The Lure of the Camera

by Charles S. Olcott

In the Golden Age of Rome, the shores of the Lacus Larius became lined with costly villas, where wealthy men sought a retreat from the too strenuous life of the Imperial City. The need of such a refuge must be apparent to any one having even the most superficial knowledge of Roman municipal life in the first century of the Christian era. To escape the corruption of official life, the endless feasts of extravagance and immorality, and even the public amusements, where, as in the Flavian amphitheater, 87,000 people were wont to gather to witness vast spectacles of cruelty, obscenity, and bloodshed, there was need enough, and the moral, self-respecting, and refined people of Rome fully realized it. For there were such people, though the fact has been obscured by history, which has to deal chiefly with the excesses of the ruling classes.

The two Plinys and their friends were brilliant examples of the Romans of the better sort. Though an aristocrat, Pliny the younger was a charitable, good-natured man, who loved the quiet of a home where he could combine study with fishing, hunting, and the companionship of congenial friends. He possessed several villas on the shores of Como, but two particularly interested him, one of which, in a somewhat whimsical letter, he called “Tragedy” and the other “Comedy”; the high boot worn by tragedians suggesting the name of the one on a high rock over the lake, while the sock or slipper of the comedian applied to the villa down by the water’s edge. The latter had the great advantage that one might fish from his bedroom, throwing the line out of the window while he lay in bed. Pliny does not tell how many fish he caught under these conditions.

The Villa Pliniana, just above Torno, on the eastern side of the lake, was built in 1570 by Count Giovanni Anguisola, whose claim to distinction lies in his participation in the murder of Pierluigi Farnese. The villa was erected as a safe retreat, where he might escape vengeance. Its feature of greatest interest is a curious stream which flows through the central apartment of the house. Fifteen centuries before the villa was constructed, Pliny described this stream in one of his most interesting letters. “A certain spring,” he writes, “rises in a mountain and runs down through the rocks till it is inclosed in a small dining-parlor made by hand; after being slightly retarded there, it empties itself into the Larian lake. Its nature is very remarkable. Three times a day it is increased or diminished in volume by a regular rise and fall. This can be plainly seen, and when perceived is a source of great enjoyment. You recline close to it and take your food and even drink from the spring itself (for it is remarkably cold): meanwhile with a regular and measured movement, it either subsides or rises. If you place a ring or any other object on the dry ground it is gradually moistened and finally covered over: then again it comes to view and is by degrees deserted by the water. If you watch long enough you will see both of these performances repeated a second and even a third time.”

Another famous villa at the southern end of the lake, near the city of Como, was erected by Cardinal Gallio, the son of a fisherman, who achieved high honors in his Church and amassed great wealth. This villa was later the home of the discarded Queen Caroline, wife of George IV, who gave it the name of Villa d’Este and made great additions to its elegance. It is now a fashionable hotel. Cardinal Gallio seems to have had a passion for extensive villas. His palace at Gravedona, at the head of the lake, was one of the most splendid in Europe. It is said that he could make the journey to Rome, requiring six days, and stop at one of his own palaces every night.

The Villa Carlotta now the property of the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen, is at Tremezzo, a village adjoining Cadenabbia on the south. Its chief beauty lies in the garden, filled with a profusion of plants of every variety—roses, camellias, azaleas, magnolias, oranges, lilies—all arranged in charming walks, with here and there a vista of the lake and Bellagio in the distance, reflecting the bright sunlight from its white walls. Above are the woods and the little round table overlooking the water, where we began our survey of the Larian shores. The interior contains a large collection of sculptures, but most visitors remember only two pieces,—Thorwaldsen’s “Triumphant Entry into Babylon of Alexander the Great,” and Canova’s lovely “Cupid and Psyche.”

After seeing some of these palaces merely as tourists, and learning the history of others of an earlier day, particularly the homes described by Pliny, we could not help wishing to see an Italian palace which is not a show place but a home, and typical of modern life on the shores of this wonderful lake, for so many centuries sought by men of wealth as the place where they could realize their dreams of comfort and delight.

The opportunity of gratifying this desire came sooner than we expected. We had started one morning to make a call at the summer home of Mrs. Humphry Ward, who had leased the Villa Bonaventura for a season. Mistaking the directions, we entered the gate of the Villa Maria, a large house in the classical lines of the Italian Renaissance, standing high above the road and reached by winding paths through a garden of surpassing loveliness. Our ring was answered by the Italian butler, who in response to our inquiries nodded pleasantly, not understanding a word we said, and disappeared. In a few moments we were most cordially greeted by an American gentleman, who assured us he was delighted to see us, and would be happy to show us the villa. In another moment, and before we could make explanations, another ring of the doorbell announced two other callers, who, as it happened, were really expected at the hour of our arrival, by invitation to see the villa. We had made a mistake, and in turn had been mistaken for two other people, but our friendly host insisted that we, too, should see his beautiful home.

THE ATRIUM OF THE VILLA MARIA

We were standing in the atrium before a large marble vase—a restoration of the so-called Gaeta vase, by Salpion, a Greek sculptor of the time of Praxiteles. The original was thrown into the Bay of Gaeta, where for centuries it remained partially embedded in the mud. The fishermen of many generations used it as a convenient post for mooring their boats, and did much damage with their ropes. It was finally rescued and taken to a church for use as a baptismal font, and later transferred to the Naples Museum. The theme of the vase is the presentation of the infant Bacchus, by Mercury, to one of the Nymphs—a favorite subject with ancient sculptors. Mr. Haines, our courteous host, was justly proud of this—the first complete restoration of this beautiful work of art. The decoration of the atrium, including the eight lunettes, as well as of the entire villa, are by the hand of Pogliaghi, who now stands at the head of the Lombard decorators. He is the young sculptor who in 1895 was commissioned to design the magnificent bronze doors of the Cathedral of Milan, a work requiring seven years.

One striking feature of the villa is its harmony of color. Glance out the doorway, from the atrium across the lake, or from the dining-room toward Menaggio, or through the library windows into the garden, and everywhere you see the blue Italian sky, the brown of the distant mountains, the green of the freshly budding trees, the sparkle of the lake, and the brilliant tints of the camellias, hyacinths, and cineraria, combining to make a scene of splendor rarely equaled in this good old world of ours. Then, glancing back into the rooms of the villa, you find the same tints and shadings in the walls and ceilings, the paintings, tapestries, and upholstery. Perfect harmony with Nature at her best seems to have been Pogliaghi’s motive.