Part 10

In those days of violence the capacity to do murder was a recommendation, and Il Medeghino soon rose to a position of power. He helped Francesco Sforza, the last of that famous house, to regain the Duchy of Milan by taking the life of a French courier and stealing his documents, for which services he demanded the Castle of Musso. The price asked by the duke was another murder, and the victim this time was a personal friend and fellow soldier. Il Medeghino did not hesitate, but brutally assassinated his friend. The duke, no longer able to refuse, sent him to the castle with a letter to the governor, ordering the latter to turn the fortress over to the young adventurer, but also with a sealed letter requesting the governor to cut his throat. Il Medeghino took no chances on the secret letter. He broke the seal and destroyed this message, presenting the open letter and obtaining possession of the stronghold. Immediately he made his power felt. He strengthened the walls of the fort and made the cliffs inaccessible. He made himself feared and his authority respected. He began a career of piracy and plunder, continuing until he became the master, not only of Lake Como, but of Lugano and much of the adjacent territory. His fleet of seven large ships and many smaller ones swept the lake from end to end.

Although but thirty years of age, he was now a power to be reckoned with. The Spaniards, finding him dangerous and not to be conquered by force, finally succeeded in winning him by concessions. Charles V created him Marquis of Musso and Count of Lecco, and induced him to begin a vigorous warfare against his former master, the Duke of Milan. But the end was near. A great force of Swiss attacked from the north and the Duke of Milan sent a large fleet and great army to subdue the rebel. A battle off Menaggio was lost by the pirate. He made a desperate fight, but was compelled to yield to superior forces. But he nevertheless retired with honors. He was given an enormous sum of money and the title of Marquis of Marignano, together with free pardon for himself and all his followers. The rest of his days were spent in the service of Spain. When he died, in his sixtieth year, his brother, Pope Pius IV, erected a magnificent tomb to his memory in the Cathedral of Milan, where all who feel so disposed may pause to honor this prince of pirates and most unscrupulous of plunderers, conspicuous for his wickedness, even in an age ruled by violence.

It is a relief to turn from the history of one of the wickedest of men to that of one of the noblest of women, by merely crossing the lake to the village of Varenna--a town known to tourists for its milk-white cascade, the Fiume Latte, a waterfall which leaps in spring-time from a height of a thousand feet. Here the remnant of the castle of the good Queen Theodelinda may still be seen.

In the sixth century A.D., the Langobards, or Long-Beards, taking advantage of the weakness and desolation following the long wars against the Goths, descended into Italy to take possession of the land. A powerful race of Teutons, renowned for daring and love of war, they met with little resistance. Their king, soon after, met a tragic death at the hands of his wife, and his successor reigned only two years. After ten years of experiments with a national confederacy, composed of some thirty-five dukes, constantly at war with each other, and resulting in a condition of anarchy, the first real king of the Lombards was chosen, Authari the Long-haired, known also by his Roman name of Flavius. The chief event in the life of this monarch was his courtship and marriage. Having decided, probably for reasons of state, upon the daughter of Garibald, Duke of Bavaria, as his future wife, he sent ambassadors to arrange the union. But becoming possessed of a strange and unaccountable desire to catch a glimpse of the lady before taking the final step, he is said to have accompanied his messengers in disguise. Fortunately for the romance of the incident, he was charmed with her beauty while the princess promptly fell in love with him.

The Christian Theodelinda became the honored queen of the Lombards and so won the confidence of their leaders that after the death of Authari, shortly after their marriage, she was invited to choose her own husband, who would thereupon become the king. She chose Agilulf, Duke of Turin. Through the influence of Theodelinda, the Lombards were brought into the Catholic Church, and the queen herself built at Monza the first Lombard cathedral. Pope Gregory the Great is said to have recognized her services by sending her a precious relic, one of the nails of the Cross, wrought into a narrow band or fillet of iron. Sometime later, probably in the twelfth century, this ancient relic, combined with a broad band of gold set with many jewels, was converted into the celebrated Iron Crown of Lombardy, with which the German Emperors in mediaeval times were crowned Kings of Italy. It was used at the coronation of Napoleon at Milan in 1805, and by the present King of Italy upon his accession. Theodelinda's name was held in reverence by her people, not only for her great public and private charities, but for her kindliness of heart. The castle at Varenna is said to have been her home during the last years of her life.

If this story of the Larian Lake, to use its Roman name, is being told backwards, it is because we first saw it at the northern end, where the interest centers in the events of the Middle Ages. But having jumped from the sixteenth back to the sixth century, it requires no greater agility to skip a few more hundreds of years until we get back to the time of Julius Caesar, who as governor of Cisalpine Gaul sent five thousand colonists to the shores of the lake to protect the region against the depredations of the Gauls. Five hundred of them settled at the ancient town of Comum. The city never played an important part in the history of Rome, but remained a comparatively quiet yet prosperous municipality.

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.

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.

Passing to the right of the atrium, we entered the music saloon, decorated and furnished in the style of Louis XIV, a large and beautiful room, noteworthy, not only for its acoustic properties, but also for extreme richness and harmony of design and color. An arched opening reveals a portion of a fine piece of tapestry by Giulio Romano, dating from the sixteenth century, which covers the rear wall of the dining-room. This tapestry, formerly owned by the Duke of Modena, is a representation of the old Greek legend of the presentation of Bacchus, the same theme as that of the Gaeta vase. Indeed, it was the possession of this tapestry which suggested to Mr. Haines the idea of obtaining a restoration of the famous vase. A striking feature of the dining-room is the frieze of Poliaghi representing young Bacchantes in the midst of fruit and flowers, so cleverly painted that it seems to be done in high relief, completely deceiving the eye.

On the left of the atrium is the library, with two life-size portraits by De La Gandara, one of Mr. Haines and the other of his wife. Mrs. Haines was an accomplished musician as well as an enthusiastic collector of works of art. The Villa Maria was designed by her as a fitting shrine for her valuable collections as well as with a view to musical entertainments. Since her death, in 1899, Mr. Haines, with equal enthusiasm and taste, has added to the collections and improved the villa. His study is in the rear of the library. Its distinguishing feature is a life-size portrait of the children of Catherine de Medici, by Federico Zuccheri. This painting is seven hundred years old, but the colors are still fresh, and although life-size it has the exactness of a miniature. It was formerly in the Borghese collection.

Ascending the marble stairway we were ushered into the "Porcelain" room, containing the most unique and valuable portion of the art treasures of the villa. There are four cabinets in the style of Louis XV, containing what is probably the best collection to be found in Europe of rare Ancienne, Porcelain de Saxe, Old Chelsea, Nymphenberg, Dresden, Meissen, Ludwigsburg, and Sevres pieces in endless variety and bewildering richness of design. There are fans painted by Nicolas Poussin, and others by French and Italian artists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. There is a fine portrait of the Duchess de Chevreuse by La Guilliere and an original painting of Louis le Grand by Le Fevre. A rare clock of the period of Louis XV, made about 1750, with miniature allegorical paintings, surrounded by pearls, stands upon a Louis XIV desk, ornamented with elaborate carved bronzes by Reisinger. On either side of the clock is a fine old Bohemian vase, while near by is a miniature of Napoleon by Isabey. The decoration of the room is completed by a fine old piece of Gobelin tapestry, bearing the signature of Boucher and the date 1747, originally presented by Louis XV to one of the queens of Spain.

These are a few of the treasures shown to us in a very brief visit to the Villa Maria. The enthusiasm of its owner for art goes hand in hand with a love of nature. If the interior decorations have been done with the eye of a discriminating artist, no less has the exterior received the same careful attention. The fine fountain, just within the gates, the flower-beds with their well-harmonized tints, the olives and cypresses, the camellias, the cherry tree in full blossom, all add their charm to a view which would be unsurpassed even without their aid. For the villa is situated at one of the loveliest points on beautiful Como, commanding on all sides a panorama of distant mountains, with here and there a snow-capped peak, of peaceful water glistening in the warm April sun, of little white villages dotting the shores of the lake, of quaint little chapels in nooks and corners of the mountains, of peach trees and almonds adding a touch of pink to the landscape, of blue skies and fleecy clouds surmounting the whole like a brilliant canopy. No wonder that our genial host, after showing all the beauties of his palace, stood by the open window and waving his hand exclaimed, "I call this my J. M. W. Turner." But the window framed a lovelier work of art than the hand of man will ever paint.

VII

LITERARY LANDMARKS OF NEW ENGLAND

VII

LITERARY LANDMARKS OF NEW ENGLAND

The quest for literary landmarks is always a fascinating pursuit, particularly to the amateur photographer who likes to take pictures that mean something. I have always found a certain exhilaration in seeing for myself and reproducing photographically the places made memorable by some favorite author. To look into the ground glass of my camera and see the reflected image of some lovely scene that has been an inspiration to poet or novelist, is like suddenly coming into possession of a prize that had ever before been thought unattainable. It brings the author of a by-gone generation into one's own time. It deepens the previous enjoyment--makes it more real. When I stand before the house in which some great author has lived, I seem to see more than a mere dwelling. The great man himself comes out to meet me, invites me in, shows me his study, presents me to his wife and children, walks with me in his garden, tells me how the surroundings of his home have influenced his literary work, and finally sends me away with a peculiar sense of intimacy. I go home, reach out my hand for a certain neglected book on my shelves, and lo! it opens as with a hidden spring, a new light glows upon its pages, and I find myself absorbed in conversation with a friend.

I

CONCORD

For this kind of hunting I know of no better place in America than New England, and no better town in which to begin than the sleepy old village of Concord, twenty miles northwest of Boston. On the occasion of a recent visit, we walked out Monument Street and made our first stop at a point in the road immediately opposite the "Old Manse." A party of school-children were just entering. Had we been looking at the grove on the hillside, at the opposite end of the town, where Hawthorne used to walk to and fro, composing the "Tanglewood Tales," we might have supposed they had come to catch a few echoes of the famous story-teller's voice, and I should have made a photograph with the children in it. But here they did not seem so appropriate, and we waited until they had gone. When all was quiet again, it did not require a very vigorous imagination to look down the vista of black-ash trees seen between the "two tall gate-posts of rough-hewn stone," and fancy a man and woman walking arm in arm down the avenue toward the weather-stained old parsonage, its dark sides scarcely visible beneath the shadows of the overarching trees. The man is of medium height, broad-shouldered, and walks with a vigorous stride, suggesting the bodily activity of a young athlete. His hair is dark, framing with wavy curves a forehead both high and broad. Heavy eyebrows overhang a pair of dark blue eyes, that seem to flash with wondrous expressiveness, as he bends slightly to speak to the little woman at his side. His voice is low and deep, and she responds to what he is saying with an upward glance of her soft gray eyes and a happy smile that clearly suggest the sunshine which she is destined to throw into his life.

Thus Nathaniel Hawthorne and Sophia Peabody, his bride, on a day in July, 1842, passed into the gloomy old house where they were to begin their honeymoon. I say "begin" because it was not like the ordinary honeymoon that ends abruptly on the day the husband first proposes to go alone on a fishing excursion. Nor was it like that of a certain "colored lady" whom I once knew. On the day following the wedding she left William to attend to his usual duties in the stable and the garden while she started on a two weeks' "honeymoon" trip to her old Virginia home, explaining afterward that she "couldn't afford to take dat fool niggah along, noway."

The Hawthorne honeymoon was one of that rare kind which begins with the wedding bells and has no ending. They were married lovers all their days. Hawthorne had seen enough of solitariness in his bachelorhood to appreciate the rare companionship of his gifted wife, and he wanted nothing more. The dingy old parsonage was a Paradise to them and the new Adam and Eve invited no intrusions into their Eden. Some of their friends came occasionally, it is true, but Hawthorne records that during the next winter the snow in the old avenue was marked by no footsteps save his own for weeks at a time. And his loving wife, though she had come from the midst of a large circle of friends, found only happiness in sharing this solitude.

During the three years in which Hawthorne lived in this "Old Manse," he seldom walked through the village, was known to but few of his neighbors, never went to the town-meeting, and not often to church, though he lived in a house that had been built by a minister and occupied by ministers so long that "it was awful to reflect how many sermons must have been written there."