the wind among the 
 cypress trees, the murmur of the fountains, and 
 the chiming unison of the church bells. 
 
 The seminarist resumed his walk, and the thread 
 of history of his renowned predecessor was un- 
 rolled before his wistful contemplation. In the 
 shadow of obscurity he reviewed that brilliant 
 career. Franz Liszt was born at Raiding in 1811. 
 His father Adam Liszt, a Hungarian, was steward 
 on the property of Prince Esterhazy. His mother 
 was an Austrian of modest origin. The person- 
 ality of these two otherwise obscure parents has 
 been curiously conspicuous in the century be- 
 180
 
 A Musical Memory 
 
 cause of the lustre shed upon them by their illus- 
 trious son. Adam Liszt, the narrow, self-contained 
 man, endowed with the artistic temperament, who 
 had made himself familiar with all keyed instru- 
 ments as well as the violin and flute, was the 
 guardian of a prodigy, severe in discipline, and 
 putting some method into the routine of genius, 
 which would be sadly lacking deprived of such a 
 mentor. The mother, gentle and mild, safe ref- 
 uge of juvenile affection and caprices, coming to 
 Paris ultimately, to furnish key-notes, in the 
 midst of great events, of the varied development 
 of her son under these influences. Between the 
 sober couple stood that graceful genius the child, 
 with his blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, sym- 
 pathetic features, and tall and slender form, who 
 won the interest and admiration of all people by 
 his own noble Magyar nature. 
 
 On the shores of Como the fountain jet rose in 
 the warm summer air of evening, tinged from a 
 shaft of snowy vapour to an exquisite flush of pink 
 in the last rays of sunshine, and the church bells 
 began to peal forth the Angelus from every height 
 181
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 and inlet. The tinkling note of some chapel 
 hidden far up among the mountains told of the 
 childhood of Liszt. Sensitive by temperament, 
 and excitable to all impressions, the lad was 
 swayed to visions of the guardian angels in the 
 distant bell of the village church. Adam Liszt, 
 carrying a lantern, led his family along the dark 
 country road, at the hour of the midnight mass 
 of Christmas, to the sanctuary, where his son was 
 dazzled by the organ, the lighted altar, and the 
 priests, clad in gorgeous vestments, moving about 
 amidst clouds of incense. 
 
 Other chapels in the enfolding gorges caught 
 up, and echoed back the memory of the Bohe- 
 mians, the swarthy sons of Pusta, who encamped 
 around Raiding, and held the boy spellbound by 
 their weird and fantastic songs and dances ; the 
 languid Lassan, and the agile Frischas. 
 
 The linked chain of melody was woven on 
 along the crags from Val Sanagra to San Fedele 
 and Osteno, or Val Sassina to Val di Varrone 
 and Dervio, ringing still the refrain of this remark- 
 able childhood. Liszt was taken to Vienna by 
 182
 
 A Musical Memory 
 
 his father, and studied with Czerny and Salieri. 
 In 1823 Anton Schindler, the faithful secretary of 
 Beethoven, who deplored that the latter's genius 
 was buried in pianoforte compositions, lured the 
 great master to attend the concert given by Liszt 
 at the Redoute. The boy, eleven years of age, 
 attractive and animated, was only inspired to 
 fresh effort under the eye of Beethoven, and 
 played Hummel's Concerto in B flat, with a " free 
 fantasia " afterward. Then Beethoven ascended 
 the platform, and kissed the prodigy amidst the 
 responsive enthusiasm of a vast multitude of an 
 audience. 
 
 The evening bells of Como still sing this meed 
 of praise. 
 
 Liszt went to Paris and London. Ladies petted 
 him, and the world caressed him for his preco- 
 cious talents. The fitful swelling forth and dying 
 away of the Angelus is not more wayward than 
 was the whimsical course of youth, now swept to 
 a morbid prostration of shattered health, taking 
 the phase of religious mysticism in a desire to 
 flee from society and become a priest, sternly 
 183
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 checked by his father, and again swaying back 
 from inertia to energetic study, under Anton 
 Reicha, of counterpoint and all systems of poly- 
 phony composition for several voices, the glee 
 form and the fugue, single and double. He 
 grasped the mysteries of the problematical canons 
 and the canon cancrizans of the early masters. 
 He aspired to the practice of counterpoint in 
 such perfection of the composer as a virtuoso 
 deems indispensable in finger drilling. The 
 evening bells of Como, interpreted by him, 
 alone, in his prime of years of pilgrimage, gath- 
 ered volume of sound in the hamlets. 
 
 Liszt, finding in France a second fatherland, 
 met poets, savants, and artists, was the friend of 
 Berlioz and Chopin, even if snubbed by Cheru- 
 bini on the attempt to enter the Paris Conserva- 
 toire, and pouted at by Heine. He had the 
 noble aim ever before him of making a world 
 acquainted with Beethoven that knew him not. 
 He passed through the first subtle phase of sen- 
 timent by falling in love with a young French 
 lady, his pupil. The omission to bribe the porter 
 184
 
 A Musical Memory 
 
 at the door of the paternal mansion with a five- 
 franc piece is supposed to have changed the 
 whole course of the musician's life. Separated 
 from this ideal of his choice, he was plunged into 
 an abyss of dejection and despair, from which he 
 was aroused, and his Hungarian blood fired, by 
 the tocsin of the Revolution of July, 1830. He 
 sketched his Symphonic Revolutionnaire, which 
 was never completed. The work was divided 
 into three parts : the first a Sclavonic theme, a 
 Hussite song of the fifteenth century; second, a 
 fantasia on the German anthem Eine feste Burg 
 ist unser Gott ; and third, the Marseillaise. He 
 wrote : " Gods and kings are no more ; God 
 alone remains forever, and the nations of the 
 earth have shaken off the yoke." He turned to 
 study with sudden and intense ardour of self- 
 education. He was deficient in the early training 
 of commonplace humanity. French was his 
 natural language of polished grace in aristocratic 
 circles, while he is reputed to have spoken Ger- 
 man with difficulty, and his tongue to have fal- 
 tered altogether in his native Magyar. He was 
 185
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 accused of belonging to the politico-religious 
 body of the Saint-Simonians. He was pro- 
 foundly influenced by the celebrated Lamennais. 
 
 The climax in the career of Liszt was assuredly 
 when he heard the wizard of sound, Paganini, 
 perform in Paris in 1831. He resolved to master 
 the pianoforte as the Italian virtuoso had mastered 
 the violin. The theory of the future development 
 of harmonious progress and connection of sounds 
 dawned upon him. The final aim of both tone 
 and harmony should consist of an increased ap- 
 proximation of all tones, and of all keys. Thus 
 reasoned Liszt, an innovator, yet not wholly free 
 from classical discipline. Paganini, as a violinist, 
 revealed to him a new mode of technicalities for 
 the piano, and the beautiful within the limits of 
 subjective lyric sweetness. 
 
 The seminarist again approached the vaulted 
 apartment, entered, opened the piano, and ran 
 his fingers over the keys. The instrument gave 
 forth the weak sounds of thin strings in the limited 
 resources of the date of manufacture ; an im- 
 provement on the eighteenth century and earlier 
 186
 
 A Musical Memory 
 
 portion of the nineteenth, when Mozart, Haydn, 
 Clementi, or Dussek failed to produce nuances of 
 expression, the loud and soft phases of pedals 
 being especially ineffective, and the quality of 
 tone only light and smooth, yet was notably in- 
 ferior to the modern grand. The intruder with- 
 drew his hands abruptly from the keyboard. The 
 bells gathered melody from all the lower towns 
 of the lake shores, and floated through the man- 
 sion. They told of how Liszt gained deepest 
 knowledge of his art, rendered all instrumentation 
 rich and profuse in colouring, brought out new 
 and magical effects by transposition of the prin- 
 cipal themes and original side-themes. With him 
 counterpoint weaving of the voice was treated in 
 harmonious masses, melody and accompaniment 
 moved with equal power of tone, single parts dis- 
 appeared and were merged in general harmony, 
 execution rose to the dramatic, emotion and 
 depth of expression reached perfection. In the 
 words of a critic of his time : " He saw in all 
 branches of art, and especially in music, a refrac- 
 tion and a reflection of universal ideas, as in God's 
 187
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 universe. He is the most poetically complete 
 whole of all the impressions he has received." 
 
 The praise of the united peal of the Angelus 
 is of Liszt as a church composer. He gave to 
 the world the Christus Oratorium, and the legend 
 of Saint Elisabeth of Hungary. 
 
 Then a deep note welled forth from the Cam- 
 panile of the Como Cathedral, in the distance, as 
 the final stroke of this hymn to the closing day : 
 
 " His gifts were divine, but let us chant of his traits, 
 as a man and a Hungarian, in his generous recognition 
 of the talents of others, his charity, and his patient 
 kindness of encouragement to timid young aspirants. 
 Verily, such good deeds ring clear through heaven 
 like a bell." 
 
 The priest resumed his restless walk. When 
 he regained the house, twilight had already taken 
 possession of the vaulted apartment, and only 
 the olive face of Giorgione's musician glowed in 
 the darkening canvas of the picture on the wall. 
 
 " Why do you question me with your glance 
 when Franz Liszt has already been here?" he 
 demanded aloud. 
 
 1 88
 
 I 
 
 XVIII 
 
 A FISHERMAN 
 
 Como fisherman is an ancient man, 
 withered and brown. He should be 
 accorded a unique place in the history 
 of humanity by the great world hur- 
 rying past his nook in battalions and armies. His 
 career reminds one of the three wiseacres of 
 Gotham who put out to sea in a wash-bowl, 
 according to the nursery rhyme. He occupies 
 the very tiniest sphere, yet is he kin to the 
 bronzed sons of ocean of all coasts. Compared 
 with his field of labour, the other lakes, Maggiore, 
 Garda, or Lugano, have a vast horizon. He is 
 entitled to a momentary consideration from the 
 curious fact that, while the natives of many lands, 
 both gentle and simple, may fish for minnows in 
 a brook, either as a pastime or to supply the 
 cottage larder with additional food, for him the 
 189
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 calling is a profession, followed by himself and 
 his father before him, on this small, inland sheet 
 of water. How wee and droll seem his ambitions 
 as appertaining to the water populations of the 
 earth, the African streams of mighty volume, the 
 American network of rivers, with their tributaries, 
 and the lakes with navigable stretches of rough 
 billows out of sight of shores. 
 
 He lives on the side of Varenna, near the foam- 
 ing cascade of the Fiume di Latte, where the 
 torrent thaws in the spring, when the ice and 
 snow begin to melt on the mountains above, 
 winter having made the nymph of the spot a 
 mute prisoner in crystal fetters for long months 
 of cold in a cavern of the draughty hollow. 
 
 In the matter of living he is not better placed 
 than the poor peasants of the Valtellina, with 
 one room, smoky from the hearth in the middle 
 of the floor, and the drying of chestnuts, at times, 
 no chimney, a bed of straw on one side where 
 sleeps the entire family, the passage way, a 
 stable, and for protection against the wind a 
 tattered cloth, the lamp a firebrand. On a festa 
 190
 
 A Fisherman 
 
 the coarse, brown bread of daily fare is mixed 
 with nuts divided in halves. For the rest this 
 humble population subsists on the harvest of 
 rivers and lakes, the fish and mollusks. 
 
 The fisherman's hovel is like those described 
 by Virgil and Theocritus. He shares all with a 
 comrade, a partner, as old as himself. Their 
 couch is scarcely more than the classical rushes 
 spread on the ground, with a bundle of dried 
 leaves for a pillow. Nets of fine mesh and 
 tackle are collected beneath the roof, fish-hooks 
 attached to white horse-hair lines, poles, and 
 baskets, osier-work for stakes and palisades 
 in shallows. Poverty has set her seal on the 
 premises. 
 
 Go to sea if you wish to fish, says the proverb. 
 How is our ancient fisherman of Como to reach 
 the sea? He haunts the side of Lecco by prefer- 
 ence, where the river Adda, after a turbulent 
 course down through the Valtellina range stirs 
 the depths of Como, and flows out near the 
 town of Lecco, then sweeps down to join the Po 
 near Cremona. Hope is ever verdant, according 
 191
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 to another proverb. Why should not river Adda, 
 as a natural gateway, bring to our fisherman 
 riches, as well as a finny host enter Lugano in 
 May, coming from the sea by way of the Ticino, 
 Lake Maggiore, and the Tresa, when a party of 
 men, on dark nights, light torches of leaves and 
 straw, draw up their barge near shore, jump over- 
 board to form a chain, and drive their prey to 
 land, attracted by the fire, beating the surface of 
 the water with oars ? He patiently follows the 
 migrations from one end of Como to the other 
 of the palatable little fish of the herring species, 
 the agoni. He could count on his brown fingers, 
 if in boastful mood, the number of fine trout 
 ever caught by him in younger days. He waits 
 and hopes in his chances of good luck, while 
 his boat rocks gently on the current. Who knows 
 if there are fabulous creatures, half-monster and 
 half-merman in the depths of the lake, such as 
 the ancients believed in? The ledges are treach- 
 erous, and bodies of the drowned seldom re- 
 covered here. What fright if one of these shapes 
 got entangled in the net sometime ! In the 
 192
 
 A Fisherman 
 
 meanwhile the years pass, and the boat rocks 
 gently on the current, and the nets are often 
 empty. Oh, that the lamprey of Crassus, or a 
 sleek carp would rise to the hook of the ancient 
 fisherman ! He imagines he discerns strange 
 forms down in the clear waters, such as the 
 filmy, indeterminate polypus, the little fish of 
 the Latins, the remora, capable of magically 
 retarding the progress of vessels, some species 
 of the cramp fish that benumbs the members if 
 handled, or a modern cousin of the scarus, set 
 free by kindred when the angler's hook has been 
 swallowed. What if one dredged up some deli- 
 cate morsel, like the naker, with a tiny lobster 
 serving as porter at the door of the shell to watch 
 for food? There is ever the gateway of river 
 Adda for a shoal to approach, moving in a cube, 
 after the manner of the tunnies, and fill his boat 
 to overflowing, like the miracles of sacred history. 
 He dreams of fearful adventures on stormy winter 
 nights, when the wind makes havoc among the 
 trees and the lake is lashed into foam. He is 
 more apt to capture in his sleep the golden prize 
 '3 i93
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 of all fishermen, the magical haul which will assure 
 fortune and ease for the remainder of life. 
 
 We are all Como fishermen, in some wise, 
 casting our line into the lake of endless possibilities 
 to catch the fish with golden scales of happiness 
 or fortune. Alas ! Our net too often remains 
 empty, and the artfully baited hook does not 
 tempt the trophy. Then we return landward at 
 evening, weary and disheartened, to sleep on the 
 rushes and pillow of dried leaves of bitter disap- 
 pointment, hoping for better success to-morrow. 
 
 " To-morrow and to-morrow, 
 Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage." 
 
 Vaironi of Lugano, tiny Agoni (cyprinus lari- 
 ensis) of the Castle of Grato and Antiseto shore 
 of Lecco, bearded mullet of the ponds of Lucul- 
 lus and Hortensius, or golden fish of dreams of 
 Virgil and Theocritus ; humanity is ever alert to 
 grasp the elusive prize. 
 
 194
 
 XIX 
 THE HUMAN KEY-STONE 
 
 1 
 
 most interesting personality as a 
 visitor to the shores of Como is the 
 young northern architect, Saxon or 
 Teuton. To the indifferent, casual 
 observer he is a sympathetic character, modest, 
 intelligent, and imbued with energy and enthu- 
 siasm to excel in his profession. 
 
 He makes his first Wanderjahre of the student 
 in the spirit of an enjoyable vacation, and also 
 to seek certain towns and localities, shrines of the 
 different schools incorporated in the requirements 
 of his calling. His sketch-book, which he carries 
 in lieu of a traveller's diary, abounds speedily 
 with such drawings as the transept of the Amiens 
 Cathedral, the south portal of the Cologne Dom, 
 a western tower of Spires, or the Strasbourg choir 
 and crypt. He strives in his pilgrimage every-
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 where to gain the education of tracing the age 
 and history of the edifice, in its manifold adapta- 
 tion of usefulness. Italy, the siren, awaits him 
 beyond the northern mountain gate of Como. 
 He arrives, armed with all possible sobriety of 
 judgment as to the true standards of art in con- 
 tradistinction with the meretricious and false. 
 Italy smiles and prepares to cajole him out of all 
 practical reason by the touch of golden sunshine 
 on her palaces, the snowy purity of moonlight on 
 the ornate facade of temples, the mellow lustre 
 of alabaster shaft, many-tinted marble column, 
 and wall, brick and stucco. He is perplexed, 
 delighted, and charmed, all in the same hour of 
 his journeyings through the land. In conscien- 
 tious parlance, he is the human key-stone that 
 must uphold the fabric of honest and noble work 
 in his time. A factor of modern life, he has re- 
 ceived the training in instruction of sweeping 
 away obstructions, and establishing wide avenues 
 leading to some central, vast pile of buildings, 
 thus affording a magnificent coup d'ceil of dis- 
 tant effect. None the less is he prepared to in- 
 196
 
 The Human Key-Stone 
 
 spect with reverence man's work of the past, the 
 mysteries of intricacy in shelter of mediaevalism, 
 the screens, and shadowy aisles, and external 
 close-grouping. Also he is alert to discern, in 
 the first examples which meet his eye of classical 
 architecture, the suggestion of the idea of rest in 
 lintel and impost, as the Gothic arch and flying 
 buttress do life and motion. He already antici- 
 pates Roman and Romanesque architecture of 
 the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in all sim- 
 plicity and breadth of effect. He has traversed 
 one of the passes on foot, knapsack on back and 
 staff in hand, and descending from Chiavenna, 
 reaches the crystal gate of Lake Como, framed 
 by those surroundings of richly clothed hills. 
 His dream of beauty is realised ! He is south of 
 the Alps at last ! 
 
 As he gazes on the scene the lake changes 
 with the hues of the passing hours, deepening to 
 amber reflections and flame, the dark cypress 
 trees mark a sharp and tapering outline amidst 
 softer masses of verdure, and the campanili are 
 mirrored in the surface, one by one, with the 
 197
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 bells hanging mute in the belfry windows, of 
 which the wheels project far beyond the line of 
 wall. The Basilica and Baptistery of Gravedona 
 arrest his progress for a moment. He explores 
 the stair-turrets in the wall, the triforium with 
 seven arches on each side, chancel, and apsidal 
 recesses roofed. He worships at the altar, not of 
 the Como Cathedral as readily as the Broletto 
 flanking it with arcaded corbels and knotted 
 shafts. Like old Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, who loved 
 all connected with art, and painted banners for 
 religious processions, the standards set up at 
 tournaments, and* worked in mosaic, the young 
 architect admires in cloister and humble sanc- 
 tuary of the enfolding slopes some treasure in the 
 shape of a chalice, enriched with blue and white 
 enamels, and figures on stem and foot, or cross 
 of silver filigree, niello, and turquoise. 
 
 Italy, the siren, sends forth her emissaries to 
 the Como gate to receive this Northern child who 
 should have been her son. These obey, accus- 
 tomed to such missions of welcome to the stranger 
 through all the centuries. Does the architect 
 198
 
 The Human Key-Stone 
 
 pause over these treasures? Lo! the silver car- 
 vers and engravers flock about him from every 
 side. Francesco Salviati, having been a gold- 
 smith, and worker in tarsia, would fain show 
 him how he came to the casting of small bronze 
 figures and painting. 
 
 " Bid your modern jewellers despair when they 
 inspect the labours of our day," quoth Benvenuto 
 Cellini, fitting lapis-lazuli into a cruet-stand. 
 " Look at our votive images of saints, medals, 
 and the niello, or inlaid modelling-work of house- 
 hold furniture, sacred vessels, cups, vases, and 
 cabinets which I tried to revive in my time. Con- 
 sider the silver palliotto of the cathedral of Pis- 
 toja, the paxes cut with marvellous accuracy 
 by Pollaiuolo and Maso Finiguerra." 
 
 " True," assents the architect, musingly. The 
 suit of armour, hanging limp on the wall of a 
 museum acquires a deeper significance to him 
 than the collections of weapons elsewhere. Those 
 mighty men of valour the ancient Gauls and Ro- 
 mans, with thew and sinew of a different fibre 
 surely from the human muscle as now devel- 
 199
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 oped, habitually wore heavy armour, and wielded 
 morion, shield, and corselet as easily as their own 
 limbs. Did not the Roman soldiery in the Span- 
 ish campaigns jeer at the Lacedemonians for 
 indulging in the luxury of sleeping beneath a 
 house roof when opportunity offered, instead of 
 the open heavens, so inured were they to hard- 
 ship ? The Medes at the front of Tigranes" army, 
 wore such weighty coverings that they were like 
 prisoners in irons. The Parthians, on the con- 
 trary, had flexible mail which fell in scallops, as 
 feathers fold together, yet capable of resistance 
 to darts, while their horses were protected by 
 leather hides. 
 
 " Link by link the coat of mail is made," so- 
 liloquises the architect, touching the embossed 
 cuirass. 
 
 " This one might have been wrought by Leone 
 Leoni, who executed a statue of the Emperor 
 Charles V., and invested it with a suit of armour 
 which could be easily taken off. The skill of 
 Girolamo del Prato was here discernible, with 
 equal probability, that Girolamo who worked in 
 200
 
 The Human Key-Stone 
 
 tarsia, inlaid metals with steel, gold, and silver, 
 after the fashion of Damascus, and beat plates 
 with a mallet into flexible shapes, until he 
 achieved an entire suit of mail for a foot-soldier 
 of Duke Alessandro de' Medici." 
 
 The architect thus roams through northern 
 Italy, his footsteps taking him where the arts 
 followed Goth and Longobard rule from Ravenna 
 to Monza and Pavia in the friezes of monsters 
 and animals, coarsely executed, the rude bas- 
 si-relievi, the capitals of pillars, as well as the 
 celebrated altar-piece of San Ambrogio at Milan. 
 Lombard doorways, piers, open porches, the 
 tracery and moulding of trefoil ornament, string 
 courses, voussoirs of stone, abaci of brick, the 
 use of red, white, and grey marble together, and 
 the fourteenth-century terra-cotta cusps of arches 
 detain him. The Byzantine school, and those of 
 Bologna, Florence, and Rome, in local styles, are 
 open to him. The architects and sculptors take 
 him by the hand to show him their task accom- 
 plished, Sansovino, Bramante, or Primaticcio. 
 Giovan-Francesco Rustici invites him to supper 
 
 201
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 at least in the annals of Vasari in company 
 of the society of the Caldron, or of the Trowel. 
 The guests follow Ceres to the infernal regions, 
 in quest of her daughter Proserpine, to be served 
 with lizards, frogs, newts, toads, snakes, and 
 gigantic spiders, by demons armed with toasting- 
 forks, which dishes prove delicate pastry, meats, 
 and confectionery. Giovanni da Udine familiar- 
 ises the visitor with the birds and musical in- 
 struments in which he excelled, and explains 
 how stucco decoration, such as the vaulting of 
 the Papal Loggie, and the arches of upper trib- 
 unes, can be attained by means of gypsum, 
 chalk, Greek pitch, wax, and pounded brick, 
 then gilded, if one has studied the grottesche in 
 very low relief discovered in the palace of Titus, 
 in all their beauty, freshness, and profound 
 knowledge of design, under the master Raf- 
 faello. Montorsoli eagerly displays his fountain 
 at Messina. 
 
 Italy, the siren, cajoles and charms sober 
 judgment. 
 
 Behold the Italian Gothic, which did not resort 
 202
 
 The Human Key-Stone 
 
 to the buttress shaft, cusped on the under side to 
 overcome all difficulties, and produce the trefoil 
 arch. Behold the cornice crowning the summit 
 of walls, campanili, porches, and running up 
 gables, the mellow tones of brickwork and stone 
 in church and shafted cloister. Is not the result 
 sometimes gained by audacity, seeming careless- 
 ness and indolence, even, in breaking standard 
 rules of harmony to serve the aim of the moment, 
 fair enough, surrounded by the beauty of the land 
 and crystallised by the purity of climate? If he 
 visits the tombs of the Scaligers at Verona a 
 market is held at the base, with awnings and 
 cotton umbrellas spread over heaps of fruit and 
 vegetables. If he lingers near the Lucca monu- 
 ments, sculptured, inlaid, and diapered in precious 
 marbles, a local festa of a Saint's day lends life 
 and animation to the scene. The Tuscan spring- 
 time has such elements for his eye as, when con- 
 templating the vast pile of the Florence Duomo, 
 the funeral procession of an archbishop wends 
 about the temple, with banners, gilded crosses, 
 gold and velvet canopies, tapers, and white-robed 
 203
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 priests. The balcony, with moulded beams, and 
 groining in transverse, and diagonal ribs of an 
 ancient castle, half farmhouse in decay, and adja- 
 cent doorway with traces of fresco in the tympa- 
 num, which he transfers to his sketch-book, 
 standing on the other side of the paved way of a 
 little hamlet, holds beauty, radiant, softly tinted, 
 smiling; the woman at the window who is the 
 bunch of grapes of the roadside, to quote the 
 national proverb. His casement studies, wheels 
 divided by shafts and little columns, set in blocks 
 of stone, with plate tracery, or having terra-cotta 
 capitals, are sadly interfered with by the charming 
 heads of youth, in all types of blonde and bru- 
 nette, peeping out at him, roguishly, a snatch of 
 song on the lips : 
 
 " Now blessings on Matteo's kindly art! 
 He 's made a window after my own heart ; 
 He has not made it me too low nor high, 
 And so I see my love when he goes by." 
 
 " Return when your Northern skies are dull, and 
 all the colour of sunshine you know comes through 
 the painted glass of your Cathedrals," mocks 
 
 Italy. 
 
 204
 
 The Human Key-Stone 
 
 " We always return," sighs the architect. 
 
 Once more Como towers are mirrored in the 
 tranquil waters, and the bells hang mute, as he 
 takes his way over the mountain pass. Every- 
 where he encounters the human key-stone on his 
 route, the manhood of fair seeming that will 
 crumble at the first shock of adversity, the spe- 
 cious gilded stucco presented to the world's gaze 
 of Giovanni da Udine or the solid foundations of 
 honesty of the great Masters. Time, the Archi- 
 tect, will also test this disciple as he takes up 
 his career, whether he designs the sky in his 
 dome, the rocks for columns, or wreathes his 
 cornices and capitals with decorations of olive, 
 laurel, and acanthus leaves. 
 
 205
 
 THE SEASONS 
 
 I 
 WINTER
 
 XX 
 
 A PATRIARCHAL VILLA 
 
 1 
 
 villa was small and modest, with 
 a tiny garden surrounded by a high 
 wall on either side, and a boat moored 
 at the flight of steps. Situated on a 
 bay of the western bank, the hill rises in an 
 overhanging cliff in the rear, with paths winding 
 among the olive trees to the heights. The place 
 was not only unpretentious in comparison with 
 the castellated and ornate surburban palaces of 
 the vicinity, but bore evidence of age in the 
 fading tones of the painted walls, narrow embra- 
 sures, and dilapidated roof and cornice. Such 
 as it was the villa represented a little paradise to 
 the owner, and was endeared by many associa- 
 tions. Not for any consideration would he have 
 spent the late autumn and early winter in any 
 other spot. 
 
 14 209
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 The habitation, in its severe simplicity, might 
 have reminded the visitor of the retreat of Callus, 
 whose house came within the span of the shelter 
 of a single pine tree, while the thatch of the roof 
 covered only one story. Like this Roman 
 prototype, the Como retreat sufficed for the 
 inmate's villeggiatura if one guest partook with 
 him of the fruit of the vine, the lupin which 
 flourished in his garden patch, and the loaf of 
 bread baked in the domestic oven. Was this 
 little? Gallus demanded no greater luxury. 
 Even more was the proprietor like Tranquillus, 
 who sought his country property in the autumn, 
 far from Rome, where the course of life flowed 
 smoothly and monotonously. In the present 
 case Gallus and Tranquillus have their typical 
 representative in the Lombard gentleman. He 
 was a noble by birth, and his family had tenanted 
 the land of Como for centuries, numbering 
 prelates, poets, historians, and statesmen in the 
 ranks. He was a stanch patriot in all public 
 interests, but he was first a Lombard before an 
 Italian, speaking the local dialect by preference. 
 210
 
 A Patriarchal Villa 
 
 He resided in the brilliant capital of Milan in 
 bachelor quarters scarcely less restricted than 
 the rural home, and supplemented the shrunken 
 fortunes of his race by filling a government office. 
 He mingled in polished circles, and was a 
 dilettante in art and music. He belonged to 
 clubs and literary societies, which furnish the 
 modern equivalent of the mediaeval Academy 
 della Crusca of Florence, the Noctes Vaticanae of 
 Rome, the Men of Virtue and Fame, or the 
 Vineyard, the Cask, the Frogs, and the Eels of 
 other towns, where members wrangled, and dis- 
 cussed the merits of contemporaries, possibly 
 with as much perspicacity as Petrarch and Tasso 
 were criticised in their day. The guest of the 
 Como villa might be a famous savant, a sculptor 
 of renown, an improvisator of graceful wit, or a 
 popular actor. 
 
 Several cabinets and coffers of antique wood- 
 carving, Venetian and Tuscan, contained the 
 treasures of plate and porcelain of the mansion ; 
 portraits of ancestors, time-stained and dilapi- 
 dated, adorned the interior. The ample person- 
 
 211
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 ality of a bishop, reputed to have wielded two 
 pens, one of iron, and one of gold, to please his 
 patrons the Pope Leo X. and Clement VII., 
 seemed to listen to the conversation that tran- 
 siently animated the desertion of the Patriarchal 
 Villa. A courtier, in a velvet doublet, who found 
 favour with Francis I. and Charles V. in his time, 
 smiled at the sallies of a modern diplomatist, 
 while a poet who attended the Council of Trent 
 slightly frowned at a Latin quotation made glibly 
 by a clever journalist. For living audience the 
 old domestic Antonio, given charge of the 
 premises, as a sort of honourable retirement from 
 active duties, also listened in serving the supper, 
 with keen and intelligent appreciation of the 
 topics discussed. He gossiped with the gardener 
 of the next property, indicating the visitor of 
 the date with a jerk of the thumb over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Eh ! he talks like a printed book, an oracle, 
 an old man. You should have heard him last 
 evening." 
 
 The Lombard gentleman had firm faith in the 
 
 212
 
 A Patriarchal Villa 
 
 soothing and recuperative virtues of native air. 
 His fountain of Egeria to ward off decrepitude in 
 advancing years was a daily bath in the trans- 
 parent waters of the lake ; to climb the hillside 
 and ramble through the vineyards ; and to labour 
 in his little garden, fostering and experimenting 
 on rare plants. The enclosure boasted palms, 
 Chinese pines, camellias, and roses that braved 
 the winter, sheltered by the wall. An amateur 
 horticulturist, full of zeal on his holiday, he had 
 cultivated robinia, catalpa, acacia, and bignonia 
 successfully. Floral triumphs might yet be in 
 store for him with a minister of agriculture in the 
 perfecting of chrysanthemums to balls of snow or 
 tufts of copper plumes, orchids of eccentric con- 
 volutions of growth and bloom, and tawny or 
 vivid emerald depths, gigantic violets of marvel- 
 lous sweetness, and double heartease in rich tones 
 of velvety purple and amethyst. 
 
 When he arrived, the old Antonio said to the 
 neighbours : 
 
 " The master is as dry as a herring, after the 
 town, and yellow as a pumpkin, as saffron, or the 
 213
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 gold of a zechin. You will see what the villeg- 
 giatura does for his health." 
 
 Autumn winds blew away the dried leaves, and 
 the old Callus found a tonic to his blood in the 
 frosty morning air, even if the hearth at evening 
 required to be heaped with the resinous wood 
 that emitted a fragrant smoke. The ground was 
 ploughed and sown for the winter grain. Then 
 came December, crisp and sparkling, and with 
 the opening of January a new phase of splendour 
 to the lake world. Colour does not appertain to 
 summer alone in this realm. The water has deep 
 tints of malachite green shading to cold, steely 
 blue reflections, the peaks are dazzling citadels 
 of fresh snow on a clear sky, and the intervening 
 hills one solid bloom of mingled hues, robbed of 
 the veil of soft, atmospheric haze of heat. All 
 day that rampart of Spliigen and Stelvio range is 
 a field for the kaleidoscopic play of light and 
 shadow, swept by the tramontane, pale amber 
 and opal in the early rays of the sun, resplendent 
 in deeper gold, with glistening crags of glacier 
 revealed in the sombre gulf of descending preci- 
 214
 
 A Patriarchal Villa 
 
 pices, and masses of ice formed about every 
 cavern fissure of lower slopes, blanched to chalky 
 whiteness at noon, and gathering again all the 
 fleeting changes of the setting sun in a transient 
 glow of rose and crimson, until quenched to wan 
 and spectral sentinels, wrapped in majestic dra- 
 peries of winter beneath the stars. Frost had 
 stiffened the palm fronds so that they rattled in 
 the wind with a brittle sound, the olives acquired 
 a tint of aqua marine, and the blackened berries 
 sparkled with frozen water-drops as if enclosed in 
 crystal. In the tiny garden the stems of certain 
 plants gleamed like branches of coral, icicles 
 hung about the fountain basin, and a misty thaw 
 on leaf and branch made little diamond and topaz 
 filaments of fringes. 
 
 The Lombard had witnessed the great drama 
 of the sunrise, when Phoebus saluted Eos, the 
 Dawn. His last guest was the Piedmontese, and 
 they had gone forth among the hills, with guns 
 slung over the shoulder in pursuit of the hare. 
 In the evening they paused in the garden to con- 
 template the amphitheatre of mountains. The
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Piedmontese repeated slowly the poem of Queen 
 Margherita to the Madonna of the Snows for the 
 soldiers in peril on the Alps : 
 
 " O Virgin Mother of God, invoked by the moun- 
 taineer as the Madonna of the eternal snows ! O Lady 
 of the high mountains, turn your gaze towards the 
 white expanse that seems a portion of your veil in 
 purity, so immaculate is it, and mitigate the horrors of 
 the route to those in danger." 
 
 Then the proprietor of the patriarchal villa re- 
 turned to town life. Antonio limped about the 
 premises closing shutters and chambers once 
 more. 
 
 " The master goes back as plump as a thrush, 
 a beccafico, an ortolan," quoth the old servant. 
 
 216
 
 THE SEASONS 
 
 II 
 SPRING
 
 1 
 
 XXI 
 
 BLOSSOMS 
 
 artist came with the earliest flush 
 of spring that tinged the foliage and 
 grassy banks of Como. She was no 
 radiant Flora, with flowing tresses 
 and gossamer draperies, her basket filled with 
 violets, primrose, and daffodil, but a plain woman, 
 sunburned from exposure to all weathers, wear- 
 ing a short gown of serviceable woollen stuff, stout 
 boots, and a straw hat which would have been 
 deemed inexcusable by the censors of fashionable 
 millinery. 
 
 She was welcomed by the people, old and 
 young, having for all the pleasant sympathy of 
 the fraternity. Her early flight to the lake 
 shores was like the advent of the first swallows, a 
 harbinger of the budding season. The children 
 made themselves willing guides to spots where 
 219
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 favourite flowers grew, because she sought them 
 with a characteristic environment of the gnarled 
 roots of an adjacent tree, a moist nook of brown 
 soil, a tuft of grasses and ferns, a bit of overhang- 
 ing rock, stained with a patch of lichens, or a 
 glimpse of blue sky visible through a low-sweep- 
 ing branch of glancing leaves, and did not wish 
 to receive whole sheaves of half-faded trophies 
 dragged up by the roots with the misguided zeal 
 of ruthless little hands. She soon evaded these 
 attendants, and made her pilgrimage alone. To 
 the inner eye of spiritualised perception, at least, 
 the iris above the cataract was ever forming and 
 dissolving in the play of colour here. Nature, in 
 a benevolent if mocking mood commanded, 
 " Follow me." 
 
 The artist obeyed, dazzled, fascinated, even be- 
 wildered by the wealth of beauty lavished about 
 her. She endeavoured to catch some weak, crude, 
 and fleeting impression of the floral rainbow 
 spanning this Eden in the time of blossoms. Her 
 little porcelain palette resembled, the plate dappled 
 with paints given by Turner to the children to 
 220
 
 Blossoms 
 
 mingle into new combination of tints by the play 
 of their fingers. Sweeter to the visitor in subtle 
 intuition than human smiles and voices was the 
 salutation of the children of the earth. 
 
 " You arrive too late this year," sighed the al- 
 mond, shedding a few rosy petals down on her 
 head. 
 
 "We have waited for you," said the hardy 
 winter rose, nestling in the hollows of the moun- 
 tain side. 
 
 " Ah ! There you are ! " chimed the crocus, 
 starring the turf with white flowers, and thin, silky 
 lilac buds. 
 
 The tiny bog violets peeped out at her, shyly, 
 from the sides of ravines, while the anemones, of a 
 brownish purple hue, wrapped in down hoods, 
 added a welcome. 
 
 The warm winds prevailed, steeping all the 
 senses in languor, and the sun shed down rays of 
 heat, loosening the tongue of every babbling tor- 
 rent descending from icicle and glacier above. 
 Showers were abundant, in turn, when in the 
 opinion of the farmer each drop of rain that falls 
 221
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 in April is worth a hundred francs. The vines 
 formed cables of verdure, looped from tree to 
 tree ; stalks of early wheat had sprung up in vivid, 
 emerald freshness between the olive terraces, 
 flecked with poppies ; and tangled creepers clung 
 to the slope down to the cactus and aloe bound- 
 ary of gardens along the shore. The artist trod 
 the woods carpeted with amaranth and genista. 
 The fruit trees made fairy pavilions over her in 
 which to dream through long hours : the snowy can- 
 opy of the wild cherry, sprays of the deep magenta 
 of the Judas tree, a pink tent of peach blossoms, 
 the white of pear and apricot, and fragrant nespoli. 
 The lines of care were smoothed from her hard- 
 favoured, energetic features, her mouth relaxed 
 into soft smiles, and snatches of song escaped, 
 unconsciously, from her lips. She experienced 
 an elasticity of spirit similar to that of George 
 Sand when the great writer was able to abstract 
 herself from humanity and lived in the plants, the 
 grass, the clouds, the flowing stream, as a tree- 
 top, or a bird. Then the artist's mood would ac- 
 quire a tinge of more serious thought. She was 
 
 222
 
 Blossoms 
 
 aware that she must return to a work-a-day world 
 when her holiday was over. In the meanwhile 
 she contemplated, not only the waves upon waves 
 of bloom, rippling overhead, and lining her path, 
 red stalk, scarlet leaflets on the tips of branches, 
 yellow and purple masses, fit to offer on the altar 
 of a sun-goddess, a screen of soft, perfumed rose- 
 hued and deep orange splendour, here and there, 
 but was aware of the mysterious processes of de- 
 velopment going on silently in the ground to 
 produce such results. 
 
 Then the golden broom beckoned her on 
 among the hills, where silver hawthorn, jonquils, 
 hyacinths, laburnum, and columbine grew, up to 
 the sphere of gentian and white asphodel, with 
 unexpected curves dipping gently down to foster 
 beds of lilies-of-the-valley, sprinkling the air deli- 
 cately with sweetness from their liliputian bells. 
 These, also, whispered to her their secrets, spurn- 
 ing their swaddling-clothes of calyx, and uprear- 
 ing the life germ, the corolla, to the day. She 
 questioned each chalice, noting the depths of 
 blue clouding, mauve, and violet, with mottled 
 223
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 streaks and dashes of flame and pearl about the 
 stamens. 
 
 The artist bade farewell to her paradise, and 
 returned to a studio on a narrow street of a 
 sombre town, where smoke from factory chim- 
 neys hung heavy over the roofs. She opened 
 her sketch-book, and store of paints. For the 
 rest of the year spring blossoms signified the 
 judicious use of carmine and madder for flowers, 
 chromes, ochres, and cobalt in designing sprays 
 of peach and almond across screens, panels, and 
 even in the bread winning of dainty devices in 
 artistic advertisement. She had been with the 
 butterflies, wasps, and dragon-flies ; now she must 
 emulate the sober bee in making and storing 
 honey. Not high art ? If she does her best at 
 the task allotted by fate who has the right to 
 criticise? Even within town limits she belongs 
 to the plein air school. 
 
 224
 
 THE SEASONS 
 
 III 
 SUMMER
 
 1 
 
 XXII 
 
 A CONCEITED SNAIL 
 
 summer noonday on Como is 
 hushed, and of a fiery intensity. The 
 absolute sway of midday is supreme. 
 Butterflies flit, like blossoms blown 
 fitfully, among the plants, and an occasional bee 
 hums as if drowsy with sunshine. The dry, 
 monotonous chirp of the cicada is the key-note 
 of sultry heat. Threads of golden light pene- 
 trate the meshes of stems and boughs, and weave 
 a tissue through the foliage of warm shadow, 
 which furnish a web of reverie, fancies, dreams. 
 
 The great man had retired to yonder spacious 
 villa, with many casements, architectural adorn- 
 ments, works of art, and chapel. He had a 
 grievance, and Como is a delightful spot in which 
 to sulk at the world. He had a bald head, a 
 227
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 thick nose, and a squeaky voice, but he was a 
 very illustrious personage, at least in his own 
 estimation. He had been unjustly dealt with by 
 contemporaries. In the government of country, 
 and the veering of the international weather-cock 
 of the moment he was in favour of a British, French, 
 or Russian alliance at the wrong juncture. A 
 sharp altercation with the leader of the opposi- 
 tion ensued, in which much eloquence of sarcasm 
 was expended on both sides. He imagined that 
 royalty frowned on him. The only course was 
 to withdraw from the active arena, and be missed. 
 Was his absence deplored by any one? Other 
 favourites rose to popularity. He was like the 
 Roman patrician who was incensed at the intru- 
 sion of Senators from Gaul under Julius Caesar. 
 He was a modern Umbricius, withdrawn from 
 the capital to Cumae in dudgeon, because of the 
 number of polished and adroit Greeks usurping 
 all posts. He also might exclaim : " Shall 
 that man take precedence of me, who came to 
 Rome with a cargo of plums and figs? Is it 
 of no account that my infancy drew the breath 
 228
 
 A Conceited Snail 
 
 on the Aventine, and was nurtured on the Sabine 
 olive berry ? " 
 
 N As the Romans of the Republic vaunted their 
 own honesty and truthfulness, with Fides for their 
 motto, in contrast with the mendacity of the 
 Greeks and the perfidy of the Phoenicians, so 
 did he pride himself on a probity not shared by 
 all of his countrymen. He took as models 
 Fabricius, or the incorruptible Regulus and 
 Cincinnatus. 
 
 Truly each world revolves on itself, as well as 
 around a centre. Ambition is a trait averse to 
 solitude ; the great man, therefore, did not will- 
 ingly taste of the sleepy flood of oblivion by the 
 stream of Lethe to which he had retired. 
 
 He seated himself in a chaise tongue of a cool 
 portion of the garden, with a carafe of wine 
 and another of water on an adjacent marble table, 
 and opened a fresh journal. 
 
 " Cripples are very unfit for exercises of the 
 body, and lame souls for exercises of the mind," 
 said a sage. 
 
 Thus the recluse perused a political leader, 
 229
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 fumed, shook his head, and tossed aside the ob- 
 noxious sheet. In Italian parlance he became 
 as red as a pepper, as a cherry, as a shrimp, 
 or an iron heated in the fire. He rose, and took 
 several turns on the path soliloquising and gesti- 
 culating at the latest act of folly of the ministry, 
 then stretched himself once more in the chair, 
 raised his slippered feet from the ground in a 
 comfortable pose, and spread a silk handkerchief 
 over his bald head. The next moment he uttered 
 a snore. The box hedges exhaled a pungent 
 scent, the pines and cedars breathed a resinous 
 fragrance in the hot air, mingled with aromatic 
 and sweet odours from shrubbery and flowers. 
 The cicadas, shrilling in the leafy thickets, made 
 a rural orchestra of glassy, rasping sounds, now 
 in chorus and duets, and again in solos, a 
 stridulous, drowsy concert. This was the sum- 
 mer hynm of the sun and labour, while the fruit 
 garnered juices, and the grain turned to gold. 
 
 " Hush ! The god Pan sleeps at noon," said 
 a yellow butterfly. 
 
 " If he is the god Pan I have half a mind to 
 230
 
 A Conceited Snail 
 
 tickle his nose and wake him," buzzed a fly that 
 had been trotting on the table, tasting a drop of 
 spilled wine. 
 
 " Let the creature doze if he can," pleaded the 
 amiable butterfly. " See me waltz with the 
 flowers," and the insect flitted in mazy circles 
 amidst the roses and lilies. 
 
 "Is it a skirt dance? I can glide around, if 
 you like," said the little snake, advancing stealth- 
 ily at the base of a stone wall, broken and moss- 
 grown. 
 
 The snail approached slowly on the margin of 
 bank. Does a snail creep, or waddle? This one 
 traversed a given space of ground in its own 
 fashion. Here was no sinuous shell of pearly 
 hue within, with lustre imbibed in the sun's pal- 
 ace porch, but a somewhat battered relic, shabby 
 and knocked about, of sea-life at some remote 
 period, and the door of the mansion fitted snugly. 
 The inmate was plump, not to say portly, as if 
 the fine appetite of eating an eighth part of its 
 own weight of cabbage in three hours, attributed 
 to the species, was verified in this Como garden. 
 231
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 The snail had all the egotism of Montaigne's 
 Gosling, and deemed itself the very centre of the 
 universe. A scorpion, in form a small cray-fish, 
 emerged from a fissure of the wall. 
 
 " Come over here, snail, where the ground is 
 nice and moist," said the scorpion in an affable 
 tone. 
 
 " Please don't hurry me," protested the snail. 
 " Besides, I know all the best places. This gar- 
 den belongs to me, and has always been in my 
 family." 
 
 The tiny ant folk, busy with their own affairs, 
 paused to listen, waving antennae in the air; a 
 brown beetle, clambering up a hillock of loose 
 soil, rolled over on its back with laughter at the 
 superb statement, and the grasshoppers, skip- 
 ping here and there in the turf for it was 
 true grasshopper weather giggled. The pretty 
 snake glided nearer, and added : 
 
 " The song of the children from France, Italy, 
 Germany, and Russia to China is the same : 
 
 ' Snail, Snail, put out your horn, 
 Or I '11 kill your father and mother the morn.' " 
 
 232
 
 A Conceited Snail 
 
 The Como mollusk obeyed, exclaiming: 
 
 " Goodness ! Are there children about? That 
 is the worst of being so tender and delicate, you 
 know. Everybody wishes to eat you." 
 
 " Succulent," suggested the scorpion, wag- 
 gishly. " Ho ! ho ! I might be taken for a 
 bonne bouche" 
 
 " Never ! " replied the snail in a tone of con- 
 descension. " You are quite safe. Who ever 
 heard of eating a scorpion? Now for my part it 
 makes me shudder to consider those suppers of 
 Lucullus where dressed snails were indispensable, 
 or the snailery of Prince Esterhazy in Hungary 
 where my kindred are fattened on favourite plants. 
 I think I am an Anglomaniac because the English 
 speaking races, as a rule, are squeamish about 
 adopting us for food. The Latin nations are not 
 to be depended on. The French emulate the 
 ancient Romans in culinary skill of serving me 
 up. Great ladies may still surfeit themselves 
 on a dainty as Maria Bianca Sforza, wife of 
 Maximilian I., is said to have injured her 
 health. There is a brisk trade going on be- 
 233
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 tween the Valtellina and Bergamo in large snails 
 at present." 
 
 " Is it true that the French make syrups and 
 lozenges of escargots for nervous maladies ? " 
 mocked the little snake. 
 
 " Is it true that you eat fennel to render your 
 eyes bright, and attract birds, according to 
 Pliny?" retorted the snail, tartly. 
 
 The snake raised its head, and hissed angrily. 
 
 " You belong to a very large family, I believe," 
 said a cicada, looking down from a branch with 
 goggle eyes. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said the snail, yawning, and 
 preparing to shut the door for a siesta. "The 
 gasteropodous mollusk, the vertigo, with a cylin- 
 drical, fusiform shell, the Limax, a slug, and the 
 Paludina vivipara of fresh-water pools are rela- 
 tives of mine." 
 
 " Well ! if I ever saw a conceited snail," said 
 the scorpion. 
 
 " What did you say? " demanded the object of 
 criticism, suspiciously. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," rejoined the scorpion. 
 234
 
 A Conceited Snail 
 
 The hot air seemed to have vibrations in the 
 chirp of the insects, mingled with a soporific hum 
 in the distance of slower wings. 
 
 " Hush ! The god Pan sleeps at noon," re- 
 peated the yellow butterfly, poising on a spray 
 of jasmine. 
 
 Thereupon the mischievous fly tickled the nose 
 of the great man. A stout lady in a loose, white 
 robe, with her abundant, dark hair beautifully 
 coiffed, appeared at a door of the closed mansion. 
 
 " My friend, you will get an apoplexy out 
 there in the heat," she warned. 
 
 "True," assented the great man, rising and 
 testing the temperature of his brow, anxiously. 
 
 A stroke of apoplexy would be a sad calamity 
 to the political world. 
 
 "Did you mean a conceited snail?" inquired 
 the little snake of the scorpion. 
 
 " If the cap fits," replied the scorpion, with- 
 drawing into the fissure of wall once more. 
 
 235
 
 THE SEASONS 
 
 IV 
 AUTUMN
 
 XXIII 
 HIS OWN VINE AND FIG-TREE 
 
 ON the outskirts of a hamlet of the 
 western bank of Como, between 
 Gravedona and Colico, stands a way- 
 side osteria of modest pretensions. 
 The road is usually white with dust, the inn 
 small, as a resort of refreshment from the heat, 
 and consists of two rooms on the ground-floor, 
 with several additional, irregular chambers, 
 gained by a ladder-like stairway, under the roof 
 of crimped and fluted brown tiles. The house is 
 coloured a warm saffron pink hue, the shutters of 
 the small windows are yellowish green, and vines 
 of the striped gourd climb around the upper 
 casements in a not ungraceful canopy of leaves. 
 A niche above the door holds a statuette of 
 the Madonna of terra-cotta in a robe of deep, 
 239
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 hard blue. The gate which encloses garden 
 patch, and a few fruit trees, is wide open on the 
 arid highway, as if inviting a thirsty wayfarer to 
 enter. The approach to the habitation is char- 
 acteristic of northern Italy and the Tyrol, the 
 work of the kitchen being turned out-of-doors, 
 as it were, in an easy, unkempt fashion. Fowls 
 peck about the threshold, and pigeons strut on 
 the roof. The Grandmother Agata shells peas 
 or beans in an earthen basin, or washes salad and 
 vegetables on the bench placed along the wall, 
 while the buxom mistress of the premises rinses 
 linen, dresses small fish, or attends to other 
 culinary preparations in view of possible cus- 
 tomers, the actual triumph of frying or roasting 
 belonging to the skill of the host, with his one 
 arm. The osteria faces the lake, with an arbour 
 (pergola) leading in the direction of the water, 
 covered with luxuriant grapevine, and a strip of 
 shingle along the shore where boats may push up 
 on occasion. 
 
 A rustic simplicity pertains to the little inn, 
 yet it is a shrine with a history sufficiently com- 
 240
 
 His own Vine and Fig-tree 
 
 plete to have rounded the sphere of experience 
 to the participants. 
 
 The charming custom has long prevailed of 
 having Manzoni's Promessi Sposi performed at 
 |he town of Lecco, each season, by a good dra- 
 matic company. In how many nooks of Como 
 the drama may be enacted in real life, with each 
 new generation ! 
 
 The pedestrian tempted to seek simple fare 
 and enter the osteria is welcomed with an easy 
 grace of courtesy that any Boniface might envy. 
 Leandro, the host, a sun-bronzed man, with a 
 frank and good-humoured physiognomy, a vigor- 
 ous, muscular figure, and an empty sleeve where 
 a stalwart right arm should serve him through 
 life, invites the stranger to be seated at a table 
 under the pergola, shaded by the canopy of green 
 vine-leaves, and breakfast on a dish of eggs, fish 
 of the lake, or a stufato (stew), and a morsel of 
 Gorgonzola cheese; the repast completed by a 
 flask of sound wine (vino sincere). 
 
 Laura, the hostess, assists in these prepara- 
 tions. She is a handsome young woman, with 
 16 241
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 a sympathetic face, a true daughter of autumn 
 sunshine and the lake district in the warm tones 
 of skin, and the supple outline of throat, shoulder, 
 and bust. Her black hair is braided in tresses 
 and surrounded by an aureole of silver pins, 
 while coral beads and filigree of gold encircle 
 her neck. Her dark eyes look out from beneath 
 level brows with a steadfast expression. Prob- 
 ably the stranger, keenly observant of types in 
 foreign lands, will wonder where such girls of the 
 people obtain their proud bearing, finely moulded 
 limbs, and noble features. 
 
 The Grandmother Agata, bent, careworn, and 
 wrinkled, knitting a stocking, will pause beyond 
 the entrance of the arbour, looking on, like St. 
 Anna in the background of the altar pictures of 
 the early masters. The children gather near the 
 decrepit fig-tree at the angle of the house, with 
 the house dog, a mastiff of sagacious aspect, 
 whose bearing to customers is bland at this 
 hour. 
 
 If the stranger is affable, as tourists are apt to 
 be in such places, he elicits the modest history 
 242
 
 A COMO GIRL
 
 His own Vine and Fig-tree 
 
 of the group before him, as easily as he would 
 read the page of an open book. Indeed Lean- 
 dro, the host, with the dramatic instinct of his 
 race, rehearses the whole to an attentive listener. 
 Yes, he is master here, at last! Like Man- 
 zoni's hero Renzo he is an orphan, and inherited 
 this bit of land (a poderetto), where he would have 
 gladly dwelt, and tended his own fruit trees. He 
 is a contadino by nature, honest, peaceable, and 
 temperate ; but the conscription swept him away 
 to the irksome military career, and later he went 
 to Africa. Bello ! The Signore finds him as 
 black as a Moor. The sun down there burns. 
 He was affianced to Laura yonder. How they 
 have waited ! The couple look at each other 
 and smile. If Leandro was wont in those care- 
 less days of the earliest youth to troll songs be- 
 neath the humble casement of his mistress, in a 
 fine baritone voice, declaring the girl to be a 
 blossom of the peach, a flower of the mint, the 
 gourd, the radish, or her mouth as sweet as the 
 grapes when the vintage is ripest, Laura may 
 now retort, demurely : 
 
 243
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 " When I was a maiden free and blithesome, 
 Of Strombotti I knew a bushel. 
 Married now, no more so blithesome, 
 This bushel 's o'erturned and spilt away." 
 
 Here the Grandmother Agata nods and changes 
 her knitting-needles with nimble fingers. Yes, 
 the Laura was faithful, and waited for the soldier 
 to return. She had many other suitors. A fine 
 girl like that, and of good character ! What 
 would you have? Why, even the superintendent 
 of the silk mill at Bergamo eh ! but no, she 
 made a vow to the Madonna that she would 
 marry Leandro, or no one. 
 
 Leandro resumes the thread of his often repeated 
 experiences. He was stationed at Massaua ; he 
 was at Dogali ; missing ; given up for dead ; hid- 
 den from the enemy until nearly starved ; then 
 succeeded in crawling back to camp, and had 
 his wounded right arm amputated. He ulti- 
 mately regained native shores, and home. What 
 did he find? The cousin who had promised to 
 take care of his little property had died, and the 
 family emigrated. His betrothed and her mother 
 244
 
 His own Vine and Fig-tree 
 
 had moved to Bergamo in search of work in the 
 silk mills. The modern soldier, like his medi- 
 aeval prototype of the famous romance, inspected 
 his domain in dismay. No barrier gate re- 
 mained, and the people of the country had rifled 
 everything they could carry off, mulberries, 
 figs, and cherries. New growth of shoots and 
 creepers weighed down the branches, and strove 
 to stifle each other by a prodigal, untrammelled 
 luxuriance. The ground was covered with a mass 
 of weeds, ferns, tares, cockles, grass, wild-oats, 
 green amaranth, tangled roots, sorrel, and dock ; 
 the noxious intruders abhorred by the husband- 
 man of all lands. A wilderness of plants braided, 
 climbed, and twisted in a confusion of leaves, 
 flowers, and fruit of varied colours, sprays of red 
 and white, stars of blue blossoms, and bunches 
 of yellow bloom. The bramble held full sway, 
 linking its stem from one neighbour to another, 
 dipping down earthward, then clambering up 
 beyond, and disputing the passage of all in- 
 truders. The fig-tree still stood, and several 
 mulberries, with the gourd vine running riot 
 
 245
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 among the branches. The grape, vigorous and 
 untrained, triumphed over this waste of fragrance, 
 and spread green leaves, flowers, and clusters of 
 purple fruit on the trellis of the pergola. The 
 harvest was rudely despoiled, as Manzoni de- 
 scribes the Spanish soldiery entering the vine- 
 yards around Lecco, and saving the peasants the 
 trouble of any vintage. This Renzo also forced 
 his way through the matted weeds, and entered 
 the house. Storms had mildewed the walls, 
 spiders spun webs across the ceiling, and mice 
 had taken possession of the premises. A worthy 
 comrade found him here, inert and despairing, 
 cheered him by a good welcome, made a fire on 
 the hearth, put on the pot of water to heat and 
 stir in the maize for polenta, then brought the 
 little secchio of milk, a bit of bacon, a couple of 
 raveggioli (goat's-milk cheese), figs, and peaches. 
 Thus comforted by human fellowship, Leandro 
 had sought and found his affianced bride. The 
 wedding had been performed by the parish priest, 
 a sleek Don Abbondio, who fills his sphere be- 
 nevolently, although he may be an earthen vase 
 246
 
 His own Vine and Fig-tree 
 
 amidst the iron vessels of humanity in the com- 
 munity. Laura had worn her bodice of brocade, 
 and sleeves fastened with ribbons, and brought 
 a modest dowry of household linen, saved from 
 her wages. Her cheeks had not lost their bloom, 
 nor her eyes their brilliancy in the waiting. Don 
 Abbondio often sits in the shade of the pergola, 
 takes a pinch of snuff, and questions the children. 
 Also a capuchin with a silvery beard, in a brown 
 robe, and sandals, who makes a quest for his 
 community with a coarse bag carried over his 
 shoulder, receives from Laura her apron full of 
 chestnuts. He might be own brother of Fra 
 Cristoforo of long ago. He had prayers repeated 
 in the convent chapel for a safe return of Leandro 
 by the intercession of the Virgin, and even wrote 
 letters to the absent one. 
 
 " It is only by a miracle of the Madonna I am 
 here, at all, after that blessed Africa," concludes 
 the host of the little inn. 
 
 The October day glorifies all nature, filling the 
 ravines in the cliffs across the lake with a golden 
 mist, touching the surface of the ripples with a 
 247
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 light breeze that imparts a silvery green tint of 
 the beryl to the mid-current, and all merging to 
 the amber, russet, and rich brown of distant 
 reaches of shore, like molten metal in the warm 
 atmosphere. Zones of foliage, ivy, and brush- 
 wood, withered to yellow and grey tones by 
 autumn, cover lower slopes of undulating ridges, 
 crags clothed with sombre firs rise above, and 
 heights are bathed in rose, lilac, and blue, melt- 
 ing to the delicacy of a pearly horizon. All is 
 peaceful in the sunshine ; the rough winds sleep, 
 and winter storms seem far away beyond the 
 mighty Alpine rampart. This poem of gaiety, 
 reverie, passionate animation, and indolence, the 
 life of the native, goes on through the centuries 
 almost unchanged, while light and shadow pass 
 over the peaks, little hamlets gleam out on upper 
 spurs here and there, and a church tower glistens 
 set in the mass of verdure of a gorge, sending the 
 note of its bell in greeting down to the boats. 
 
 Beyond the pergola a vat half-filled with 
 grapes is trodden by two naked boys, as pretty 
 as cherubs, with much roguish glee. The youth- 
 248
 
 His own Vine and Fig-tree 
 
 ful Bacchanals, the sons of Leandro, like the 
 cupids of a Greek vase, afford a key-note of the 
 scene and the land. 
 
 The maimed soldier has returned home to dwell 
 under his own vine and fig-tree. What greater 
 boon could he ask of providence? To own his 
 grapes, and make wine is the fulfilment of well- 
 being to Leandro. He cherishes, prunes, en- 
 riches, and trims the roots and tendrils with 
 personal care. Woe betide the wild boar of a 
 marauder capable of ruthlessly trampling this 
 vineyard with the legitimate owner once more 
 in possession ! The most sheep-like native waxes 
 fierce in defence of his harvest before the vintage 
 throughout the land. Leandro watches, spies, 
 and remains wakeful day and night. He looses 
 the mastiff with stern injunctions to give no 
 quarter to thieves, acts as sentinel himself, gun 
 in hand, and would plant a howitzer on the strip 
 of beach if he could, to intimidate intruders. 
 Who knows? An honest neighbour may be 
 tempted to rifle a basket of grapes, and make a 
 little wine in his own cellar. As for thirsty ur- 
 249
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 chins, gazing wistfully at the tempting bunches 
 swinging out of reach on the pergola, like the fox 
 of the fable, they need to be taught a severe 
 lesson at this season. 
 
 Pliny the Younger, in his praise of various 
 pergolae could have commended the exuberance 
 of growth of Leandro's inheritance. The note- 
 taking Roman gentleman might readily have pro- 
 nounced the vine of the modest Inn : Una vitis 
 Roma in Livice porticibus pergulis opacat eadem 
 duodenis musti amphoris fcecunda, etc. 
 
 Leandro is a temperate man withal, yet his 
 own wine is as the nectar of the gods to him. 
 What would Pliny, acquainted with many varieties 
 of grapes for the table and vintage, have thought 
 of Leandro's wine? Would the beverage not 
 have been deemed thin and acid, sadly lacking in 
 body and bouquet, resembling the Setine wine 
 preferred by Augustus, the Veientine, or that of 
 Varenna and Griante, recommended to Lodovico 
 Sforza for his health ? The wise Pliny must have 
 interrogated this rustic son of Como, born so 
 many generations after himself, thus : 
 250
 
 His own Vine and Fig-tree 
 
 " By what process, O brother, do you extract 
 the juice of the grapes? According to the most 
 ancient methods, when libations were first poured 
 out to the gods, and men under thirty years of 
 age, as well as all women, were forbidden to 
 drink it, the fruit was gathered in osier baskets, 
 squeezed by the press, the torculum, or prelum, 
 the liquid passed through a strainer, and received 
 in a tub, or vat of masonry work, lined with 
 plaster, and sunk in the ground, or put in a large 
 cask of wood, the dolium, or even potter's earth, 
 until fermentation was over. The must, or new 
 wine, refined by mixture with the yolk of pigeon's 
 eggs, was poured into vessels (amphorae), cov- 
 ered with pitch, or chalk, and bunged. Wine was 
 even kept in leather bags. Do you make the 
 Passum wine of half-dried grapes? Do you mel- 
 low your vintage over smoke in a fumarium, or 
 give a flavour of rosin, on occasion? Of course, 
 poor man, there is no question of serving your 
 customers in jugs, with two handles, glass, pre- 
 cious amethyst cups, murrha, or the ware of 
 Samos. One does as one can in this world ! 
 
 2S 1
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 Possibly you buy your wine in casks, or amphorae, 
 from the public depositories after the Roman 
 custom." 
 
 The jolly Leandro would have responded : 
 
 " I just heap my bruised fruit into a hogshead, 
 and am lucky if it comes out fit for barrel or flask 
 in time." 
 
 He awaits custom within his own boundaries, 
 but he attends fairs occasionally, where he meets 
 many comrades, and is required to narrate over 
 again his adventures on the Red Sea. An 
 annual festa suffices for him. His Ham Fair of 
 the Paris Easter, or summer fte of Neuilly, may 
 be no more than a Saint's day in September 
 when gifts are blessed in a favourite church, 
 rabbits, doves, pomegranates, olive oil, and 
 pears. 
 
 Autumn steeps the hills in haze, the lake 
 surface changes like a jewel from frosted emerald 
 and sapphire to golden reflections as the sky 
 warms to the glowing radiance of the waning 
 day. The withered leaves of the grape vine 
 flutter down through the trellis of the Pergola on 
 252
 
 His own Vine and Fig-tree 
 
 the head of Leandro, whose contented mood is 
 undisturbed. He exclaims: 
 
 " Casa mia, casa mia, per piccina die tu sia, tu 
 mi sembri una badia" 
 
 (Oh, my own house, however small, seems to 
 me as spacious as an abbey.) 
 
 253
 
 XXIV 
 BOYHOOD 
 
 CARLO entered the chestnut woods. 
 The place was his kingdom, his 
 world. He was too young to dream 
 of any other sphere. Ambition still 
 slumbered in his breast. Military conscription, 
 or emigration might sweep him away from the 
 home nook, and make a man of him. The boy 
 had never thought about the matter. The chest- 
 nut wood had represented life from the cradle to 
 the grave to so many generations. Why need 
 he go further in his time? This son of Como 
 was as nearly akin to sylvan creatures, and the 
 shepherds as civilised humanity may well be. 
 The ignorant simplicity of a healthy young 
 animal amply sufficed at this period of exist- 
 ence. On the other hand the gifts of chance 
 could as readily be showered upon him. Fancy 
 254
 
 Boyhood 
 
 deals with his lot, according to the hour and 
 the season. He was a connecting link of the 
 races of the south, between the remote past of 
 Italy and Greece and the present of the farm 
 villa labourer. Now we relegate him readily to 
 the Arcadians of Virgil. The lad was neither 
 clumsy nor loutish in bearing, although he did 
 not know how to read or write. He was well 
 formed and firmly coloured. In adolescence he 
 would serve as a model for an artist, moving with 
 the easy grace of untrammelled limbs, and in- 
 spired with the naive vanity of his people. In 
 Arcadia the description of him would have been 
 that his flesh was white as cheese, and his frame 
 as delicate as that of a lamb ; only, he possessed 
 the glorious strength of a young bull, and the 
 firmness of a green grape. The melodies of his 
 little reed pipe must have discoursed about the 
 changing of Narcissus into a flower, and hiding 
 Daphne within the bark of a tree. His songs, as 
 a Corydon, dealt with the beech thickets, the 
 clumps of alder, the green laurel, and tender 
 myrtles ; of Thestylis crushing together the garlic 
 2 S5
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 with the fragrant wild thyme, and other plants 
 more bitter than the herbs of Sardinia. Offer- 
 ings to a shepherdess consisted of plums as 
 yellow as wax, the peach with velvet down, 
 apples, and the golden marigold. 
 
 On the prosaic side of real life Carlo was only 
 a simple lad, with ear attuned to the strident note 
 of the cicada in the heat, the murmur of bees, 
 and the occasional call of the hawk wheeling 
 through the luminous atmosphere in flight 
 towards the Stelvio. As a baby he was brought 
 in the cradle to the chestnut wood with the rest 
 of the family, and carefully minded by the dog 
 while the others worked. Such was his baptism 
 of experience received from the foster-mother, 
 the grove, and under the watchful eye of canine 
 wisdom. Sunny years succeeded, of light-hearted 
 mischief and gaiety, scrambling early on nimble, 
 little legs, to toddle after the older children in 
 sport or labour. The down of those first seasons 
 was still on this nestling. No book lore was his, 
 and he struggled fiercely to escape thraldom of 
 schooling as the wild creatures hid amidst the 
 256
 
 Boyhood 
 
 branches and rocky ledges, but he read the page 
 daily outspread before the quick eye of urchin- 
 hood. The young marauder, with dusky cheeks, 
 a ready smile, and white teeth, exemplified the 
 proverb that a goat was never known to die of 
 hunger. Carlo was familiar with the dells where 
 a scanty harvest of edible berries ripened, and 
 the pine-tree of the ravine that yielded the seed- 
 like kernels from the cones, as well as the field of 
 fungus growth. Precocious alertness marked his 
 skill in snaring birds with willow twigs, and a 
 noose of string baited with red berries. Such 
 luck as catching the quail, weary with the flight 
 from Africa, in nets attached to poles was scarcely 
 to be hoped for, but a careless lark, or a thrush 
 might, at any time, hop his way. The chestnuts 
 appeased the cravings of hunger for a consider- 
 able portion of the year. In conformity with the 
 adage he ate the bread of the woods, and drank 
 the wine of the clouds. No dulness of spirit, or 
 lack of imagination characterised his rustic igno- 
 rance. The current of warm life coursed through 
 his veins like quicksilver. He had imbibed tales 
 17 257
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 of the Madonna, and legends of the saints with 
 his mother's milk. He feared the witches. He 
 was already more skilled in even vague calcula- 
 tions as to winning numbers of the lottery than 
 seemed credible in a sylvan creature, gleaned 
 from listening to the gossip of his elders. 
 Buried treasure, and the signs and symbols lead- 
 ing to its discovery stimulated his most ardent 
 hopes. At least in dreams, or whispering secrets 
 to the other children among the chestnut trees, 
 one dilated on digging in the soil, and coming 
 unexpectedly to a copper pot, filled with jewels, 
 once buried there by brigands. Again, if a lad 
 tended the little black pig in such favoured 
 localities as the Tiber valley, or the Roman 
 Campagna, the useful animal in rooting about 
 could easily turn up a glittering gold coin, a 
 Marengo, for example. Some embryo sentiment 
 of masculine chivalry occasioned the pantomime 
 play of protecting little Egina, the neighbour's 
 daughter, from possible wolves prowling into the 
 chestnut-wood from the heights, on a cold winter 
 day, with much fearsome shouting, capering, and 
 258
 
 Boyhood 
 
 brandishing of a cudgel to frighten off the 
 enemy. Carlo was not as yet touched by the 
 tender passion. He did not bring the gifts of 
 fruit and flowers of the bucolic swain in 
 homage to the ragged and barefooted little 
 Egina. All too soon that young person would 
 put up her hair in an elaborate coiffure, and sigh 
 for feminine finery, while the lad's nature devel- 
 oped under the sway of folly and jealousy of 
 rivals. Tragedy and violence would then be 
 gently condoned by a lenient public as an " affair 
 of love." 
 
 A Milanese author states : 
 
 " Around the Lake of Como is to be found perhaps 
 the most ingenious and industrious population of 
 Europe. Every portion of these narrow confines has 
 sent forth and maintained colonies of transplanted 
 families. For many years there has not been a shore, 
 or a valley of the lake without natives in Spain, Ger- 
 many, Portugal, or Sicily. From this nook have eman- 
 ated machinery, electricity, physical experiments, and 
 the fabrication of such instruments as barometers and 
 telescopes. From the Three Parishes wine merchants 
 and innkeepers have established themselves elsewhere, 
 
 2 59
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 as well as dealers in silk and linen. Masons and white- 
 washers have formed co-operations, with laws almost 
 republican. . . . The emigration has not been solely 
 from the shores of Larius, but from the border of the 
 Ceresio, and the Valtellina, where every valley has 
 furnished a contingent of stone-cutters, workers in 
 stucco, chimney-sweeps, porters, and game-keepers." 
 
 As regards boyhood, Carlo had all the chances 
 of his race. What if a keen maestro on a holi- 
 day out from Milan heard the lad singing like a 
 blackbird, and discerned a future tenor or bari- 
 tone, destined to win fame, in the healthy rustic? 
 What if an artist made an excursion among the 
 hills, with his sketch-book in hand, and found 
 Carlo a clever pupil, as Cimabue discovered 
 Giotto so long ago? Swept away to studio and 
 gallery Carlo might emulate Pietro Ligario of 
 Sondrio, who studied at Rome, Venice, and Milan, 
 and returned to the Valtellina in 1727, where he 
 found slight encouragement for his art, until pat- 
 ronised by the Baron de Salis, and at the close of 
 his career there was scarcely a church of his na- 
 tive province without one of his altar pieces. 
 260
 
 Boyhood 
 
 Nobody had noted these qualities in Carlo, as 
 yet. He was indolent, mute, uncomprehending 
 of the dormant traits of Shakespeare's youth : 
 
 " True, I talk of dreams, 
 Which are the children of an idle brain ; 
 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
 Which is as thin of substance as the air; 
 And more inconstant than the wind. 1 ' 
 
 Autumn in all the warmth of resplendent tones 
 of amber, russet, and amethyst brooded in the 
 sunny stillness of noon on Como. The Novem- 
 ber night had brought a hint of frost to the holly 
 of lower slopes, purple juniper, arbutus, spindle- 
 wood, or scarlet broom. The amphitheatre of 
 hills of the Pian di Tivano glowed with the copse 
 of crimson and yellow bloom, and the bells of a 
 herd of cattle, guarded by shaggy men, were audi- 
 ble on the flanks of Monte San Primo. Mas- 
 ses of rock towered up on all sides, as if chiselled 
 in sharp outline on the sky, and veined with 
 colour as rich in gradation of hues, tawny gold, 
 copper, or grey, as the clinging vines of adjacent 
 vegetation. The oak brushwood formed a zone 
 261
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 of golden red. In clefts and crannies of the lime- 
 stone Pteris Cretica flourished, and spikes of 
 gentian. This Val di Nesso extends to the Pian 
 di Tivano, as does Val Esino from Varenna to 
 the Cainallo Pass, or the Val di Gravedona to 
 the San Jorio Pass. 
 
 The boy Carlo hastened to join his companions 
 in the joyous harvest time. The men beat the 
 branches, the children gathered up the chestnuts 
 from the ground, and the women carried them 
 homeward in the baskets on their backs. Such 
 was the hope of each year to the population, with 
 rights of the commune over certain tracts to be 
 respected, and property of families or individ- 
 uals left untouched, while the poor followed as 
 gleaners. 
 
 The chestnut-wood belongs to that upper realm 
 of light, wind, and sunshine. Ah, the dear, be- 
 neficent chestnut trees of Italy, France, and Spain 
 that feed so many hungry mouths ! The bene- 
 factor of the human race who plants a tree must 
 win paradise. How friendly, almost human in 
 protection of shade, are the trunks rising straight 
 262
 
 Boyhood 
 
 and symmetrical here, and bent or twisted by the 
 storms and years there, if not fallen prone among 
 the mosses, and lichen-covered rocks. A refuge 
 to seek in all emergencies, the wood of Nesso 
 extended the shelter of wide-spreading boughs 
 in rain and heat to childhood, and even the 
 deeper troubles of maturity, for women to sob 
 away grief, soothed by the myriad rippling sounds 
 of swaying foliage, and water, or manhood to 
 wrestle with anger and revenge, and possibly con- 
 quer these terrible instincts. 
 
 In winter patches of snow lingered in the hol- 
 lows amidst the dead leaves swept into billows 
 by the storms. Spring decked the glades with 
 green and gold, and gave to the bushes and chest- 
 nuts their blossoms, and first tufts of leaves. Then 
 the soft unfolding of summer hours brought the 
 ripened fruit of autumn, and all hearts rejoiced if 
 the harvest was sound and abundant. Ah, the 
 good chestnuts ! Young Carlo knew their bounty 
 to the land. Gathered in the wood, they were 
 heaped on mats of cane, and smoke-dried over a 
 fire, then shelled by beating together in a bag, 
 263
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 and ground to flour at the mill. How delicious 
 to juvenile hunger the flour mixed with water, 
 spread on dried chestnut-leaves, and baked be- 
 tween two heated stones in the mode of Lucca ! 
 Then the polenta, the fritters temptingly fried, 
 and the great cake in a pan, on a three-legged 
 stool, mingled with oil and spices, of a dark 
 chocolate colour, the top powdered with flour, 
 of which delicacy one bought a wedge-shaped 
 slice. Carlo had only heard of these luxuries. 
 The career of the chestnut-roaster, who quits his 
 native canton Ticino with the first cold weather, 
 to set up his little furnace on the street corners 
 of Florence, Rome, or Genoa, and serve the 
 nuts crisp and hot to pedestrians, is an enviable 
 calling. 
 
 When the last group had departed, and the 
 early nightfall shrouded the heights, the trees 
 rustled and communed together in their own 
 fashion. A patriarch, gnarled and twisted with 
 years, yet still left standing, with a stanch hold 
 of roots in the soil, remarked to the more vigorous 
 generations, and the saplings ranged about : 
 264
 
 Boyhood 
 
 " We have given man of our bounty another 
 year. May the good food be blessed to his need. 
 How they grow up, the children. The lad was 
 fetched here in his cradle only the other spring, 
 and he may become one of the old gleaners, 
 in his time, never quitting the shadow of our 
 branches. Who knows?" 
 
 The saplings laughed among themselves. They 
 had not yet had their day. 
 
 " Time passes, and carries away everything," 
 murmured the patriarch chestnut tree. // tempo 
 passa, e porta via ogni cosa. The generations 
 of visitors come and go through the gates of 
 Como, but the sunset glows on the surface of 
 the waters, and the twilight gathers beneath 
 the cliffs unchanged in the recurring years. 
 
 265
 
 XXV 
 TRAGEDY IN SUNSHINE 
 
 IN the year 190x3, July the thirtieth was a 
 Monday, soft, calm, and languid, with all 
 the promise of midsummer heat in the 
 morning hours after a night of storms. 
 The lake world wore its most hushed, and even 
 somnolent aspect of peaceful loveliness. The 
 Como craft passed on the silvery current of the 
 waters in a listless fashion. An early steamer 
 glided from one shore to the other silently. The 
 stranger, pausing in the shade of oleander, acacia, 
 and palm on the bank to watch the black poodle 
 take a bath in the limpid wavelets of the little 
 pebbly beach below, was vaguely aware that 
 these boats had no music and crowd of work-a- 
 day folk from Milan on board, out for a festa, 
 but one flag trailing astern at half-mast. 
 266
 
 Tragedy in Sunshine 
 
 A young nursemaid and a bevy of children 
 were fishing over the stone parapet of the pier, 
 and landed a victim occasionally, with much 
 merriment and splashing, destined for the noon- 
 day frying-pan of the household taking the 
 August holiday in an apartment on Como. Sud- 
 denly they dropped their fishing-gear, and took 
 flight, like a flock of birds, along the road to 
 meet the father as he slowly approached perusing 
 a morning journal. The group thus passed, the 
 young nursemaid and the children gazing intently 
 at burly Paterfamilias, who read a sentence aloud 
 in a rapid undertone. At least the little ones 
 received an impression of the momentous events 
 of life through their dilated, dark eyes ! Possibly 
 the phrases to be current coin in the land were 
 first printed in that morning journal : " after the 
 catastrophe," or " before the disaster." 
 
 Then the English officer, just returned from a 
 hospital in South Africa, limped across the path 
 to take his place in the gaily tinted cockle-shell 
 boat, with awning spread, and paused to light 
 his pipe, querying : 
 
 267
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 " You have heard the news? They have killed 
 the king at Monza near here. The townspeople 
 have been gathered about the office of the 
 telegraph all night. Surely we live in evil 
 times ! " 
 
 How still it was after that! A grey shadow 
 of subtle change to gloom and chill seemed to 
 pass over mountain and lake, so readily does 
 nature lend herself to the mood of humanity in 
 such spots. The steamers glided across to the 
 other shore with their pennants drooping to the 
 tide. A passing breeze lifted the great banner 
 of the hotel on its staff, and swayed the black 
 pennants attached. The poodle emerged from 
 the bath, dripping and wretched, and whimpered 
 unnoticed. 
 
 The boatman, tall, supple, and bronzed, averted 
 his face in walking past. 
 
 "Boatman ! Is it true that the king is dead? " 
 
 "It is true, Signore," replied the boatman, 
 touching his cap, yet with eyes steadily turned 
 away. 
 
 The gardener, small, sturdy, and good-natured, 
 268
 
 Tragedy in Sunshine 
 
 who had gossiped with the foreigner for the last 
 half-hour concerning his flower parterres, fetched 
 a basket of shrubbery clippings to cast into the 
 lake. 
 
 " Gardener ! Have they killed the king? " 
 
 " They have killed him, Signore," and the 
 gardener hastened on with an expression of dread 
 of further interrogation. 
 
 Such was the awakening of Como on the sum- 
 mer morning. Trifling incidents remain photo- 
 graphed on the mind in the impressions of that 
 day of tragedy in sunshine. The hours dragged 
 on filled with fresh details of events which would 
 become historical, at least in Italy. 
 
 The king, arrived once more at Monza, his 
 favourite summer residence of many years, at- 
 tended the anniversary of the gymnasium of the 
 town. He had witnessed the prowess of vain- 
 glorious striplings in the exercises with the affa- 
 bility of his race. 
 
 " Ah ! When I was young, I was also fond of 
 such feats," he said, in farewell, as he entered 
 his carriage amidst the acclamations of the crowd, 
 269
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 the strains of martial music, and the dazzling 
 glow of electric light. 
 
 The report of a pistol cut the air with a sinister 
 vibration. 
 
 " It is nothing," sighed the brave and honour- 
 able gentleman, and fell forward into eternal 
 silence at the gates of his own home. 
 
 The royal equipage whirled swiftly under the 
 sheltering trees of the avenue, but Fear flew at 
 greater speed in warning. The queen, in her 
 shining white robes of a State reception, and sur- 
 rounded by her court, came forth from the palace 
 portal to receive him. A clement monarch, who 
 strove to do his duty, and a noble breast pierced 
 by a cowardly bullet; such remains the record 
 of the July night The pitiable narration may 
 well inspire in the heart of man surprise, indigna- 
 tion, and sorrow the world over. He must have 
 been ready to resign his sceptre to another hand, 
 for if ever ruler tasted the bitterness of human 
 ingratitude, in manifold phases, it was he. Only 
 that charming surrounding of stanch family loy- 
 alty and affection can have sustained him, at 
 270
 
 Tragedy in Sunshine 
 
 times, and rendered enviable his lot, to prince or 
 peasant alike. 
 
 The telegraph thrilled with its message to the 
 Duke of Genoa off Naples : 
 
 " Humbert, three times wounded, is dead. Seek 
 
 Vittorio. 
 
 " MARGHERITA." 
 
 In due course " the young man on the sea," 
 came to his right of inheritance. Already the 
 modern Italian poet tunes his lyre to the ren- 
 dering of this dirge of the storm as unfolding 
 new destinies of the Latin soul. In the shadow 
 of profound grief he dreams that Italy, the an- 
 cient, will rise anew, and illumine with her torch 
 the path of unborn heroes. 
 
 The July day on Como waned. The moon 
 rose in the pulseless evening hours, fragrant with 
 gardens, and shone far on the tranquil waters 
 until obscured by clouds tinged copper-red, 
 melting to a film of black mist. Superstitious 
 credence in dread portents held dominion over 
 the lake world. 
 
 271
 
 XXVI 
 
 THE WINDS OF COMO 
 
 MID-WAY on the lake shores a 
 Castle of Indolence stands on a 
 promontory, with spacious cham- 
 bers and wide-spreading awnings, 
 inviting to repose after the fatigue of oily railway 
 and dusty mountain road. The place is an 
 aeolian harp, swept by every wind of Como, wail- 
 ing down the chimneys at midnight, sighing 
 through half-closed casements in the dawn, and 
 crashing glass doors together ruthlessly in some 
 treacherous gust of noon-day. Pilgrims to the 
 world's shrine pervade these precincts, arriving 
 by the four gates of entrance to the tiny paradise, 
 in search of an atmosphere of indulgent ease, of 
 calmness of mind, of even good-natured loung- 
 ing, according to the poet, remote from ambition, 
 envy, and strife. They come in cheerful, family 
 272
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 groups from the Antipodes, in formidable pha- 
 lanx of lady travellers personally conducted on 
 summer tours, in throngs of skurrying boy cyclists 
 " doing " the land on a wheel under the guidance 
 of a master tutor. These hosts fill the place to 
 the roof with a transient bustle and animation, 
 and depart leaving the winds once more in pos- 
 session of deserted corridors. 
 
 It were sheer calumny to designate the worthy 
 Swiss porter, who sorts all these human bundles, 
 so to speak, tracks missing feminine travelling- 
 bags, and attends to the bicycles, as the door- 
 keeper of the original Castle of Indolence, who 
 provided slippered ease for guests, then returned 
 to doze at his post. On the contrary, the modern 
 Swiss inspires the conviction that he is always on 
 duty in his stiff livery, and that he dispenses with 
 sleep altogether in the interest of early train and 
 late steamer, unless he indulges in a brief nap 
 hung on a peg in his little den of an office with 
 his rain cloak. 
 
 The pilgrims ebb and flow, and the castle stands 
 forsaken. 
 
 18 273
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 " Was nought around but images of rest ; 
 Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between, 
 And flowery beds that slumbrous influences kest, 
 From poppies breath 'd." 
 
 I. THE SOUTH WIND. 
 
 At noon of a June day a silvery ripple marks 
 the entrance of Lecco into Como, and the breva, 
 or south wind, begins to blow. Is it the most 
 balmy zephyr of earth, filling the square sails of 
 the boats waiting to catch the favourable breeze, 
 and fanning humanity with a pure and soft re- 
 freshment of sunny air which permeates all the 
 veins, the very sources of being, with a sort of 
 intoxication after winter fog and spring storm? 
 The mere expansion of living and breathing 
 suffices when the breva blows over Lake Como. 
 The divine beauty of the world appeals to the 
 soul in an etherealised and radiant sense. The 
 precious boon of existence questioned by wise 
 and gloomy schools of philosophy of the day, 
 becomes exalted to a paean of devout thanksgiv- 
 ing and praise to the Creator of worlds in the 
 human breast, as kindred of the birds circling 
 274
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 high in the air, the olive trees of the slope, the 
 flowers swaying on their stalks. The psalmist 
 would have here sung of the pleasant pastures 
 and tranquil waters where the kind Shepherd led 
 His poor, foolish sheep for peace. 
 
 O Pilgrim ! Inhale with full lungs the air to 
 keep always in remembrance the hour ! Note the 
 play of light as the ripples sparkle over the cur- 
 rent, and the lake reflects the azure hue of the 
 sky for a future time when dark shadows of 
 trouble may gather around your path. Listen 
 to the airy modulations of the music made by the 
 south wind playing pranks through the mansion 
 in contrast with all the blatant discords awaiting 
 you in a return to cities. The moment is valu- 
 able, full of sweetness and hope, in the stealing 
 away of wisdom from the degenerate crowd in 
 the effort to soar above the little scene of things. 
 
 Who can resist castle-building, with half-shut 
 eyes, when the south wind blows on Como? The 
 pilgrim conjures up, in the waving of a fairy's 
 wand, a castle of indolence on one of the heights, 
 close-hid amidst embowering trees, served by in- 
 275
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 visible menials, and more delightful than one of 
 Pliny's villas. Here would he dwell and cast off 
 care, as a garment, far from the world while 
 the breva prevails. 
 
 Thus the summer day passes. The native is 
 complacent. The breva is not even a fair wind, 
 but only the air of good weather, in popular 
 parlance. 
 
 " The wind seems to blow everywhere, yet there 
 is no draught, and one does not catch cold," re- 
 marks the wreck of influenza, testing the back of 
 his head with an apprehensive hand, where each 
 hair is standing on end in the gusts waving cur- 
 tains and flapping awnings. 
 
 With the sunset this beneficent current drops 
 to calm. The mortal craft cherishes the souvenir 
 of noon, when the silvery line heralded the advent 
 of the breva by the route of Lecco, and the sail 
 of life filled to the breeze and was wafted on the 
 glittering waters of pleasure. 
 
 276
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 II. THE BALEFUL WIND. 
 
 The July afternoon is sultry. An aspect of sus- 
 pense and immobility is manifest in all nature, 
 which is oppressive and menacing. The scent 
 of oleander and jasmine, mingled with dusty 
 honey-bloom, as of clover and cut grass, is heavy 
 and languid. Clouds of a woolly opacity gather 
 slowly about all the mountain peaks, and cling to 
 the slopes in dense masses. The vapours move 
 from the direction of the St. Gothard range, and 
 an occasional hot puff of wind accompanies their 
 advance. It is the breath of the scirocco 
 damp, enervating, and storm-laden. The hills 
 above Varenna gloom to awful grandeur of black 
 and purple tints in the sullen waiting of the ele- 
 ments. The pilgrim observes these changes 
 almost with bated breath, feeling like a fly at the 
 base of a cliff about to be crushed by a cloud- 
 bolt or granite rock. If the upper world is 
 clothed in majestic sublimity, how can mere lan- 
 guage describe the water of the lake? Whence 
 
 has it borrowed first the wealth of varying hues 
 277
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 outspread before the spectator, with the sombre 
 hill sentinels rising above, and the angry swirl of 
 mists obscuring the horizon? All the dying 
 glories of day, quenched elsewhere, seem to 
 linger on Como. The current is sapphire, merg- 
 ing to emerald, opal, gold in the richest blending 
 of tones. The surface has a liquid sheen and 
 lustre. The boats cross through a transparent 
 medium of melting jewels. The sun-god still 
 holds sway. When, indeed, the science of colour- 
 music shall be studied as the science of harmoni- 
 ous sound has been, we may hope to grasp the 
 secret of such beauty. 
 
 Hark ! Was that thunder? The pilgrim envel- 
 oped in waterproof habiliments, guide-book in 
 hand, flees to Milan, or Turin, leaving the baleful 
 wind in possession of the deserted Castle of Indo- 
 lence, to wail in vestibule and salon, while torrents 
 of rain invade garden paths and strip shrubbery, 
 and scimitars of fire mark the passage of the 
 boats on the pallid stretch of lake. 
 
 278
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 III. THE NIGHT WIND. 
 
 Oh, the cool night wind that sweeps down 
 from the Alpine barrier on Como ! It is the 
 rival of the breva of caressing softness. Turn 
 back from the lake shore in the gloaming, and 
 receive the greeting of the mountain realm. 
 Every cleft and ravine waft their aromatic odours 
 of plant, vine, and blossom in the mingled spicy 
 breath of juniper, thyme, and saxifrage. The face 
 seems pressed against a rocky rampart and 
 buried in ferns. Twilight is here, as in all Italy, 
 Stendhal's hour of the Ave Maria, a moment of 
 pensive meditation and melancholy souvenir. 
 On the high ledges still gleam little hamlets, and 
 a church tower that sends forth a liquid note of 
 evening prayer to be carried far by the night 
 wind. Midnight draws a veil of mystery over the 
 shore, the lapsing waters, and the masses of ver- 
 dure swathed in shadow. Dull oblivion of repose 
 in closed chambers is sinful if only the Pilgrims, 
 as children of a larger growth, can prop their eye- 
 lids open and keep awake to enjoy the miracles of 
 279
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 change of the Southern night. Oh, sweet and 
 pure wind, where did you first spread your wings 
 to start forth over glacier slope, through mossy 
 dell, and down the giddy plunge of foaming cas- 
 cades on your nocturnal rambles? Imagination 
 runs riot in the darkness, full of fleeting shapes, 
 taking form and vanishing amidst the swaying 
 branches and foliage. If one could be metamor- 
 phosed by the witchery of night into one of the 
 feline tribe, and prowl, sure-footed, along the 
 crags overhanging precipices, with eyes of green 
 fire capable of piercing obscurity to the depths, 
 and a sense of hearing so fine and alert for sound 
 of danger, or lurking foe, that the ears of man- 
 kind, in comparison, might be likened to the 
 handles of coarse jugs, fashioned by Phoenician 
 or Aztec potters ! To feel the glory of strength, 
 and suppleness of movement of the animal king- 
 dom, and roam among the mountains is an in- 
 stinct born of the night wind rustling the roses 
 and laurel of the terrace, and sobbing insistently 
 beneath the eaves of the Castle of Indolence. As 
 the hours wear on if the stupid pilgrim must doze, 
 280
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 at least step out on the balcony at dawn. A cres- 
 cent of golden, waning moon hangs in the sky, 
 the lake below is a crystal shield, and beyond 
 the opposite peaks a rose-pink flush deepens. 
 The wind is lulled to stillness. 
 
 The first man who visited the spot flits again 
 along the heights. He is a vision, a mere con- 
 jecture in the great human family. What manner 
 of creature was he? An artist has depicted the 
 last man standing on the world. The study is 
 majestic, even awe-inspiring. Fain would we 
 catch the image of the first man who gazed on 
 Como through the veil of dim tradition, and 
 early fable. Did he come merely as a tourist? 
 According to Sir John Lubbock the love of travel 
 is deeply implanted in the human breast. He 
 surely was furnished with no other guide-book 
 than his own eye and ear. Was he induced to 
 settle in the delightful locality? There can be no 
 doubt of his great antiquity. Baron Bunsen 
 claims the age on the earth of the highest race 
 as twenty thousand years. Switzerland is stated 
 to have been inhabited by man for six or seven 
 281
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 thousand years. The biologist and the geologist 
 may place the finger of science on our hero, with 
 a chuckle of triumph. As we seek him through 
 that fog of vague surmise in the spring morning 
 he was a troglodyte, a hunter, a herdsman, a 
 fisherman, and even a rudimentary agriculturist. 
 He is supposed to have early availed himself of 
 the quarry of soft stone in the Val Bregaglia, 
 known in Pliny's day, to fashion the soup-pot and 
 platters of his hearth. Was he Gaul, Rhetian, 
 Teuton, this vigorous figure full of a mysterious 
 significance in the succeeding tide of movement 
 of tribes and nations? He was a pioneer of the 
 holiday pilgrims now flocking through the four 
 gates of this exotic garden. He carved the bone 
 with strange device of ornamentation, shaped the 
 flint with cunning hand, and split the rebel rock 
 by dint of effort, until a spark of fire flashed from 
 the stone by which he made the world his own. 
 Possibly he dwelt, at some period, on a shallow 
 reach of the lake in a hut of planks supported on 
 piles, and connected by a bridge with the land, 
 lowering a basket through a trap-door to catch 
 282
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 the fish which furnished his food, as well as the 
 Swiss Lake inhabitants, and those of Lake Garda ; 
 early architecture imitated by the City of Tcher- 
 kask on the Don, and the Dyaks of Borneo. He 
 was as free as air in that primeval existence, with 
 all the instincts of his being keenly alert in self- 
 preservation. As a hunter he rifled the eagle's nest 
 of the crags, ranged the forest, and slew the wolf, 
 badger, marmot, hare, and otter of the lake, with 
 arrow and spear, to devour their flesh, and clothe 
 himself in their skins. The bear was his lawful 
 prey, as bruin is still of the son of the Grisons, 
 who nails skull and paws, as a trophy, above the 
 door of his chalet. As a herdsman he was shaggy 
 and robust, like his descendants of the hills of the 
 Plan di Tivano. His habitation was scarcely 
 more than the hut of reeds, bound together with 
 ropes of the Roman Campagna, a bed of boards 
 covered with skins, a few cooking utensils, and a 
 milk pail. The religion of that early time was 
 the worship of the Gods of rocks, trees, and 
 mountains. His daughter, the young girl who 
 kept alive the flame on the hearth, kindled from 
 283
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 sparks of flint, or two sticks rubbed together, 
 while father and brothers hunted, or fished, was 
 the prototype of the Vestal Virgin in guarding 
 the symbolical sacred flame of the Palladium. 
 
 Thus life, through those earlier elements, has 
 flowed on. 
 
 In the morning mists the Bergamo shepherd 
 folk, hardy, bronzed, and frugal, making ready 
 to scale the Maloja Pass with their flocks in 
 quest of summer herbage, probably resemble that 
 first man, the common ancestor of the region. 
 
 The son of the soil, the husbandman, pausing 
 under a fig-tree, falcetto, or pruning-hook, in 
 hand, and contemplating his sphere of labour 
 amidst the vines, olives, and mulberries of the 
 terraces, is his grandson. The fog melts to 
 gauze, and softly drifts away. The peasant re- 
 sumes his toil where the bean harvest bursts the 
 shattered pod, light vetch, and bitter lupin grow. 
 He knows, with Cicero, that he plants a tree not 
 one berry of which he will ever gather. He is 
 further aware that : 
 
 "Never will the earth unaided 
 Yield the ripe, nutritious barley." 
 284
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 He has risen before the sun to begin his routine 
 of work, to drink the water of his own well, and 
 
 subsist on the fruits of his own fields. With the 
 
 
 nightfall he will seek heavy and weariful slumber. 
 
 His song through the sultry hours is to query of 
 fate what he has to gain, or to lose by the power 
 of emperors and kings. 
 
 IV. THE NORTH WIND. 
 
 The north wind is an unwelcome visitor. It 
 pounces on the summer zone as a fierce foe sure 
 of its prey, roughening the water to white-caps 
 so that small craft hug the inlets, parching the 
 soil, and withering the flowers, unless refreshed 
 by continuous jets of spray from hose, and sprink- 
 ling-pot. The effect on nerves is vaguely irri- 
 tating. Acute wakefulness was sure to haunt 
 the pillow of the pilgrim the previous night. 
 Como shakes the head of disapproval. The north 
 wind emanates from the melting snows of the 
 Engadine, and blights exotic vegetation. It is 
 annoying and wearisome, as it mocks at screens 
 and portieres, and watches an opportune moment 
 285
 
 A World's Shrine 
 
 to upset easel table, mirrors, and vases with rude, 
 exuberant hilarity. 
 
 Seek a sheltered nook between arbour draped 
 by convolvulus, and a group of evergreen shrubs, 
 and study the upper ranges of space visible 
 through the foliage. Behold mountain and sky 
 in all their remoteness of a clear atmosphere. 
 Pinnacles of scarped stone, worn by storms and 
 time, cut the deep, porcelain blue of the heavens 
 in serrated outline of bold relief, with glistening 
 threads of rills descending here and there, and 
 masses of amethyst crags piled in an amphi- 
 theatre in the direction of Colico and the Spliigen. 
 These mute guardians of the portals of the lake 
 world imbue the spirit of the wayfarer with inde- 
 finable longing of aspiration : 
 
 " He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 
 He who surpasses, or subdues mankind 
 Must look down on the hate of those below." 
 
 The clouds reign above, moving in soft masses 
 of fleecy vapour. Aristophanes might again de- 
 scribe them on this spot to-day: 
 286
 
 The Winds of Como 
 
 " We dominate the earth, we show our faces to man 
 in changing every instant, yet last to eternity ! We 
 spring forth from the bosom of our father the ocean ! 
 We climb the snowy summits of the mountains without 
 losing breath, and, suspending ourselves at these 
 heights, we watch our reflection in the azure waters 
 below. If we cease to listen to the solemn murmur 
 of the waves we begin to hear the subdued harmonies 
 of divine rivers. Our role is marvellous ! Have we 
 not received from Jupiter the mission to make sparkle 
 in the eyes of men the riches of the firmament? Does 
 not our light envelope separate the living world from 
 cold, unpitying, eternal death?" 
 
 The atmosphere embraces all, bathes, fills, 
 composes the forest tree, the grass, and grain of 
 the field, the fruits of these shores, almond, 
 orange, grape of the vine. Nay ! Is not the very 
 soul of man clothed with air? 
 
 The winds of Como are played on the instru- 
 ment of hill and dale, and the pilgrims to a 
 world's shrine come and go with new generations. 
 
 287
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 SITED INU.S.A.
 
 A 000518087 2