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.
For some time one keeps to the path through
the wooded gorge, and with the river foaming far below; in early
morning while this path is in shade, or, again, after sunset, it is
one of the most beautiful of its kind that I know.
After a while a
gate is reached, and an open upland valley is entered upon -
evidently an old lake filled up, and neither very broad nor very
long, but grassed all over, and with the river winding through it
like an English brook. This is the valley of Sambucco. There are
two collections of stalle for the cattle, or monti - one at the
nearer end and the other at the farther.
The floor of the valley can hardly be less than 5000 feet above the
sea. I shall never forget the pleasure with which I first came
upon it. I had long wanted an ideal upland valley; as a general
rule high valleys are too narrow, and have little or no level
ground. If they have any at all there often is too much as with
the one where Andermatt and Hospenthal are - which would in some
respects do very well - and too much cultivated, and do not show
their height. An upland valley should first of all be in an
Italian-speaking country; then it should have a smooth, grassy,
perfectly level floor of say neither much more nor less than a
hundred and fifty yards in breadth and half-a-mile in length. A
small river should go babbling through it with occasional smooth
parts, so as to take the reflections of the surrounding mountains.
It should have three or four fine larches or pines scattered about
it here and there, but not more. It should be completely land-
locked, and there should be nothing in the way of human handiwork
save a few chalets, or a small chapel and a bridge, but no tilled
land whatever. Here oven in summer the evening air will be crisp,
and the dew will form as soon as the sun goes off; but the
mountains at one end of it will keep the last rays of the sun. It
is then the valley is at its best, especially if the goats and
cattle are coming together to be milked.
The valley of Sambucco has all this and a great deal more, to say
nothing of the fact that there are excellent trout in it. I have
shown it to friends at different times, and they have all agreed
with me that for a valley neither too high nor too low, nor too big
nor too little, the valley of Sambucco is one of the best that any
of us know of - I mean to look at and enjoy, for I suppose as
regards painting it is hopeless. I think it can be well rendered
by the following piece of music as by anything else:- {33}
[At this point in the book a music score is given]
One day Signor Dazio brought us in a chamois foot. He explained to
us that chamois were now in season, but that even when they were
not, they were sometimes to be had, inasmuch as they occasionally
fell from the rocks and got killed. As we looked at it we could
not help reflecting that, wonderful as the provisions of animal and
vegetable organisms often are, the marvels of adaptation are
sometimes almost exceeded by the feats which an animal will perform
with a very simple and even clumsy instrument if it knows how to
use it. A chamois foot is a smooth and slippery thing, such as no
respectable bootmaker would dream of offering to a mountaineer:
there is not a nail in it, nor even an apology for a nail; the
surefootedness of its owner is an assumption only - a piece of faith
or impudence which fulfils itself. If some other animal were to
induce the chamois to believe that it should at the least have feet
with suckers to them, like a fly, before venturing in such
breakneck places, or if by any means it could get to know how bad a
foot it really has, there would soon be no more chamois. The
chamois continues to exist through its absolute refusal to hear
reason upon the matter. But the whole question is one of extreme
intricacy; all we know is that some animals and plants, like some
men, devote great pains to the perfection of the mechanism with
which they wish to work, while others rather scorn appliances, and
concentrate their attention upon the skilful use of whatever they
happen to have. I think, however, that in the clumsiness of the
chamois foot must lie the explanation of the fact that sometimes
when chamois are out of season, they do nevertheless actually
tumble off the rocks and get killed; being killed, of course it is
only natural that they should sometimes be found, and if found, be
eaten; but they are not good for much.
After a day or two's stay in this delightful place, we left at six
o'clock one brilliant morning in September for Dalpe and Faido,
accompanied by the excellent Signor Guglielmoni as guide. There
are two main passes from Fusio into the Val Leventina - the one by
the Sassello Grande to Nante and Airolo, and the other by the Alpe
di Campolungo to Dalpe. Neither should be attempted by strangers
without a guide, though neither of them presents the smallest
difficulty. There is a third and longer pass by the Lago di Naret
to Bedretto, but I have never been over this. The other two are
both good; on the whole, however, I think I prefer the second.
Signor Guglielmoni led us over the freshest grassy slopes
conceivable - slopes that four or five weeks earlier had been gay
with tiger and Turk's-cap lilies, and the flaunting arnica, and
every flower that likes mountain company.
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