A NIGHT WITH THE SENNER
MERRY days followed; there were excursions almost every day. Ferdinand
and Leopold would spend part of the time picking flowers on the
mountain-sides, or would help with the cattle and in the garden, so
that their elders might be able to devote more time to recreation with
their guests.
One morning the two men and boys set out with rücksacks on their
shoulders, and long alpenstocks in their hands, to climb the mountain
and visit an "alp" in the pasture lands, for in the summertime the
cows of the neighboring villagers are driven to pasture in charge of a
few attendants, sometimes men, called senner, sometimes women, called
sennerin, where they remain during the entire season.
"Have you never seen the senner_ei_, Ferdinand?" asked his cousin.
"Oh, yes. Don't you remember the last time I was here," replied
Ferdinand, "we saw them drive the cattle away?"
"But I said the senner_ei_ (dairy)," repeated the child.
"No, but I should love to see the cheeses made; the alps look so
picturesque."
"Well, they aren't quite so nice when you reach them," admitted his
cousin; "however, we are not going specially to see the dairy but the
dance which the sennern have on Saturday night. Oh, it's great."
"Do they have one every Saturday night?"
"Very near, as long as the season lasts; it's wonderful, Ferdinand.
I've seen some of the fellows do the most astonishing tricks."
Of course, such conversation stimulated the city lad's desire to
a great pitch; and it was with the keenest joy he tramped over the
rocky mountains, which was difficult for him. But he said nothing; he
kept before his mind the delights of the dance he should witness, and
plodded on.
At length they reached the first "alp," or chalet, as the huts which
serve for sleeping-room and dairy for the sennern are called. These
chalets are built at different heights up the mountain; when the cattle
have eaten all the green grass available at one level they are driven
to the next higher pasture and so on until, towards the beginning of
November, they return to the village for the winter.
Picturesque as the "alp" may look from the distance, it is scarce one
of grandeur upon closer view. It consists of a low wooden hut, usually
of one room, and a sort of adjoining alcove. In the main room is a bunk
built against the wall; nothing but straw serves for the mattress;
there are no coverlets except the blanket the senner always carries
with him, and in which he wraps himself. In another part of this
uninviting room is a hollowed space where the fire is built, over which
hangs a great crane and an iron pot for use in making the cheeses so
famous throughout Tyrol.
The alcove serves as a store-room for the cheeses, and for the dairy,
while off to one end is sometimes a room for such cattle as are ill
or young cattle who must be protected from the chill night air of the
mountain.
As evening advanced from all directions came merry voices, ringing
the clear notes of yodels from over the mountainsides. Each sennerin
knows the peculiar yodel of her swain; and you may be sure her heart
beats light when she hears, miles and miles away, the beautiful, clear
notes of his call. This is the only method the mountaineers have of
communicating with each other. The peculiar notes carry across ravines
and hillsides as distinctly as if one were close at hand.
"Oh, father," said Ferdinand, as he touched him upon the elbow, "what
queer-looking men these are! I have not seen such costumes about here.
Do they belong to Tyrol?"
"Yes, but these men are from the south, from Meran. When a man is
married he must distinguish himself by placing a green cord about his
hat, so that he may not allow folks to think him single; we other
Austrians wear the wedding-ring, the same as the women; but in the
different provinces, customs vary."
Ferdinand watched the different costumes of the men, as they poured in
from all directions. There were some in brown jackets trimmed with red,
and wide brown suspenders; all Tyrolese men wear these wide suspenders,
sometimes of one color, sometimes of another, but usually green,
of which color they are passionately fond, no doubt because their
country is so wonderfully green. Most of the men wore knee trousers of
leather, while some were of homespun, but that was an extravagance.
The stockings, usually grey and home-knitted, reached from the ankle
to just below the knee leaving the latter bare. Without exception, all
wore the Tyrolese cap of rough green cloth, at the back of which was
the black-cock's tail, while one or two isolated fellows were fortunate
enough to deck their hats with the Gamsbart or Beard of the Chamois, as
it is called; but this is not the correct name for it, as it is not the
beard of the chamois but the long tuft which grows upon his back in the
winter.
On the green of the mountainside, in a spot selected for its advantage
of being as near level as possible, the dance took place. The senner
and sennerin went through manoeuvers that did them credit; they swung
each other in giddy fashion until one almost believed they would spin
themselves down the mountainside, and thus dance to their deaths; but
after whirling at great speed for many minutes, they would suddenly
pull up with a jerk and seem none the worse for the whirling.
It was no unusual sight for Ferdinand to see the Tyrolese dances; but
here on the pasture lands, on their native heath, he saw them perform
many which were most unfamiliar to him. He always smiled when he saw
the women place their arms about their partners' necks and waltz in
that fashion; and then, when the couples separated, the women to dance
round and round, holding out their full skirts to their greatest width,
while the men indulged in all sorts of fantastic gymnastics, was truly
bewildering.
At length the evening drew to a close; the company dispersed as quickly
as it had assembled, and all was quiet upon the mountainside. One might
have imagined himself back to the days of Old Rip Van Winkle, so
mysterious did the entire proceeding seem.
In the morning, the party descended the mountain. The air was very
clear, although the day was cloudy, the sun steadfastly refusing to
appear; but this made walking agreeable for which all were thankful.
"Did you ever hear so many bells in your life?" observed the city
cousin.
"Oh, those are the cow-bells," replied Leopold. "Each herd has its own
peculiar tone, so that the cattle won't get mixed up, where there are
so many together. And then the senner can tell right away to which
owner they belong."
"But there is such a constant tinkling, and so many different tones, I
don't see how one can ever tell which is his own," replied the lad.
"That is because you are not used to it," answered his uncle. "After
you have been on the mountain awhile, you, too, would be able to
distinguish your own bell as well as the senner in charge."
And to the tinkling of the bells, the party descended until they were
well out of reach of the bewitching sounds.