"'Zug! Zug!'" That word is on the lips of everyone in Lucerne. We hear it constantly, and I thought it an exclamation, a soothing word, familiar to the Swiss, something like 'Zut.'"
"Not at all. Zug is a little village, very near here."
"And what is there so attractive about it?"
"Not much, ordinarily; but evidently you do not know that the Federal shooting-match has begun at Zug. It is the event of all others that develops to its utmost the enthusiasm of all the cantons. A hundred thousand francs in prizes, thirty thousand rifles all together. Seriously, it is curious and interesting, and you ought to see it."
It was in obedience to the Master's counsel, and not without regret at leaving him, that we alighted a few hours later, at the Zug station.
XI
A hen in the midst of her chickens—that is the first impression of the little village of Zug, with its belfry towering up from the midst of the low houses. But what a background it has! The green velvet of the lowest fold of the mountains, which, from there, stretch away, one above another, to the far-away snows of rose and mauve! When one draws near to the little town its aspect changes; now one sees only an ancient fortified gate having in its midst an enormous dial. Large flags wave slowly in the light breeze and the many-coloured banners of the different Swiss cantons hang from every angle of the high roof with its many turrets, which surmounts this gate. Garlands of leaves festoon in many curves, the pointed arch cut in the ancient structure. And when one has passed under the arch, the street stretching away gives one the illusion of a Chinese street, with its houses of unequal height and its perspective of multi-coloured streamers. But one must go by another route to reach the field where the Federal shooting is established. A frightful uproar leads us unerringly to the place. Temporary barracks in the open fields, a crowd of people, gay and solemn, forming a procession. Here and there the picturesque costumes worn by the natives of some cantons still faithful to the old usages.
Bernese with full gathered skirts, half concealed by the apron of silk, of the colour of a pigeon's neck, with the long corsage of black velvet, held by silver chains to the plaited guimpes, and in their hair the great historic pins.
There are peasants from Fribourg clothed in short breeches, with brown jackets, large hats on their heads, and leaning on their ashen staffs. There are even some Tyrolese, drawn from far away by their curiosity, who please the eye by their bright costumes, their narrow tricoloured aprons, their pointed hats of black felt, ornamented with gold braid and worn very low over the forehead.