GRINDELWALD.-SATURDAY NIGHT. "All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, 97 We were welcomed to the valley of Grindelwald by the warbling of two Alpine muses-a strain as wild in modulation as the character of the scenery through which it circulated, and very appropriate to the place, The glaciers of Grindelwald have been often described; but the subject is one to which no description in words, or even in painting, can do adequate justice. We have nothing wherewith to compare the scene, so as to give it that vivid colouring by which those who have not had ocular demonstration may recognise its wild phenomena. We refer to our former account of the glaciers of Chamouni, in the first volume of this work. From the windows of the inn the eye wanders over the more striking features of the scene: below, the torrent descends with thundering precipitation from its source in the icy cavern, the opening to which forms a magnificent arch of seventy feet in height. Above, the glacier split into towers and pinnacles, and sparkling with the sun, merges its sea-green ramparts in a wilderness of everlasting snows. The pinnacles, so well known under the name of horns or aiguilles, present an appearance the most unprecedented to the eye and mind of a stranger. One of these, a stupendous obelisk, shooting its precipitous and tapering form to nearly twelve thousand feet, fringed at its base with forests, and encrusted with snow, exerts a sort of fascination over the senses, and holds the spectator for a time in mute and breathless contemplation. With all its splendid features, however, the valley of Grindelwald is not "the happy valley" which the "Minnesingers" of the Alps have depicted it. The rigour of winter lasts full seven months, so that the agricultural pursuits, so necessary to the welfare of the inhabitants, are impeded, and their spring, summer, and autumn, are confined to the short interval of five months. The valley, though considerably wider than that of Lauterbrunnen, is still too limited in extent and produce for the number of its inhabitants. The dairy forms their chief dependence; for the liberal "mother of harvests," and the god of the vintage, are alike strangers in the place. Without these two important divinities, it has been said love will find few votaries; but here"sine Cerere et Libero"-the Paphian goddess, nevertheless, has her devotees and her temple even among the snows. To visit his mistress of a "Saturday night," a youth of Grindelwald (or in any part of the Oberland-Bernois) will encounter all the perils of an Alpine sky-torrent, storm, and avalanche; and thread his way to the favoured chalet as unerringly as if he carried a compass, and moved along one of Macadam's best roads. These stolen interviews are concerted much in the same manner as in Scotland. The fair one, as soon as the rest of the family are sleepily disposed of, prepares a cheerful reception for her lover, whose arrival is announced by a gentle serenade of "Oh! are ye sleepin' Maggy? Let me in, for loud the win' is roarin' o'er yon warlock craigy!" The question, of course, is answered by a gentle whisper that the old folks are all as they should be-suspecting nothing, or fast asleep; and then, stepping to the long wooden gallery— "She ope'd the door, she loot him in, he coost aside his dripping plaidie— Now blaw your warst, ye rain and win! for now I'm in aside my Maggy.' But, without evincing any impertinent curiosity in prosecuting the subject, let us now paint the happy lovers seated by a blazing log of pine-tree, a dish of roasted chamois and rye bread on the table, rich cream, with the very flavour of the flowers on which the cows were fed-cheese that speaks for itself, and is recommended strongly to the palate by its ripe odour; and to close the banquet, a glass of that precious nectar of the Alps, Kirschwasser, or gentian-whiskey, to which the youth is invited by many gentle arguments, as an antidote to the cold and fatigue encountered in his journey. She drinks to him with a maiden's welcome-he pledges the cup; and this done, feels that he can descant on love with the eloquence of a senator. With what rapture does she listen as he lays down the plan of their future life, and presses her to name the day when she will consent to light his chalet with her smiles! The question adds at once to her beauty and embarrassment-it is ingeniously evaded, but in a manner that adds to her lover's importunity. She hesitates-but at last her scruples are overcome. The day and hour are named-a thousand anticipations of happy years flush the cheek and flutter round the heart of the Alpine maid. Their thoughts are too big for utterance, and they sit looking into each other's facesilent and happy. But the night wind howls dismally through the wide gallery, and the waning of the stars shows that the parting moment has arrived. Torrents must be forded-forests traversed--snowy ramparts surmounted; and See the popular Scotch " Wooing-song." |