ITALIAN LAKES.
We left Milan for Baveno on Monday, 28th May, at noon. It was a slow train to Arona, where passengers embark on board the steamer on Lago Maggiore. Unfortunately, just before arrival at Arona, the rain began to fall heavily, so that we not only had to walk on board in the rain, but we did not see the lake to advantage. For although the rain shortly ceased, the clouds remained and no sunshine succeeded, and a haze hung over the lake, which then assumed very much the appearance of one of our Highland lochs in similar condition, except for the Italian character and bright colouring of the houses on the margin. On a sunny day the lake would, no doubt, wear a different aspect. Fortunately it continued fair till we got housed in the large, comfortable Hotel Belle Vue at Baveno, which, lying at the point of a jutting promontory upon the border of the lake, looks out right upon it. Soon afterwards, however, the rain again began, and it fell in torrents, to our great disappointment, and continued almost without intermission till the Friday afternoon, when it cleared up, and in the evening of that day we had a beautiful sunset, with the sun shining brightly upon the Simplon, to see which effect all the people in the hotel turned out upon a balcony commanding it. In consequence of the clouds we hardly ever could see across the lake, so much so that I could only finish on the Friday evening a sketch of it which I began on the Monday afternoon upon arrival, the mountains being invisible or under a gloomy pall nearly the whole intervening time. When we could catch the view it was very beautiful. The lake is here just sufficiently broad to form a fine picture, the bold, well-marked, conical mountains on the other or east side,—one of the peaks, I believe, rising to about 6000 feet,—the neighbouring town of Pallanza on the north, and the mountains behind it composing the background to the lake, studded by the charming Borromean Islands, lying so picturesquely near, with their curious houses and their trees; Isola Bella, with its strange gardens, being an especial feature. These islands are the great attraction to Baveno; but unfortunately we had not the opportunity of seeing them, except from the steamboat in passing, as the days were never fair sufficiently long to permit of our venturing in a boat to land upon them. If there be anything else to see in the neighbourhood of Baveno, as doubtless there was, we had little means of becoming acquainted with it, for usually upon venturing out for a walk we were speedily driven back again by warning drops. The town itself is a mere village, although the houses are capacious—bulky, barrack-looking—and the church on the slope above is large, with a high, square, ugly campanile. Luckily, the windows of our rooms, as well as of the public rooms, all looked over the lake; and there was a library of books for visitors’ use, which, in this unpropitious condition of the atmosphere, received marked attention from all; but it was the dreariest time we had spent since we left home, reminding us rather too much of Loch Lomond in its normal condition.
When the Saturday morning came with bright sunshine we were glad to avail ourselves of it, lest we might become prisoners for another week, and to be off accordingly for Lugano, which is situated on a portion of outlying Swiss territory overlapping Italy, so that one has to cross an odd nook of Switzerland to get from Maggiore to Lake Como. The trip in the steamboat is pleasant, and in crossing from Baveno to Pallanza, which is probably about three miles distant by water, we had the good fortune to see both the Simplon and Monte Rosa through a gap in the mountains—the latter raising its snowy head in the distance. Pallanza is a place which some people prefer to Baveno for stopping at in order to see Lago Maggiore. It is much more of a town, and, commanding the view of Monte Rosa, has a finer outlook, while it is not very much farther from Isola Bella and the other islands, a pull to which must be most enjoyable. From Pallanza the steamer crossed to the other side of the lake, then went up to Luino, where we disembarked, and on our leaving it proceeded to the northern extremity with those en route for the St. Gothard Pass. It was a glorious sail in the bright sunshine, with Monte Rosa, the Simplon, and also, in the upper portion, St. Gothard, all appearing snow-clad in view. The porter of the hotel had asked us to allow him to telegraph for a carriage to be waiting us at Luino, and willing to oblige him we consented, but we should have been better to have chosen one for ourselves upon arrival. However, it was a lovely drive of above two hours and a half to Lugano, part of the way being by the banks of a river, which was greatly swollen by the five days’ previous rain. The Hotel du Parc at Lugano is nicely situated near the lake at the entrance to the town, and has a small garden attached to it. It was formerly a monastery, and is built as a large square house, with a courtyard in the middle. Bædeker recommends Lugano as a very pleasant place for a lengthened stay; and it may be so, but we were anxious to get on to Lake Como to rest there, and remained only three nights.
Hot sunny weather succeeded the week of rain, so that we enjoyed walks by the banks of the gleaming lake, plucking the wild-flowers, which were abundant, though not of many kinds. The town of Lugano looks very well in the distance—a mile off—at the head or north end of the lake, but it is not particularly enticing in itself, and it lies too much on the level of the water, so that the road was, when we arrived, half covered, the lake having, in consequence of the continued rain, overflowed its banks. The Lake of Lugano looks bold, and in a storm would look angry, from the fact that except at the north end the mountains appear to dip almost sheer down upon it. I believe the sail from the other end to Lugano (which is what those who purchase circular tickets from Milan obtain a coupon for) is very grand, but a gentleman I subsequently met told me he had experienced a terrific storm upon it, in which the vessel was in the greatest danger, as the sailors could not see where they were being driven to, by reason of a dense fog.
Upon the Monday we walked in a broiling sun, from which we could not always obtain shelter, about two miles up the road leading to the top of San Salvatore, which, 3000 feet high, is the great ascent here, and to those in good health and active, the exercise is rewarded by an extensive prospect, while a hotel offers refreshment on the summit. Choosing shady places where to rest, we spent a charming day upon this road, which everywhere commanded fine views, particularly down upon the lake and up to the snowy mountains of the St. Gothard range.
In the old church adjoining the hotel there are three frescoes by Luini, a pupil of Leonardo da Vinci. The principal fresco, that of the Crucifixion, is a curious large picture, containing within it, expressively depicted and cleverly arranged, all the different scenes connected with the death of our Saviour, from His trial to His ascension. But the three crosses are lengthened to what represents 20 feet at least, in order to admit of use being made of the background. Many angels are ministering to our Lord, while one angel is on the cross of the repentant thief, and a devil crawling along the other cross has charge of his sinful fellow. A skull and cross-bones at the foot of the central cross indicate the place to be Golgotha. The picture is quite a study.
We left Lugano for Bellaggio on the Monday morning by steamer for Porlezza, at the east end of the lake, about ten miles distant. Before reaching it we crossed the invisible line which here separates Italy from Switzerland, and the steamer was boarded by an Italian custom-house officer. Upon arrival at Porlezza our luggage underwent the formality of examination, and we the reality of detention for a considerable time until the examination was concluded. From this town to Menaggio, on Lake Como, the drive was in an omnibus, and we regretted much afterwards not having had a carriage to ourselves, as we could see little from the omnibus windows. The distance is about six or seven miles, and inclines gradually to the shoulder of a hill overlooking Lake Como; and in such a bright, sunny day as we were favoured with, the drive in an open carriage would have been delightful, especially on approaching Lake Como from the high ground, where it is seen lying magnificently below. One advantage of a private carriage is that it may be stopped at the will of the party, and the scene viewed at leisure. Coach and omnibus fares here were quite after Highland rates. At Menaggio, finding the steamboat would not arrive for an hour and a half, we took a boat (charge, 3 fr.), and were in three-quarters of an hour rowed across the lake to the Hotel Grand Bretagne, which is nicely situated away to the south end of Bellaggio, and outside the small town. It was hot, broiling sunshine, and this, our first experience of a boat upon Como, was exceedingly charming. Blinds were all down, and nobody observed our arrival, so our boatman had to shout from the quay across the garden to the hotel porter. We found very comfortable quarters in this hotel, which is a large, long building, with many bedrooms looking to the lake; for, if I am not mistaken, there were upwards of 100 bedroom windows overlooking it. The ground floor is entirely occupied by a suite of public rooms, terminating at one end in a large, airy dining-hall, and on the other in a superb, similarly large drawing-room, both with suitably lofty ceilings. Other public rooms on this floor are occupied as salles à manger and salons de conversation, de concert et de lecture, de billiard, etc. In one of the reading-rooms there was a small library for the use of the visitors. I do not think we had found anywhere such ample public accommodation within doors, while in front a large garden extended the whole length of the house, reaching up into grounds and a wood behind, with shady seats under the trees, where one could sit and read, or look out upon the lovely views, or watch the passing steamers and pleasure-boats, or observe the countless green lizards which at Bellaggio, as elsewhere in these warm regions, were constantly making rapid runs over the paths.
BELLAGGIO.—LAKE COMO.
Here we remained for about a fortnight, resting and enjoying our rest. From our windows we looked across to lofty mountains on the opposite shore, with Cadenabbia and Menaggio lying at their foot, while away to the north end of the lake a range of snowy peaks rose as if barricading exit in that direction, and forming a fine, important feature in the landscape. The Lake of Como is in fact completely hemmed in by high, steep, bare mountains, which fall with considerable abruptness down upon it, leaving but a small border of land for cultivation and habitation. The principal mountain opposite Bellaggio is San Crucione, which rises to a sharp peak, taking six or seven hours to ascend; but it is stated to command striking views of the snowy Alps, and especially of the Monte Rosa chain, ‘une armée de géants.’ The mountain itself is no doubt a study for the geologist, as it offers a most extraordinary exhibition of upheaval of strata, the face of it showing in a great waving line, commencing near the margin of the lake and sloping up the face to near the top, a huge stratum of rock, which in the distance appears to be of sandstone, but more likely is of limestone formation, uplifted probably nearly 3000 feet.
The borders of Lake Como are fringed with trees, in some places a few hundred feet up, and dotted with those small, picturesque Italian villages, each with its church and campanile, which always give such a charm to the landscape.
The town of Bellaggio is small but rather curious. Where it borders the lake an arcade has been formed, with terraces projecting from the houses and covering the roadway. In this arcade and elsewhere a few small shops offer articles for sale, and particularly small things in olive wood, the manufacture of which is an industry of the place. The wood is more darkly marked than at Sorrento or in the south of France, sometimes to the extent of being blotchy. Photographs, principally of the lake scenes and sculptures in the neighbourhood, can be procured, but, though good, they are dear for Italy.
Half-way up the hill at the foot of which Bellaggio stands, reached by a steep road, is the Villa Serbelloni. This is now a dependance of the ‘Grande Bretagne,’ and in the season is said to be always full. It is a pension for protracted stay, not for a passing night. What the comforts of the house itself may be, whether the pension be good or not, I do not know; but the house is most charmingly situated, surrounded by the extensive grounds of the place, nicely laid out with long terrace walks winding up the hill, crowned on the top by the ruin of what was probably an old castle. The hill is covered with trees, affording delicious shade from the sun, while the roses climb about them to a height of 50 or 60 feet, and with the other flowers make it a sort of enchanted land. From the top of the hill, views are had all round and up the lake to the snowy mountains of the Splugen Pass, and down the lake, which here is forked, one prong running in the direction of Como, and the other of Lecco.
It was hot sunshine all the time we were at Bellaggio, diversified by two grand thunderstorms, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, sheet and forked, one of which flashes set fire to a tree or a church on the opposite shore. It was a dreamy life, too hot to do very much; but there was always a little excitement at the departure and arrival of the steamboats, which go up and down the lake, and to and from Lecco, several times a day; and if we had no better amusement, it was great fun to feed the fishes abounding in the lake; the water being so clear one could see their every motion, and watch the caution with which, proportioned to their age and consequent experience, they would approach the bread. When a piece was thrown in, there would be a general assembly to the spot. The young ones would at once dart at it, trying to seize it, but, being much too big for their little mouths, ineffectually. Then, after a little, larger ones would come snuffing at it without touching; by and by, perceiving no symptom of hook or line, would get bolder, and, thinking all safe, would venture to the attack. Then still larger ones would come and swim in large circles round and round it, thinking, thinking, till possibly the piece was gobbled up by younger ones before their thoughts were matured. But generally there would be quite a scramble and a splutter, twenty fishes together, after a single piece, which got less and less by successive dabs, till a big fellow made a dart and swallowed it whole. But sometimes the piece was too large for even his throat; it was speedily disgorged, and then another scramble took place, till it wholly disappeared among them.
A charming variety in our life was to take one of the small pleasure-boats, always lying at the hotel quay for engagement, and pull about on the lake, although at noon it was fully too hot even for that. Still we had several delightful sails upon the lake. One of these was across to the Villa Carlotta. This residence contains some exquisite sculptures, particularly the ‘Cupid and Psyche’ by Canova, which, by means of photographs, and sometimes in alabaster copies, is so well known. Also ‘Innocence,’ a winged youth or maiden holding a pair of doves, by Bien Aimé; and a large frieze, with reliefs, by Thorwaldsen, which cost £15,000. The hall in which this beautiful collection of sculptures is placed does not seem worthy of it. It looks rather like a receptacle or storage room till the proper hall be ready; but one would almost wish that such gems of art could be seen in a less inaccessible place. The grounds of the villa are delightful; the vegetation is quite tropical, while the views are superb, especially looking across to Bellaggio and the lofty mountains bordering the other side of Lake Lecco, which tower like a huge wall of rock behind the Serbelloni Hill. Returning to our boat, we rowed round the coast, which contains very many luxuriant spots; one of the most lovely of these was a little summer-house by the banks of the lake, filled with graceful drooping acacias and brilliant summer flowers—one of those ‘juicy bits’ which artists so much prize.
On another occasion we visited the Villa Melzi, lying upon the Bellaggio side. It contains some good sculptures, but not equal to those in the Villa Carlotta. The gardens, however, were fascinating—shady walks with sloping grass banks, lofty trees, and all by the margin of the smiling lake. One could hardly imagine a more romantic residence, but the proprietor occupies it only two months in the year—September and October. We did long for the power of transplanting such places, with all their sunshine and clear blue sky, to our native land.
The sail in the steamboat to Como takes about two hours, and is a very charming excursion. The lake winds about among the mountains, and the boat, crossing from side to side, touches every now and then at one of those picturesque Italian villages which adorn the lake and form such admirable subjects for the painter’s brush. At the south end, where the town of Como lies, the mountains dwindle down to insignificant hills, and the town is built for the most part on a large level plain, which probably has been gained from the lake by deposit. The town is one of some size, its principal ornament being the cathedral, a large and imposing church with a dome built of white marble, and finely ornamented within by sculpture. This and the adjoining Broletto, or Town Hall, built in alternate courses of black and white marble, with an open arcade below, and an old tower by its side, are, with the cathedral, the attractions of the ancient city of Como.
The sail in the other direction, towards the snowy mountains, is much grander, and also takes about two hours, stopping at Colico. The sail upon Lake Lecco we did not take.
It was too hot to walk to any distance, but one forenoon two of us ventured exploringly as far as St. Giovanni, a small fishing village with two churches, about a mile or more to the south of Bellaggio. Here quantities of the fish caught in the lake by means of nets were hanging up to dry and be baked in the sun. On our way we passed a monument in course of erection to some Principe, whose name I did not gather, curiously composed of a combination of red brick, granite, and marble; and not far off the ruins of a church, whose tall square campanile, remaining standing, was an object in the landscape.
In one of our walks, we found lying on the road one after another three small snakes, which had been killed and left there. They were probably about 15 inches in length and ⅝ths of an inch thick.
We had a continuance of hot weather, and in those glorious days this was generally the even tenor of our way. In the early morning, too soon to rise and dress, but tempted to look out at window, we could see that the sun was illuminating the snowy peaks of the Splugen range, and casting a brilliant light on San Crucione and all the hills on that, the other side of the lake. By nine o’clock the sun had obtained power; but it was a great joy to go out after breakfast and stroll under the shade of the trees by the banks of the limpid blue water, and look across its lustrous expanse to the opposite shore, fringed with verdure, out of which rose the giant mountains circling the lake, and over all to the clear blue Italian sky, making, with the broad snowy range of peaks in the north, one of the loveliest pictures we had seen in Italy. Then, when the sun came round to the south, the air, heated as by a furnace, trembled with the sultry glow, and all blinds were drawn down, and the houses looked asleep. Everything was still, save when at given hours the steamboat paddles beat upon the water, or the bell announced arrival or departure. We would return to the hotel for shade and coolness, have lunch, read our letters or answer them, dip into the newspapers, say good-bye to those who were leaving, or sometimes be gladdened by meeting old travelling friends just come; or, failing any more important occupation, take up a book and withdraw to a sofa in the great cool salon, to obtain a quiet read. Then in time the dressing-bell would ring, and we would shortly after assemble at dinner, and enjoy pleasant intercourse with those around. Dinner over, some of the visitors, especially among those just arrived, would embark in pleasure-boats upon the lake; and others (ladies throwing a shawl over the shoulders, and a hat upon the head) would sit out in the garden a good while, conversing and looking upon the fair prospect and the boats gliding along, their oars gently touching and turning the silver water and leaving a ripple behind; and, by and by, the sun would retire and set behind the mountains; and though the lesser orb, being then in its infancy, could not afford us the resplendent spectacle of full moon on the lake, the stars were on the qui vive, and, stealthily sending their pale twinkling scouts to peep timidly out and reconnoitre, would all, the moment the enemy disappeared, with bold face rise, each in its appointed position, and, as they slowly and silently, but steadily, pursued the sun in his flight, hang out their far-shining lamps, radiant in green and gold, to light up the beauteous scene. The very rapture of the frogs, as they maintained, agreeably to themselves, an incessant ‘wrack-wrack,’ seemed not out of place; while the glow-worm, with greater humanity, and in greater keeping with all around, would turn upon the garden paths its glittering tail. But as it became dark, and visitors had one by one retreated to the house, it would happen that either from our shore or from the Cadenabbia shore, the hotelkeepers began to burn coloured lights, ignite fireworks, and send rockets blazing and bursting high up into the air; and, this show being over, it was time to retire to rest, and, if the heat would admit of sleep, perchance to repeat our experience of the day in visions of the night, and wake on the morrow for another such day. And so, like many others similarly placed, we dreamed away this blissful fortnight.
But we were now in the middle of June, and the season seemed to be drawing to a close, and probably a month later, when the sun’s heat would be intolerable, Bellaggio might become altogether deserted. The numbers at the hotel lessened day by day, so that for a week I was at the head of the table as the oldest inhabitant. It was warning we must move on. We must leave this land of Beulah; bid adieu for a time to the sunny soil and sky of Italy, where we had now spent nearly four months, and proceed to the cooler regions of Switzerland by the neighbouring Splugen Pass.
SWITZERLAND—FRANCE.
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