Como is quite an ideal little town, rich in reminiscences, and full of life and beauty. The Cathedral is, next to that at Milan, the finest in Northern Italy. It is severely Gothic; indeed, there is a certain severity in most of the architecture of the town. There are some fine paintings, chiefly by Guido and B. Quini. On either side of the porch are the figures of the two Plinys, who used often to make the Villa Pliniana their residence, writing many of their celebrated works there. In the gardens of the villa is a fountain of which Pliny the younger made frequent mention in his letters.
The Villa d'Este, some three miles from the town--built by Cardinal Pompeo Galleo, who was born near Como and which afterwards became the retreat of poor Queen Caroline of Georgian memory--is now annexed to the well-known inn, the Regina d'Inghilterra. There are numerous other beautiful villas, interesting both on account of their own merit and the famous names associated with them.
The steamer leaves Como three times daily for excursions to various parts of the lake. Carriages are also available to all points of interest, and the rail goes straight to Bellagio. We preferred going by water, and were soon steaming up the lake, crossing occasionally from shore to shore to take in passengers. At first the morning was a little dull and cold, giving a somewhat sombre tone to the scenery; but after a time the sun shone out brightly, chasing away the shadows and lighting up the wondrous beauties of the Alpine landscape, bringing forth glints of coloured light from the dazzling waters, which reflected the blue sky overhead--a charming and fairy-like change, as if the wand of some good genius had been waved around, effecting a complete transformation.
The lake is some thirty miles in length, and its greatest width is about two and a half miles. The depth in some parts is profound--some 1900 feet, and all around are the great lofty mountains. The fact of the two shores being seen so distinctly add, I think, not a little to the impressive grandeur of the scene. The mountain slopes are beautifully wooded. Sometimes a great chasm intervenes; and, nestling picturesquely here and there in bowers of green, or poised gracefully, commanding the finest points and curves of the lake, or again scattered around the shores, are the summer residences of the Milanese aristocracy. Winding in and out, crossing from shore to shore, there is an ever-varying panorama, delightful and unexpected surprises continually opening out to the enraptured gaze. At each little station we come to a boat puts off from the shore, bringing a few fresh passengers, and the mails and parcel traffic of the lake; returning with the same, and such passengers who desire to land.