It is because
I noticed the effect it produced upon my fellow-passenger that I
introduce it here.
Bignasco is at the confluence of the two main branches of the
Maggia. The greater part of the river comes down from the glacier
of Basodino, which cannot be seen from Bignasco; I know nothing of
this valley beyond having seen the glacier from the top of the pass
between Fusio and Dalpe. The smaller half of the river comes down
from Fusio, the valley of Sambucco, and the lake of Naret. The
accommodation at Bignasco is quite enough for a bachelor; the
people are good, but the inn is homely. From Bignasco the road
ascends rapidly to Peccia, a village which has suffered terribly
from inundations, and from Peccia it ascends more rapidly still -
Fusio being reached in about three hours from Bignasco. There is
an excellent inn at Fusio kept by Signor Dazio, to whose energy the
admirable mountain road from Peccia is mainly due. On the right
just before he crosses the bridge, the traveller will note the
fresco of the Crucifixion, which I have mentioned at page 140.
Fusio is over 4200 feet above the level of the sea. I do not know
wherein its peculiar charm lies, but it is the best of all the
villages of a kindred character that I know. Below is a sketch of
it as it appears from the cemetery.
There is another good view from behind the village; at sunset this
second view becomes remarkably fine. The houses are in deep cool
shadow, but the mountains behind take the evening sun, and are
sometimes of an incredible splendour. It is fine to watch the
shadows creeping up them, and the colour that remains growing
richer and richer until the whole is extinguished; this view,
however, I am unable to give.
I hold Signor Dazio of Fusio so much as one of my most particular
and valued friends, and I have such special affection for Fusio
itself, that the reader must bear in mind that he is reading an
account given by a partial witness. Nevertheless, all private
preferences apart, I think he will find Fusio a hard place to beat.
At the end of June and in July the flowers are at their best, and
they are more varied and beautiful than anywhere else I know. At
the very end of July and the beginning of August the people cut
their hay, and then for a while the glory of the place is gone, but
by the end of August or the beginning of September the grass has
grown long enough to re-cover the slopes with a velvety verdure,
and though the flowers are shorn, yet so they are from other places
also.
There are many walks in the neighbourhood for those who do not mind
mountain paths. The most beautiful of them all is to the valley of
Sambucco, the upper end which is not more than half-an-hour from
Signor Dazio's hotel.
