THE CHALET IN THE HILLS.
“I don’t call France pretty at all, though Mademoiselle does call it ‘La
belle France,’” said Squib from his station at the carriage window,
after some hours of silent study. “It’s all flat like a map, and the
trees look as if somebody had gone round with an axe and taken all their
heads off when they were little, and the rivers look like canals. I like
the people and the animals. It’s nice of the cows to help in the fields
and to draw the wagons; and the dogs help too, which is very kind of
them; and I like the funny clothes the people wear. I should like a blue
blouse myself, when I get to Switzerland. But I don’t call it pretty at
all; not even the vineyards—and I always thought vineyards would be
lovely. England is much prettier—but there’s something funny and queer
about France, and that makes it interesting. I like the way they build
their châteaux—with such queer little pepper-box towers, and such a lot
of red roof. I should like to live in one of those little turrets
myself, and have a lot of animals there to keep me company. But I don’t
think there’s so very much in France that’s amusing.”
Squib was keenly interested in all he saw, but his longing all the while
was for Switzerland, and the chalet in the hills of which he had heard
so much, and Lisa, who was to be waiting for them there, with her
stories of mountain-spirits and the water-fairies. He was almost sorry
when he found that a few days were to be spent at Interlaken before they
reached their final destination; yet as soon as they crossed the
frontier the sense of interest and delight awoke within him, and he had
no time for regrets or useless longings.
Even the railway travelling was more amusing now—the little queer
carriages with a passage all down them, the blowing of horns when each
station was reached or left behind, the costumes of the peasants as the
travellers got more and more into the heart of the country, and the
increasing beauty and wildness of the views from the carriage window.
It was dark when they reached Interlaken, and Squib had been for some
time asleep, leaning against his father’s shoulder. He did not remember
much about the arrival that night, nor how he got into that funny little
narrow wooden bed, with its big square pillows and little white
eider-down quilt. But after sleeping the sound, dreamless sleep of
childhood for a number of hours, Squib suddenly woke up very wide to
find the room bright with sunshine, and to realize, after a few moments
of utter perplexity, that he was really in Switzerland at last. With a
great throb of sudden excitement he got quickly out of bed and pattered
across the cold polished floor to the window. A white curtain was drawn
across it, but in a moment Squib had pulled this aside, and then he gave
one great gasp and stood perfectly still—a little white figure, with a
tumbled head of yellow-brown curls, and a pair of big grey eyes fixed
immovably upon something outside that window, as though they would never
be detached from the sight.
And what was it that Squib saw? A great white dazzling peak rising up in
stately grandeur against the glorious blue of the summer sky. The
sunlight bathed it in golden light. In that wonderful brilliant
clearness of early morning, space seemed annihilated, and the grand
snow-peak seemed to Squib to be strangely near—keeping silent watch and
ward over the valley below and all the inhabitants of it. It was flanked
and supported, as it were, by a whole range of rocky, snow-crowned
mountains, yet seemed to stand alone, lifting its majestic head into the
very heavens. Squib stood and gazed with wonder, awe, and rapture, until
the scene was graven into his memory for ever. What Lisa had said about
the spell of the snow-mountains was all true. He had begun already to
feel it himself. He stood before the window lost to all sense of his
surroundings, hearing none of the sounds about him, knowing nothing of
where he was—eyes and heart and soul alike gone out to that lonely queen
of the mountains, standing out in dazzling radiance against the
brilliance of the morning sky. How long he thus stood he never knew, and
he was only brought back to the things of the present by the sound of a
laughing voice behind him.
“Hallo, old chap!—lost in the clouds already? Has the Jungfrau bewitched
you altogether? Or are you ready for anything so sublunary as
breakfast?”
Squib turned round with a jump to find that Uncle Ronald had come in
from his room next door, and to feel that his own cheeks were wet, just
as if he had been crying, and he was quite positive he had not even been
thinking of anything so silly!
“Come, hurry up, youngster! You are late already; and we mean to go off
to Grindelwald after breakfast, so you must look sharp! Yes, she’s a
grand lady is the Jungfrau—she gets at all of our hearts in a fashion;
but hurry up now and come down to the breakfast-room. Mountain air gives
one a fine appetite, as you’ll find out before long.”
Squib woke out of his dream only to find himself in a country of
enchantment. He hurried through his toilet, and descended to find his
party (with the exception of his mother, who was keeping to her room to
recover from the fatigues of the journey) seated at one end of a very
long table, of which they were the only occupants, and was soon seated
beside them discussing omelette and cutlet with fried potato chips,
queer curly rolls, and golden honey, with all the zest of a growing boy
and of a mountain traveller. Meantime he gleaned from the talk of his
companions that they were about to drive into the heart of some of those
mysterious regions of which he had hitherto dreamed, without daring to
hope to see them. The glacier at Grindelwald, the wonderful fall of the
Staubbach, the Wengern Alp, Lauterbrunnen and Mürren! He heard the names
in a vague and dreamlike fashion, but hardly knew what was settled, and
did not trouble to ask. What did it matter where they went in such a
region of wonders? Wherever they went, that great towering peak must be
near at hand, and if he had that to look at he felt he need ask no more.
Three or four wonderful days were passed by Squib in this fairy region.
Each day the same carriage came to the door, with the same two strong,
small, but willing and active little horses. He was set on the box
beside the broad-faced driver, with whom he soon established terms of
mutual intimacy, and after a little while he found himself able to
exchange ideas with him with perfect freedom. He talked very much the
same odd guttural language that Lisa had spoken when she was excited and
in earnest, and in a very short time all Squib’s old fluency came back
to him. He was interpreter to the whole party, and not a little proud of
his position in that respect; but what he enjoyed even more was getting
Johann to tell him all about the mountains, the people who lived amongst
them, what they did in the long, dark winter months, when the snow came
down and shut them in week after week and month after month; how the men
in summer went out as guides and porters, and took travellers across the
passes and up the great white peaks; and how the women stayed at home
and tilled the land, and made provision against the winter season,
driving their flocks of goats out into the green hills, and making
quantities of cheese, some to sell and some to lay by to be consumed
when the dark, cold season set in.
Johann had once been a guide himself, till a slight accident had
hindered him from any more mountaineering, and had obliged him to take
to the less exciting life of a driver during the busy summer season. But
Squib learned, to his deep excitement and delight, that his new friend
had twice made the ascent of the Jungfrau, and he made him give him
every detail of the climb, and listened with breathless interest to the
story each time it was related.
Another friend Squib made at this time was an old man who stood at a
certain place in the roadway, where was a wonderful echo, and blew an
immense long horn whenever visitors passed, so that they could hear the
echoes reverberating and resounding backwards and forwards amongst the
hills, till it seemed as if there were hundreds of voices all answering
each other in weird cries. Squib could have listened to these echoes for
ever, and also to the stories the old man had to tell about the caves in
the hills, and the wonders of torrent and valley. He twice spent an hour
with him whilst others of the party were resting or sketching, and
having won the old man’s confidence, both by his talk and by the gift of
sundry coins, he was allowed to blow the great horn himself once or
twice, a thing which filled him with delight, although he did not find
himself very successful in bringing out the deeper and more powerful
notes as the old man was able to do.
Of his wonder and awe at the sight of the great glacier and its blue
caves, or of those feelings which the sight of the dazzling snow-peaks
awoke within him, Squib never tried to speak. Those about him were not
even sure whether any very deep impression was made by them; but his
observations on the manners and customs of the country would come out at
intervals with a sudden rush, as when sitting at dinner on the eve of
their departure for the chalet, he suddenly broke out,—
“I shall be sorry to go away for some things,”—this in answer to a
question from his mother—“though I want to get to the chalet very much.
But everything here is very funny and very interesting. I shall be sorry
not to have Johann and the horses any more. Will everything be as funny
up there as it is here?”
“How is it all funny?” asked Uncle Roland.
“Oh, every way, you know. But I was thinking of the horses just then. I
like the horses here, but I think it’s very confusing for them to have
to go the wrong side of the road always. I can’t think how they remember
so well. I think perhaps it’s because they grow their manes the wrong
side too—to help them to remember. Most of them have them manes on the
wrong side. I asked Johann about it, but he didn’t seem to understand
that it was wrong. I’m glad we didn’t bring Charger; he wouldn’t have
liked it at all. But the horses here don’t mind it. I think they are
very good-tempered. They have such kind faces, and they like to be
talked to. They don’t wear blinkers, hardly ever, except in the
carriages. I think that’s rather nice for them. They can see the country
as they go along. I wonder if they like seeing the snow-mountains very
much! I think it’s nice that they can look about them the same as we
do.”
But after all, the pleasure and excitement of getting to their mountain
home was greater than anything else. It took the best part of a day to
reach it, because, although the distance was not very great, there was
no direct road, and they had to take a circuitous route, which Squib
found very delightful, though some of the party wished it had been a
little less tedious.
First, there was a long carriage drive with Johann, behind a great
coach-like conveyance and four horses, through winding, ascending roads,
with the usual accompaniments of men with great horns, children selling
flowers, women at work by the wayside at their lacemaking, and all the
sights and sounds of busy little village communities making the most of
their short season of heat and brightness.
Later on there was a short journey in one of those strange _funiculaire_
railways, which were such a source of interest and curiosity to Squib.
The little trains seemed to him to crawl about the mountains like
gigantic serpents, moving silently upwards or downwards, quite
independent of the level which had been indispensable to the railway
travelling with which he had been previously acquainted. And the
sensation of mounting up and up in one of these silent, mysterious
little vehicles kept him spellbound with wonder and admiration. Uncle
Ronald had explained to him many times already the principle upon which
they were worked, but nothing seemed to him to lessen the sense of
mystery and unreality that attached to this mode of progression, as he
felt himself lifted higher and higher into those regions and altitudes
which fascinated him so strangely.
When they left the train they found themselves in a region unlike any
that Squib had seen before. They were all amongst pine woods and those
green alps which lie beneath the sterner altitudes of the snow ranges,
and are full of flowers and sunshine, and the bleat of goats, and the
soft sound of wood and water. There was no regular road here to the
chalet, but only a mule path. Some mules were waiting in readiness for
the party, but only the ladies cared to ride. The baggage was cleverly
packed and strapped on the rest of the docile animals, and the march
began through these silent stretches of pine wood, and across bright
sloping meadows gemmed with flowers, now dipping downwards to cross a
plank-bridge through which the shining water could be seen foaming
beneath, now rising by many a zigzag upwards and onwards towards the
sloping shoulder of the hillside—onward, ever onward, each turn in the
path revealing new beauties, till at last the lad who was leading the
way rounded a corner in a woodland path, turned back with a broad smile
to Squib, who had kept near to him all the while, the faithful Czar
always at his heels, and pointing a little downwards and along the
hillside, he said,—
“There!”
Squib reached his side with a bound and looked. They were just clear of
the wood now, and were able to see plainly before them. They had crossed
the ridge of the hills they had been steadily mounting ever since they
left the rail, and now were able to look down into the valley on the
other side.
What a valley it was! The sides were clothed with little woods, some of
fir trees, some of young forest trees, clad now in the tender tints of
early summer; at the bottom ran a leaping torrent of foaming water,
spanned by many a little frail plank-bridge giving access to the green
slopes opposite. And these green slopes were dotted with those little
low chalets which are used for the shelter of the flocks in bad weather,
and for the temporary abode of those who tend them there during the
brief summer of the mountains. Above these again lay grim stretches of
rock, seamed with dark fissures, and above that again the whiteness of
the everlasting snow, as the chain of dazzling peaks lifted itself
against the dark blue of the sky.
Squib gazed and gazed with a sense of tremulous wonder and delight. It
seemed to him as if this quiet valley were the realization of all his
ideals ever since he had begun to think about his sojourn in
Switzerland. Wood and water, meadows bright with flowers, green alps and
snow mountains beyond! What could the child of man desire more? In one
place he could even see the green, mysterious depths of a glacier, and
as he stood watching and listening spellbound, the silence was broken by
the rumbling sound of the fall of an avalanche! Truly there was nothing
left for him to wish for!
But the lad was hardly content with this long silence, and touched the
arm of the little boy.
“There!” he said in his rude patois; “there is the place—look! That is
the house where the gracious lords and ladies are going.”
Squib started into keen interest now. He had realized from the first
moment that this valley was the right one, but he had not had time to
think of the chalet itself in his joy at the surroundings.
“Where?” he asked eagerly.
The lad pointed again, and Squib then saw about a mile farther on, and
standing upon a little eminence of its own, with a belt of whispering
pines behind it, a chalet such as a wealthy man may build for himself as
a summer residence amongst the mountains, with the wide-peaked roof,
great overhanging eaves, light wooden exterior staircase, and all those
accessories in the way of balconies and so forth which tend to make
residence in such houses so delightful during the brief but hot summer
season of mountain regions.
With a cry of delight and rapture, Squib sprang forward. He had walked
far already, but was not in the least tired. He saw before him the home
of his dreams, where Lisa was awaiting him, and without thinking of
pausing for the rest of the party to come up, he rushed helter-skelter
along the narrow mule path, with Czar tearing along beside him, bounding
on ahead in his excitement (caught from the child), and then rushing
back to see that all was well, and giving vent to a series of deep bays
that awoke the echoes in the silent valley.
That sound was heard by a pair of listening ears within the walls of the
chalet. As Squib ran breathlessly onwards, he was aware that something
human in a fluttering dress, and with something white about the head,
was coming rapidly out towards him. In a few minutes, with a rapturous
cry, the warm-hearted little fellow had flung himself into the
outstretched arms of his ex-nurse.
“Lisa! Lisa! Lisa!”
“Liebchen! mein Liebchen!”
As for Czar, he was as excited as anybody, and he remembered Lisa as
well as his little master. His great black muzzle was thrust between the
pair, and faithful Lisa, with a sound between laughing and weeping,
threw her arms about the great dog’s neck and kissed him between the
eyes.
“Kaiser—the good Kaiser!” she cried. “And he knew poor Lisa too. Oh, the
good dog—the grand Kaiser!”
Lisa always called him Kaiser. Squib had forgotten that till now, and
the familiar sound of it made him laugh with pleasure.
“Oh, Lisa, it is so nice to see you again! I have been looking forward
to it all the time. Now take me in and show me the house. I don’t think
the others will be here just yet; the mules come so slowly up the
zigzags. Czar and I just came up straight with the boy, I was in such a
hurry to get here. I shall have time to see everything before the rest
come.”
Lisa led the way back, holding Squib’s hand fast in hers, and hardly
taking her eyes from his face the whole time. As for Squib, he was
perfectly happy having his old nurse back again, answering her questions
about home, asking her innumerable questions himself about this valley,
and all the wonders and delights he knew it contained.
The chalet itself was soon seen over. After the large house at home, and
the big hotels he had been in since, it seemed to the child quite a
little place, fascinating and attractive in its very smallness and queer
bareness, but soon seen and disposed of. The rooms were all spotlessly
clean, and the polished floors shone like mirrors. The balconies to the
rooms were the chief attraction to Squib; and he was greatly charmed at
finding that not only had his own little room one of these, but also
that it was provided with a tiny external staircase, by which he could
get in and out at will. He saw by Lisa’s face that she knew she had
prepared a pleasant surprise for him in this, and his bright smile and
hug of acknowledgment were ample reward.
But it was the outer world that really fascinated Squib. The chalet was
very nice as the necessary home during his stay amongst the mountains,
but it was the mountains themselves that were everything to the
imaginative little boy—the mountains and the brawling torrents, and the
whispering woods and the flowers. He had seen gentians by the hundred as
he ascended by the mule path, and already he was planning how he should
make collections of all the Alpine flowers, pressing some in a book he
had brought for the purpose, and taking roots of others home to try to
make a bit of Alpine garden in his own special border. Squib was a born
collector and naturalist, as well as a dreamer of dreams, and had
collections innumerable at home. Lisa had always been his faithful ally
in days of old, keeping his rubbish carefully so that the head-nurse
might not order wholesale destruction, and she took as keen an interest
in the collections as Squib did himself. He knew that she would help him
now, and he soon saw that she knew where every flower of the hills was
to be found.
Squib was positively radiant with happiness by the time the rest of the
party arrived, and was everybody’s assistant and messenger as the task
of unpacking and settling down was commenced.
There were other servants in the house, but only Lisa knew anything of
English, and Squib’s fluency in the odd vernacular of the district was
very useful. He had made firm friends with everybody on the place before
the first evening had passed, and when they sat down at last to the
nondescript travellers’ meal that was like dinner and tea rolled into
one, Colonel Rutland looked across at his wife, who, tired, but smiling,
was seated at the head of the table and doing the honours of the simple
repast, and said,—
“I think I did well to bring Squib along with us.”
“He is very useful, a capital little interpreter,” answered Lady Mary
with a smile. “I was horrified once at the frightful jargon Lisa was
teaching the child to talk, and almost sent her away for it, fearing
that it would be the ruin both of his English and of his German, but it
has come in wonderfully useful now. They do not understand my German
half so well as his patois. And Lisa’s English has got very rusty.”
It was very exhilarating to Squib to feel himself of use, and there was
nothing which he more desired than to win the approval of his beautiful
mother. Lady Mary was not one of those mothers who are always caressing
and fondling their children, and yet they loved her with an almost
adoring love, and desired her approval above everything in the world. As
she bent a soft, smiling glance on Squib when she spoke, he felt his
heart give a great bound, and slipping round the table till he reached
her side, he put his small hand gently upon hers.
“I shall have to take care of you when father and Uncle Ronald go to
climb the mountains with Mr. Lorimer, shan’t I, mother? You see I _can_
take care of you now, don’t you? I can be useful, and there will always
be Czar to keep away anybody who would frighten you. But I don’t think
there will be anybody to do that in our valley. I think the mountains
keep watch over it, as Lisa says, and keep the evil spirits out!”
The mother, who understood the child’s mind best, smiled and kissed him
as she dismissed him to bed, for the time was getting on now, and the
long daylight fading. The gentlemen laughed and teased him a little
about his “queer fancies,” but Squib did not think them queer at all, he
was so sure that there was something personal and protective about those
white watchers opposite; and when he knelt to say his prayers that
night, he knelt where he had them full in view all the time.
“They have been there always,” he said to himself, with a sensation akin
to awe, “just as they are now, with nothing between them and God. I
think He must have made them so grand and white and beautiful because He
liked to look at them, and if He likes to look down at them, why, it
must make them good!”
There was something very grand and wonderful in the way those white
peaks stood out against the darkening sky in that clear transparent air.
A short time ago they had been dyed a wonderful rose pink, as they
caught the reflected glory of the setting sun; now they were rather grey
than red, with a look of almost awful aloofness and grandeur as they
stood up in their spotless whiteness and purity.
And then as the child watched this change with a strange sense of
fascination, the great round moon rose slowly above the ridge, and at
once new beauty and grandeur were thrown over the whole world. Great
towering shadows seemed to be cast athwart the valley, and then the
snow-slopes began to glimmer and shine with a new and almost unearthly
radiance. Squib held his breath as he watched the moon rise over the
snow-covered ridge, and the transformation of those rugged peaks and
fissures into a new world of ebony and silver.
How long he would have watched it, forgetting all besides, may well be
questioned, but he was quickly disturbed by an anxious voice,—
“Liebchen!—Liebchen!—what art thou doing? Thou wilt catch thy death of
cold up here in the nipping mountain air!”
And Squib was quickly caught up in a pair of strong arms and hustled
with ignominious rapidity into the queer little bed which seemed a
necessary part of Swiss life.
But he was altogether too happy to be seriously ruffled by any such
summary proceeding; and all he did by way of retaliation was to keep
fast hold of Lisa’s hand and refuse to let her go till she had talked
him to sleep with the most entrancing of her stories of the mountains.
[Illustration:
“_Squib listened with a strange sense of fascination._”
Page 68.
]