The Flower-Fields of Alpine Switzerland: an Appreciation and a Plea

PART II. _a Plea_

A PLEA

XI. ALPINE FIELDS FOR ENGLAND 149

XII. SOME WAYS AND MEANS 162

L’ENVOI 179

INDEX 189

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1. Caltha palustris and Primula farinosa on the upper fields of Champex towards the end of May Frontispiece

PAGE

2. Gentiana verna and Primula farinosa on the lower fields of Champex towards the end of May, with part of the massif of Saleinaz in the background 2

3. Lac Champex in cloudland at the end of May; Caltha palustris and Primula farinosa by the water-edge 8

4. The upper fields of Champex early in June, with the Grand Combin in the distance 13

5. Trollius europæus, the Globe Flower, on the cloud-swept fields in early June 17

6. Anemone sulphurea and Viola calcarata in the Val d’Arpette in June 25

7. Early-June fields beyond Praz de Fort in the Val Ferret, backed by the Groupe du Grand Saint-Bernard et du Grand Golliaz 32

8. The Paradise Lily (Paradisia Liliastrum) near the Glacier de Trient about the middle of June 40

9. June meadows of Salvia, Lychnis, etc., in the Val Ferret, just before arriving at the village of Praz de Fort 48

10. Field of Campanula rhomboidalis on the Col de la Forclaz about the beginning of July 57

11. In the early-July fields at Champex 65

12. Evening among the fields of pink Bistort at Lac Champex; sunset-glow on the Grand Combin, July 73

13. Haymaking at Champex in the middle of July 81

14. The Autumn Crocus in the fields near the village of Trient, with the Aiguille du Tour in the background, September 88

15. Anemone sulphurea and Gentiana excisa painted directly in the fields at the end of May 97

16. Primula farinosa, Gentiana verna, Micheli’s Daisy, Bartsia alpina, Polygala alpina, and the two Pinguiculas or Butterworts, painted directly in the fields at the end of May 105

17. Gentiana verna, the type-plant, and some of its forms 113

18. Geranium sylvaticum, Potentilla rupestris, Centaurea montana, the pink Bistort, the little Alpine Bistort, painted on the spot in the fields at the beginning of July 122

19. Paradisia Liliastrum, the Paradise or St. Bruno’s Lily 129

20. Rosa alpina, the thornless Alpine Eglantine 136

21. Young plants of Veratrum album, together with Salvia pratensis, Phyteuma betonicæfolium, P. orbiculare, the white and the yellow Euphrasia, and the yellow Clover, drawn on the spot at the beginning of July 144

22. Arnica, the Brown Gentian (G. purpurea), Campanula barbata, and the fiery little Hieracium aurantiacum, painted from life in the fields towards the middle of July 152

23. The tall yellow Hypochœris uniflora, Centaurea uniflora, the Golden Hawkweed (Crepis aurea) drawn from life in the July fields 160

24. Gentiana campestris and Gentiana bavarica 169

25. Astrantia major, A. minor, and the Apollo butterfly 176

26. The Willow Gentian (G. asclepiadea) and the Alpine Cotton Grass (Eriophorum Scheuchzeri) 182

PART I. _an Appreciation_

AN APPRECIATION

“Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.”

ANDREW MARVELL.

CHAPTER I. Of Our Enthusiasm for “alpines”

OF OUR ENTHUSIASM FOR “ALPINES”

“We are here dealing with one of the strongest intellectual impulses of rational beings. Animals, as a rule, trouble themselves but little about anything unless they want either to eat it or to run away from it. Interest in, and wonder at, the works of nature and of the doings of man are products of civilisation, and excite emotions which do not diminish, but increase with increasing knowledge and cultivation. Feed them and they grow; minister to them and they will greatly multiply.”—THE RT. HON. A. J. BALFOUR, in his Address as Lord Rector of St. Andrews University, December 10, 1887.

Some excuse—or rather, some explanation—seems to be needed for daring to present yet another book upon the Alpine Flora of Switzerland. So formidable is the array of such books already, and so persistently do additions appear, that it is not without diffidence that I venture to swell the numbers, and, incidentally, help to fill the new subterranean chamber of the Bodleian.

With the author of “Du Vrai, Du Beau, et Du Bien,” I feel that “Moins la musique fait de bruit et plus elle touche”; I feel that reticence rather than garrulity is at the base of well-being, and that, if the best interests of the cult of Alpines be studied, any over-production of books upon the subject should be avoided, otherwise we are likely to be face to face with the danger of driving this particular section of the plant-world within that zone of appreciation “over which hangs the veil of familiarity.”

Few acts are more injudicious, more unkind, or more destructive than that of overloading. “The last straw” will break the back of anything, not alone of a camel. One who is mindful of this truth is in an anxious position when he finds himself one of a thousand industrious builders busily bent upon adding straw upon straw to the back of one special subject.

It were a thousand pities if, for want of moderation, Alpines should go the way Sweet Peas are possibly doomed to go—the way of all overridden enthusiasms. Extravagant attention is no new menace to the welfare of that we set out to admire and to cherish, and it were pity of pities if, for lack of seemly restraint, the shy and lovely denizens of the Alps should arrive at that place in our intimacy where they will no longer be generally regarded with thoughtful respect and intelligent wonder, but will be obliged to retire into the oblivion which so much surrounds those things immediately and continuously under our noses. For, of all plants, they merit to be of our abiding treasures.

But just because we have come to the opinion that Alpines stand in need of less “bush,” it does not necessarily follow that we must be sparing of our attention. There is ample occasion for an extension of honest, balanced intimacy. What we have to fear is an irrational freak-enthusiasm similar to the seventeenth-century craze for Tulips—a craze of which La Bruyère so trenchantly speaks in referring to an acquaintance who was swept off his feet by the monstrous prevailing wave. “God and Nature,” he says, “are not in his thoughts, for they do not go beyond the bulb of his tulip, which he would not sell for a thousand pounds, though he will give it you for nothing when tulips are no longer in fashion, and carnations are all the rage. This rational being, who has a soul and professes some religion, comes home tired and half starved, but very pleased with his day’s work. He has seen some tulips.” Now this was enthusiasm of a degree and kind which could not possibly endure; reaction was bound to come. Of course, it was an extreme instance of fashion run mad, and one of which Alpines may never perhaps provoke a repetition. Yet we shall do well to see a warning in it.

I think I hear enthusiastic lovers of Alpines protesting that there is no fear whatever of such an eventuality for their gems, because these latter are above all praises and attentions and cannot be overrated. I fancy I hear the enthusiasts explaining that Alpines are not Sweet Peas, or Tulips, or double Show Dahlias; that they occupy a place apart, a place such as is occupied by the hot-house and greenhouse Orchids, a place unique and unassailable. And these protestations may quite possibly prove correct; I only say that, in view of precedents, there lurks a tendency towards the danger named, and that it therefore behoves all those who have the solid welfare of these plants at heart to be on their guard, to discourage mere empty attentions, and to do what is possible to direct enthusiasm into sound, intelligent channels. “An ignorant worship is a poor substitute for a just appreciation.” Aye, but it is often more than this; it is often a dangerous one.

Already the admiration and attention meted out to Alpines is being spoken of as a fashion, a rage, and a craze; and we know that there is no smoke without fire. Certainly, the same language has been used towards the enthusiasm shown for Orchids. But Orchids have nought to fear from that degree of popularisation which impinges upon vulgarisation. The prices they command and the expense attendant upon their culture afford them important protection—a protection which Alpines do not possess to anything like the same extent.

Of course, the fate in store for Alpines in England is not of so inevitable a nature as that awaiting Japanese gardening; for in this latter “craze” there is an element scarcely present in Alpine gardening. We can more or less fathom the spirit of Alpine gardening and are therefore quite able to construct something that shall be more or less intelligent and true; but can we say as much for ourselves with regard to Japanese gardening? I think not. I think that largely it is, and must remain, a sealed book to us. Japanese gardening, as Miss Du Cane very truly points out in her Preface to “The Flowers and Gardens of Japan,” is “the most complicated form of gardening in the world.” Who in England will master the “seven schools” and absorb all the philosophy and subtle doctrine which governs them? Who in England will bring himself to see a rock, a pool, a bush as the Japanese gardener sees them, as, indeed, the Japanese people in general see them? The spirit of Japanese gardening is as fundamentally different from the spirit of English gardening as that of Japanese art is from English art. What poor, spiritless results we have when English art assumes the guise of Japanese art! It is imitation limping leagues behind its model. And it is this because it is unthought, unfelt, unrealized.

Continue reading The Flower-Fields of Alpine Switzerland: an Appreciation and a Plea free in the Wunder reader →