The Counts of Gruyère

by Anna De Koven

JOUSTING COURT

In truth this "verte Gruyère" shut away from the world by its mountains as Ireland is by the sea, is like a lost island, fabled, remote, its speech Provençal, its soul purely Celt. Laughter loving, warlike and brave in the idyllic years of their prime, the Gruyèriens 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 Gruyère 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 Gruyère hill where when the men were fighting at the Pré de Chênes 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 Gruyère 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 Gruyère 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 mediæval perfection. But the heart of this country is Gruyère, 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 château 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 Gruyère customs.

But uniquely characteristic as are these Gruyère 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 Gruyère 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 Gruyère 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 Gruyère 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 Gruyère 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.