Part 7

For, while she, the promised bride, was perhaps the most beautiful of the princely daughters in all Europe, as she certainly was the richest heiress, he, the betrothed groom, was one of the poorest of titled rulers. There were beggar princes, then, as well as wealthy ones, and the needy bridegroom wanted to use some of the money of her dowry at once, for he was hard pressed to pay his debts. So he sent one of his high officers into Belgium.

The ceremony was one of great magnificence, like a pageant. It was held in the largest hall of the palace, which was brightly lighted by hundreds of candles and the walls were hung with tapestry in brilliant colors. A train of bridesmaids brought in the princess, arrayed in her fairest robes, and decked with jewels.

Then the prince’s officer, who, in his splendid garments, was in uniform, with decorations for the occasion, like his master, and looked like him, came in the hall. He had on his head a crown, and at his side a sword, spurs on his boots, and jewels on his breast. He took his place on the right, for the bride must always be near the husband’s heart. In each corner of the room, was a sentinel in armor, and with his sword drawn. Then a notary appeared. He was in his scarlet robes of office, with the legal documents in his hand to secure the signatures. The witnesses were ranged around the hall and the nuptial service was read. The wedding was made legal by the loyal officer making answer for his august master, and the notary writing a record, attested by witnesses.

The next day, attended by her ladies in waiting, her maids, cooks and serving women, the princess travelled in state to the frontier at the Rhine. In a great house, standing on the boundary line, half in Belgium and half in France, the preparations were made, by which the princely daughter ceased forever to be a Belgian maiden. After this ceremony of disrobing, she was ever afterwards to be an Austrian wife, for this was the time, when the Hapsburgs ruled over Switzerland in which epoch also the story is told of Gessler and William Tell.

In one room, she left behind her all the wardrobe and whatever was Belgian. She then stepped into the next room, which was all Austrian in its furniture and treasures. It was full of dainty clothes, fluffy and gauzy for summer wear, the time of flowers; but there was also more, in plenty, of garments that were fur-lined, for winter warmth. With garments for wear next to the skin, that were white as an edelweiss, and thicker wraps for her body, that were crimson and purple, like the Alpine rose, she was met by the Swiss chaperone and the maidens awaiting her, who completed her costume. Then she stood forth as a bride, ready for the other ceremony of wedding, which took place in the cathedral, where, with bell and book, in the holy bonds of matrimony, they were to be joined by the bishop. There, the prince met his lovely princess and the two were married, and they and their children lived happily ever afterwards.

XI

THE YODEL CARILLON OF THE COWS

They say that the soul of Belgium is the carillon. In many a tower, far up in the air hang a hundred bells or more, of all sizes. These are struck by hammers, which are worked by the carillonier, who presses the keyboard, as if playing the piano. Very famous are these chime-masters, and sweet is the music, which sounds in the air. When away from home, in a foreign land, the Belgian gets homesick, amid strangers, and is often down-hearted, because of the silences of the strange country. Should he hear the sweet chimes of a city church, a vision of the home land, with its quaint houses and high towers, its carrier pigeons, and river-dykes, and flower markets, and happy children, playing in the streets, rises before him. Then he thinks of the years of his childhood, in his old home.

In Switzerland, it is not the tower bells, or even the church-spires, sounding out the tollings for a funeral, or the merry peals of wedding bells, or the strokes calling to worship, that so deeply stir the mountain man’s heart, as do the yodel music and the carillon of the cows.

On summer days, let one stand in the high pastures above the valleys, or on a mountain slope, and he will hear the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, of bells, bells, bells. They sound and echo from near and far. They float on the air, from unseen nooks in the distance.

Even the cattle enjoy the music of the bells. Just as soon as the shepherds sound the Alpine horn, or start the call, for the herds to come home, every goat moves forward and cows leave their grazing on the grass, or they rise from chewing the cud. Then one may see the long lines of the milk-givers marching towards the chalets. There the men, at night, and in the morning, milk the cows. When the animals are housed for the night, they start the fires. They put in the rennet, that curdles the cream and turns the white and golden liquid into cheeses, so solid that one can roll them down the hills.

Everyone in America knows about the delicious white Schweitzer cheese. When cut open, it is seen to be full of holes, as if well ventilated, or, in many places, bored with an augur.

So well do the cows like to wear the leather collar, or neck strap, and hear the tinkle of the bells, that sometimes they die of homesickness, when these are taken away, or they lose their sounding collar; or, when among their sisters, thus decorated, they have none.

In old days, when it was the fashion for young men to be soldiers of fortune and enlist in the armies of France, or Germany, or Italy, or Holland, a Swiss man could forget, even his country, unless he had a sweetheart at home.

But when any one would start the yodel song, it made him and his comrades so homesick, that they wanted to leave at once, for their native land. So many soldiers were found to desert, on this account, that the generals forbade any one ever to sing the yodel songs, or play the yodel music, such as Queen Anne introduced into England. The “Ranz des Vaches,” or Song of the Cows, is more truly Switzerland’s national music, than is even the carillon of Belgium for the Belgians, or even that of the Swiss song, “Stand Fast, O Fatherland.”

In this country, where the music box was invented, the yodel is centuries old. It is almost like telling a fairy tale, to narrate the story of the cow parade in June, as it assembles and moves up to the high pastures, called “the Alps,” which are spangled with flowers of gorgeous colors. From June to October, these highland meadows are rich in the sweet aromatic herbs, which the cows so enjoy, especially the plant called the Alpine Poa. Almost as wonderful, is the cow parade, on its return downwards, in October.

During the long winter, every boy in the villages looks forward to the time, counting the last few days on his fingers, when he can go, with his father and hired men, and along with the dogs and donkeys, to spend the summer in outdoor life in the highlands. Then, he can be like a virtuous Indian, or a moral pirate, or an antique shepherd; and, indeed, the frisky goats, though all named and numbered, will give him plenty to do. He waits patiently, during the long house life of the cold time, when, walled in by the winter snow, he thinks of the long, bright summer days that are coming. Then, he can live nearer the sky, and until the sun begins again to set earlier and the snows drive men and cattle home.

The wonderful fact, in the cow parade, that reminds one of a fairy tale, is the way these horned creatures organize, of their own accord, and drill. They fall into line and march, as if they were playing soldiers, or were a company of real warriors, or cavalry horses, going to war. Each milker knows her place, and, if any young heifers try to be fresh, and show off too much, they get a hint from the horns of the old ladies of the herd, that they had better know and keep their place. Such snubs and punishments are not forgotten. After such discipline, a young snip of a cow behaves better, until grown up. Then, with more sense, she takes and holds her place, in good bovine society.

The herds, when bound for the Alps, number from twenty to two hundred. Three magnificent cows, brindle, dun, or white, lead the procession and they feel their honors, as fully as a lieutenant, just fresh from West Point, feels his. On the neck of each, is a wide leather strap, often decorated with metal bosses, or knobs, to which is hung a bell, often as big as a bucket. Most proudly, with heads up in the air, the leaders step forward. The other cows, all having names, follow, each with a smaller strap and bell on her neck. Here are a few of the names, expressed in English: Star, Crow, White Stocking, Youngster, Mirror, White Horn, and Lady.

The boy who is on his first venture up with the herd, dressed in his best clothes, leads the flock of goats, which are put under his special charge. Each one has a name and he knows them all. They will give him plenty to do, for they are great tramps and vagrants. Nobody knows how a goat will behave. We get our word “caprice,” and “capricious,” from his Latin name.

Back of the columns, is the big sow, with her litter of little pigs, all of them. They are glad enough to go, and they look on the whole thing as a picnic. For now, instead of living on dry winter feed, they will get the juicy grass and herbage of the summer pasture. Mrs. Hog is certainly proud of her young porkers, but her music is hardly up to the carillon standard, for it consists chiefly of grunts, and this is the only language, in which the education of the piggies is carried on.

Feeling quite as important as any, and always wanting to hurry along, and go ahead faster, is the dog Tiger. This pet of the family and the terror of the goats, that give him a butt, when he gets too lively, looks more like a mastiff, than a collie, or one of his cousins, the stately St. Bernard dogs.

Finally, as the rear guard, is the daddy of the family. He leads the horse, on which are packed and strapped the cheese caldron, for boiling the milk and cream. From his position, Daddy can round up the unruly members of the herd, cows, goats, or pigs, that have too much genius, or temperament, or are too original, or independent, to obey rules. Just as often, in a marching army, the rear guard is the place of honor, so the last cow, usually a superb animal, carries the milking stool between her horns.

The cows’ parade marks a heyday for the whole village. The girls are all out, and in their best dresses. Most of them will not see their brothers, their beaux, or their lovers, until autumn. So they make the most of the fun for a day.

During the summer, and until October, there are few of the male sex, except old men and small boys, left in the mountain or dairy villages. Many are the farewells and handwavings, until the procession disappears around the curve of the mountains. Then the yodel music, the Ranz des Vaches, the Song of the Swiss, for centuries, is raised and echoed among the hills. The words are, in most cases, very old, and in a sort of French, that is never heard in Paris, or at the universities. The notes are very much as their Swiss ancestors sung them, before America was discovered. The words are, in many of the songs, quite witty. In one form or another, they are in praise of the work and craft of the cattle, or dairy men.

The yodel music will never die. The herds may change in breed, form, or numbers, but never the song. When heard near at hand, there is too much jingle, with many discords; but distance lends enchantment to the sound. When far away, all notes melt into sweetness and accord.

Once up in the regions near the sky, while the echoes, coming back from the peaks, make angelic sweetness, and heavenly harmony, the Swiss boy has a fine time in both work and play. At no other season are the meadows more beautiful. He soon finds out, however, the difference between cows and goats. The larger animals stay on the levels, obey the rules, and are faithful, punctual, and well drilled. They always move homewards when the horn calls, or the yodel music sounds. On the contrary, the goats are often obstinate, and act as if imps and elves were in them. Then, too, they love to climb and wander. It is, with them, a game of Johnnie Jump Up, pretty much all the time. They leap and scramble out of the meadows, and up over the rocks, climbing thousands of feet towards the mountain tops, and into the most difficult places, as if they loved to play hide and seek and plague the shepherds. This gives the boy plenty to do in hunting them, for it is hard to hear their bells tinkling, when the wind blows roughly, or in the wrong direction.

In autumn, when Jack Frost returns, and storms are many and frequent, and the snows heavy, the march back and down is made in good order. Then, all the village folk turn out again, to welcome the shepherds. As the men, cows, goats, pigs and horses return, the latter are well loaded with cheeses. These will be sold and sent to the cities in foreign countries, and especially across the sea to America.

XII

THE TAILOR AND THE GIANT

All giants behave in about the same way, in every country; so each one of the big-boned fellows in Switzerland was like his relations in other lands. He had two legs, each as thick as a telegraph pole, arms like crowbars, and a body that made one think of a hogshead. His bone box, called a skull, had only a spoonful or two of brains inside of it, for his head was no bigger than a cocoanut. Usually he went about roaring like a bull, and carried a club in his right hand, as long and thick as a young fir tree. Although he was as strong as an ox, he could hardly run as fast as an elephant, and any smart dog could move around more quickly than he. That is the reason why a nimble princess, with a needle, could outwit him, or any clever young fellow could trap him in a pit, and then crack his skull with a pickaxe.

The monstrous fellow had a stomach equal to that of a rhinoceros. At one meal, he could chew up a sirloin of beef, eat a half bushel of rice, and gulp down a firkin of milk. With his club, he could smash a hay wagon; but, besides eating and bullying, he was not good for much. In fact, when it came to a game of hard thinking, and using his two spoonfuls of brains, any clever boy or girl twelve years’ old could beat him. Some giants, of course, were more intelligent than others, but as a rule, a giant got very soon and very much tired out, when he had to use his mind.

They do say that the reason why giants are so stupid is because that, when they were quite little babies, their skull bones closed tight, too soon; so that their brains never grew any larger, while the bone became thicker and thicker. That is the reason why some people usually called the big lout, “Mr. Bone Head, with the big club.”

There were other people, however, who believed that the heads of the giants were made of wood, and some always thought of the big clumsy fellows as belonging to the tribe of Wooden Heads.

One exception, to the general run of Swiss giants, was a bulky fellow named Kisher, who served the great Charlemagne, when this mighty general was fighting the savages, called Huns and Avars. This giant could wade all rivers, no matter how deep. If his horse, which was bigger than a hippopotamus, was afraid to step in, and cross over, Kisher would grab hold of his tail and pull him backwards, through the deep water and over to the other shore. When fighting with his long sword, in front of Charlemagne’s army, one would think, from the way he cut down the enemy, and left their corpses in swathes, that he was a sort of mowing machine.

After the battle, Kisher poked his spear into eight or ten of the carcasses of the defunct savages. Then, stringing them on his spear shaft, like a pile of pretzels, he threw the load over his shoulders. Trudging to his general’s tent, he shook off the dead savages on the ground, as though he was dropping sausages from a fork.

Thereupon, his general rewarded him by naming him Einheer, which means that the giant was a whole army in himself. He also ordered that the big fellow should have all the sausages, and barley cakes, and dried apples, that he wanted.

In fact, it was necessary to have plenty of eatables ready for the giant, for fear lest, when very hungry, he might swallow the dishes, chew up the napkins, eat up the table cloth, and gulp down the table, legs and all. So terrible was his appetite, that the mothers, when they saw Einheer coming down the hill, or up the street, called all their children inside the house, for fear lest a pretty plump girl, or a nice fat boy, should be seized, to fill up the mammoth cave that he kept under his belt.

When no food was at hand, and the giant had to do without his dinner, he set up a roar, like a lion, until people thought it was distant thunder echoing among the far off mountains. Then old Kisher—for the people often forgot his new title—used to pull his belt tighter. He would even let the buckle tongue go into two or three holes further back, in the strap. This took off the edge of his appetite for a while, but only for a few hours. Then he began to roar once more. Again the mothers clasped their babies in their arms and locked the doors, for fear he might get in and eat them out of house and home. The farmers took the harness off the horses, so that even if he broke into the stables, he would help himself only to the animals, and not devour also the traces and horse collars. But after all this, the giant never knew enough to pick a lock, or get into barns, when the doors were properly barred. Even a trained monkey could beat him at this sort of smartness.

Now there was a young tailor, who was tired of this giant’s boasting. Although the people often laughed at this man of shears and measuring tape, and called him “one-ninth,” and the boys at times shouted “Cabbage” at him, he was really a brave fellow. Besides being an expert with needle and thread, he was really as clever as any one in town. Indeed, he thought himself, in this respect, equal, even to the judges, in the court, who put big wigs on their heads, to look as if theirs contained more brains than common people have. He read stories of famous heroes and dragon slayers and wanted to be like them and even excel. He boasted that, with a bag and a pair of scissors, he could get the better of any giant living. But when he declared he would some day show them the giant’s carcass, they laughed and said, “That’s only a tailor’s promise.” Yet he always retorted, “You’ll see.”

At any rate, the tailor made up his mind that cunning could accomplish as much as force. So he studied the habits and tastes of giants, to see what they liked best to eat. He soon found that this monster in human shape was very fond of rice pudding, with plenty of sauce and sugar on it. But the tailor never said a word to the giant about knowing this special weakness of his.

One day, while walking on the road to the next town, to take home a suit of clothes to a customer, he suddenly came upon the giant, who at this time was, as usual, very hungry. They both glared at each other, but the giant, speaking first, roared out:

“Here, you fraction of a fellow, come now let us have a trial of strength. I’ll hang you on a tree, if I beat you, and you can skin me alive, if you win.”

At first, the little tailor was so frightened that his knees knocked together, and his hat fell off; but, quickly feeling brave again, he answered:

“All right, I’m not afraid of you. Come on, we’ll try.”

The tailor knew that a brainy fellow, with a clear head and a sharp tongue, was more than a match for the big bonehead, any day. So, when the giant picked up a boulder, weighing a ton or so, and threw it into the lake, and then dared the man to do likewise, the tailor answered:

“Bah! that’s nothing. Why don’t you give me something that’s hard to do? I can pick up the hardest pebble and squeeze water out of it with my hands. I’ll wager a gold coin you can’t do it.”

Thus dared, the giant picked up a bit of hard rock and nearly broke his finger bones trying to crush it, or make it yield water. Mad as fire, he called the tailor a rascal, and said he told fibs. Then he dared him to try his hand at it. He got his club ready to smash the man into a jelly, if he failed.

Now the tailor, not expecting to get home until night, had brought a fresh cheese ball and some crackers, to eat on the way. He turned his back to the giant and bent over, pretending to pick up a hard round stone from the ground. Then he pressed this cheese between his two hands so hard, that a drop or two, of what looked like water, came out. As the moisture glistened in the sun, the astonished giant dropped his club. Then, rushing up to the tailor, he grasped his hand and cried out:

“Comrade and brother you are. Don’t skin me. Come along with me; we’ll skin other people, and I’ll make you rich and famous.”

The tailor, pretending to be as merciful, as he thought himself brave, and being very ambitious, walked along with the giant, until they came to a castle. The tailor wanted to get rich quick and marry a princess, or at least an heiress.