I can get on with
statical subjects, but can do nothing with dynamical ones. Over
the door and windows are two frescoes of skeletons holding mirrors
in their hands, with a death's head in the mirror. This reflected
head is supposed to be that of the spectator to whom death is
holding up the image of what he will one day become. I do not
remember the inscription at Soazza; the one in the Campo Santo at
Mesocco is, "Sicut vos estis nos fuimus, et sicut nos sumus vos
eritis." {30}
On my return to England I mentioned this inscription to a friend
who, as a young man, had been an excellent Latin scholar; he took a
panic into his head that "eritis" was not right for the second
person plural of the future tense of the verb "esse." Whatever it
was, it was not "eritis." This panic was speedily communicated to
myself, and we both puzzled for some time to think what the future
of "esse" really was. At last we turned to a grammar and found
that "eritis" was right after all. How skin-deep that classical
training penetrates on which we waste so many years, and how
completely we drop it as soon as we are left to ourselves.
On the right-hand side of the door of the mortuary chapel there
hangs a wooden tablet inscribed with a poem to the memory of Maria
Zara. It is a pleasing poem, and begins:-
"Appena al trapassar il terzo lustro
Maria Zara la sua vita fini.
Se a Soazza ebbe la sua colma
A Roveredo la sua tomba . . .
she found," or words to that effect, but I forget the Italian.
This poem is the nearest thing to an Italian rendering of
"Affliction sore long time I bore" that I remember to have met
with, but it is longer and more grandiose generally.
Soazza is full of beautiful subjects, and indeed is the first place
in the valley of the Moesa which I thought good sketching ground,
in spite of the general beauty of the valley. There is an inn
there quite sufficient for a bachelor artist. The clergyman of the
place is a monk, and he will not let one paint on a feast-day. I
was told that if I wanted to paint on a certain feast-day I had
better consult him; I did so, but was flatly refused permission,
and that too as it appeared to me with more peremptoriness than a
priest would have shown towards me.
It is at Soazza that the ascent of the San Bernardino becomes
perceptible; hitherto the road has seemed to be level all the way,
but henceforth the ascent though gradual is steady. Mesocco Castle
looks very fine as soon as Soazza is passed, and gets finer and
finer until it is actually reached. Here is the upper limit of the
chestnuts, which leave off upon the lower side of Mesocco Castle.
A few yards off the castle on the upper side is the ancient church
of S. Cristoforo, with its huge St. Christopher on the right-hand
side of the door. St. Christopher is a very favourite saint in
these parts; people call him S. Cristofano, and even S. Carpofano.
I think it must be in the church of S. Cristoforo at Mesocco that
the frescoes are which Baedeker writes of as being near Grono. Of
these I will speak at length in the next chapter. About half or
three-quarters of a mile higher up the road than the castle is
Mesocco itself.
CHAPTER XVIII - Mesocco, S. Bernardino, and S. Maria in Calanca
At the time of my first visit there was an inn kept by one
Desteffanis and his wife, where I stayed nearly a month, and was
made very comfortable. Last year, however, Jones and I found it
closed, but did very well at the Hotel Toscani. At the Hotel
Desteffanis there used to be a parrot which lived about loose and
had no cage, but did exactly what it liked. Its name was Lorrito.
It was a very human bird; I saw it eat some bread and milk from its
tin one day and then sidle along a pole to a place where there was
a towel hanging. It took a corner of the towel in its claw, wiped
its beak with it, and then sidled back again. It would sometimes
come and see me at breakfast; it got from a chair-back on to the
table by dropping its head and putting its round beak on to the
table first, making a third leg as it were of its head; it would
then waddle to the butter and begin helping itself. It was a great
respecter of persons and knew the landlord and landlady perfectly
well. It yawned just like a dog or a human being, and this not
from love of imitation but from being sleepy. I do not remember to
have seen any other bird yawn. It hated boys because the boys
plagued it sometimes. The boys generally go barefoot in summer,
and if ever a boy came near the door of the hotel this parrot would
go straight for his toes.
The most striking feature of Mesocco is the castle, which, as I
have said, occupies a rock in the middle of the valley, and is one
of the finest ruins in Switzerland. More interesting than the
castle, however, is the church of S. Cristoforo. Before I entered
it I was struck with the fresco on the facciata of the church,
which, though the facciata bears the date 1720, was painted in a
style so much earlier than that of 1720 that I at first imagined I
had found here another old master born out of due time; for the
fresco was in such a good state of preservation that it did not
look more than 150 years old, and it was hardly likely to have been
preserved when the facciata was renovated in 1720.
