Swiss Peasant Home and Life in 1891, Part 2
Sound travels far in these mountain solitudes, and the bells of the flocks may be heard through them night and day.
From: 1891 C.E. To: 1891 C.E.
Location: Switzerland
From The Swiss Republic by Boyd Winchester, 1891.
Sound travels far in these mountain solitudes, and the bells of the flocks may be heard through them night and day. This concert of cow-bells and of sheep-bells, suddenly heard in solitude and repeated by the echoes, like a distant and mysterious choir, is one of the features of Alpine life that most powerfully impress the feelings and take hold of the imagination.
The mountains' response to the "alphorn" is most singular and beautiful. When the tune on the horn is ended, the Alps make, not an echo, but a reproduction of it, in an improved and heightened character; they take up, as it were, and chant the air again with infinite sweetness and a dancing grace that is delightful. They seem to constitute a natural instrument of music, of which the horn is but the awakening breath. The writer, on behalf of the New England Conservatory of Music, Boston, requested of the Swiss government samples of musical instruments of Swiss origin. In answer an "alphorn," of ancient form, well constructed and of superior tone, was furnished, accompanied with the statement that, after careful investigation, it was believed to be the only musical instrument of "Swiss origin." Distance softens the tone of the "alphorn," and assimilates it more nearly to the flute-like sweetness of the echo which seems a sort of fairy answer coming out of some magical hall in the rock. The tone is powerful, and the middle notes extremely mellow.
The peasants call and answer their companions from peak to peak in musical notes. The Banz des Vaches, German Kuhreihen, are a class of melodies prevailing and peculiar to the herdsmen. There is no particular air of this name, but nearly every Canton has its own herdsman's song, each varying from the others in the notes as well as in the words, and even in the dialect. There are as many songs and airs which go by this name as there are valleys in Switzerland. A verse of one, as rendered in the Canton of Appenzell, runs:
"The cow-herds of the Alps
Arise at an early hour.
Ha, ah! ha, ah!
Come all of you,
Black and white,
Red and mottled.
Young and old;
Beneath this oak
I am about to milk you,
Beneath this poplar
I am about to press,
Liauba! Liauba! in order to milk."
It is a song of melancholy, of the homesickness in which the absent Swiss sees again, as in a musical vision, the chalet in which he was born, the mountain where the herds shake their mellow bells as they graze. It is, however, only in the refrain that is heard the melancholy note, in this Liauba! Liauba! thrown lingeringly to the winds, and going from echo to echo, till it expires like a lament, and is lost like a sigh in the infinite depths of the valley. The herds are said to love and obey its strains. "Without anything striking in the composition, it has a powerful influence over the Swiss. Its effect on Swiss soldiers absent in foreign service was so great, giving rise to an irrepressible longing to return to their own country, that it was forbidden to be played in the Swiss regiments in the French service, on pain of death.
All the music of the mountains is strange and wild, having most probably received its inspiration from the grandeur of the natural objects. Most of the sounds partake of the character of echoes, being high-keyed but false notes, such as the rocks send back to the valleys when the voice is raised above its natural key in order that it may reach the caverns and savage recesses of inaccessible precipices. The Swiss yodel, with its falsetto notes, is heard everywhere. Nor must the sounds of the landscape be forgotten. With the bleating of the flocks and the chimes of the cow-bells are mingled the murmuring of the bees, the running streams, whispering pines, the melancholy voice of the goat-herder, and the plaintive whistle of the mountain thrush.
Every member of a Swiss family produces his share. The whole family take up their daily work before sunrise, suspend it only for their meals, and end it only when the candles are put out at early bedtime. The feeble efforts of old age and the petty industry of childhood contribute to the sum of human toil. Children all work with their hands for the common support, they help the elders in the common family interests as soon as they can rock a cradle, drive a cow, or sweep a floor; they thus acquire at home habits of application and industry which stand them in good stead in after life. The little ones who are taken by their parents to the field and are too young to work have bells fastened to their belts, not for amusement, but, as the mothers explain, "when we are in the fields and the children wander away, thanks to the bells, we can always hear and find them, and, besides, the sound of the bell drives away the serpents.”
Even the infant in its baby-carriage passes the day amid the scenes of labor in which it will soon be called to join. The women are not exempt from work, even in the families of very substantial peasant proprietors. A stranger, seeing the smart country girls at work about the cows' food or in the harvest field, perhaps barefooted, is apt to consider it as a proof of extreme destitution. This is a mistake; it is merely the custom of the country. A well-to-do peasant's daughters, who are stylishly dressed on Sundays, may be seen in the fields during the week. You see the sturdy sunburnt creatures in petticoats, but otherwise manlike, toiling side by side with their fathers and brothers in the rudest work of the farm. They wear a broad-brimmed straw hat, and as the breeze blows back its breadth of brim, the sunshine constantly adds depth to the brown glow of their cheeks. In the absence of the men the women do all the work,—mow the grass, cut the wood, look after the cattle, make the cheese, bake the bread, and spin the wool.
Whether they are employed in spreading the litter on the floor of the stable, in carrying the pails foaming with the freshly-drawn milk, or in turning up with long wooden rakes the newly-mown hay, all their different labors resemble festivals. From one hill to another, above the bed of the mountain torrent, they reply to the songs of the young reapers by chanting national airs, it may be Rufst du, mein Vaterland ("callest thou, my country") ! Their voices resemble modulated cries emitted by a superabundance of life and joy; musicians note them down without being able to imitate them; they are indigenous only on the waters or on the green slopes of the Alps. The distinction between the sexes as to labor in Switzerland has passed the temporary stage of evolution. Is it not true everywhere that women are entering a new era of self-care; that they are undertaking not only office-work, but professions, and trades, and farm-work? and the change is going on with great speed.
The woman of fifty years ago would not only have refused to undertake what the woman to-day achieves; she would have failed in it if she had. The field of housework was in the last century vastly wider than it is today; yet woman filled it. She spun and wove and knit as well as sewed ; and each household was a factory as well as a home. This sort of work was differentiated by machinery and taken away from our houses and wives. For a time woman was made more helpless and dependent than ever before. But a readjustment appears to be going on. Woman has gone out of the house and followed work. The sex is developing a robustness and alertness and enterprise that we had attributed to man alone; it is a revolutionary change in the mental adaptability, physical endurance, and business capacity of woman.
The Swiss peasants may not shine by brilliant qualities or seductive manners, but they are strongly framed, broad-chested, powerful, calm in countenance, frank and open in expression, with bright eyes, and largely sculptured features, but of rather heavy gait. The women are active in figure, with expanded shoulders, supple arms, elastic limbs, blue eyes, and healthy complexions. Light hair largely predominates, ninety out of one hundred have hair of the different shades that make auburn, from the very light-brown to the very fair, but few have red hair, and scarcely any black. A mixture of manly beauty and feminine modesty is harmoniously blended in their physiognomy; they appear robust without coarseness; and their voices are soft and musical, common to dwellers in cold countries.
With these peasants where the homespun is not unknown every one eats the bread of carefulness. They are frugal and sparing in food; in the larder there is left little for the mice at night. The diet of rye bread, milk, cheese, and potatoes is at least wholesome, for they are all produced at home. They use but little fresh meat, and mostly vegetables and bread. Of the latter they are the champion consumers, it being estimated that the yearly bread consumption is as high as three hundred and six pounds per capita. Meeting children on the country road or village street, you are sure to find almost every one of them munching bread, and it will be entirely guiltless of sugar or jam. With the poorer classes meagre cheese is the staple food.
This is made of skimmed milk, and if not positively bad, this negation of badness is its only virtue. Also dried or mummy beef is much used. In the high mountain valleys the air is so dry that for nine months out of the twelve meat has no tendency to decomposition; availing themselves of this favorable condition, they kill in the autumn the beef, pork, and game they will require for the ensuing year. It is slightly salted and hung up to dry; in three or four months' time it is not only dried, but also cooked, at least the air has given it all the cooking it will ever receive. It has become as dry and hard as a board, and internally of the color of an old mahogany table; externally there is nothing to suggest the idea of meat, and it is undistinguishable from fragments of the mummies of the sacred bulls taken from the catacombs at Memphis. Strange as it may appear, when cut across the grain in shavings no thicker than writing-paper, it is found not badly flavored, nor unusually repugnant to the process of digestion. What is lacking in quality of the peasant's food is made up in quantity or rather the frequency with which it is partaken of. There is early breakfast, lunch at nine a.m., called from its hour s'nũni, dinner at twelve, lunch again at four p.m., called s’vierli, and supper. It is astonishing to see how much solid flesh, good blood, and healthy color can be produced by such inferior and limited diet.
The language of the peasants is characterized by rough gutturals and the force with which dentals and hissing sounds are pronounced, a sing-song accent, with numerous diminutions, contractions, and omissions of the final syllable. There is much of what is designated under the general name of patois,— a mixture of Celtic, Latin, and Italian words; a Babylonish dialect, — a parti-colored dress of patched and piebald languages. This corrupt dialect is very sonorous and very harmonious, but is the relic of an almost extinguished antiquity. In the Engadine, and the remote valleys of the Swiss Alps adjoining Italy and the Tyrol, the peasants use the Romansch and Ladin; the latter is more musical, and to give an idea of it the following verse from a popular song is transcribed:
"Montagnas, ste bain!
Tu gad e valleda,
Tu fraischa contreda,
Squir eir in mi adsinga,
Montagnas, ste bain!"
"Ye mountains, adieu!
Thou vale with green bowers,
Fresh meadows and flowers,
When from you I must sever,
Ye mountains, adieu!"
The peasants still observe many manners and customs of the olden times: some the imprints of the early influences of the Burgundians, others of the Alemanni and the Ostrogoths. The separation by the mountain ranges of populations near and akin to each other, which led to the formation of so many dialects, also favored the growth and long continuance of local customs and traditions, giving to many localities a strongly marked individuality.
In one part of the Canton of Ticino a very quaint marriage ceremony prevails. The bridegroom dresses in his "Sunday best,” and, accompanied by as many relatives and friends as he can muster for the féte, goes to claim his bride. Finding the door locked, he demands admittance; the inmates ask him his business, and in reply he solicits the hand of the maiden of his choice. If his answer be deemed satisfactory, he is successively introduced to a number of matrons and old maids, some, perhaps, deformed and badly goitered. Then he is presented to some big dolls, all of whom he scornfully rejects amid general merriment.
The bewildered bridegroom, with his impetuosity and temper sorely tried, is then informed that his lady love is absent, and he is invited in to see for himself. He rushes in, searches from room to room until he finds her ready to go forth in the bridal-dress to the church. These obstacles thrown across the path of accepted suitors, in order to test their fidelity or to restrain their ardor, are of very ancient origin. Who has not read of the self-imposed task of Penelope or of Atlanta, in classic fable; or the story of Brunhilde, in the Norse mythology, when Gunther's courage and skill were tested not in vain? In other remote places the peasants still observe the old German idea of regulating matrimonial affairs by the Sundays of the month, each Sunday having a distinct part and significance assigned to it and designated in turn, — Review Sunday, Decision Sunday, Contract Sunday, Possession Sunday.
On the first the girls appear in dress-parade for the benefit of the young men with hymeneal hearts. Then they separate, each one to ponder for a week over the image which caught his or her fancy. On the following Sunday the enamored swains are permitted to bow to the objects of their choice; if the bow is returned with a pleasant smile, he feels encouraged; if his salute is returned coldly, he is correspondingly discouraged. The third Sunday he is interviewed by the parents of the young lady, and, if character and conditions are satisfactorily established, the marriage is arranged to be celebrated on Possession Sunday. In Uri a citizen was not allowed to marry a stranger without paying to the village a fine of 300 francs. In many places the local spirit is strong as to social relations, and the youth in one Commune who would court a girl of another district meets a rude reception from her fellow-villagers.
During the fourteenth century the attendants at a wedding were limited to a very few guests. In Zurich the most distinguished personage dared not invite more than twenty mothers of families to the wedding feast, nor have more than two hautboys, two violins, and two singers. The bridegroom paid for the wedding dinner, the cost of which was fixed so much per capita for every invited male, married female, and maiden; the allowance for the first was double that of the second, and four times that of the third. In other Cantons the wedding was a grand occasion, an imposing and public affair in which the whole village was expected to take part. In the house of the newly-married pair there were open tables, and drinking, dancing, and feasting went on all night. But these Pantagruel repasts are now no longer in fashion anywhere. The day fixed for the wedding, among the peasants, is always Sunday. In the morning, before going to church, the invited guests meet at the bride's house to partake of wine, soup, and fritters. After the marriage ceremony, the party go in procession to the bridegroom's house, where dinner is served; the priest delivers a long dicourse, and other orators hold forth. In the evening there is dancing, and at the stroke of midnight the guests form a ring round the wedded pair and take off their crowns, and, after a few words of encouragement, they are left alone.
In some places a man was not permitted to marry unless he had certain possessions, and could show himself able to defend his homestead from fire and robbers; he must have arms and uniform, hatchet, bucket, and ladder. Custom, at least, was law to a woman. She must have acquired a sufficient stock of linen and have learned many domestic arts; thus Swiss women became famous for their linen, and a girl would begin laying up her stock of household and domestic articles pour mon cher petit manage long before she met her partner for life.
The custom of Saturday-night visits among the young peasant people, whose daily labors keep them away during the week, still prevails. On Saturday night the young Swiss comes under the window of the fair lady to whom he intends paying his addresses, or with whom he only wishes to become acquainted. Being visiting-night, and expecting company, she is at the window, neatly dressed, and admits or rejects the petition, for which her suitor is not at any trouble of improvisation, for it is according to a received form, learned by heart, and generally in verse; and the answer is in verse also. The young man, permission obtained, climbs up to the window, and there he sits on the sill and is offered some refreshments. According as his views are more or less serious, and he proves more or less acceptable, he is allowed to come into the room or suffered to remain outside.
The last solemnities, those of death and burial, have among the peasants of the Latin Cantons something violent and passionate in their character. For several Sundays after the funeral the women, dressed in mourning with a head-band across the forehead, meet in the cemetery around the grave, and, in a mournful and harrowing concert, renew their tears and lamentations. The nearest relations carry the coffin; little children follow, dressed as angels, all in white, with crowns on their heads; then come the white penitents, dressed in their death-shirt, or the robe of the brotherhood. White is the mourning color, and persons with whom you meet with a broad white baud on their dress have lost a member of their family.
The picturesque costumes of the Swiss peasantry, which formerly were the pride and distinguishing marks of the several Cantons, have almost disappeared; their use being confined to holidays, festivals, or as advertisements at public resorts. The Bernese have their snow-white shift-sleeves rolled up to the shoulder exposing to view a sinewy sunburnt arm, the dark-red stays laced with black in front, silk aprons, silver chains, and buckles, colored skirts just short enough to show a home-made white stocking, a heavy gaiter shoe, a bee-hive-shaped hat, and long yellow hair in a single plait hanging down nearly to the heels, along a back made very straight by the habit of carrying pails of milk and water on the head.
In French Switzerland long tresses, trimmed with black ribbon, descend on each side of the neck, a narrow dark bodice restrains the waist, the bosom is covered by a chemise plaited in a thousand folds and whiter than snow, a short and ample under-petticoat leaves the leg exposed above the ankle, and red garters full in sight. These costumes really have nothing torecommend them except their peculiarity; there is something very irresponsive in them, adding nothing to the beauty of person or grace of bearing, but simply tending to make the wearers, like Lord Dundreary's girls, "look more or less alike, generally more alike;'' none of them are pretty except on paper, yet even the ugliest of them all, worn by the homeliest women, help to make up the sum of national peculiarities and add to the picturesqueness.
The men affect immensely broad pants, a large round coat high in the collar, short in the waist, with two little ludicrous tails in the very small of the back, and a soft beaver hat pushed sideways on the head; the complete appearance is sometimes suggested of a walking porpoise. The present ordinary male and female dress is somewhat sombre, little use of bright color is made, and regard is had for that which will wear best and require least washing; the material is either undyed homespun woollen cloth or coarse blue frieze, and the garments are clumsily made, stiff and heavy.
Human character appears to consist of two opposite varieties: one that makes a fetich of the past, and shrinks from changes as from a rude immorality; the other, that dashes forward impatiently after progression and development. In most states these temperaments are brought together in the diversity of persons, and the reforming and conserving influences work out in harmony the course of society. But in Switzerland can be found peasant communities where nothing but conservatives are generated. Time seems to have slumbered among them for centuries; their character has continued ancient in modern times. They have always been and will ever be peasants. They are religiously unaffected, industrious people; shepherds, agriculturists, artisans, soldiers, patriots, and, above all, freemen, full of song, labor, and fight.
They wish to be ruled by habits rather than laws, with traditional customs as a legislative code. What matters if the storm rages, and if it snows, if the wind blusters in the pine forest, if a man shut up in his cottage has but black bread and cheese, under his smoky light and beside his fire of turf? Another kingdom opens to reward him, the kingdom of inward contentment; his wife loves him and is faithful; his children round his hearth spell out the old family Bible; he is the master in his home, the owner and protector; and if so be that he needs assistance, he knows that at the first appeal he will see his neighbors stand faithfully and bravely by his side, —
" And each shall care for other,
And each to each shall bend,
To the poor a noble brother,
To the good an equal friend."
Quite a different world from the every-day world of railways and electricity; this carefully got-up world, gloved and starched, that scorns the unbought charm and the sublime simplicity, the severe and contented virtue, of the children of nature. The peasant in rags, coming out of his larch forest, brings with him a breath of wild nature ; and the young girl, mounted on her donkey, fresh and rosy as the rhododendrons, is as simple and natural as they. This blue-bloused son of the soil, trained to the habits of order by centuries of freedom, understands his rights and has been taught at school his civic duties, and knows something of the laws and the constitution of his country. Inquire of him, and you will probably learn that he is a Deputy and a Communal Councillor, and may one day be President of the Confederation.
There is much of all that constitutes both the good man and the good citizen distributed throughout the peasants. In their great cathedral of nature, the harsh clamor and ceaseless unrest of the outer world find but little place and less concern. Rejecting those factitious wants which luxury creates, the expense and way of living are proportioned to their small means, and every one, sooner or later, is sure of something which he enjoys in quiet and security. The very spirit of picturesqueness hovers over their mountain homes, and lingers in their peaceful vales whispering of a past fraught with quaint traditions and glorious memories; and of a present, full of self-supporting energy, reciprocal dispositions to neighborly help, a spontaneous tendency to order, forethought, plodding industry, sobriety, and contentment.
"And e'en those hills that round his mansion rise
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more."
Winchester, Boyd. The Swiss Republic, J.B. Lippincott Company, 1891.
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