University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Cowper.

The day was not yet far advanced, when all
the component parts of the grand procession had
arrived in the square. Shortly after, a flourish of
clarions gave notice of the approach of the authorities.
First came the bailiff, filled with the dignity
of station, and watching, with a vigilant but covert
eye, every indication of feeling that might prove
of interest to his employers, even while he most
affected sympathy with the occasion and self-abandonment
to the follies of the hour; for Peter Hofmeister
owed his long-established favor with the
bürgerschaft more to a never-slumbering regard
to its exclusive interests and its undivided supremacy,
than to any particular skill in the art of rendering
men comfortable and happy. Next to the
worthy bailiff, for apart from an indomitable resolution
to maintain the authority of his masters, for
good or for evil, the Herr Hofmeister merited the
appellation of a worthy man, came Roger de Blonay
and his guest the Baron de Willading, marching,
pari passu, at the side of the representative of
Berne himself. There might have been some

question how far the bailiff was satisfied with this
arrangement of the difficult point of etiquette, for
he issued from his own gate with a sort of side-long
movement that kept him nearly confronted
to the Signor Grimaldi, though it left him the
means of choosing his path and of observing the
aspect of things in the crowd. At any rate, the
Genoese, though apparently occupying a secondary
station, had no grounds to complain of indifference
to his presence. Most of the observances
and not a few of the sallies of honest Peter, who
had some local reputation as a joker and a bel
esprit, as is apt to be the case with your municipal
magistrate, more especially when he holds his
authority independently of the community with
whom he associates, and perhaps as little likely to
be the fact when he depends on popular favor for
his rank, were addressed to the Signor Grimaldi.
Most of these good things were returned in kind,
the Genoese meeting the courtesies like a man
accustomed to be the object of peculiar attentions,
and possibly like one who rather rioted in the impunity
from ceremonies and public observation,
that he now happened to enjoy. Adelheid, with a
maiden of the house of Blonay, closed the little
train.

As all commendable diligence was used by the
officers of the peace to make way for the bailiff,
Herr Hofmeister and his companions were soon
in their allotted stations, which, it is scarcely necessary
to repeat, were the upper places on the
estrade. Peter had seated himself, after returning
numerous salutations, for none in a situation to
catch his eye neglected so fair an opportunity to
show their intimacy with the bailiff, when his wandering
glance fell upon the happy visage of Father
Xavier. Rising hastily, the bailiff went through
a multitude of the formal ceremonies that distinguished

the courtesy of the place and period, such
as frequent wavings and liftings of the beaver,
profound reverences, smiles that seemed to flow
from the heart, and a variety of other tokens of
extraordinary love and respect. When all were
ended, he resumed his place by the side of Melchior
de Willading, with whom he commenced a
confidential dialogue.

“We know not, noble Freiherr,” (he spoke in
the vernacular of their common canton,) “whether
we have most reason to esteem or to disrelish these
Augustines. While they do so many Christian acts
to the travellers on their mountain yonder, they
are devils incarnate in the way of upholding popery
and its abominations among the people. Look you,
the commonalty—God bless them as they deserve!
—have no great skill at doctrinal discussions, and
are much disposed to be led away by appearances.
Numberless are the miserable dolts who fancy the
godliness which is content to pass its time on the
top of a frozen hill, doing good, feeding the hungry,
dressing the wounds of the fallen, and—but
thou knowest the manner in which these sayings
run—the ignorant, as I was about to add, are but
too ready to believe that the religion which leads
men to do this, must have some savor of Heaven
in it, after all!”

“Are they so very wrong, friend Peter, that we
were wise to disturb the monks in the enjoyment
of a favor that is so fairly earned?”

The bailiff looked askance at his brother burgher,
for such was the humble appellation that aristocracy
assumed in Berne, appearing desirous to probe the
depth of the other's political morals before he spoke
more freely.

“Though of a house so honored and trusted, I
believe thou art not much accustomed of late to
mingle with the council?” he evasively observed.

“Since the heavy losses in my family, of which
thou may'st have heard, the care of this sole surviving
child has been my principal solace and occupation.
I know not whether the frequent and
near sight of death among those so tenderly loved
may have softened my heart towards the Augustines,
but to me theirs seems a self-denying and a
right worthy life.”

“'Tis doubtless as you say, noble Melchior, and
we shall do well to let our love for the holy canons
be seen. Ho! Mr. Officer—do us the favor to
request the reverend monk of St. Bernard to draw
nearer, that the people may learn the esteem in
which their patient charities and never-wearying
benevolence are held by the lookers-on. As you
will have occasion to pass a night beneath the convent's
roof, Herr von Willading, in your journey
to Italy, a little honor shown to the honest and
pains-taking clavier will not be lost on the brotherhood,
if these churchmen have even a decent
respect for the usages of their fellow-creatures.”

Father Xavier took the proffered place, which
was nearer to the person of the bailiff than the
one he had just quitted, and insomuch the more
honorable, with the usual thanks, but with a simplicity
which proved that he understood the compliment
to be due to the fraternity of which he
was a member, and not to himself. This little disposition
made, as well as all other preliminary
matters properly observed, the bailiff seemed satisfied
with himself and his arrangements, for the
moment.

The reader must imagine the stir in the throng,
the importance of the minor agents appointed to
marshal the procession, and the mixture of weariness
and curiosity that possessed the spectators,
while the several parts of so complicated and numerous
a train were getting arranged, each in its

prescribed order and station. But, as the ceremonies
which followed were of a peculiar character,
and have an intimate connexion with the events of
the tale, we shall describe them with a little detail,
although the task we have allotted to ourselves is
less that of sketching pictures of local usages, and
of setting before the reader's imagination scenes
of real or fancied antiquarian accuracy, than the
exposition of a principle, and the wholesome moral
which we have always flattered ourselves might,
in a greater or less degree, follow from our labors.

A short time previously to the commencement
of the ceremonies, a guard of honor, composed of
shepherds, gardners, mowers, reapers, vine-dressers,
escorted by halberdiers and headed by music,
had left the square in quest of the abbé, as the
regular and permanent presiding officer of the abbaye,
or company, is termed. This escort, all the
individuals of which were dressed in character,
was not long in making its appearance with the
officer in question, a warm, substantial citizen and
proprietor of the place, who, otherwise attired in
the ordinary costume of his class in that age, had
decorated his beaver with a waving plume, and,
in addition to a staff or baton, wore a flowing
scarf pendent from his shoulder. This personage,
on whom certain judicial functions had devolved,
took a convenient position in the front of the stage,
and soon made a sign for the officials to proceed
with their duties.

Twelve vine-dressers led by a chief, each having
his person more or less ornamented with garlands
of vine-leaves, and bearing other emblems of his
calling, marched in a body, chanting a song of the
fields. They escorted two of their number who
had been pronounced the most skilful and successful
in cultivating the vineyards of the adjacent
côtes. When they reached the front of the estrade,

the abbé pronounced a short discourse in honor of
the cultivators of the earth in general, after which
he digressed into especial eulogiums on the successful
candidates, two pleased, abashed, and unpractised
peasants, who received the simple prizes
with throbbing hearts. This little ceremony observed,
amid the eager and delightful gaze of
friends, and the oblique and discontented regards
of the few whose feelings were too contracted to
open to the joys of others, even on this simple and
grateful festival, the trumpets sounded again, and
the cry was raised to make room.

A large group advanced from among the body
of the actors to an open space, of sufficient size
and elevation, immediately in front of the stage.
When in full view of the multitude, those who composed
it arranged themselves in a prescribed and
seemly order. They were the officials of Bacchus.
The high-priest, robed in a sacrificial dress, with
flowing beard, and head crowned with the vine,
stood foremost, chanting in honor of the craft of
the vine-dresser. His song also contained a few
apposite allusions to the smiling blushing candidates.
The whole joined in the chorus, though the leader
of the band scarce needed the support of any other
lungs than those with which he had been very
amply furnished by nature.

The hymn ended, a general burst of instrumental
music succeeded; and, the followers of Bacchus
regaining their allotted station, the general procession
began to move, sweeping around the whole
area of the square in a manner to pass in order
before the bailiff.

The first body in the march was composed of
the council of the abbaye, attended by the shepherds
and gardeners. One in an antique costume,
and bearing a halberd, acted as marshal. He was
succeeded by the two crowned vine-dressers, after

whom came the abbé with his counsellors, and
large groups of shepherds and shepherdesses, as
well as a number of both sexes who toiled in
gardens, all attired in costumes suited to the traditions
of their respective pursuits. The marshal
and the officers of the abbaye moved slowly past,
with the gravity and decorum that became their
stations, occasionally halting to give time for the
evolutions of those who followed; but the other
actors now began in earnest to play their several
parts. A group of young shepherdesses, clad in
closely fitting vests of sky-blue with skirts of white,
each holding her crook, came forward dancing,
and singing songs that imitated the bleatings of
their flocks and all the other sounds familiar to
the elevated pasturages of that region. These were
soon joined by an equal number of young shepherds
also singing their pastorals, the whole exhibiting
an active and merry group of dancers, accustomed
to exercise their art on the sward of the Alps;
for, in this festival, although we have spoken of
the performers as actors, it is not in the literal
meaning of the term, since, with few exceptions,
none appeared to represent any other calling than
that which, in truth, formed his or her daily occupation.
We shall not detain the narrative to
say more of this party, than that they formed a
less striking exception to the conventional picture
of the appearance of those engaged in tending
flocks, than the truth ordinarily betrays; and that
their buoyant gaiety, blooming faces, and unwearied
action, formed a good introductory preparation
for the saltation that was to follow.

The male gardeners appeared in their aprons,
carrying spades, rakes, and the other implements
of their trade; the female supporting baskets on
their heads filled with rich flowers, vegetables, and
fruits. When in front of the bailiff, the young

men formed a sort of fasces of their several implements,
with a readiness that denoted much study,
while the girls arranged their baskets in a circle
at its foot. Then, joining hands, the whole whirled
around, filling the air with a song peculiar to their
pursuits.

During the whole of the preparations of the
morning, Adelheid had looked on with a vacant
eye, as if her feelings had little connexion with that
which was passing before her face. It is scarcely
necessary to say, that her mind, in spite of herself,
wandered to other scenes, and that her truant
thoughts were busy with interests very different
from those which were here presented to the senses.
But, by the time the group of gardeners had passed
dancing away, her feelings began to enlist with
those who were so evidently pleased with themselves
and all around them, and her father, for the
first time that morning, was rewarded for the deep
attention with which he watched the play of her
features, by an affectionate and natural smile.

“This goes off right merrily, Herr Bailiff;” exclaimed
the baron, animated by that encouraging
smile, as the blood is quickened by a genial ray of
the sun's heat when it has been long chilled and
deadened by cold.—“This goes off with a joyful
will, and is likely to end with credit to thy town!
I only wonder that you have not more of this, and
monthly. When joy can be had so cheap, it is
churlish to deny it to a people.”

“We complain not of the levities, noble Freiherr,
for your light thinker makes a sober and
dutiful subject; but we shall have more of this,
and of a far better quality, or our time is wasted.
—What is thought at Berne, noble Melchior, of
the prospects of the Emperor's obtaining a new
concession for the levy of troops in our cantons?”

“I cry thy mercy, good Peterchen, but by thy

leave, we will touch on these matters more at our
leisure. Boyish though it seem to thy eyes, so long
accustomed to look at matters of state, I do confess
that these follies begin to have their entertainment,
and may well claim an hour of idleness from him
that has nothing better in hand.”

Peter Hofmeister ejaculated a little expressively.
He then examined the countenance of the Signor
Grimaldi, who had given himself to the merriment
with the perfect good-will and self-abandonment
of a man of strong intellect, and who felt his
powers too sensibly to be jealous of appearances.
Shrugging his shoulders, like one that was disappointed,
the pragmatical bailiff turned his look
towards the revellers, in order to detect, if possible,
some breach of the usages of the country, that
might require official reproof; for Peter was of
that class of governors who have an itching to see
their fingers stirring even the air that is breathed
by the people, lest they should get it of a quality
or in a quantity that might prove dangerous to a
monopoly which it is now the fashion to call the
conservative principle. In the mean time the revels
proceeded.

No sooner had the gardeners quitted the arena,
than a solemn and imposing train appeared to occupy
the sward. Four females marched to the
front, bearing an antique altar that was decorated
with suitable devices. They were clad in emblematical
dresses, and wore garlands of flowers
on their heads. Boys carrying censers preceded
an altar that was dedicated to Flora, and her
ministering official came after it, mitred and carrying
flowers. Like all the priestesses that followed,
she was laboriously attired in the robes
that denoted her sacred duty. The goddess herself
was borne by four females on a throne canopied
by flowers, and from whose several parts

sweeping festoons of every hue and die descended
to the earth. Haymakers of both sexes, gay and
pastoral in their air and attire, succeeded, and a
car groaning with the sweet-scented grass of the
Alps, accompanied by females bearing rakes,
brought up the rear.

The altar and the throne being deposited on the
sward, the priestess offered sacrifice, hymning the
praise of the goddess with mountain lungs. Then
followed the dance of the haymakers, as in the
preceding exhibition, and the train went off as
before.

“Excellent well, and truer than it could be done
by your real pagan!” cried the bailiff, who, in spite
of his official longings, began to watch the mummery
with a pleased eye. “This beateth greatly
our youthful follies in the Genoese and Lombard
carnivals, in which, to say truth, there are sometimes
seen rare niceties in the way of representing
the old deities.”

“Is it the usage, friend Hofmeister,” demanded
the baron, “to enjoy these admirable pleasantries
often here in Vaud?”

“We partake of them, from time to time, as
the abbaye desires, and much as thou seest. The
honorable Signor Grimaldi—who will pardon me
that he gets no better treatment than he receives,
and who will not fail to ascribe what, to all who
know him, might otherwise pass for inexcusable
neglect, to his own desire for privacy—he will tell
us, should he be pleased to honor us with his real
opinion, that the subject is none the worse for occasions
to laugh and be gay. Now, there is Geneva,
a town given to subtleties as ingenious and
complicated as the machinery of their own watches;
it can never have a merrymaking without a
leaven of disputation and reason, two as damnable
ingredients in the public humor as schism in religion,

or two minds in a ménage. There is not a
knave in the city who does not fancy himself a
better man than Calvin, and some there are who
believe if they are not cardinals, it is merely because
the reformed church does not relish legs
cased in red stockings. By the word of a bailiff!
I would not be the ruler, look ye, of such a community,
for the hope of becoming Avoyer of Berne
itself. Here it is different. We play our antics
in the shape of gods and goddesses like sober people,
and, when all is over, we go train our vines,
or count our herds, like faithful subjects of the great
canton. Do I state the matter fairly to our friends,
Baron de Blonay?”

Roger de Blonay bit his lip, for he and his had
been of Vaud a thousand years, and he little relished
the allusion to the quiet manner in which his
countrymen submitted to a compelled and foreign
dictation. He bowed a cold acquiescence to the
bailiff's statement, however, as if no farther answer
were needed.

“We have other ceremonies that invite our attention,”
said Melchior de Willading, who had sufficient
acquaintance with his friend's opinions to
understand his silence.

The next group that approached was composed
of those who lived by the products of the dairy.
Two cowherds led their beasts, the monotonous
tones of whose heavy bells formed a deep and
rural accompaniment to the music that regularly
preceded each party, while a train of dairy-girls,
and of young mountaineers of the class that tend
the herds in the summer pasturages, succeeded, a
car loaded with the implements of their calling
bringing up the rear. In this little procession, no
detail of equipment was wanting. The milking-stool
was strapped to the body of the dairyman;
one had the peculiarly constructed pail in his hand,

while another bore at his back the deep wooden
vessel in which milk is carried up and down the
precipices to the châlet. When they reached the
sodded arena, the men commenced milking the
cows, the girls set in motion the different processes
of the dairy, and the whole united in singing the
Ranz des Vaches of the district. It is generally
and erroneously believed that there is a particular
air which is known throughout Switzerland by
this name, whereas in truth nearly every canton
has its own song of the mountains, each varying
from the others in the notes, as well as in the
words, and we might almost add in the language.
The Ranz des Vaches of Vaud is in the patois of
the country, a dialect that is composed of words
of Greek and Latin origin, mingled on a foundation
of Celtic. Like our own familiar tune, which
was first bestowed in derision, and which a glorious
history has enabled us to continue in pride, the
words are far too numerous to be repeated. We
shall, however, give the reader a single verse of
a song which Swiss feeling has rendered so celebrated,
and which is said often to induce the
mountaineer in foreign service to desert the mercenary
standard and the tame scenes of towns, to
return to the magnificent nature that haunts his
waking imagination and embellishes his dreams.
It will at once be perceived that the power of
this song is chiefly to be found in the recollections
to which it gives birth, by recalling the
simple charms of rural life, and by reviving the
indelible impressions that are made by nature
wherever she has laid her hand on the face of the
earth with the same majesty as in Switzerland.

Refrain.

The music of the mountains is peculiar 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 to reach the caverns and
savage recesses of inaccessible precipices. Strains
like these readily recall the glens and the magnificence
amid which they were first heard, and hence,
by an irresistible impulse, the mind is led to indulge
in the strongest of all its sympathies, those which
are mixed with the unalloyed and unsophisticated
delights of buoyant childhood.

The herdsmen and dairymaids no sooner uttered
the first notes of this magic song, than a deep and
breathing stillness pervaded the crowd. As the

peculiar strains of the chorus rose on the ear, murmuring
echoes issued from among the spectators,
and ere the wild intonations could be repeated
which accompanied the words “Liauba! Liauba!”
a thousand voices were lifted simultaneously, as it
were, to greet the surrounding mountains with the
salutations of their children. From that moment
the remainder of the Ranz des Vaches was a common
burst of enthusiasm, the offspring of that national
fervor, which forms so strong a link in the
social chain, and which is capable of recalling to
the bosom that, in other respects, has been hardened
by vice and crime, a feeling of some of the
purest sentiments of our nature.

The last strain died amid this general exhibition
of healthful feeling. The cowherds and the dairy-girls
collected their different implements, and resumed
their march to the melancholy music of the
bells, which formed a deep contrast to the wild
notes that had just filled the square.

To these succeeded the fellowers of Ceres, with
the altar, the priestess, and the enthroned goddess,
as has been already described in the approach of
Flora. Cornucopiæ ornamented the chair of the
deity, and the canopy was adorned with the gifts
of autumn. The whole was surmounted by a sheaf
of wheat. She held the sickle as her sceptre, and
a tiara composed of the bearded grain covered her
brow. Reapers followed, bearing emblems of the
season of abundance, and gleaners closed the train.
There was the halt, the chant, the chorus, and the
song in praise of the beneficent goddess of autumn,
as had been done by the votaries of the deity of
flowers. A dance of the reapers and gleaners followed,
the threshers flourished their flails, and the
whole went their way.

After these came the grand standard of the abbaye,
and the vine-dressers, the real objects of the

festival, succeeded. The laborers of the spring
led the advance, the men carrying their picks and
spades, and the women vessels to contain the cuttings
of the vines. Then came a train bearing
baskets loaded with the fruit, in its different degrees
of perfection and of every shade of color.
Youths holding staves topped with minature representations
of the various utensils known in the
culture of the grape, such as the laborer with the
tub on his back, the butt, and the vessel that first
receives the flowing juice, followed. A great number
of men, who brought forward the forge that is
used to prepare the tools, closed this part of the
exhibition. The song and the dance again succeeded,
when the whole disappeared at a signal
given by the approaching music of Bacchus. As
we now touch upon the most elaborate part of the
representation, we seize the interval that is necessary
to bring it forward, in order to take breath
ourselves.