CHAPTER X. Gruyere Without Its Counts

GRUYERE WITHOUT ITS COUNTS

Nearly four hundred years have passed since the fall of its counts, but the merciless march of democracy, although changing the government of Gruyere has left the people strangely unaltered. In spite of the injunctions of the Lutheran Bernois, they still danced and sang, and until the dawn of the present century still spoke their musical patois. The chateau, long used as the residence of a prefet of Fribourg, was offered for sale when in the middle of the 19th century the prefecture was transferred to Bulle. For a long time left to decay, it was finally doomed to demolition, when for the same sum offered by a housebreaker of Vevey, it was happily purchased by M. Bovy of Geneva. His brother, a painter and pupil of Ingres, devoted the remaining strength left to him after a disabling paralysis, to the restoration of the chateau, and in this enthusiastic service exhausted the family fortune. His friends and companions in Paris gathered about him, and to the beautiful frescoes with which he adorned the walls of the Hall of the Chevaliers were added the landscape vignettes of the salon. Thus several Corot canvases are strangely found in this out of the way corner in the Swiss mountains, a lovely tribute of the great modern master to the long past glories of Gruyere. In the jousting court flowers bloom bravely through the passing seasons, the old well with its moss covered roof jewels the terrace with its emerald green; through the chapel windows the painted light streams over walls where in silver on scarlet still flies the Grue. On the clock tower, still circling, the hands mark the passing of time and the bells in the church still ring out their summons to prayer. At Easter the "Benichons" bring the people together for their old dances and songs, and in the long "Veillees" the lads and the maids through the summer nights or in winter beside their bright fires, watch the dawning of love. The maidens, like Juliet, lean from low vine-covered windows, and with beckoning candles invite their lovers to climb. The spring pastures still blossom with marjolaine and narcissus, with cowslips and rue, the orchards still redden in autumn with ripe fruit which falls with the breeze, with tressed wheat, goats, and cows black and white; the green fertile country abounds, and as in Provence a Mireille is the poet's dream of its maids, so is "Marie la Tresseuse" in poems and tales the wheat weaving girl of Gruyere. The "Armaillis" still drive their herds to the mountains, still singing "Le ranz des vaches," the song which among all others best reveals the soul of their race. "Lioba," "Lioba," one should hear the refrain as it echoes from the valleys and hills, the same cry, musical, lingering, melancholy, which through century after century has been sung by generations of Gruyere herdsmen.

"Le Ranz des Vaches."

The herdsmen of the Colombettes, To milk the cows arose. Ha! Ha! Lioba.

Come! Come! Large and small, The black, the white, the short, the tall, Starry forehead, red and gold, All the young and all the old. Under the oak tree come! Ha! Ha! Lioba.

Bells came first, Jet black came last, But at the stream they stopped aghast. Ha! Ha! Lioba.

Alas, poor Pierre! what will you do? Trouble enough you have, 'tis true. Ha! Ha! Lioba.

At the Cure's door You now must tap, He'll tell you how to cross the gap. Ha! Ha! Lioba.

And what should I to the Cure say? A mass shall I beg, or will he pray To help my cows go over? Ha! Ha! Lioba.

The Cure he, of a cheese was fain, "A creamy cheese, or your cows remain On the other side, 'tis very plain." Ha! Ha! Lioba.

"Send us your pretty maid," said Pierre, "To carry the cheese, I speak you fair." Ha! Ha! Lioba.

"Too pretty by far is my rosy maid, She might not return," the Cure said. Ha! Ha! Lioba.

"What belongs to the Church We may not take, Confession humble we then should make." Ha! Ha! Lioba.

"Go to friend Pierre, The mass shall be said, Good luck be yours, rich cheese and bread." Ha! Ha! Lioba.

Gayly Pierre went to his waiting herd, And freely they passed at the Cure's word. Ha! Ha! Lioba.

The soft terminations of the romanized French are never more musical than in this famous song which, during their foreign campaigns, reduced the Swiss soldiers to such weeping longing for home that it was forbidden by their generals. Melancholy as is the repeated refrain, the couplets reveal a ravishing picture of the customs and the observing satirical spirit of the Gruyerien. Is not the quip of the Cure worthy of any son of the Emerald Isle?

In truth this "verte Gruyere" shut away from the world by its mountains as Ireland is by the sea, is like a lost island, fabled, remote, its speech Provencal, its soul purely Celt. Laughter loving, warlike and brave in the idyllic years of their prime, the Gruyeriens of to-day are still gay, caustic of wit as they are kindly at heart; and, in a changed world, as tenacious of their new republican rights as they were erstwhile valiant vassals to their pastoral kings. The source of innumerable songs and legends in the rich and melodious Gruyere speech, still pastoral, this country has been celebrated in its exquisite, unchanging beauty by many poets; its romances and its national song have been the themes of dramatic and musical inspirations. Not yet has the cruel light of modern day chased the fairies, the may-maidens, the "servans" and the evil spirits from the forests and the caves. The place where the devil, joining in a coraule, drew the dancing people over a precipice is still shunned by young and old; with pride also will they point out the slope of the Gruyere hill where when the men were fighting at the Pre de Chenes the women drove their goats, each bearing a lighted candle, through the darkness upon an invading horde of Bernois, who, thinking they were devils, fled in affright. For the refreshment of the good spirits who guard the herds, basins of fresh milk are still set in every mountain chalet. The origin of the Gruyere customs, like the coraules and the still observed habit of hanging wreaths on their door posts or in the oak groves, have a derivation of the most distant antiquity, in the Chaldean cradle of the race, in the myths of India and the Orient. The personified forces of Nature, the cloud wraiths of the mountains, the lisping voices of the streams, for many centuries haunting the imaginations of the people, still live in their legends, as they do in Celtic Ireland. The idyllic loveliness of the country is deliciously completed by the vines which are trained over the houses, by the flowers which grow in their windows, so that from spring to November Gruyere is a garden, ringed by blue mountains under a sky of pure blue. In the Romand country are many exquisite towns such as Romont and Rue, Estavayer, Oron and Morat--happily preserved in their unaltered mediaeval perfection. But the heart of this country is Gruyere, impregnated with the romance of the departed days of chivalry, its people affectionately faithful to the memory of their noble and beloved rulers.

As for the Celtic wit, ever present in their sayings and legends, it is characteristically shown in the following little story of the "Fountain of Lessoc."

THE FOUNTAIN OF LESSOC

It happened one day that good father Colin went to the fair at chateau d'Oex, where he successfully transacted his business, particularly at the tavern. On his return journey he stopped at the inn at Montbovon, not so much for the pleasure of drinking as to chat with his old cronies, with the result that it was midnight before he was on his way to Lessoc. A cold welcome awaited him at home. "Thou art a selfish and a drunken wight, and the donkey is dying of thirst," said Fanchon with many reproaches for his evil conduct. Greatly ashamed was Colin, and to quickly repair his error untied la Cocotte and led her to the fountain. The night was superb, and in the water was reflected the shining disk of the moon. Precisely in this silver spot, the poor Cocotte began to ease her thirst when, "Behold," said her master, "she is drinking the moon." Then suddenly the moon went under a cloud, and at the same moment Cocotte, quite satisfied, lifted her head, "Heavens!" cried Colin, "the moon has gone and my donkey has drunk her."

Not a word did he say to his wife, but all night watched over Cocotte in the stable. In the morning, up and down the village street, he drove her to help her digestion. "It matters little to me," he said to himself, "what becomes of the moon, for there is a new one each month, but I intend to take care of my good donkey." And soon all Lessoc marveled to see Colin and Cocotte, Cocotte and Colin, passing and repassing continually over the same road, one apparently frightened, the other sadly bored by the exercise. "Is your donkey ill?" asked the good mayor at last. "Woe is me, she is ruined," replied Colin, "for she has swallowed the moon and will not give her up." Whereupon the mayor, after grave reflection remarked, "If la Cocotte has not yet gotten rid of the moon, poor Colin already is rid of his senses."

At the communal council, the mayor presented at length the strange case. "If a new moon appears," he declared, "we may be reassured, but to avoid the possibility of further accident, we will place a spacious roof over the fountain." This wise decision was adopted to the general satisfaction, and such was the authentic origin of the elegant fountain of Lessoc.

In ancient chronicles and modern publications many similar stories are repeated, while a multitude of ballads, of legends taken from the lips of the old peasants, constitute a precious and abounding document of the ancient Gruyere customs.

But uniquely characteristic as are these Gruyere people, the history of their country is still more extraordinary. Almost negligible in wealth or population, the little mountain province, lying midway between France, Austria, and Savoy, held in the days of its prosperity an almost unexplainably important position beside the great monarchies of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Midway also between the Berne and Fribourg republics, the Gruyere counts held something very nearly approaching a balance of power between Savoy and the Confederates. Feudal by race and by the independence of their little principality, they were so trusted by the Confederates and so powerful with Savoy, that they repeatedly acted as arbitrators in their mutual quarrels, and by this high influence were sharers and at times framers of the treaties with the neighboring kingdoms, and admitted to the diplomatic councils of Europe. They were not only valorous in the defence of their country but by the Latin charm of their race were adored by their subjects, and held in great favor by the dukes of Savoy, themselves allied by many inter-marriages with all the crowns of Europe. So important was the little Gruyere to the French kings and the emperors of Germany that, as has been related, they occupied themselves with its internal affairs, attempting to intervene in such matters as runaway marriages and the rival claims for succession. But the attitude of its rulers towards royal and imperial mandates was so independent, their maintenance of their feudal sovereignty was so tenacious that they preserved the high and happy ideals of their house, and were the last of the Swiss nobles to yield to the march of democracy.

Their long rule, extending through six centuries of internal wars, during times when oppression was the prerogative of their order, was stained by no single act of cruelty. In the peculiar charm of their race, in the unique influence of their position in Europe, as in the unbroken length of their rule, the counts of Gruyere were the most important of all the noble Swiss families. Titles and aristocratic privileges have long since vanished from republican Switzerland, where liberty triumphant, the age-wrought jewel of a thousand years, shines clearly among the tumults of the warring nations. But remote among its mountains, a cherished place of pilgrimage and refreshment, the little feudal city still crowns its green hill, and in the Gruyere people the Celtic soul, undying fresh and free, still sings in their love songs and war songs, still speaks in their legends and tales of its birth in the morning of time.

APPENDIX

The traditions of Romand Helvetia have preserved the memory of the establishment of Vandal or Burgundian hordes in that part of Gaul.

Thus has arisen the belief that the once wild region traversed by the river Sarine came into the possession of some chief of these tribes who there settled with his followers. The unavowed author (Bonsetten) of a history of the Counts of Gruyere is of the opinion that it is possible that, in accordance with the customs of the Germanic tribes, that Gruerius, the hero of the popular legend, or his warriors, might have carried a Grue (crane) as a symbol of a migratory race on their helmets or shields, and that the leader himself might have adopted the name Gruerius from the emblem.

The theory, however, disagrees entirely with the tradition that the Burgundians were so fond of liberty that they bore the figure of a cat upon their banners. It is well known that the arms of Gruyere are a Grue on a scarlet field, and this circumstance alone has evidently given rise to the anonymous author's conjecture. His opinion not only has no positive proof to support it, but has no color of probability in its favor.

J. J. Hisely, author of "Le Comte de Gruyere."

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