SWISS peasants are a bold and hardy race. Living, as by far the greater number do, from boyhood lives full of adventure and exposed to many dangers, they seldom if ever complain of their lot, and think no country in the world can be so beautiful as the hills and valleys of their native land.
The summers are short, though very lovely; the winters are long; and for months together the most hardy shepherd has to confess that every path up the steep hillside is so completely hidden by snow that it would be impossible for him to find his way across.
The paper is now yellow with age; the story, which will, I hope, not prove without interest to my young readers, was written many years ago in Swiss-French by a boy, Louis Lopraz, who with his aged grandfather was buried for three months under the snow in a Swiss chalet on the Jura Alps, and who, having found a small stock of paper with a pen and some ink in an old and quaintly carved oak chest, kept a journal of all that happened during the long and weary days of his imprisonment.
About the middle of May the Alpine shepherds collect their flocks and leave the valleys where, during the winter, they have spent much of their time in wood-carving and other useful occupations, and drive their cows, sheep and goats to the mountains, where during the summer the shepherds live in small wooden houses, called chalets, which they have built for themselves, and where they find plenty to occupy them in the care of their flocks and in making cheeses.
The day before their departure is kept as a general holiday, and the shepherds are accompanied to the foot of the mountains by their mothers, wives, sisters and daughters, also by the white-haired old men for whom resting-time has come. The elder boys go with their fathers, the younger children remain at home with their mothers.
Louis, who had not long before lost his mother, and was at the time too young for the toils and dangers of a summer on the mountains, was left in the care of his grandfather.
The ninth of October is usually the time of their return. The day had passed, and by twos and threes the shepherds had returned to their village homes, all except Francis, the father of Louis. The old man became anxious and uneasy. He said, "I must go myself, and find out what has become of Francis." Turning to his grandson he said, "Would you like to go with me?”
The boy was delighted. For weeks past he had been longing to see his father, and the prospect of a day upon the mountain, in the company of his dear old grandfather, just suited the daring, adventurous spirit of the boy. Early the next morning they set out on their journey, hoping to reach the chalet before sunset. As the old man was feeling the weight of fourscore years he could only walk slowly.
They followed the narrow and winding path up the mountain; sometimes it ran close to the brink of a frightful precipice. Louis, who was inclined to be somewhat reckless and self-willed, turned a deaf ear to the repeated warnings of his grandfather, and ran to the brink to gaze into the depths below. When they were about a mile from the chalet, he got into a position of such danger that, forgetting his age and weakness, the old man sprang forward, and with a great effort dragged the boy into a place of safety.
But in doing so he loosened a stone, over which he fell and sprained his ankle. Louis, who truly loved his grandfather, was really grieved when he saw what trouble had been caused by his thoughtlessness and disobedience. He begged forgiveness with many tears, and gave his grandfather the best help he could during the rest of the journey, which took them nearly two hours.
To their great joy they found Francis quite well, and preparing to leave the chalet; earlier in the day he had sent his cheeses down in the care of his cousin Peter, who must have taken another path and so had not met the travelers. He intended to leave himself with his flocks early on the following morning; the illness of two of his best cows had prevented him from leaving at the time the other shepherds had done, but all was now in readiness.
He gave his father and son a warm welcome, and hastened to bathe the old man's foot. Louis, who was very hungry, could not help casting many wistful looks towards a large pot which was boiling over the fire. His father saw it, and soon all were ready for their evening meal. A large bowl was filled with a thick porridge made by boiling maize flour in milk.
“I wish the child was safe in the valley," said the grandfather. "The wind changed half an hour ago, and may bring bad weather.”
“Yes," said Francis; "we must not delay our journey later than sunrise to-morrow. A night's rest will, I hope, give you strength for the journey.”
The grandfather, who was a simple, but true Christian, in a few touching words thanked God for His care of them during the day, and asked His blessing and protection for the morrow.
Louis, who was very tired, soon fell asleep, though his father and grandfather talked for a long time after supper. When he awoke in the morning he saw the mountain white with snow. His grandfather's foot was much more swollen than it had been the night before, and so painful that he could not put it to the ground. What was to be done? The journey must not be put off another day, for though the first snow had fallen earlier than usual, the shepherds saw grave reason to fear a violent storm would follow.
“You must start at once, Francis," said the old man. "Take the child and the flocks with you; leave me here. To-morrow, if the weather is not too bad, you can return with Peter, and one or two of our kind neighbors, bringing a litter, as I fear you will have to carry me down the mountain.”
“No, father, I cannot agree to that," said Francis. "If you can get upon my back I will carry you. I cannot leave you here.”
“No," said the grandfather. "You could not, with my added weight, descend the mountain paths, already rendered slippery by the snow, with safety; besides you would have to guide the child, and look after the flocks.”
Louis begged with many tears to be allowed to stay with his grandfather. At last the old man said, "Francis, I believe the child is right. You will travel better without either of us. Leave the goat with us, and if possible return to-morrow with a litter, for I fear it will be some days before I am able to walk.”
It took some time to collect the flocks, but at last all were in readiness, and with anxious hearts Louis and his grandfather watched the departure till the windings of the path hid them from view.