In The Middle Ages There Was A
Certain Duke Who Held This Part Of The Country And Was Notorious
For His Exactions.
One Christmas eve when he and his whole
household had assembled to their devotions, the people rose up
against them and murdered them inside the church.
After this
tragedy, the church was desecrated, though monuments have been put
up on the outside walls even in recent years. There is a fine bit
of early religious sculpture over the door, and the traces of a
fresco of Christ walking upon the water, also very early.
Returning to the road by a path of a couple of hundred yards, we
descended to cross the river, and then ascended again to Morbio
Superiore. The view from the piazza in front of the church is very
fine, extending over the whole Mendrisiotto, and reaching as far as
Varese and the Lago Maggiore. Below is Morbio Inferiore, a place
of singular beauty. A couple of Italian friends were with us, one
of them Signor Spartaco Vela, son of Professor Vela. He called us
into the church and showed us a beautiful altar-piece - a Madonna
with saints on either side, apparently moved from some earlier
church, and, as we all agreed, a very fine work, though we could
form no idea who the artist was.
From Morbio Superiore the ascent is steep, and it will take half-
an-hour or more to reach the level bit of road close to Sagno.
This, again, commands the most exquisite views, especially over
Como, through the trunks of the trees. Then comes Sagno itself,
the last village of the Canton Ticino and close to the Italian
frontier. There is no inn with sleeping accommodation here, but if
there was, Sagno would be a very good place to stay at. They say
that some of its inhabitants sometimes smuggle a pound or two of
tobacco across the Italian frontier, hiding it in the fern close to
the boundary, and whisking it over the line on a dark night, but I
know not what truth there is in the allegation; the people struck
me as being above the average in respect of good looks and good
breeding - and the average in those parts is a very high one.
Immediately behind Sagno the old paved pilgrim's road begins to
ascend rapidly. We followed it, and in half-an-hour reached the
stone marking the Italian boundary; then comes some level walking,
and then on turning a corner the monastery at the top of the Monte
Bisbino is caught sight of. It still looks small, but one can now
see what an important building it really is, and how different from
the mere chapel which it appears to be when seen from a distance.
The sketch which I give is taken from about a mile further on than
the place where the summit is first seen.
Here some men joined us who lived in a hut a few hundred feet from
the top of the mountain and looked after the cattle there during
the summer. It is at their alpe that the last water can be
obtained, so we resolved to stay there and eat the provisions we
had brought with us. For the benefit of travellers, I should say
they will find the water by opening the door of a kind of outhouse;
this covers the water and prevents the cows from dirtying it.
There will be a wooden bowl floating on the top. The water outside
is not drinkable, but that in the outhouse is excellent.
The men were very good to us; they knew me, having seen me pass and
watched me sketching in other years. It had unfortunately now
begun to rain, so we were glad of shelter: they threw faggots on
the fire and soon kindled a blaze; when these died down and it was
seen that the sparks clung to the kettle and smouldered on it, they
said that it would rain much, and they were right. It poured
during the hour we spent in dining, after which it only got a
little better; we thanked them, and went up five or six hundred
feet till the monastery at length loomed out suddenly upon us from
the mist, when we were close to it but not before.
There is a restaurant at the top which is open for a few days
before and after a festa, but generally closed; it was open now, so
we went in to dry ourselves. We found rather a roughish lot
assembled, and imagined the smuggling element to preponderate over
the religious, but nothing could be better than the way in which
they treated us. There was one gentleman, however, who was no
smuggler, but who had lived many years in London and had now
settled down at Rovenna, just below on the lake of Como. He had
taken a room here and furnished it for the sake of the shooting.
He spoke perfect English, and would have none but English things
about him. He had Cockle's antibilious pills, and the last numbers
of the "Illustrated London News" and "Morning Chronicle;" his bath
and bath-towels were English, and there was a box of Huntley &
Palmer's biscuits on his dressing-table. He was delighted to see
some Englishmen, and showed us everything that was to be seen -
among the rest the birds he kept in cages to lure those that he
intended to shoot. He also took us behind the church, and there we
found a very beautiful marble statue of the Madonna and child, an
admirable work, with painted eyes and the dress gilded and figured.
What an extraordinary number of fine or, at the least, interesting
things one finds in Italy which no one knows anything about. In
one day, poking about at random, we had seen some early frescoes at
S. Cristoforo, an excellent work at Morbio, and here was another
fine thing sprung upon us.
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