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.
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