Lake Como occupies a valley of great depth, which, stretching southward from the Alps for fifteen miles, bifurcates at Bellaggio; one branch, thus formed, extending slightly eastward till it reaches Lecco, the other westward till it ends at Como. Hence, since these towns are nearly equidistant from Bellaggio, Lake Como forms three basins practically of the same dimensions, having in places the surprising depth of thirteen hundred feet. Its outline, therefore, is peculiar.

The Inverted V.

It may be roughly likened to an inverted Y, some thirty miles in length; or to the figure of a man, striding impetuously westward - his head at Colico, and his waist at Bellaggio, while Como lies beneath his foremost heel, and Lecco at the other. On such a varied shore-line, touched at several points by European thoroughfares, it is not hard to find an opportunity for introduction to Lake Como. Its most frequented portal is the place from which it takes its name. Como, however, has a life in many ways independent of the lake on which it lies. For, distant only twenty-eight miles by rail from Milan, it shares in the prosperity and progress of that great metropolis, and is to-day a city of thirty-nine thousand inhabitants, as well as the capital of the province of Como, whose thirty-five hundred silk-looms give employment to fifty thousand laborers, and annually turn out silken products to the value of twelve million dollars. The origin and early history of Como are shrouded in the shadows of a distant past. Some centuries before the birth of Christ the Etruscans had a settlement there; but of that primitive, artistic race - in many ways the teacher and the civilizer of young Rome - we still know little, save that it fell, and well-nigh passed into oblivion under those inroads of barbarians, which mark for centuries the tragic history of northern Italy. Lying in this exposed position on the dangerous frontier of Cisalpine Gaul, Como received repeatedly from Rome assistance in the form of colonists, who were expected, in return for lands and civic privileges, to ward off the invading Celts, and give protection to the Roman State. Caesar particularly favored Comum, as it was then called, and once established there a settlement of five thousand immigrants, among whom were so many Greeks that traces of their language still exist along the lake. In fact, the name of Como is supposed to be derived from the Greek κώμη, - a small town. The city shared the fortunes, or rather the misfortunes, of the crumbling empire; and after Rome herself had fallen, Como, together with the whole of northern Italy, passed into a millennium of misery. One rises from a reading of the intrigues, massacres, and wars which stain its annals for a thousand years, with horror at the inhumanity, and pity for the sufferings, of mankind. No better cure for pessimism can be found than an intelligent study of conditions dominant in this region during those dark ages, and a comparison between them and the customs now existing there. Into that blood-stained labyrinth of crime it would be profitless to enter; yet to peer shudderingly for a moment into its repulsive depths is almost a necessity, if one would gain the faintest comprehension of the historic background of this lovely lake, and thus appreciate by contrast the peace it now enjoys. Among the earliest conquerors of Italy after Rome's decline were the Lombards, who in the latter part of the sixth century swept southward from their home in Hungary under their savage leader, Alboin. After subduing most of the Italian cities, except Rome and Ravenna, this Lombard king divided up the subjugated land among some thirty-six of his subordinates, who were to rule their "dukedoms," on condition that they paid him a substantial tribute, and aided him in time of war. When, five years later, at Verona, Alboin was poisoned by his wife for having forced her to drink wine from a cup which had been fashioned out of her father's skull, these separate potentates grew more important. Each was a petty tyrant, beneath whom were his feudal counts, who held in leash for him their men at arms, while under all lay finally the exploited and wretched people. Contended for by wrangling rivals, the fertile "Lombard Plains " thenceforth became for centuries the scene of ceaseless warfare, treachery, and murder. A period of respite came, when Charlemagne destroyed the Lombard power, and, adding Italy to his vast dominions, gave this unfortunate land for twoscore years a reasonable government; but soon the tragedy of internecine wars began again. Cities became armed camps. The towns retreated to the crests of easily defended hills. On every vantage point huge castles of prodigious strength were built, to form the stronghold of a garrison, and to resist a siege. Even this lake was furrowed frequently by fleets of galleys, each vessel furnished with an iron prow, propelled by stalwart oarsmen, and carrying scores of well-armed soldiers, ready to sack and burn all hostile towns along the shores, with the peculiar hatred characteristic of a civil war. What added to the hopelessness and horror of the situation was the endless strife between successive popes and German emperors, each of whom aimed at absolute supremacy. Certain Italian cities formed a league of papal partizans, known as Guelphs. As many other cities swore allegiance to the Imperialists, who were designated Ghibellines. To give a full account of all the feuds and fratricidal wars between these irreconcilable factions would be to write the history of mediaeval Italy. Dante declares them to have been the cause of all the miseries of his country. Under their rival banners cities plundered cities, towns made war on towns, and even kindred families were estranged, and fought against each other with ferocious cruelty. The very architecture of Italian castles showed their owners' status toward these parties. If their possessor were a Guelph, the turrets of his towers were made square; but if he were a Ghibelline, their form was swallow-tailed. Most of those sanguinary deeds, though terrible at the time, have, with the lapse of years, become too insignificant to be recorded. Accordingly, the general reader needs only to survey their hideous mass en bloc; as one, in gazing from a distance, sees not individual trees, but only the immensity and gloom of a great forest. Yet, as a characteristic feature of those savage days, we may bestow a glance, in passing, on a ruined tower in the neighborhood of Como. It crowns the summit of a lofty hill, called Monte Baradello, which rises like a pyramid of verdure just behind the city. This was for many centuries the fortress of the town, and the entire slope was strongly walled, to form - as its name indicates - a barra, or defensive barrier to the onslaughts of barbarians. Well had it been for the inhabitants of Como, if men had found no other use for it. But more destructive and disastrous here than warfare with invading Celts were the interminable feuds between Italians. Thus Monte Baradello was frequently the stronghold of oppressive rulers, and often proved in swift succession, as the site changed masters, a fortress for contending factions, as well as an appalling prison for ill-fated captives. There is a legend even that six Christian martyrs were here put to death, at the beginning of the fourth century, during the persecution of the emperor Diocletian. One deed associated with this tower has never been forgotten. Like Banquo's ghost, it will not down. In 1277, during one of the incessant wars between the rival families, known as the Visconti and the Torri-ani, Ottoni Visconti, the archbishop of Milan, captured his hated enemy, Napoleone della Torre, who had expelled him from his diocese. Swift and relentless was the churchman's vengeance. By his command Napoleone and three of his sons, together with a brother and a nephew, were placed like wild beasts in three cages on the tower wall, as objects of derision to their heartless foes. Madness at last caused Napoleone to beat his brains out on his iron bars. The others are supposed to have perished still more miserably, because by a more lingering death. Yet somehow, like a silver thread woven in intricate design upon a sombre curtain, there runs through this historic background of plutonian gloom a never failing trace of classic art. How men could labor and retain ideals of beauty and sublimity in those days of violence, is difficult to understand. Perhaps aesthetic souls resorted to creative workmanship, as to their only refuge from despair; and no doubt architecture, sculpture, painting, and the silversmith's fine craft consoled them for a multitude of woes, which otherwise would have been unbearable. Such thoughts prepare us for the discovery in Como of a far more beautiful cathedral than one would naturally expect to find in a comparatively unimportant town. It was, however, an expression not alone of piety, but of civic pride. The cost of its construction was defrayed by contributions from the citizens, ranging from gifts of a few stones or bricks from those too poor to furnish ready money, to legacies of the rich, exacted from them by the notaries who drew their wills, or by the priests who heard their last confessions. The former, indeed, were liable to a fine if they neglected to persuade testators to bequeath a portion of their wealth to the construction-fund of the cathedral. Doubtless to some of these contributors religion was a greater comfort than even art could be to architect or sculptor. Weary of earth's continual injustice, they gladly helped to rear a sanctuary where they might raise their eyes imploringly toward heaven, and trustingly appeal from man to God. Yet even so, such mighty structures grow but slowly, and several generations watched the gradual building of this shrine; for, though begun in 1396, the cupola was not added, nor the edifice actually completed until 1730. Experts in architecture tell us that this church is one of the most perfect illustrations of the blending of the Renaissance and Gothic styles, - the latter being typified in the austere and solemn nave, the former finding its expression in the stately choir and transepts. Certain it is that even to a casual observer both exterior and interior are admirable in design, majestic in dimensions, and rich in sculptured ornamentation. A special and original feature of the nave is the display of eight magnificent antique tapestries, suspended in four groups between the columns. Some beautiful stained windows also dim the splendor of the day into a tender twilight, sombre enough to partially obscure two admirable paintings by Luini, but adding a mysterious charm to the old figures of the tapestries, so well preserved in outline and in coloring, though wrought by hands that have been dust for centuries.