characteristic commonplaces in England, where, it is said, they cover one and a half million acres, they are rare in Switzerland; or, at any rate, as Leslie Stephen remarked, “those detestable parallelograms, which cut up English scenery with their hedgerows, are sternly confined to the valley.” And in the valley they are comparatively scarce, and lack the charm pertaining to the English hedgerow.
No; if our field is to have an Alpine allure, hedges must be tabu. But a negligent grouping around the rocks or upon the outskirts of the field, of such bushes as Rhododendron ferrugineum, Rosa alpina, Berberis vulgaris, Rosa pomifera, Juniperus nana, Sambucus racemosa, and the two Honeysuckles, Lonicera alpigena and L. nigra, would not only enhance the effect and interest, but would tally with Nature as she generally rules in the Alps. Nor would the Bird Cherry (Prunus avium), if kept in bush form, be out of place. This lovely spring-flowering tree, treated as a hedgerow subject on the plateau at the back of Lausanne, is an arresting object in the fields around Chamonix at the end of May. And here, with the shade and shelter of such bushes, may come the nobly plumed Goat’s Beard (Spiræa Aruncus), the mauve and the cream-plumed Thalictrum aquilegifolium, the deep-blue Aconitum napellus, the violet-blue A. paniculatum, the creamy-white A. Lycoctonum, the rosy Adenostyles albifrons, the ever-graceful Solomon’s Seal (Polygonatum verticillatum), the blue-mauve Mulgedium alpinum, the red-brown Lilium Martagon, the brilliant orange L. croceum, the pale-yellow Salvia glutinosa, the golden Lathyrus luteus, the pink and feathery Dianthus superbus, the Fennel-like Meum athamanticum, the distinctive Umbellifer, Laserpitium latifolium, besides such Orchids as Epipactis atrorubens, E. latifolia, Cephalanthera ensifolia, C. pallens, C. rubra, and Habenaria (Plantanthera) chlorantha .
If we are to have some kind of boundary-mark to our field, let it be by preference a low, mortarless wall of fairly large rough stones or pieces of rock built up with earth—a sort of rockwork wall. These walls may be met with almost anywhere in the Swiss mountains, and are frequently composed of fragments of rock which at one time and another have been strewn about the fields by rockfalls or avalanches. They often become the home of brilliant masses of such plants as Saponaria ocymoides, Silene rupestris, Gypsophila repens, Helianthemum vulgare, Arabis alpina, Calamintha alpina, and Cerastium alpinum, thus adding considerably to the gaiety and charm of the fields—a gaiety and charm which in the case of these walls lasts well into the autumn.
Some difficulty may be experienced over the grass which is to accompany the meadow-flowers. Indeed, it is an objection usually raised whenever I have broached the subject of Alpine fields to gardening enthusiasts; they fear that English meadow-grass would overwhelm the stranger-flowers by leaving them no room to breathe. But is not this obstacle one rather of hasty imagining than of reality? We are not proposing to put Viola alpina, Gentiana verna, or the Soldanella into the field. Moreover, there are grasses and grasses; and I believe a very suitable selection could be made from any of the leading seed-merchants. I should suggest that the ground be sown with smaller, daintier grasses, and only after the flowering-plants have become more or less established; and I imagine that if this were done—and a sharp eye kept for the ever-ready invasion by native weeds—the imported field-flowers would hold their own.
An interesting fact in connection with Alpine fields—one that should not be copied in England—is the tendency of what is usually shade-loving vegetation to creep out into the sunlight. In spite of the intensity and power of the sun’s rays, even certain ferns, such as Aspidium Lonchitis, the Holly-fern, and Polystichum Filix-mas, seem to think nothing of basking upon the hottest slopes. True, their roots are generally sheltered by rock and stone, but the fronds look the sun squarely in the face; and yet, what can possibly be fresher and more engaging than, for instance, the masses of Parsley-fern to be met with in the stony places of the granitic Alps? Wood-Sorrel, too, will come out into the open; so will the little Alpine London Pride (Saxifraga cuneifolia) and the little Yellow Violet; so, also, will the May Lily or False Lily-of-the-Valley (Smilacina bifolia). In England, Astrantia major, when found, is said to seek the partial shade of copse and spinny, but here on these Alpine fields it is in the full sunshine—and looking very much the better for such boldness. It is as though the higher plants climb, the less they fear the light, extraordinarily searching though this latter be; it is as though they revel in the purity, and, casting retirement to the winds, take on a new and healthier joy in life.
ASTRANTIA MAJOR, A. MINOR, and the Apollo butterfly.
There is, perhaps, just one other matter calling for special attention: the grouping of colours. Alpine fields own immense variety in this regard. Some will be almost of uniform tint, while others are of a bewildering, diverse blend. One will be blue and white (Campanula rhomboidalis and Ox-eye Daisy); another will be blue and red (Salvia pratensis and Lychnis diocia); another, yellow and pink (the Globe-Flower and the Bistort); while another will be a close, irregular mixture of some score or more of colours, with no one in particular predominating. Although Nature in her wildness is almost invariably “happy,” it is only natural that some of her results should be happier than others; and it is well to take note of the best she can do. Personally, I find her happiest when she keeps her palette simple, painting broadly, and not indulging in Segantini-like technique. And surely her simpler floral harmonies are among the perpetual delights of the Alps, and incapable of being bettered by even the most fancifully fastidious of “post-impressionists”? What could be more charming than, for instance, the simple combination of pale yellow and paper-white, or of rosy-pink and rich mauve when, as is quite usual, Biscutella and Cerastium, or Saponaria ocymoides and Calamintha alpina are luxuriating around and among the rocks; or when blue Myosotis and white Paradise Lily, or canary-coloured Crepis and sky-blue Veronica, or white Potentilla and rosy-mauve Geranium, or vivid orange Arnica and lilac Orchids are blooming in important numbers side by side among the grasses? I do not advocate formality—the formality depicted in Andrew Marvell’s lines:
“See how the flowers, as at parade,