Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thy head,
And some poor plot, with vegetables stored,
Be all that Heaven allots thee for thy board,
Unsavory bread and herbs that scatter’d grow
Wild on the river-bank or mountain brow,
Yet e’en this cheerless mansion shall provide
More heart’s repose than all the world beside.”
There is a quietness and a sombre severity in the lives of these peasants. In spite of occasional merry-making, pleasure-seeking is rare. They have no great sensibility or expression of joy, but a composed satisfaction, a kind of phlegmatic good humor, marks the boundary of their happiness. Many visitors to the country are disposed to complain of the plainness of their demeanor; that their speech is rough and their style hard. The simple abruptness of the peasant’s greeting is not without its charms. How far one feels from the obsequious manners of the city, from profuse and insincere compliments! Is there not to some extent in all this a philosophical basis? In general, is it not true that the members of a republic, conscious of their independence and self-importance, adhere less scrupulously to the conventional regularity of forms? Again, the extreme politeness which sometimes characterizes the subject of an arbitrary government may be the result of that policy which introduces and encourages an exterior air of civility as the mark of subordination and respect. The Swiss peasants have neither the time, disposition, nor necessity to affect these elegant improvements,—fopperies of a trifling and superficial elegance which frequently serve merely to soften the deformities of vice. They are delightfully natural human beings, human nature simple and unabashed, and manifest a courteous consideration for each other’s comforts and sensibilities. They have no occasion to assert offensively that equality of right which nobody denies, and they respect each other’s rights as they do their own. There are no castes to clash, no lower class to assert itself in rudeness, and no higher class to provoke rudeness by insolent assumption. They maintain old-fashioned habits of courteous hospitality, and the workmen in the field will shout out to the passer-by a kindly guten tag or guten abend, with the a prolonged beyond the amen of a chant, and the children invariably take off their caps or drop a courtesy. Even the pastoral beggars present a species of attractive mendicity, as the little children come out to meet you with offerings of Alpine roses, cherries on their branches, and strawberries in the leaves, extending their hands, with the common entreaty—bitte, bitte (pray do).
We hear a great deal of the peasant’s chalet. Though very picturesque in appearance, as they glisten in the sunbeams on the slopes or dot the pastoral valleys, these chalets are by no means such charming dwellings as often pictured. Owing to the original abundance of timber, it was almost the only material employed in the building of these houses. There are practically three styles: the so-called block-house, in which the logs are laid one upon the other, notched at the ends so as to fit into each other at the angles where they cross; the post-built house, in which upright posts and a strong framework are filled in with planks; and the riegelhaus, with brick or stone. All soon become dark-brown of hue, and are quaint and distinctive in form. They are covered with low flat roofs of shingles, weighted with stones to prevent them from being carried away by the wind; the roofs overhang the walls like the brim of a hat, widened to protect the face from the rain, and are frequently shaped and sculptured by the knife with curious and patient skill. There is a peculiarly sheltered look in the broad projection of the thatched roofs, which, with the thick covering of moss, and their visible beams, making all kinds of triangles upon the ancient plaster of the walls, are very odd and attractive things. The low panelled rooms are innocent of gilding and of painting, but are cleanliness itself. Hollow niches over the doors contain statues of the Virgin, heroes, or saints. The plain benches, tables, cupboards, and chairs are made of the whitest wood, and are so scoured, washed, and polished that to paint or varnish them would be to defile them. Most articles of furniture are quaintly shaped and ornamented, old looking, but rubbed bright and in good preservation, from the nut-cracker, curiously carved, to the double-necked cruet, pouring oil and vinegar out of the same bottle. They are heated with porcelain stoves, cylindrical in shape, two and a half to three feet in diameter, reaching from the floor almost to the ceiling, and bound with bright brass rings to give them strength. These stoves are built of white enamelled tile, which is two or three inches in thickness, and the blocks of tile are put in layers, the inside of the stove being lined with heavy fire-brick, leaving the flue not more than ten inches in diameter. From this wall of fire-brick run a series of small valves up and down and around, carrying the hot air to a number of caps at the top and bottom of the stove, and thence into the room. Wood or turf is used, and it is astonishing how little fuel is necessary. A fire is started in the morning, the damper remains open until the gases have all passed up the chimney, and only the smouldering ashes remain, then the damper is closed, and no more fuel is needed for twelve hours; if, before retiring, the process of the morning be repeated, it will remain warm through the entire night. The stoves are not unsightly, but in many instances ornamental, having a clean and well-polished surface, with doors and caps of brass highly burnished. In the centre of the stove is a receptacle for warming dishes or keeping a supply of hot water. The stoves are placed close up in the corner, or form part of the partition between rooms so as to be out of the way and heat two rooms.
To some cottages there is an outside stair leading to the second story, or even to the third, if there be one, for these houses are frequently the property of several owners. The peasant who, in the Valais, possesses the third part of a mule and the fourth part of a cow, has often only the half or third of a house. “The Jura cottage has no daintiness of garden nor wealth of farm about it,—it is indeed little more than a delicately-built chalet, yet trim and domestic, mildly intelligent of things other than pastoral, watch-making and the like; though set in the midst of its meadows, the gentian at its door, the lily of the valley wild in the copses hard by. My delight in these cottages, and in the sense of human industry and enjoyment through the whole scene, was at the root of all pleasure in its beauty.”[86]