Alps and Sanctuaries of Piedmont and the Canton Ticino | Page 8

in travelling by the St. Gothard road,
I had noticed the many little villages perched high up on the sides of
the mountain, from one to two thousand feet above the river, and had
wondered what sort of places they would be. I resolved, therefore, after
a time to make a stay at Faido and go up to all of them. I carried out my
intention, and there is not a village nor fraction of a village in the Val
Leventina from Airolo to Biasca which I have not inspected. I never
tire of them, and the only regret I feel concerning them is, that the
greater number are inaccessible except on foot, so that I do not see how
I shall be able to reach them if I live to be old. These are the places of
which I do find myself continually thinking when I am away from them.
I may add that the Val Leventina is much the same as every other
subalpine valley on the Italian side of the Alps that I have yet seen.
I had no particular aversion to German Switzerland before I knew the
Italian side of the Alps. On the contrary, I was under the impression
that I liked German Switzerland almost as much as I liked Italy itself,
but now I can look at German Switzerland no longer. As soon as I see

the water going down Rhinewards I hurry back to London. I was
unwillingly compelled to take pleasure in the first hour and a half of the
descent from the top of the Lukmanier towards Disentis, but this is only
a ripping over of the brimfulness of Italy on to the Swiss side.
The first place I tried from Faido was Mairengo--where there is the
oldest church in the valley--a church older even than the church of St.
Nicolao of Giornico. There is little of the original structure, but the rare
peculiarity remains that there are two high altars side by side.
There is a fine half-covered timber porch to the church. These porches
are rare, the only others like it I know of being at Prato, Rossura, and to
some extent Cornone. In each of these cases the arrangement is
different, the only agreement being in the having an outer sheltered
place, from which the church is entered instead of opening directly on
to the churchyard. Mairengo is full of good bits, and nestles among
magnificent chestnut-trees. From hence I went to Osco, about 3800 feet
above the sea, and 1430 above Faido. It was here I first came to
understand the purpose of certain high poles with cross bars to them
which I had already seen elsewhere. They are for drying the barley on;
as soon as it is cut it is hung up on the cross bars and secured in this
way from the rain, but it is obvious this can only be done when
cultivation is on a small scale. These rascane, as they are called, are a
feature of the Val Leventina, and look very well when they are full of
barley.
From Osco I tried to coast along to Calpiognia, but was warned that the
path was dangerous, and found it to be so. I therefore again descended
to Mairengo, and re-ascended by a path which went straight up behind
the village. After a time I got up to the level of Calpiognia, or nearly so,
and found a path through pine woods which led me across a torrent in a
ravine to Calpiognia itself. This path is very beautiful. While on it I
caught sight of a lovely village nestling on a plateau that now showed
itself high up on the other side the valley of the Ticino, perhaps a
couple of miles off as the crow flies. This I found upon inquiry to be
Dalpe; above Dalpe rose pine woods and pastures; then the loftier alpi,
then rugged precipices, and above all the Dalpe glacier roseate with
sunset. I was enchanted, and it was only because night was coming on,
and I had a long way to descend before getting back to Faido, that I
could get myself away. I passed through Calpiognia, and though the

dusk was deepening, I could not forbear from pausing at the Campo
Santo just outside the village. I give a sketch taken by daylight, but
neither sketch nor words can give any idea of the pathos of the place.
When I saw it first it was in the month of June, and the rank dandelions
were in seed. Wild roses in full bloom, great daisies, and the
never-failing salvia ran riot among the graves. Looking over the
churchyard itself there were the purple mountains of Biasca and the
valley of the Ticino some couple of thousand feet