Villa Carlotta
Villa Carlotta, Lake Como
I want dreamy forever. Dreamy, a wistful word in the English Dictionary, don’t you think Miss Hubble? Miss Hubble should be sitting on the edge of the Lake feeling particularly dreamy. Miss Hubble, is the sort character who one would find on a Grand Tour, staying at one of the more fashionable hotels on the edge of the Lake.
To be fashionably ‘dreamy’ it is important to time one’s visit to the garden. Midday is likely to inflict a fine, moist sheen upon the brow and that does not make for dreamy at all. Discomfort. It makes for discomfort and the intake of a cool drink more of an urgent need than a languid exercise.
The walk to the house and behind it the top of the garden is steep. At the wrong time of day, nothing dreamy, or romantic about a puffing chest and wet tendrils of hair beneath the sun hat.
No, the visit to Lake Carlotta must be when the sting of the day gives way to shadows in the garden, or a day when the clouds create mirror images on the surface of the lake. Then it will be most rewarding.
Cool marble and cool waters
In the 17th century a family of Silk merchants from Milan decided to build a Villa, caressing the edges of Lake Como. neighbouring the hamlet of Tramezzo. Anton Giorgio Clerici used the family fortune to build his passionate villa and gardens but ended financially ruined and the Palazzo Clerici was sold to Giovanni Battista Sommariva, a powerful banker and politician in Napoleon Bonaparte’s government.
Giovanni’s dream to be vice president of the Republic of Italy was thwarted by Francesco Melzi d’Eril (one can see the Villa Melzi directly across the Lake) and Giovanni withdrew from public life to the sanctuary of his villa amid his magnificent collection of Art he had accumulated over the years.
Opulent, Ornate and out of this world.
Where there is history, there is joy and sorrow alike, laced between the windows overlooking the lake, thought Miss Hubble.
Generations of young men dying in the wars. Illness, bankruptcy and death. Joy in children born in bedrooms upstairs, parties and celebrations. Ghosts and stories.
The name, thought Miss Hubble. Why the name Carlotta? She stood up, gathered her sun hat, hand bag and gloves and stepped outside on the ferry deck, ready to disembark.
The ferry was spluttering to a stop, edging towards the wall. To the gangplank. Mere steps to the entrance of the Villa, looking up, bolts of purple and yellow popping from the garden. May presents an entirely different palette - yes, Miss Hubble had been here before, late Summer it was, late summer and the dreaminess of that excursion brought hope for a repeat performance.
Spring Azaleas.
Villa Carlotta was named for the enchanting Charlotte, daughter to Princess Marianna who secured the Villa in 1843 and presented it to her beloved child as a wedding gift inn 1847.
Charlotte spent but a few years here, dying in childbirth at the age of 23, her heartbroken husband renamed the villa after her.
A quiet, cool glade.
In 1921 Villa Carlotta was placed in the hands of the Italian State with the intention of auctioning it off to the highest bidder. Fortunately, due to the intervention of Senator Giuseppe Bianchini and the Rotary Club of Milan, the Villa and gardens were saved. The running and care of the Estate is the responsibility of the Ente Villa Carlotta, a foundation dedicated to the preservation of all that lies within her boundaries.
Azaleas and Banksia roses with a view.
It is the view that first startles, Miss Hubble concluded. A short walk up to the house (a little puffing to be fair) to lose oneself in the pathways of planting and coolness of summer trees. Azaleas at the party, strokes of white, pink and purple loveliness.
To stop and take in the splendour of the view. The Lake.
Colours of blue, azure, turquoise and indigo, dashed with ripples of white in the wake of the ferries and riva boats. So very Italian those rivas.
Around the edges of the lake, villages called Bellagio, Varenna, Mennagio, Lenno, Bellano and others.
Mountains surround, at times low with rain clouds or clutching the last of the snow on her highest peaks.
Walking through a magnificent, curated, nurtured elegant garden is always dreamy. Classical dreaminess. The Villa’s garden is sweet smelling, buzzing of bees, coolness of musical water dreaminess.
Villa Carlotta.
Cool air drifts along the terrance, to reach the very bench upon which Miss Hubble took respite. A bench with a view of heaven.
On the stone ledge before her, overlooking the next terrance below, a lizard was sunning itself in the last rays of sunshine, now almost hidden behind the trees. He had no tail, but it did not seem to perturb him. He provided many minutes of fun watching his squat little legs and lacking tail, run a little, pause a little, darting to stop yet again. He owned the stone ledge for that moment. Miss Hubble tried not to frighten him though he did dash away when a child with fat fingers wanted to catch him.
The familiar smell of the Banksia Rose, draped over a trellis walk down the steps. The smell of childhood. Mother and Grandmother, their gardens and the Banksia in bloom. Wedding confetti banksia.
The perfume of Banksia, a view of God’s design and the stories within this place. The stories within her place. And the achievement of dreaminess … even if only for a short spell. I like the idea of Miss Hubble and me, together in this beautiful garden. Perhaps we shall meet again…