It often happens that people who are doing well in
London or Paris are paying a visit to their native village, and
like to take back something to remind them of it in the winter.
From Prato, there are two ways to Faido, one past an old castle,
built to defend the northern entrance of the Monte Piottino, and so
over a small pass which will avoid the gorge; and the other, by
Dazio and the Monte Piottino gorge. Both are good.
CHAPTER IV - Rossura, Calonico
Another day I went up to Rossura, a village that can be seen from
the windows of the Hotel dell' Angelo, and which stands about 3500
feet above the sea, or a little more than 1100 feet above Faido.
The path to it passes along some meadows, from which the church of
Calonico can be seen on the top of its rocks some few miles off.
By and by a torrent is reached, and the ascent begins in earnest.
When the level of Rossura has been nearly attained, the path turns
off into meadows to the right, and continues - occasionally under
magnificent chestnuts - till one comes to Rossura.
The church has been a good deal restored during the last few years,
and an interesting old chapel - with an altar in it - at which mass
was said during a time of plague, while the people stood some way
off in a meadow, has just been entirely renovated; but as with some
English churches, the more closely a piece of old work is copied
the more palpably does the modern spirit show through it, so here
the opposite occurs, for the old-worldliness of the place has not
been impaired by much renovation, though the intention has been to
make everything as modern as possible.
I know few things more touching in their way than the porch of
Rossura church. It is dated early in the last century, and is
absolutely without ornament; the flight of steps inside it lead up
to the level of the floor of the church. One lovely summer Sunday
morning, passing the church betimes, I saw the people kneeling upon
these steps, the church within being crammed. In the darker light
of the porch, they told out against the sky that showed through the
open arch beyond them; far away the eye rested on the mountains -
deep blue save where the snow still lingered. I never saw anything
more beautiful - and these forsooth are the people whom so many of
us think to better by distributing tracts about Protestantism among
them!
While I was looking, there came a sound of music through the open
door - the people lifting up their voices and singing, as near as I
can remember, something which on the piano would come thus:-
[At this point in the book a music score is given]
I liked the porch almost best under an aspect which it no longer
presents. One summer an opening was made in the west wall, which
was afterwards closed because the wind blew through it too much and
made the church too cold. While it was open, one could sit on the
church steps and look down through it on to the bottom of the
Ticino valley; and through the windows one could see the slopes
about Dalpe and Cornone. Between the two windows there is a
picture of austere old S. Carlo Borromeo with his hands joined in
prayer.
It was at Rossura that I made the acquaintance of a word which I
have since found very largely used throughout North Italy. It is
pronounced "chow" pure and simple, but is written, if written at
all, "ciau," or "ciao," the "a" being kept very broad. I believe
the word is derived from "schiavo," a slave, which, became
corrupted into "schiao," and "ciao." It is used with two meanings,
both of which, however, are deducible from the word slave. In its
first and more common use it is simply a salute, either on greeting
or taking leave, and means, "I am your very obedient servant."
Thus, if one has been talking to a small child, its mother will
tell it to say "chow" before it goes away, and will then nod her
head and say "chow" herself. The other use is a kind of pious
expletive, intending "I must endure it," "I am the slave of a
higher power." It was in this sense I first heard it at Rossura.
A woman was washing at a fountain while I was eating my lunch. She
said she had lost her daughter in Paris a few weeks earlier. "She
was a beautiful woman," said the bereaved mother, "but - chow. She
had great talents - chow. I had her educated by the nuns of
Bellinzona - chow. Her knowledge of geography was consummate - chow,
chow," &c. Here "chow" means "pazienza," "I have done and said all
that I can, and must now bear it as best I may."
I tried to comfort her, but could do nothing, till at last it
occurred to me to say "chow" too. I did so, and was astonished at
the soothing effect it had upon her. How subtle are the laws that
govern consolation! I suppose they must ultimately be connected
with reproduction - the consoling idea being a kind of small cross
which RE-GENERATES or RE-CREATES the sufferer. It is important,
therefore, that the new ideas with which the old are to be crossed
should differ from these last sufficiently to divert the attention,
and yet not so much as to cause a painful shock.
There should be a little shock, or there will be no variation in
the new ideas that are generated, but they will resemble those that
preceded them, and grief will be continued; there must not be too
great a shock or there will be no illusion - no confusion and fusion
between the new set of ideas and the old, and in consequence, there
will be no result at all, or, if any, an increase in mental
discord.
