walk back to st. niklaus—agriculture—life—religion in the valley
whate’er men do, or wish, or fear; their griefs
distractions, joys.—juvenal.
september 3.—left zermatt at 2 p.m. on foot. walked briskly, but did not get to st. niklaus till near 6 o’clock. all the way down hill. in coming up was only a quarter of an hour longer; this i can’t understand. a very warm day. those who went in chars, as did my wife and the blue boy, appeared to suffer more from the heat than i did who was walking.
in my four hours’ walk, having been so lately over the same ground, i paid attention to the methods and results of cultivation, and endeavoured to make out something of the life of the inhabitants of the valley. as to the former, it appeared that all the cultivated land had been reclaimed by a slow and laborious process. the original condition of mountain valley land is to be more or less covered with 22rocks and stones, with some soil beneath and between. sometimes the whole surface is completely covered with rocky débris, which has been brought down, like avalanches, on the occurrence of unusually copious torrent floods, which were, in fact, avalanches of water and of mountain shingle commingled. the first step in the work of reclamation is to get rid of the stones. this is either done by removing them to a distance, or piling them up in heaps, or burying them on the spot. one of these methods will be best in one place, and another in another. all the soil that can be procured—sometimes there is enough of it on the surface, sometimes it has to be mined for in a stratum beneath the upper stratum of fragments of rock—is then levelled. of this land, thus laboriously made, all that can be irrigated by lateral canals brought from the visp, or diverted from the mountain torrents, is laid down to pasture. canals of this kind may often be seen some miles in length. these irrigated pastures are always cut twice, or, where the land is deep and good, three times a-year. the turf is not always composed mainly of different kinds of grass. sometimes it contains more dandelion than grass, a great abundance of autumn crocus, of a kind of geranium with a purple flower as large as a florin, and of other herbaceous plants. where there is much dandelion the hay, while making, has a sickly smell, but when fully made its scent is generally good. the reclaimed 23land, which cannot be irrigated, is used for rye, wheat, barley, and potatoes. a well-to-do family has two or three patches, about a third of an acre each, of this grain land. they will have also two or three cows. the mountain forest, and the mountain pastures are held in common for the equal use and benefit of all the inhabitants of the village.
as to the people themselves, the most prominent facts are that they all work hard, and that their hard work does not give them more than a bare sufficiency for the most necessary wants. i suppose that nowhere else in the civilised world is there so little buying and selling, and so little interchange of commodities, as in a swiss alpine valley. the rule is for every family to be self-contained, as far as this is possible, in all things, and to produce for itself everything it can of what it will require in the twelve months. their cows supply them with milk and cheese; the surplus of the latter being the medium through which they procure from the outside world what they cannot produce for themselves: but that does not come to much. it is interesting to see their sheaves of corn stored away in the galleries beneath the projecting eaves of their houses, and their haricots strung up in the sun to dry. this makes you think how carefully these provisions will be used in the winter and spring. and you see the flax and the hemp, of which they grow a great deal, spread out on the grass, to prepare 24it for scutching; from which, and from the wool of the small flocks of the neighbourhood, they make at home much of the materials for their clothes. from their apples, of which they grow great quantities, they make a kind of brandy. their lives are a never-failing discipline, notwithstanding the brandy, of industry, patience, and forethought. in imagination you enter the châlet, and sympathise with the cares, the troubles, the frugality, the modest enjoyments of its inmates. the result of all does not go much beyond daily bread. you hope that the harvest has been good, and that the cows are doing well. the boys you have seen are sturdy little fellows. you hope that the girls will not be goitred, and that the sturdy little fellows will in time make them good husbands. they, you are sure, will make industrious, frugal, uncomplaining wives.
we heard at zermatt, and our guide told us that what we had heard was true, that the inhabitants of the valley pass some of their time in winter in playing at cards; the stake they play for being each other’s prayers. those who lose are bound by the rules of the game to go to the village church the following morning, and there pray for the souls of those who win. the priest also is supposed to have an advantage in this practice, as it gives him a larger congregation.
religion—the reader will decide for himself whether 25or no what has just been mentioned promotes it—holds a large place in the life of these alpine valleys. the priest is the great man of the village, and has great power. the influx of travellers has a tendency to lessen this power, for it enriches innkeepers and guides, and so renders them independent. formerly the village church was the only conspicuous building; the only one that rose above the low level of the châlets. this symbolised the relation of its minister to the inhabitants of the châlets. now the church is dwarfed in comparison with the contiguous hotel. changes in the world outside have caused a new power to spring up, and take its place in the scene. be this, however, as it may, one cannot but see that the services and fêtes of the church, supply the hard monotonous lives of the people with some ideas and interest. even the authority the church claims, while it has a tendency to overpower, has also a tendency to stir their minds a little. the prominence of the material fabric of the church in the village led me to reflect on what would be the result in the minds of the people if it were otherwise. in that case they would probably lose the idea of union with other times, and with the great outside world, and the little elevation of thought and feeling beyond the round of their low daily cares, which that idea brings with it. the church may to them be an intellectual tyranny, and much that it teaches may 26be debasing and false, still it appears to have some counterbalancing advantages. our system may have more of truth and of manliness, but it would, at present, be unintelligible to them, or if intelligible, repulsive. their system, however, is one which, under the circumstances of the times, cannot last. it is even now on the road to the limbo of things that have had their day. in catholic countries, as far as the educated classes and the inhabitants of all the large cities are concerned, its power is gone, or still more than that, it is actively disliked. this settles the question. the time will arrive when, as knowledge and light spread, the village people will come round to the way of thinking of the educated classes and of the inhabitants of the cities. in this matter history is repeating itself. at its first establishment christianity spread from the cities to the pagans, that is to the inhabitants of the villages. and so will it be again, at the rehabilitation of religion in those countries that are now forsaking romanism. a revised and enlarged organisation of knowledge must be first accepted by those who can think and judge. it is then passed on to those who cannot.
such valleys as this of zermatt have hitherto offered no opportunities to any portion of their inhabitants to emerge from a low condition of life. little that could elevate or embellish life was within their reach. the only property has been land, and that, 27from the working of inevitable natural causes, has been divided into very small holdings. this has kept every family poor. railways, which connect them with the world, the influx of travellers, in many places a better harvest than that of their fields, the advance of the rest of the world around them, and the capacity there is in their streams for moving machinery, may be now opening new careers to many. it is unreasonable to regret the advent of such a change, for it has more than a material side; it must bring with it, morally and intellectually, a higher and richer life. it implies expansion of mind, and moral growth—new fields of thought, and of duty.
