the best ski-ing in this part of the Alps. (My own private
conviction is that the ski-ing at Morgins will take a lot of
beating, go where you will.) There is an excellent skating
and curling rink, beautifully placed, within full reach of
the sun’s attack. Mr. E. F. Benson thought very highly of the
situation and upkeep of the rink. Then there is some very good
tobogganing, and I believe an ice-run is to be built another
winter. There are some glorious rambling walks. You can slip
over to France in half an hour and take tea at Vonne; and in
the evening there are all the amusements associated with life
in winter-sports hotels. There is bridge for the sedate, and
bumps for the elderly, and dances for children and Nature’s
children, of whom there were not a few to be found within a
mile of Morgins. And there is—but why add to this catalogue of
good things? Those who have gone to Morgins once will return
there, and those who have not will soon seek out this valley in
the Savoy hills, and find a certain reward.
“ARNOLD LUNN.”
CHAMPÉRY
Time presses, and to gain Champéry we must either pass over the Col de
la Chavanette or else go back to Troistorrents and thence by the village
of Val d’Illiez. Like Villars, Champéry has experienced phenomenal
development within the past few years. Although for long it has been
patronized as a delightful summer resort, it has more than doubled its
importance since its condition in winter was discovered to be anything
but disagreeable. This, of course, has been the common experience of
such places over almost the whole of Alpine Switzerland, and it appears
to synchronize with the arrival of the ski from the north. The _luge_
has done something, and so has the bobsleigh, towards Switzerland’s
new-found prosperity in winter; but the ski has contributed the most.
Nor has the ski brought a revelation only to visitors; it has caused
even the peasantry to take a new delight in their surroundings. At
Champéry, for instance, one may see not alone the men and boys, but also
the women and girls—wearing businesslike trousers—practising the art
on the rapid snow-slopes.[21] Yet it is but yesterday that the only
outdoor winter distraction here was luging down the village street and
over the snow-covered pastures; whilst strangers were noticeable by
their almost entire absence. It was in those quiet days at Champéry,
and about Christmas-time, that was enacted one of the most impressive,
haunting scenes that ever I have witnessed in the Alps. Two young men
from Lausanne (if memory serves me, one was an American) started from
Salvan to walk over the Col de Susanfe (about 7500 feet) to Champéry.
As nothing more was heard from them, parties of guides from both Salvan
and Champéry started out to find them. The search was ineffectual for
several days, but at length the bodies of the poor fellows were found
below the Pas d’Ancel. I shall never forget the sight, as the bodies,
wrapped in sacking, were brought upon hand-sledges through the village
after nightfall—the weird light of the torches upon the snow and the awed
faces of the villagers; the sturdy band of guides, sad-visaged and weary;
and the tense silence of it all nothing but the scrunch of frozen snow
and the bated prayers of women. Here was one of those strong, aery scenes
which bring one face to face with the grim side of life in the Alps, and
with the people’s stanch devotion, however difficult, however daunting.
[Illustration: CHAMPÉRY: THE DENT DU MIDI]
It may be that I look upon things Alpine with the particular eye of the
enthusiast for solitude; at any rate I think that Champéry, in spite of
its great gaiety and _entrain_ in winter and summer, is really its most
radiant, loveliest self in spring and autumn. The lofty precipices of the
Dent du Midi, the great rock-masses of the Dent de Bonaveau and the Dents
Blanches are scarcely more bewitching or inspiring than when dressed in
the first snows of autumn or the receding snows of spring. With what
transporting shine and fire does the Dent du Midi reflect the autumn
sunset; with what arresting energy do the Dents Blanches in spring rid
themselves of their winter covering! Never can ravishing dreamland seem
so real, so concrete, as when, amid autumn’s soft, white, drifting mists,
the snowy summits of the Dent du Midi glow clear coral-pink and crimson;
never is the renewal of life proclaimed more loudly or impressively
than when, beyond a calm foreground of glistening crocus and dainty
soldanella, titanic avalanches hurl themselves upon the plateau of Barmaz.
Champéry and its surroundings are a nest of beauty-spots, in which
flowers flash and sparkle like a myriad jewels. Unfortunately no space
remains for detailing these many charms; even not to tell where the white
rhododendron grows. There is, however, one spot that cannot pass without
some notice: the exquisite _vallon_ of Susanfe, by which climbers usually
ascend the Dent du Midi. Small as it is, it has all the sweet severity
and wild attractiveness of true Alpine circumstance. Barmaz may possess a
potent lure, so may the Col de Coux and the Porte du Soleil, but untamed,
unspoilt Susanfe, though more difficult of access, is pre-eminently
seductive; it is, in fact, the outstanding jewel in this neighbourhood
of Champéry. Desolation is there, to be sure, in the hanging glacier
and lingering snow, the gaunt rock precipices and tumbled boulders,
the avalanche-swept turf, and cold-grey screes; but there, also, are
the myriad flowers of brightest Alpine hues, the swift and babbling
stream rushing to throw itself into the abyss below Bonaveau, the little
blue-green icy lake bordered in part by walls of sunlit snow, and over
all the glorious solitude at times quite awesome.
Once upon a spotless autumn day I was sketching there belated spring
flowers next the snow. All was still, save for the _peek-peek_ of some
small linnet-like mountain bird among the boulders by the glacier-stream,
and the occasional shrill alarm-cry of marmots disturbed whilst
collecting grass for making tight and snug their prospective winter
quarters sounds which, with their echoes, merely accentuated the
prevailing silence. Then of a sudden the air was rent as if by a terrible
explosion, and, looking up, I saw tons upon tons of sea-green ice split
from the glacier and come roaring, hurtling down over the rock-wall. The
noise for a while was deafening. Then all once again was silent, with
nothing to tell of the giant uproar but the amethyst-blue scar above the
precipice. Never in my life have I felt solitude so acutely; never have
I felt so insignificant and paltry. Not far off among the edelweiss, I
knew, was a shepherd and his flock of three or four hundred sheep; but in
the presence of this devastating force of “inert” nature, solitude and
loneliness were mine in all their belittling power.
“I am just now, as you may see,
Very unfit to put so strange a thought
In an intelligible dress of words;
But take it as my trust.”
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES
[1] See _Lausanne_ in this series.
[2] Champéry 1049 metres; Villars 1256 metres.
[3] See _Lucerne_ in this series.
[4] This was at a time when the bulls were let out by day. Now there is
restriction upon the liberty of these uneven-tempered animals.
[5] Geologists hold that in the remote past these two mountains were
connected and formed a continuous chain.
[6] Goethe, who visited St. Maurice with the Duke of Weimar in 1779,
probably saw this treasure, as do most visitors, but his mind seems to
have been greatly occupied by the bad state of the roads.
[7] The Croix de Javernaz may be seen in the picture of the Dent de
Morcles taken from Bex in spring.
[8] The hot, drying south wind from Italy. Sometimes up at Villars one
can hear it roaring down below in the valley as it rushes through the gap
at St. Maurice.
[9] See _Lausanne_ in this series.
[10] Hopeless pessimists there are everywhere and in every domain, but if
there is one quarter of the globe where their unqualified discourse is
out of place it is in the Alps. On the fiftieth anniversary (1913) of the
Swiss Alpine Club there were those who did not hesitate to say: “Close
your doors; your usefulness is past!” Just fancy! Why, the club was never
more virile in its life; never more youthful; never more useful! The Alps
have still much to give and tell men; in fact, as regards the generality
of mankind, they are a mine of physical health and mental wealth that so
far has only been scratched. And the club is needed to this end.
[11] There are a number of Forclazs in the Alps. This one is a small
village below the Chamossaire and facing Sépey.
[12] The rare excellence of the ice is in no small measure due to the
insistent care of the Vice-President of the Skating Club, Mr. A. G.
Topham. Colonel Cobbett, Hon. Sec. of the National Skating Association,
is a member of the Villars Sports Club.
[13] Mr. A. Henderson Bishop, Vice-President of the Royal Caledonian
Curling Club, is President of the Villars Curling Club, and Captain
Holmes Tarn is Patron.
[14] See _Lausanne_ in this series.
[15] Let there be no misunderstanding among the uninitiated: these
skeletons are a form of _luge_, which is a Swiss toboggan.
[16] This admirable custom also finds a place at Villars and Champéry.
For their pleasures in the Alps visitors owe much to the kindliness of
the Swiss people, however much may be said about the manifest benefit
brought to the country by its so-called _industrie des étrangers_. It
makes for less heartburnings and more good fellowship to bring the Swiss
themselves into the circle of our enjoyment in their Fatherland; and it
is a thoughtful attention that would bear extension.
[17] These rough and steep old roads are met with all over Switzerland,
where they are crossed and recrossed by the modern, less rapid, and more
circuitous tourist roads. Many of them probably date back to Roman times,
if not further, and are very suggestive of the extreme hardship and toil
of peasant life in the past—that sturdy peasant life which has done so
much to make Switzerland what it is.
[18] See _Lausanne_ in this series.
[19] The curé of Champéry.
[20] Javelle was a schoolmaster at Vevey, on Lac Léman.
[21] The old custom of wearing trousers for outdoor work by the women and
girls of Champéry is not as usual now as it used to be when strangers
were rare in the land. By their manner of regarding this sensible
costume, visitors occasioned shyness; indeed, I believe that some years
ago the parish priest advised the women not to wear trousers except in
the dead season or upon the higher pastures.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_At the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland_
End of Project Gutenberg's Villars and its Environs, by George Flemwell