But they do. It takes very little to sustain a mountain family in this country. The women don’t wear gaiters with high heels at ten dollars a pair—wooden shoes, a pair of which lasts for several generations, does them, if indeed they do not go barefooted, which in the Summer is the prevailing fashion. Their clothing is substantial, though very coarse, and if they don’t go to theaters or operas, or have any of the expenses of a more luxurious civilization, they get on very well, and seem to be happy. As it is a day’s journey down a mountain to a village where there is anything to buy, they don’t buy very much; and as their little land furnishes all they can eat, drink and wear, they are just as rich as Rothschild, every bit. It isn’t what you want that makes you rich, it is what you don’t want. The mountain Swiss don’t want anything, and they have it. Therefore they are rich. Their government doesn’t bother them with taxes to any extent; they don’t require daily newspapers or magazines, or anything of that kind, and so they live on the next thing to nothing a long time, and die at the end of it, when they have just as much as anybody.
As quiet and stagnant as is the life of a Swiss family, don’t make the mistake of supposing them to be either unintelligent or stupid. They are well educated, and in every one of these ugly houses there are books, and books that are used. They keep themselves posted in everything that is going on in the world outside, their intelligence being a month or such a matter behind the rest of the world, but they get it, and they understand it when they do get it.
A sturdy race they are, and the world knows and appreciates them. There is scarcely a battle-field in Europe upon which they have not bled, and though subjected to the stigma of being hirelings and mercenaries, they have never proved false to the side they hired to. They do not scrutinize the cause they fight for very closely, unless it be their own, but when once enlisted they can be depended upon to the death.
Thousands of them are coming to the United States, and I wish every one of them could be multiplied by a hundred. They make excellent Americans, and we can’t have too many of them.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
OVER THE ALPS—THE PASS TÊTE NOIRE.
IT is just in the midst of the hay harvest, and men, women and children are all cutting, raking and carrying from the mountain side to the vale below.
All this work is done by hand. There can be no such thing as a team on these mountains—one would as soon think of driving a team up the side of a wall.
The Swiss woman takes an active part in the duties of the field, and an immense amount of work she is capable of. While the men are cutting the grass, she fills a huge sheet with that which has dried, forming a bundle about eight feet square and two or three feet high. This she balances upon her head and carries it down the steep mountain side to their curiously constructed barns, which have the side of the hill for one end.
Women in this region do the most of the outdoor work, and do every kind. The Swiss maid or matron isn’t lolling about parlors or spending her time over her dressing bureau. She plows, or rather digs, for on these steep mountain sides plowing is an impossibility, for so steep are they that should the team be plowing transversely the upper horse would fall and crush his mate on the lower side. They dig up the ground with a heavy mattock, a tool heavier than I would care to wield, and the women are just as expert at it as the men. Muscular parties are these Swiss women, and their lives are anything but easy. In such a country every one must labor to procure the common necessaries of life—men, women and children. It is a good thing, however, to have so much that is kindly in nature as to make a living sure if those wanting the living are willing to work for it.
MR. TIBBITTS’ IDEA.