Travel
SWISS HOLIDAY
ONE lamentable result of the present division between nations is that the holiday-maker finds the desirable field of explora- tion narrowed down by the exclusion of a greater and the richer part of Europe.
How can he go with a good conscience or a care-free mind to countries where, if private individuals are friendly enough, all things British are officially insulted and abused, and any unwitting infringement of a petty regulation may be made the occasion of spiteful punishment? Whatever may be said for the value of individual contacts—and they have no more power to stay the flood of propaganda than a bank of sand— uneasiness does not make for a happy holiday, nor does the thought that every penny spent goes towards what one need no longer refrain from calling hostile activities.
There remain for those who seek that change of climate and language and habits of life which provides the most complete recreation of mind and body, besides France, the smaller countries ; and among these Switzerland offers this year something more than her usual attractions. Let us begin at Zfirich, where the visitor may see concentrated in one part of the National Exhibition the peculiar features of the different cantons, from which he may choose what further experience he will seek. All the other activities of this homely, vigorous people, who have set an example to the squabblers of a successful federation of three peoples and four tongues, are here displayed. It is a jolly exhibition, unpretentious but full of interest, and not so large as to be wearisome, even if there were not such helpful means of transport as the stream on which you drift at ease through gardens full of flowers, through buildings full of machinery, into a magic cave lined with a thousand aluminium utensils and past pavilions that are modern without being eccentric. It was pleasing to one's pride to see in the horticultural display that except in the section of exotics and amazing succulents, the plants of British origin, Russell's lupins and our roses, made the bravest show. A red rose, full in colour and petal, and proudly named " Gloria di Roma," might have been a dangerous competitor, had it not proved all show and no scent. The Alpine Garden will disappoint those who know Chelsea, but then in Switzerland they have the real thing.
Let us glance for a moment at the real thing displayed 6,000 feet up in the Engadine. It is still cold in June, and when the sun goes in the calendar goes back to March. All the better then for the climb up the mountain, where, by patches of snow, white crocuses of thimble-size surround the solid mass with a sprinkling of flakes. And in the patch itself the soldanellas, that make the lower slopes a haze of mauve, may be seen doing their famous trick of thrusting their furled and fringed umbrellas through the snow. On another shoulder the ground is pink with primulas, Farinosa, common on York- shire moors, Longifiora, its tall relative, and Viscosa, recog- nisable by its foxy smell. What gardener can surpass the effect of this mat of tangled Dryas and Daphne Cneorum, cream and scented pink, hugging the contours of a rock, or, more dazzling, that of a miniature shrub (the Bearberry, I think) with buds of a brilliance that makes the other pinks seem wan? Everywhere are gentians of every blue, the big trumpets of what gardeners name Acaulis, ranging from deep azure to a slaty purple, but Verna, whether favouring Oxford or Cambridge, always of the purest hue ; and anemones, sulphur-yellow or white with ice-blue backs, spring into flower.
Or our visitor may less adventurously choose a plateau high above the Rhone, where the Alps are aglow with orchis, asters, the bearded campanula (the loveliest of alpine flowers), St. Bernard's lily, and a bright vetch that gives the special note of colour to the scene. Here, too, he may climb and find at the meeting-place of snow and spring androsace and soldanella, crocus and the gleaming white buttercups. But there is a grander sight—the vast panorama of the Alps stretch- ing round the whole circle of his vision, Mont Blanc among them appearing as a curiously insignificant table-mountain from this side. Standing there at the foot of a sheer, grey cliff, high above bird-song and trees, he will feel, perhaps, a tremor of that Panic fear, born of the silence and the soli- tude, and a keener sensitiveness in the sharp bright air, whose full impact sent ancient Greeks helter-skelter down their mountain-sides in terror of pursuing hooves.
Does our imaginary visitor seek, besides Nature's marvels, immense or miniature, the creations of man's mind? Lucerne offers him music in July and August—a Salzburg festival without the opera, which has had its innings at Zurich—with Boult, Walter and Toscanini, not to mention an array of famous soloists, as the -high executants. And at Geneva, if he cares for such things at all, he will readily endure the summer's heat in order to see the pictures from the Prado. Something has already been written in these columns of the splendour of the Spanish masters here displayed, but, though that revelation is naturally the chief attraction it should not be overlooked that the Italian and Flemish rooms contain as fine a series of masterpieces as can be seen anywhere.
Whatever may be said against the Royal House of Spain— and it is said most plainly by Velasquez and with a brutality that almost defeats its purpose by Goya—it is evident that the Emperor Charles V and King Philip II were patrons of the art as magnificent as the Medici and as intelligent, even if the credit is partly due to Endymion Porter here portrayed by Van Dyck, as Charles I.
The rich array of Titians, who, with the single blow of his self-portrait, knocks out Tintoretto in this show, and of Rubens's pictures must not lead the visitor to pass by a superb Giorgione (certified by Mr. Berenson) which is so simple in its statement that its full beauty is revealed only to contemplation, a lovely small Mantegna, two panels by van der Weyden—not the big " Pieta," for he does enlarge to life-size successfully like van der Goes in the Portinari altar— and examples by Dirk Bouts, Mewling and Robert Campin whose " St. Barbara " is a miracle of finely observed detail organised into a consistent composition. D. H.
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