[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Swiss Cousin
The Little Cousin Series
[Illustration]
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates
in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents.
[Illustration]
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. Macdonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
[Illustration]
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: CARL.]
Our Little Swiss
Cousin
By
Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_MDCCCCIII_
_Copyright, 1903_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published, July, 1903
_Fourth Impression, December, 1906_
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
Preface
IN the very heart of Europe lies a small country nestling among the
mountains. It is unlike any other in the world. Its people speak
four different languages; they believe in different religions; the
government is not alike in different parts; yet the Swiss states are
bound together by a bond stronger than unity of language or creed can
possibly make.
Our brave Swiss cousins believe in liberty for all and brotherly love.
These make the most powerful of ties.
In their mountains and valleys they have fought against the enemies who
would have destroyed them, and the tyrants who would have made them
slaves. They have driven out their foes again and again, for their
cause was noble and unselfish, and to-day the republic formed by them
can teach other countries many wise and worthy lessons.
How the stories of William Tell and Arnold von Winkelried stir
our hearts whenever we hear them repeated! These were only two of
many heroes who have made the country famous for its bravery and
unselfishness.
Surely we shall be glad to turn our minds for a while to its fertile
valleys, beautiful lakes, and the noble mountains among which the good
monks live with their trusty dogs, that they may give aid and comfort
to unfortunate travellers overtaken by cold and storm.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. CARL'S HOLIDAY 9
II. THE MOUNTAIN PASTURE 27
III. THE SCHOOLMASTER'S VISIT 43
IV. THE BRAVE ARCHER 51
V. THE HAYMAKERS 63
VI. THE MARMOT 76
VII. GLACIER AND AVALANCHE 92
VIII. SANTA CLAUS NIGHT 105
IX. THE WONDERFUL ABBEY 110
List of Illustrations
PAGE
CARL _Frontispiece_
THE CHALET 30
"'FOLLOWING ITS MASTER ABOUT JUST LIKE A DOG'" 49
CLIMBING THE MATTERHORN 79
"IT WAS A RIVER OF SOLID ICE!" 95
ON THE LAKE 121
Our Little Swiss Cousin
CHAPTER I.
CARL'S HOLIDAY
"TO-MORROW, to-morrow!" Carl kept repeating to himself.
He was standing at the window of the little cottage and looking out
toward the great mountain. He had lived under its shadow all his life.
Its snowy summit was coloured a fiery red as it stood against the sky
in the sunset light. People in far-away lands would give a great deal
to see such a glorious sight.
But Carl saw another picture in his mind. It was the grand procession
of the next day, that would celebrate the close of school before the
summer vacation. Thousands of children would march in the line. They
would carry the flag of Switzerland,--the white cross on a red ground.
It was the emblem of their country's freedom, and they loved it well.
There would be bands of music; there would be a speech by the mayor
of the city. Feasts would be spread, to which all the children were
invited. Yes, the glorious day was near, and Carl was very happy.
"Carl, my boy, are you thinking of the good time to-morrow?" said a
voice at the other side of the room.
Carl started, and, turning round, he saw his father standing in the
doorway.
"O father, is that you? How glad I am to see you!" and the little boy
rushed into the good man's arms.
"Yes, I am all ready for the festival. Mother has my best clothes laid
out on the bed. She is planning to go, too, and now you are home just
in time to go with us. I am very, very glad." Carl was so excited that
he talked faster than usual.
"I am tired of working in a hotel in the city, the country is so much
pleasanter," answered his father. "And now I shall spend the summer
with your mother and you. The people of the village wish me to take the
cows to the mountain pasture. You shall go, too, and we will have a
good time together."
"That will be fine. I never spent the whole summer there before. How
soon are we to start, father?"
"Next week. The days are growing warmer and the flowers must already be
in bloom upon the Alps. But now we must see your mother and talk about
to-morrow. On my way home I heard in the village that you were going to
the festival. Nearly all the neighbours are going too, aren't they?"
At this moment the door opened and a kind-faced woman came in, bringing
a pail of milk in each hand. Her eyes were as blue as the sky, and her
hair was nearly as fair as Carl's. It was easy to see that she was the
boy's mother.
A happy smile lighted her face when she saw who was in the room. It
was as much a surprise to her as it had been to Carl. She supposed her
husband was still working in the big hotel at Lucerne, where so many
strangers came from other lands.
When her husband told her of the work he had been doing, the heavy
trunks which he had to lift till his back had grown lame, her face grew
full of pity.
"It was too hard for you, Rudolf," she cried. "It is far better for you
to take care of the cows this summer. We will go with you, Carl and I,
and we shall have a merry time."
She moved quickly about the room as she strained the milk into the
crocks and made ready the simple supper. In a few minutes the little
family gathered around the table. There was sweet, fresh milk from the
cows. There was the black rye bread which Carl had been used to eating
all his life,--indeed, he had never seen white bread in his home.
Besides these, there was a round cheese, from which each one cut a
slice as he wished.
Best of all, there was a sort of cake made of dough and chopped dried
fruits. Apples and cherries and almonds were all mixed in this cake
and Carl thought it was very nice. It was put on the table to-night in
honour of his father's home-coming.
Night after night Carl had a supper like this. Morning after morning,
the breakfast was the same. The only difference was that sometimes
there was the cake with the dried fruits.
Yet Carl was very happy and healthy. To be sure, he had meat and coffee
for dinner only once a week. This was on Sunday. It was no wonder
that he looked forward to that day as the best of all, for it seemed a
feast day to him. At the noon meal on other days there was only soup
or potatoes with the bread and cheese. There was little change through
the year except at the time when the fruit and nuts were ripe and they
could be eaten fresh.
After the supper was over, the family sat a while longer around the
table and talked about the school festival. Carl's father had just come
from Lucerne. He told the boy how the buildings were decorated. He
named the bands that would furnish the music.
"I am to march, father," Carl said. "And I am to carry the flag of my
country. Children from all the villages around the lake are to take
part, I hear. Just think! although we are back in the country, our
school has its place in the procession."
Carl's mother showed her husband the bright red skirt that she was
going to wear. It would reach to the tops of her shoes. There was a
white waist with big sleeves that she had starched and ironed. There
was a new black bodice she had just made; it would be laced about the
waist, and it fitted her finely. She had polished the bands of silver
to fasten across the back of her head above the long braids of glossy
hair. She would certainly look very well in her finery, and her husband
would be proud of her. Oh, yes, that was certain.
What kind of a hat would she wear? None at all! There was no need, and
it would be a shame to hide the silver bands; they were too pretty.
What did it matter if some of the women of Switzerland dressed like
the people of other lands? Carl's mother was not ready to follow new
fashions yet awhile. The old customs of her village were good enough
for her.
It was a small room where Carl and his parents sat and talked.
Everything was fresh and clean; the floor had been scrubbed so that no
spot could be seen upon it. The table was unpainted. The chairs had
straight, stiff backs; no rocking-chair or lounge had ever found a
place here. Carl's mother had never rested herself on such a piece of
furniture in her life.
There was one strange-looking object in the room. It was large and
white. It reached far up toward the ceiling, and was made of porcelain.
It was the family stove. It had belonged to Carl's great-grandfather,
and had stood in this very place, summer and winter, for a hundred
years at least. It would not seem like home without it.
When baby Carl was first old enough to notice things around him, he
used to creep up to the stove and try to touch the pictures painted
on its sides. One was the scene of a battle where the Swiss were
driving their enemies down a mountain. On the other side, a hunter was
painted. He was bringing home a chamois that hung from his shoulders.
When the boy grew older, he used to climb the steps that led up to the
top of the stove. It was so nice and warm there behind the curtains
that hung from the ceiling down to the front edge. It made a cosy
little room where Carl could lie and warm himself after a walk in the
winter air. Sometimes the boy slept there all night long; but that was
only in the coldest weather.
In the daytime his mother often put her fruit there to dry, or perhaps
she hung wet clothes there. It had many uses.
There were no real stairs in the house. There was an upper room,
however, and when a person wished to enter it he must first climb on
top of the stove and then pass through a hole in the ceiling. It was a
strange way of building the house; don't you think so?
Perhaps you wonder that Carl did not get burned when he lay on top
of the stove. That was because there was never any fire in it! This
probably seems the strangest thing about it, but you must understand
that the fire was built in a sort of furnace out in the hall. The
heat passed from this furnace into the porcelain stove, so it was not
unpleasantly warm when one touched it.
After talking a while with his father, Carl climbed up to the top of
the stove, and creeping through the hole in the ceiling, he entered
his bedroom. He quickly said his prayers and then jumped into bed. He
must get to sleep as early as possible, for he would be called before
daybreak. At least, his mother promised to call him, but she did not
need to do so,--he was the first one in the house to wake.
"Father! mother!" he shouted, before the clock cried "cuckoo," three
times.
It was none too early; lights moving from room to room could already be
seen in the neighbours' houses. The whole village was astir.
There was a walk of several miles for all who were going to the
celebration. This walk would bring them to the shores of the lake. A
steamer would be waiting at the pier to take them across to the city of
Lucerne on the other side. A party of merry people moved along the road
just as the sunrise coloured the mountain-tops. Every one was dressed
in his Sunday best.
There were many little girls, all in white, their yellow hair hanging
in long braids. Some of them had immense wreaths of flowers or laurel
leaves to carry in the procession, but the flags were carried by the
boys.
See! there is the beautiful lake just ahead. How blue its waters are!
The shadows of lofty mountains can be seen if you look down upon the
clear surface. Brave men have lived on its shores. Noble deeds have
been done near by. Every Swiss loves this lake, as he thinks of the
history of his country.
The little steamer was quickly loaded with its gay passengers, and made
its way over the waters. Other steamers soon came in sight, but all
were moving in the same direction,--toward the city of Lucerne.
Such a festival is not held every year. Each village generally
celebrates the close of school by a picnic or steamer-ride. There is
usually something pleasant for the children, but not always a time like
this.
When the day was over, it was hard for Carl to tell what he had enjoyed
most. In the morning, after the children had marched around the city
to lively music, they went out to a large open space where the feast
was served. Every one had all the coffee and cakes he wished. There
were many odd little cakes that only Swiss women know how to make. The
children enjoyed them hugely.
After the feast games were played, and there were rides on the flying
horses. You will laugh when you hear the name of one of the games. It
is "Blind Cow." Carl is very fond of it. It is much like our "Blind
Man's Buff." Carl and his friend Franz chose one corner of a large
field. Marie, Franz's sister, and Freda, another little friend, were
with them. They were soon joined by other children, and they had a
lively game.
Carl was the cow oftener than any one else. He didn't care. It was
great fun stumbling around with blinded eyes, and trying to catch the
others. When they thought they were quite safe and out of reach, one of
them was sure to laugh and show where he was. Then Carl would make a
sudden spring, and catch the laugher.
Before the afternoon was over, the mayor spoke to the children about
the kind teacher who had helped not only the Swiss, but children all
over the world. That teacher's name was Pestalozzi. Carl knew the story
well, but he loved to hear it over and over again.
More than a hundred years ago there was a good man who lived in
Switzerland very near Carl's house. It was a time of war. Soldiers from
other countries had chosen Switzerland for their battle-field. They
took possession of the homes of the people. They destroyed their crops.
They ate their supplies of food. The Swiss suffered greatly. After
these enemies had gone away, they found themselves poor, and many of
them were starving.
Pestalozzi was not a rich man, but his heart was filled with pity. He
went among the poor and gave them all he had. He was especially fond of
the children. He cared for them as well as he could; he got them bread
to eat and clothes to wear; best of all, he taught them and kept their
minds busy. But at last his money was all spent. What could he do now?
He gathered the ragged, hungry boys around him. They had grown to love
him, and were willing to do anything he directed. He showed them how to
sew and spin and do many other kinds of work. They were soon able to
earn enough money to support themselves and their school.
Pestalozzi did not teach in the way others did. He said:
"It is not enough for these children to study their lessons from books
and then be whipped if they do not get them. They must see how real
things are; they must study from objects. The living birds and flowers
should help them. They must learn to shape things for themselves, and
see as much as possible with their own eyes. Then they will love to
study; they will enjoy their schools, and be happiest when there."
He set a new fashion for the world. His pupils learned so fast and well
that other teachers came to watch and learn his ways. His fame spread
to other countries, to England and America. They also copied his manner
of teaching. Not only Swiss children, but those of different lands,
began to enjoy their schools better. It all came about through the kind
and loving work of Pestalozzi.
Carl has never known of a boy being whipped in his school. Such a
punishment is seldom given in Switzerland. The teacher tries love and
kindness first. If these fail, the boy is turned out of school. It is a
terrible disgrace; it will follow the boy all his life, and he dreads
it above everything.
After the mayor had spoken of Pestalozzi to the children, he bade them
be proud of their schools and their school-buildings, which were finer
than even the council-houses. He told them to be glad that all children
of Switzerland, no matter how poor they were, could go to these schools
and learn of the great world around them.
As he spoke, he could see in the faces of thousands of little ones that
they were proud indeed.
Carl whispered to Franz, who stood beside him:
"There is no country like ours, is there, Franz? We could not be happy
anywhere else, I'm sure."
His friend replied, "No, indeed, Carl. It is the home of free men, and
we must grow up to keep it so. I don't care if we do have to study for
six hours every school-day. We learn all the faster and, besides, we
have ever so many holidays."
The best part of the holiday came in the evening, for that was the
time for fireworks. There was a grand display on the shore of the
lake. There were rockets, and Roman candles, and fire-pictures, and
many other beautiful pieces which lighted the sky and were reflected
in the waters of the lake. Many of the people watched the display from
the decks of the little steamers, which were also bright with coloured
lights.
The time came all too soon for the homeward journey.
"What a lovely time I've had," sighed Carl, as he reached his own door.
"I only wish it were going to be to-morrow instead of to-day."
"It was a fine show indeed," said his father. "Everybody looked well
and happy. But I must say that I liked the dress of the people of our
own village better than that of any other."