Part 5
All eyes were riveted on these vessels when the Count of Gruyère simultaneously raised both covers; and his expression of disappointment was mirrored on every face, when instead of choice dainties nothing was seen but the coarse bread and cheese of the peasant population. Interrogative glances were therefore soon directed to the Countess, who with charming grace and simplicity related her adventure in the chapel and repeated the lame beggar’s words. She concluded by saying that she now believed her prayers would be answered, and begged all present to partake with her of the food which had come to her in such a strange way. Touched by the tale she told, one and all solemnly ate the bread and cheese she gave them; but her old nurse laid her share carefully aside, saying she would partake of it only when her mistress’s dearest wish had been fulfilled.
Then the castle chaplain arose, filled all the beakers with wine, blessed them as solemnly as if he were about to celebrate a communion service, and all drank to the health of the gracious Countess and the speedy coming of a son and heir to the castle of Gruyère.
Within a year from that day the Stork brought a beautiful boy to the Countess, and at his christening feast many noble guests merrily drank his health. The Countess, radiant with happiness, bestowed bountiful alms upon all the poor, giving lame Hans a new suit of clothes, and a pension to prevent his ever feeling the pangs of hunger again.
In the midst of this feast the old nurse came in and solemnly ate her carefully treasured share of Hans’s bread and cheese. Then she made a deep curtsey to her mistress, saying,--
“Gracious Lady, you see it is just as I always told you. To the one who gives freely, much will be given. May God preserve you and your husband and grant your son a long, happy, and useful life at Gruyère!”
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FROM the castle and town of Gruyère one can enjoy a fine view of the Moléson, the highest peak in that region, from whose summit can be seen the Lake of Geneva with Mont Blanc, the Dent du Midi, and the Diablerets to the south. West and east are the Jura and Titlis mountains, while to the north extends the fertile valley of the Sarine.
Here on the Moléson, as well as on most mountain pastures in Switzerland, you can often hear the famous Ranz des Vaches, Kuhreihen, or musical call, which the cattle no sooner hear than they crowd around their herdsmen.
This melody, repeated by the echoes, and accompanied by the ripple and splash of running waters, the tintinnabulations of cow-bells, and the lowing of the kine, has a peculiar charm for all who hear it, and in words runs about as follows:--
“The herdsmen of the Colombettes At the dawn of day have risen; Ha, ah! ha, ah! Cows, cows, to the milking come! Come here, all of you. White ones and black ones, Red and brindled, Young ones, old ones, Under this oak-tree, Where I will milk you; Under this poplar, Where I will drain you! Cows, cows! to the milking come!”[1]
[1] Poems of Places--Switzerland: Longfellow.
The Moléson was long the favourite field of the chamois-hunters in Fribourg. One of these men having been overtaken by darkness high up on the mountain, once sought refuge in a deserted herdsmen’s hut. Drawing near it, he was surprised to hear the tinkle of bells, the lowing and stamping of cattle, and the voices of herdsmen, for he knew the cows had already left the high pastures. Entering the hut, he was further amazed to see four queer, wizened-looking men, whose thumb and first and second fingers were missing. Besides, one of these men was lame, the second hunchbacked, the third had but one eye, and the fourth was apparently a leper.
These men signed to him to take a seat near the fire, where they were busy making green cheese, of which, however, they had already a large store in the hut.
The hunchback herdsman offered the guest bread and meat which looked so unpalatable that the hunter took but one mouthful and set the food aside, muttering that they must have forgotten the salt when preparing it. This remark so incensed his hosts that they began to gnash their teeth, and came toward him making such threatening gestures that in sudden terror the hunter made a sign of the cross. At that moment herdsmen, cheese, cows, and fire vanished, and the chamois-hunter found himself alone in the deserted hut.
But when he told his night adventure at home, he learned that a small piece of meat had been cut out of the left hind quarter of his best cow. One of the oldest inhabitants of the village, moreover, informed him that the men whom he had seen were wicked herdsmen, who had neglected their duties while in the flesh, and had besides been guilty of perjury. In punishment for their wickedness, they had not only lost the three fingers upheld in taking an oath, but were condemned to atone for past laziness by working hard every night.
LEGENDS OF NEUCHÂTEL
A younger son of one the Counts of Neuchâtel, wishing to found a family of his own, went to settle in 1155 in the picturesque Val de Ruz in the Jura mountains. Here he selected a tall and jagged rock, washed by the Seyon, as the site of his new stronghold, the Castle of Vallangin. Owing to its position, it was almost impregnable; but it was a very dismal abode, for the heights of Chaumont at the south overshadowed it, cutting off much sunlight, while the dense pine forests around it did not tend to lessen the gloom.
The Val de Ruz was so fertile, however, that the lords of Vallangin soon grew rich and powerful, ruling wisely over the many peasants who came to settle there under their protection. At the end of the thirteenth century their vassals already numbered many thousands, and included all classes of society.
Rollin, lord of Vallangin, was but sixteen years of age, when two of his most powerful vassals renounced their allegiance to him and prepared to despoil him of his property. With that end in view, they armed their retainers and sallied forth to attack their young master. The friends of the latter, however, getting wind of this plot, hastily assembled the noblemen, clergy, and peasants who were still faithful to their lord, and consulting with them took active measures to meet and conquer the foe. Young Rollin himself, supported by the lords of Neuchâtel, of Colombiers, and of Vauxtravers, set out at the head of his army, and meeting the two faithless lords on the plain of Coffrane, defeated their forces in pitched battle, and secured the persons of the recreant vassals.
Many men perished on both sides in this encounter; and hundreds of years later, a staff of command lost in this battle was ploughed up by a farmer and placed in the Museum of Neuchâtel, where it is carefully preserved as a relic of the fight.
Rollin, having seized the faithless vassals, had them brought before him, and sternly informed them that in his anger at hearing of their treachery, he had vowed nothing short of two heads would ever satisfy him. At these words the guilty lords trembled and grew pale, for they felt their last hour was near. Their despair was such that when Rollin bade them reveal the place where they had concealed their treasures, they offered no resistance, but meekly obeyed. Before long, therefore, two huge heaps of silver lay at Rollin’s feet. He gazed at them a few moments in silence, then addressed the culprits, saying:
“I swore I would have two heads, and this solemn vow cannot be recalled. But, as I have never yet sentenced a guilty man to death, I am loath to shed your blood. I will therefore spare you, on condition that two silver heads be cast from this metal, to take the place of those which you have forfeited, but which I allow you to retain. You shall also recover your freedom and go home in peace, but I hereby warn you that should you ever prove faithless again it will be bloody and not bloodless heads which I will claim!”
The delinquent lords, happy to escape their death sentence, solemnly presented two heavy silver heads to the young lord of Vallangin. These were placed by his order on the high altar of the collegiate church at Neuchâtel, where they remained until the days of the Reformation, when an ignorant iconoclast, deeming them idols, removed them from the altar. Since then no trace of the silver busts has been seen.
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EARLY in the fourteenth century, some of the vassals of the lord of Vallangin went to settle in the lovely valleys of the Jura Mountains, where, joined by a few families from Burgundy, they founded Le Locle and La Chaux-de-Fonds. These two colonies speedily increased in numbers and wealth, and the towns thus founded are now important centres for the manufacture of watches and jewelry.
Many of the people of the Canton of Neuchâtel having turned Protestant, Wilhelmine of Bergy, grandmother of one of the lords of Vallangin, a stanch Catholic, sadly forsook the castle which she had entered as a happy young bride, to go and live like a hermit in the village of Gezard, which was her dowry.
This lady, already eighty years of age, was lamed by gout and quite feeble, but she nevertheless took great interest in the peasants around her, whom she often visited and frequently helped by her good advice.
One day, sitting among the women of the village who were diligently spinning, she heard them comment bitterly upon their sad lot, saying it was very hard that among all the fields they tilled, there was not a single acre which they could call their very own and which was entirely free from taxation.
Emboldened by the kindly interest the old lady showed in their remarks, they finally ventured to beg her to give them part of her land, to have and to hold without being asked for tithes or rent in exchange. Wilhelmine, who could not dispose of the land otherwise, then said:
“My good women, your request shall be granted. You shall have one half of the land which I can walk around in one day.” Saying these words, the old lady painfully rose from her seat, and tottered slowly back to her humble dwelling.
The peasant women, whose hearts had swelled with joy at her first words, but whose hopes had been shattered by the conclusion of her speech, sadly watched her limp out of sight, and then murmured regretfully,--
“The poor mistress is so old and weak, that with the best intentions in the world, she will hardly be able to creep around a single acre!”
Early the next morning, while darkness yet veiled the landscape, and the nightingale’s song still pulsated in the quiet air, Wilhelmine of Bergy painfully rose from her couch, and set out on her self-appointed journey, supported on one side by a trusty staff and on the other by a strong young servant maid.
The two women slowly crept out into the darkness, and wandering along the dewy meadows saw the night gradually make way before the first gleams of silvery light. Then they beheld the mountain tops change from blue to silver gray, then turn dazzling white, and suddenly blush and glow beneath the first rays of the rising sun.
The larks rose straight up into the blue, singing their triumphant morning hymn; the bees and butterflies hovered around them, but all the lovely sights and sounds of early morn could not beguile the old lady to take even a moment’s rest, and she hobbled bravely on. The peasants, rising from their hard beds to partake of frugal fare before beginning a long day’s work, stared in speechless amazement at their aged mistress, already well on her way, and gazed anxiously at the feeble form, wondering how long her strength and energy would last.
All through the bright morning hours, Wilhelmine plodded on without a pause; and it was only when the sun stood directly overhead, that she stopped for a moment under a tree to partake of food and of strengthening drink. Then, while the peasants stretched out in the cool shade to enjoy their midday rest, the old lady again stepped out into the quivering sunshine to continue her task. All through the glowing heat of afternoon, and long after the sun had set and the shades of evening had fallen, Wilhelmine crept on with faltering steps and ebbing strength, but with undiminished energy and determination. Darkness had long set in when she finally reached the village once more, and entering a hut where burned a small rushlight, and where the people had assembled by her order, she cried in weak but joyful accents,--
“My children, I have walked around a thousand acres! Five hundred of these belong to you, free from all taxes from this time forth. Do not blame me if your share is somewhat small, for I have done all I could to help you, but alas! although my spirit is willing, my aged feet could carry me no farther.”
Having said these words, old Wilhelmine tottered back to her own house, where she lay down so exhausted that she never found the strength to rise from her bed again. But the people whom she had benefited never ceased to be grateful to her; and when she died, in 1543, six years after this wonderful walk, they mournfully followed her to her last resting-place, shedding abundant tears while softly reminding each other of the many steps taken in their behalf by her weary old feet.
* * * * *
UNTIL the end of the eighteenth century, the city of Neuchâtel boasted a ghost whose apparition was the invariable precursor of a conflagration in town. Shortly before any signs of fire were perceptible, this spectral old woman passed swiftly along the streets, frantically wringing a cloth all dripping with blood until she vanished in a lurid mist in the direction of the lake.
No one now living remembers ever having seen this ghost, but old people in Neuchâtel solemnly aver that the woman was frequently seen by their ancestors, and that a fire always broke out shortly after her visit. They add that the ghost was the unfortunate widow of Walter, Count of Rochefort, publicly accused of forgery, and beheaded, in 1412, on the shores of the lake, on the very spot where the wraith always melted away in a crimson cloud. It is said that the Count’s widow, having secured his blood-stained shirt, constantly exhibited it to her sons, urging them to avenge their father, who, according to her assertions, had been wrongfully accused, and condemned without sufficient proof of guilt.
The implacable widow finally prevailed upon these young men to take a fearful revenge by secretly setting fire to the city; and it is a fact that Neuchâtel was almost destroyed by what is known as the great conflagration of 1450. Since then, either through remorse or to parade her spite, the old woman’s spectre heralded every conflagration, until, weary of destruction, or frightened away by effective modern methods of fighting fires, she ceased to haunt the city and frighten the inhabitants.
* * * * *
D. J. RICHARD started the manufacture of watches in Le Locle and La Chaux-de-Fonds, but the principal legend relating to that industry refers to Jacques Droz, the clever inventor of mechanical clocks, of music boxes, and of a writing automaton.
We are told that in the eighteenth century, the King of Spain once came to La Chaux-de-Fonds, and having heard of Jacques Droz’s clever contrivances, went with his suite to visit the inventor’s workshop. There the King examined everything, and was particularly charmed by a clock upon which stood figures of a negro, a shepherd, and a dog. Whenever the clock struck, the shepherd played a soft air upon his pipe, while his dog frisked joyfully around him.
This artistic contrivance so delighted both King and courtiers, that one and all loudly expressed their wonder and admiration. Jacques Droz listened quietly to their exclamations, then turning to the King, he smilingly informed him that the tiny dog was the faithful guardian of his master’s property, as could readily be seen if any one attempted to lay hands upon the apples in a basket at the shepherd’s feet.
The King, wishing to test the dog’s watchfulness, now attempted to abstract an apple, but no sooner had he touched it than the mechanical dog began to bark with such fury that the royal pet hound, springing forward, answered him. The monarch, startled by this unexpected development, stepped back in amazement, while his suite fled, making repeated signs of the cross. None of the Spanish grandees, with the exception of the minister of the navy, remained in the shop, so when the King had recovered from his momentary fright, he laughingly bade that official ask the negro what time it was, adding that after the wonders they had seen, it would not surprise him in the least to hear the darky talk. The minister, therefore, politely inquired the time of day, but as the question was put in Spanish, he received no reply until Jacques Droz suggested that he should repeat it in French, for the negro understood no other tongue.
The minister therefore translated his question with a somewhat sceptical smile, but when the negro courteously answered: “Messieurs, il est trois heures moins un quart!” (“Gentlemen, it is a quarter of three”), he too bolted from the room in terror, crying that the clock must be the work of the Evil One himself!
The legend claims that the King of Spain purchased this wonderful piece of mechanism, but we are told that Jacques Droz merely constructed musical clocks for him. The Spaniards, however, were not the only ones who fancied the watchmaker had made a pact with Satan, for his own countrymen used to look askance at him, and frequently averred that he was a sorcerer.
* * * * *
THE watchmaking industry has long been the great source of gain in western Switzerland, and clocks and watches are shipped from there to all parts of the world. The valleys of Le Locle and La Chaux-de-Fonds being very near the frontier, watches and jewelry are constantly smuggled into France over the mountain paths to avoid paying duty upon them.
In the days of post chaises, this smuggling assumed such proportions that the chief of the French police determined to make a special effort to check it. He therefore journeyed in person to Switzerland, and visiting one of the largest manufactories, selected a case full of fine watches. He then bargained with the manufacturer to pay for the goods only on condition that they were delivered free from duty at a certain address in Paris, and solicitously inquired whether the dealer thought he could pass them across the boundary safely? The merchant smilingly answered that the job presented no insurmountable difficulties, and took leave of his customer, promising that the watches should reach Paris as quickly as he did.
The chief of police, delighted with this answer, went back to the inn, where he gave orders to prepare for immediate departure. Seated in his carriage and rolling rapidly homeward, he congratulated himself upon the clever way in which he had managed; for all the custom-house officers had been duly warned to guard the frontier with special care, as a large number of watches were to be smuggled over within the next twenty-four hours. Their zeal had further been stimulated by the promise of a large reward should they secure watches and lawbreaker, while speedy punishment was to be the lot of any man who allowed them to escape.
At the frontier, the chief of police made a short halt, and thrusting his head out of the carriage window, again admonished the officer there to be very vigilant. The latter, promptly recognising his superior, confidently answered that not a squirrel should cross the frontier unseen, for all along the line were posted men eager to secure the promised reward.
Satisfied by this assurance, the chief of police now gave orders to drive on, and journeyed straight to Paris, stopping on his way only long enough to change horses or partake of hasty meals.
When he entered his own house, although worn out by the long and fatiguing journey, his first question was whether a parcel had arrived for him from Switzerland. His servants promptly denied having seen anything of the sort, so the chief of police threw himself down in an armchair, gleefully exclaiming: “Then my men have managed to intercept it at the frontier, and we will make such an example of the smugglers that none will venture to continue this business!”
His satisfaction did not last long, however, for, upon entering his bedroom, he saw resting upon the top of the rest of his luggage a case, which, upon investigation, was found to contain the very watches he had purchased in Switzerland.
In his anger, the chief of police hotly inquired of his servants how the parcel had come there; but none could give him any information, further than that it had probably been brought in without their notice by one of the men called to attend to his luggage.
The chief of police, angrier than ever, wrote scathing letters to all the custom-house officers, who one and all declared they were ready to stake their lives and reputations that no one, except himself, had crossed the frontier without being subjected to a thorough search.
Still hoping to secure the man who had delivered the parcel in Paris, and of reaching the smugglers through him, the chief of police now sent for his coachman, to ask him whether he had seen any one carry the case of watches into his house. To his amazement the coachman immediately replied,--
“Indeed I did. I gave it to the man myself, and was very glad to see the last of it, I can tell you!”
This answer astounded his master, who, upon asking for an explanation, learned that while the coachman was preparing the carriage for departure in the inn yard at La Chaux-de-Fonds, one of the waiters had suddenly appeared with a box, saying his master wished him to stow it away under his seat and keep it safely out of sight of every one until they reached Paris. He added that the case contained articles of great value which the chief feared might else fall into the hands of highwaymen, who of course would not dream of looking under the coachman’s seat for anything but oats. Thus cautioned, the coachman had carefully hidden the box away; but throughout the journey he had refused to lose sight of the carriage for an instant, lest his master’s secret should be discovered, and his property stolen.
On receiving this explanation, the chief of police made a wry face, for he now perceived how cleverly he had been outwitted by the watchmaker. The latter, having discovered his customer’s identity in some mysterious way, had defeated his purpose by bribing one of the inn waiters to give the box to the coachman, thus making the chief of police unconsciously smuggle his own goods across the frontier!
* * * * *
ANOTHER story runs that a Swiss naturalist often crossed the frontier at Pontarlier, where he was greatly annoyed by a cross and over-zealous French custom-house officer. The latter, for some inscrutable reason, had conceived an intense dislike to the Swiss savant, whose luggage he always examined with exaggerated care, although the naturalist was well known as a man of unimpeachable integrity.
Exasperated by this rude treatment, the naturalist finally determined to give this disagreeable official a lesson which he would not be likely to forget in a hurry. The next time he stopped at Pontarlier, therefore, besides his usual baggage, he had a tightly closed box, which he handled with special care.