Footpath following the Trail of Hermann Hesse . 루가노 ( Lugano ) . 스위스 ( Swiss ) www . hessemontagnola . ch / walking - tours Itinerary 1 ( about 2 ½ hours ) ① Museum Hermann HesseOn glowing days , I wandered through the villages and chestnut woods … On glowing days , I wandered through the villages and chestnut woods , I sat on the folding stool and attempted to preserve with watercolors something of the abundant magic . on warm nights , Isat until late bythe open doors and windows of Klingsors villa and tried , with a bit more experience and more sensibly than I could with paintbrush , to sing with words the song of this unheard summer … Memory of Klingsor ’ ssummer , 1938 ② View of the San SalvatoreAbove the nearest mountains , their greens and reds harmonizing with white villages , bluish ridges peered … Above the nearest mountains , their greens and reds harmonizing with white villages , bluish ridges peered ; and beyond , paler and bluer , more and more ridges . Very far away and unreal rose the snow - capped crystalline peaks . Above the acacias and chestnut trees the mighty rocky wall and humpbacked summit of Monte Salute [ Monte San Salvatore ] emerged , reddish and light purple … Klingsor ’ s last summer , 1920 ③ Abbondio Cemetery ( Grave ) But in all these years spent in Montagnola I went through so many pleasant , indeed wonderful periods … Nearly forty years ago , in my search for a shelter , I discovered Montagnola for the first time and I rented a small flat … At that time I was a man in “ his best years ” … and Montagnola was not such a poor and worn - out village as others in this area , nevertheless it was unpretentious , small and quiet … So many years have elapsed , and today I am no more a man in his best , not even good , years , but one of the old , weak , somewhat silly men in the village who hardly ever leaves his piece of land and who even bought a nice small place in the graveyard of St . Abbondio . Montagnola is no longer a country village . It is now a suburb and there are four times more people living there than at any time … But in all these years spent in Montagnola I went through so many pleasant , indeed wonderful periods , from Klingsor ’ s shining summer up to now , and I owe much to this village and its landscape . I have always tried to express my gratitude in different ways … I grew trees , some shrubs , a bamboo thicket on the borders of the woods and a variety of flowers , hoping that , even if Ihaven ’ t become a Ticinese , the ground of St . Abbondio will welcomeme in a friendly way , as have the palazzo of Klingsor and the red house on the hill , during these long past years . Forty years in Montagnola , 1960 ④ Forest , CanvettoOne edge of the wood stood softly in the last light , bright chestnut trunks against black shadows … At sunset – after a whole afternoon spent painting in the sun and the wind near Manuzzo and Veglia – a tired Klingsor reached a small , sleeping Canvetto , in the woods over Veglia … It was that glorious hour , with the daylight still glowing everywhere but the moon already gleaming and the first bats dipping in the green , shimmering air . one edge of the wood stood softly in the last light , bright chestnut trunks against black shadows . A yellowcottage softly radiated the daylight it had absorbed , glowing gently like a topaz . The small paths , pink and violet , led through meadows , vine � yards , and woods . Here and there an acacia twig had already yellowed . The western sky hung golden and green above the velvet blue mountains . Klingsor ’ s last summer , 1920 ⑤ Grotto CaviccWe are sitting outside the grotto , on a small terrace over the wood ’ s steep slope . To get here , you have to climb loosesteps , and there is hardly any room for a couple of tables . .. In the woods , on the shaded side of the hill , you can find the grotti , the village cellars where wine is kept , a small fairy - town amidst the trees , a sequence of stone - house fronts , two - slope roofs , looking deprived of their back side , as walls and roofs blur with adjacent slope where the cellars are , bored in the living rock . There , in gray casks , wine is kept ; last fall ’ s and last year ’ s wine only , as nobody lets it age . It is a delicate wine , light in taste and in its red color , fresh and sourish , genuine ; tasting of the juice and the thick skin of the grapes . We are sitting outside the grotto , on a small terrace over the wood ’ s steep slope . To get here , you have to climb loose steps , and there is hardly any room for a couple of tables . The trunks of the old , gigantic trees – chestnuts , planes , acacias – rise massively , soaring high . Amidst the branches , a small portion of the sky is visible . I often stood still for hours in this wood , in the rain , and not even a rain - drop would wet me . We remain here , in the dark , in complete silence , I and a couple of foreign artists who live here . The light red wine in front of us , in small blue and white stripped earthen cups . Below our island - like terrace , a reddish light flickers from the lamp hanging from the cellar door . Summer evening in Ticino , 1921 ⑥ Glade ( Formerly rock cellar forest - glade ) So , I was sitting with my folder on my lap . Trying to catch and put on paper , a small corner of the wood . .. So , I was sitting with my folder on my lap , trying to catch and put on paper , a small corner of the wood , a dozen bent chestnuts , winding next to the other like gigantic snakes twisted together , and among them , tall and thin , stood the light - brown trunks of the acacias , with their confused mess of branches and leaves at the top . Below them you could see stones , ferns , a tangle of roots , and among the trees , bored in the rocks , a door made of planks , flanked by two stonedpillars , worn by time , the entrance door of a cellar , closing the deep , black den My neighbour Mario , 1928 ⑦ Vicolo di Ligüna ( View of the Monte Lema ) . .. the wood is all blue and white of ever � greens , anemones and strawberry flowers and , through the new green , the lake sparkles , fresh and sweet . Alas , I shall never be able to sit again at the borders of the beautiful woods over Liguno [ Ligüna ] , my favourite spot where I could paint : a foreigner has bought lawn and wood and has fenced it with wire ; now , where ash - trees used to tower , his garage is going up . To make up for it , green paths of grass shimmer among the vineyards , fresh as always , and under the dry leaves I hear , as usual , the rustling of the blue - greenish lizards , the wood is all blue and white of ever - greens , anemones and strawberry flowers and , through the new green , the lake sparkles , fresh and sweet . Visit to Nina , 1927 ⑧ Bellevue . .. but painting is marvellous ; it makes one happier and more patient . Afterwards one does not have black fingers as with writing but red and blue ones . When the war finally came to an end for me too , in the spring of 1919 , I withdrew into a remote corner of Switzerland and became a hermit ［...］. Writing no longer gave me any real joy . But a human being must have some joy ; even in the midst of my distress I asserted that claim . I could renounc Justice , Reason , Meaning in life and in the world ; I had seen that the world could get along splendidly without these abstractions - but I could not get along without some bit of joy , and the demand for that bit of joy was now one of those little flames inside me in which I still believed , and from which I planned to create the world anew for myself . Often I sought my joy , my dream , my forgetfulness in a bottle of wine , and very often it was of help ; praised be it therefore . But it was not enough . And then , behold , one day I discovered an entirely new joy . Suddenly , at the age of forty , I began to paint . Not that I considered myself a painter or intended to become one . But painting is marvellous ; it makes one happier and more patient . Afterwards one does not have black fingers as with writing but red and blue ones . Life story briefly told , 1925 ⑨ Casa Camuzzi That beautiful and odd house meant a lot to me and was in many ways , the most original and pretty house I have ever owned or lived in … … I then found Casa Camuzzi in Montagnola where I settled in during May 1919 … I lived in that house , which would be the last of my houses , for twelve years , the first four years permanently , afterwards only in the hottest periods of the year . That beautiful and odd house meant a lot to me and was in many ways , the most original and pretty house I have ever owned or lived in … I mention this house and its garden in Klingsor and in others of my works . I have painted and drawned this house dozens of times , following its confused and whimsical shapes ; in particular during the last two summers , as a farewell , I have again caught all the views from the windows and from the terrace , and from many of the corners and the beautiful ruins lying in the garden . A copy of a baroque hunting castle , the folly of a Ticinese architect , built nearly seventy - five years ago , my Palazzohas had , besides me , a long series of tenants , but nobody had settled in there for such a long period , and nobody , I believe , loved it as I did ( even laughing at it ) or took it as his elective home . Moving in a new house , 1931 ⑩ Commemorative stone honoring his 100 th BirthdayOnce again I prepare myself for setting it up . once again for “ the rest of my life ” , and this time it will probably be so . Therefore in the last few years , it had come to my mind , every now and then , but never seriously , the idea of perhaps moving into a new house , buying a new one or renting it , or even having one built , to have in our old age a more confortable and wholesome shelter . It was merely a dream , a fantasy , nothing more . All of a sudden , the dream came true : during an evening at “ The Arch ” in Zurich , it was then spring 1930 , wewere talking ; our conversation fell on houses and buildings , and my desireof a house was mentioned too . Suddenly , my friend B . looked at me , laughing , and said : “ You will have your house . ” That was , to me , the joke of an evening among friends . But the joke became a reality , and the house wedreamt about as a joke is nowhere , extraordinarily nice and big , at my disposal for the rest of my life . once again I prepare myself for setting it up . once again for “ the rest of my life ” , and this time it will probably be so . Moving in a new house , 1931 ⑪ Casa RossaI became , once again , sedentaryagainst all expectations . I finally owned a small piece of land , not as owner but as sharecropper for life I became , once again , sedentary against all expectations . I finally owned a small piece of land , not as owner but as sharecropper for life . We had our house built on it , and not long after we had moved in , I already found myself living an interlude of country - life , familiar to me thanks to many memories . I had no intention of flinging myself again into it with addiction and frenzy ; I wanted to take this new life in a lazy way , rather than work I would search for peace , rather than tilling woods or sowing and planting , I would spend time dreaming next to the bluish smoke of the autumn ’ s fires . Nevertheless I had already bedded out a beautiful hawthorn , and shrubs , trees , and many flowers , and spent those days at the end of summer , early autumn , those fantastic days , almost completely amid green , in the garden , with easy jobs , like trimming the young hedge , preparing the soil for spring seeds , cleaning the paths and the fountain , and , while working , I always kept a small firegoing , a fire of weeds , of dry sticks or brambles , of chestnut husks , still green or already dry and dark . Autumn day in Ticino , 1931 Itinerary 2 ( about 30 minutes ) 1 . Museum Hermann Hesse 9 . Casa Camuzzi 10 . Commemorative stone honoring his 100 th Birthday 11 . Casa Rossa