When I was at Faido in the Val Leventina last summer there was a lady
there who remembered me in New Zealand; she had brought her children to
Switzerland for their holiday; good people, all of them. They had
friends coming to them, a certain canon and his sister, and there was a
talk that the Bishop of Chichester might possibly come too. In course of
time the canon and his sister came. At first the sister, who was put to
sit next me at dinner, was below zero and her brother opposite was hardly
less freezing; but as dinner wore on they thawed and, from regarding me
as the monster which in the first instance they clearly did, began to see
that I agreed with them in much more than they had thought possible. By
and by they were reassured, became cordial and proved on acquaintance to
be most kind and good. They soon saw that I liked them, and the canon
let me take him where I chose. I took him to the place where the
Woodsias grow and we found some splendid specimens. I took him to
Mairengo and showed him the double chancel. Coming back he said I had
promised to show him some Alternifolium. I stopped him and said:
“Here is some,” for there happened to be a bit in the wall by the side of
the path.
This quite finished the conquest, and before long I was given to
understand that the bishop really would come and we were to take him
pretty near the Woodsias and not tell him, and he was to find them out
for himself. I have no doubt that the bishop had meant coming with the
canon, but then the canon had heard from the New Zealand lady that I was
there, and this would not do at all for the bishop. Anyhow the canon had
better exploit me by going first and seeing how bad I was. So the canon
came, said I was all right and in a couple of days or so the bishop and
his daughters arrived.
The bishop did not speak to me at dinner, but after dinner, in the salon,
he made an advance in the matter of the newspaper and, I replying, he
began a conversation which lasted the best part of an hour, and during
which I trust I behaved discreetly. Then I bade him “Good-night” and
left the room.
Next morning I saw him eating his breakfast and said “Good-morning” to
him. He was quite ready to talk. We discussed the Woodsia Ilvensis and
agreed that it was a mythical species. It was said in botany books to
grow near Guildford. We dismissed this assertion. But he remarked that
it was extraordinary in what odd places we sometimes do find plants; he
knew a single plant of Asplenium Trichomanes which had no other within
thirty miles of it; it was growing on a tombstone which had come from a
long distance and from a Trichomanes country. It almost seemed as if the
seeds and germs were always going about in the air and grew wherever they
found a suitable environment. I said it was the same with our thoughts;
the germs of all manner of thoughts and ideas are always floating about
unperceived in our minds and it was astonishing sometimes in what strange
places they found the soil which enabled them to take root and grow into
perceived thought and action. The bishop looked up from his egg and
said:
“That is a very striking remark,” and then he went on with his egg as
though if I were going to talk like that he should not play any more.
Thinking I was not likely to do better than this, I retreated immediately
and went away down to Claro where there was a confirmation and so on to
Bellinzona.
In the morning I had asked the waitress how she liked the bishop.
“Oh! beaucoup, beaucoup,” she exclaimed, “et je trouve son nez vraiment
noble.” [1886.]