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From a TV interview with Giovanni
Negri:
Interviewer: The farmhouse… They say that the farmhouse…
Giovanni Negri: …was chosen by my ancestor for, let’s say,
romantic reasons.
I: Reasons that can’t be discussed in the presence of ladies…
G.N.: It depends. In any case, in the mid 19th century my
great-great-grandfather, with two incorrigible bachelors from La Morra, was
looking for a farmhouse with a nice view…
I: Is that when Serradenari was discovered?
G.N.: No. It’s one of the district’s most ancient sites.
Its name dominates a medieval parchment that’s kept in the town hall. In the
1400s, in order to escape the plague, the peasants climbed on the highest crest,
taking what little savings they had with them. When the plague was finally over,
they returned to their village and built a monument to Saint Brigit. Today, it’s
a nice little church.
I: And the farmhouse fell into deep-slumber until the late 19th century.
G.N.: Not at all. The fields below Serradenari are called
Palice, the Italianized word for the Piedmontese “Pars,” which itself is a
mispronunciation of the Latin word “pax,” or peace. In other words, although the
peace treaty [of 1796, between the French and the Piedmontese] was signed at
Cherasco, the battle itself took place here at Serradenari. I can almost say
that Napoleon slept here in my house. Actually, I do say so: Napoleon certainly
slept in my bedroom.
I: My goodness! So after the plague and Napoleon, it was finally the damsels’
turn!
G.N.: That’s right. Since the 19th century, the crest has
belonged to the Ditto-Negri family, who manufactured automobiles in Turin. But
for my great-great-grandfather it wasn’t enough to be the maker of the first
Italian automobile. He had other passions too. He bought this farmhouse, with
its breathtaking views on woods, vineyards and mountains. It was exactly what he
needed.
I: Who inherited the house?
G.N.: My family did. My grandmother, Emma Diatto, with
some other enthusiasts, invented the Barolo fair. The house then passed on to my
father, Franco, mayor of La Morra—a good mayor, in my opinion. He built the
aqueduct.
I: Had your great-great-grandfather bought the 13 hectares (32 acres) of land on
the other side of the crest, you would have become the owner of Cerequio,
Brunate, and other historical crus.
G.N.: So what?
I: No hard feelings toward your great-great-grandfather?
G.N.: Would you prefer a glass of great Barolo followed by
a long debate over tannins and anthocyanins or a glass of great Barolo followed
by, say, that wonderful view on the woods and the mountains?
I: Got it. You’re a recidivist.
G.N.: That’s right. Long live the great-great-grandfather!
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