Ski-runs in the High Alps

by F. F. Roget

The terraced plain of Crans on which there is now a golf course was not then much frequented. The whole district was held to be inhospitable. The Wildstrubel mountain group, which fills up all the space between the Rawyl and Gemmi passes, bore a redoubtable reputation. It was still more feared for the Plaine-Morte and the glacier of the same name, which spread as a counterpane over his feet. Both the plaine and the glacier were reputed abodes of the souls of the dead. Poor souls perishing with cold in the cracks! Dante’s idea of an ice circle in hell harks back to the rustic belief that souls serve their term of purgatory on the Plaine-Morte and come down on certain sacramental nights to visit the living and receive additional punishment from the contemplation of the evil deeds they have left behind them to work themselves out.

In summer, the Valaisan peasant would not venture upon the Plain of the Dead, had he not first sought the protection of the Holy Virgin and saints. In winter he doubts not that the Plain of the Dead is reserved for the evil ones by the holy Powers that be. As soon as the first winter snow turns to white the brown, sunburnt slopes of the upper grazings, these are laid under the ban by the piety of the villagers, if not by the Church.

Who knows, say the vintners of Sierre, what is going on there? Assuredly, nothing of worth, while the sun draws its daily course slowly on the horizon from the Equinox of autumn to that of spring. Thus an alarming scientific fact has become a nursery ground for fond popular beliefs.

We should easily sympathise with the credulity of those big children if we would but imagine our own state of mind, did we believe we had positive reason to fear lest the sun which had ripened the last harvest might not return in spring to ripen the next, after we had exhausted the garnered crops of the former year. And in what mood would we see the shades of night enfolding us this evening, if we did not rest more confidently in the hope of dawn than in the arms of sleep?

It is under the influence of motives of that kind that the inhabitants of the populous villages thrown as a belt round the plateau of Crans Mollens, Randogne, Montana, Chermignon, Lens, and Icogne—were quite prepared to go into the forest to pick up their allotment of fire-wood, and even to pilfer that of their neighbour. But, so long as their herds and flocks—when the sun rises again full east and sets again full west, which is the signal for the raising of the ban—have not been solemnly escorted to the grazings by the priest with holy water and sprinkler, they will not be seen ascending to the beats whence they retreated in the autumn. And if any do visit those desecrated spots before they have again been hallowed, even the boldest miscreants undertake the venture with a sense of insecurity, knowing full well that, for the pure-minded, they are committing sheer blasphemy.

The God of winter is still a God for heathens in the eyes of those people. Nor should this call forth any astonishment. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings.” If so, how much more awful than elsewhere must appear there those of the arch-fiend! He alone is of a nature sufficiently proof to fire to make his home in ice with impunity. His followers alone are sufficiently witched to share in his privilege.

Therefore, when the rumour was spread that a supernatural form haunted the Vermala woods, it needed but little comment before it gained credence. Everybody was pretty clear in his own mind as to what kind of person he must be, and none needed to question others to know that they thought exactly the same thing.

As might be expected, poachers, chamois hunters, and wood-cutters, people with uneasy consciences—because they steal wood or game, and because their occupation makes them particularly liable to mistrust each other and to meditate on the Evil One—were among the first to believe a story so much in keeping with the trend of their own thoughts. They could even bear witness to its truth.

They had uplifted their eyes, at night, upon a shade so pellucid that the moonbeams shone through it. The shade stole away among the trees like the wind, with a slight rustling of the snow. Then, in a hollow lane leading from the Mayens de Lens towards Chermignon, they had come across strange marks which were not those of game, such as hares, foxes, or badgers. They were not either the marks of any hoofed animal, whether it be a four-footed beast or even the dreaded biped. Those marks soon seemed to join together into tracks that flung themselves like huge ribbons all over the country-side. But, of all those who would, none was able to follow them out. Never had impressions like these been seen on the snow, of which it was impossible to say whether the being who made them walked backwards or forwards. Some said he was a creature mounted on a wheel or riding on two. Others said he was a serpent crawling on his belly, so unbroken was the track and so much did it keep winding about.