Lastly, there is the
kitchen, where the wheel still remains in which a turnspit dog used
to be put to turn it and roast the meat; but this room is not shown
to strangers.
The inner court of the castle is as beautiful as the outer one.
Through the open door one catches glimpses of the terrace, and of
the lake beyond it. I know Ightham, Hever, and Stokesay, both
inside and out, and I know the outside of Leeds; these are all of
them exquisitely beautiful, but neither they nor any other such
place that I have ever seen please me as much as the castle of
Angera.
We stayed talking to my old friend Signor Signorelli, the custode
of the castle, and his family, and sketching upon the terrace until
Tonio came to tell us that his boat was at the quay waiting for us.
Tonio is now about fourteen years old, but was only four when I
first had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. He is son to
Giovanni, or as he is more commonly called, Giovannino, a boatman
of Arona. The boy is deservedly a great favourite, and is now a
padrone with a boat of his own, from which he can get a good
living.
He pulled us across the warm and sleepy lake, so far the most
beautiful of all even the Italian lakes; as we neared Arona, and
the wall that runs along the lake became more plain, I could not
help thinking of what Giovanni had told me about it some years
before, when Tonio was lying curled up, a little mite of an object,
in the bottom of the boat. He was extolling a certain family of
peasants who live near the castle of Angera, as being models of
everything a family ought to be. "There," he said, "the children
do not speak at meal-times, the polenta is put upon the table, and
each takes exactly what is given him, even though one of the
children thinks another has got a larger helping than he has, he
will eat his piece in silence. My children are not like that; if
Marietta thinks Irene has a bigger piece than she has, she will
leave the room and go to the wall."
"What," I asked, "does she go to the wall for?"
"Oh! to cry; all the children go to the wall to cry."
I thought of Hezekiah. The wall is the crying place, playing,
lounging place, and a great deal more, of all the houses in its
vicinity. It is the common drawing-room during the summer months;
if the weather is too sultry, a boatman will leave his bed and
finish the night on his back upon its broad coping; we who live in
a colder climate can hardly understand how great a blank in the
existence of these people the destruction of the wall would be.
We soon reached Arona, and in a few minutes were in that kind and
hospitable house the Hotel d'Italia, than which no better hotel is
to be found in Italy.
Arona is cooler than Angera. The proverb says, "He who would know
the pains of the infernal regions, could go to Angera in the summer
and to Arona in the winter." The neighbourhood is exquisite.
Unless during the extreme heat of summer, it is the best place to
stay at on the Lago Maggiore. The Monte Motterone is within the
compass of a single day's excursion; there is Orta, also, and
Varallo easily accessible, and any number of drives and nearer
excursions whether by boat or carriage.
One day we made Tonio take us to Castelletto near Sesto Calende, to
hear the bells. They ring the bells very beautifully at Vogogna,
but, unless my recollection of a good many years ago fails me, at
Castelletto they ring them better still.
At Vogogna, while we were getting our breakfast, we heard the bells
strike up as follows, from a campanile on the side of the hill:-
[At this point in the book a music score is given]
They did this because a baby had just died, but we were told it was
nothing to what they would have done if it had been a grown-up
person.
At Castelletto we were disappointed; the bells did not ring that
morning; we hinted at the possibility of paying a small fee to the
ringer and getting him to ring them, but were told that "la gente"
would not at all approve of this, and so I was unable to take down
the chimes at Castelletto as I had intended to do. I may say that
I had a visit from some Italian friends a few years ago, and found
them hardly less delighted with our English mode of ringing than I
had been with theirs. It would be very nice if we could ring our
bells sometimes in the English and sometimes in the Italian way.
When I say the Italian way - I should say that the custom of
ringing, as above described, is not a common one - I have only heard
it at Vogogna and Castelletto, though doubtless it prevails
elsewhere.
We were told that the people take a good deal of pride in their
bells, and that one village will be jealous of another, and
consider itself more or less insulted if the bells of that other
can be heard more plainly than its own can be heard back again.
There are two villages in the Brianza called Balzano and Cremella;
the dispute between these grew so hot that each of them changed
their bells three times, so as to try and be heard the loudest.
